"Like a candle?" he said faintly, caught up in the recitation despite himself.
"No."
"Like an oil lamp?"
"No."
"An electric light?"
"No."
"Like fire!"
"No. Like the sun." Our eyes met and connected in an old and comforting closeness.
I turned up the path and whacked the scythe at overgrowth blocking our way. "Let's go see the fathers of that family name, then. Perhaps they'll have some wisdom for us."
"Let me do that." He took the scythe. I beamed at this small consideration, and when he hacked away wildly, I ignored the unsightly gashes he cut in the weeds.
Nearing the cemetery, as the daylight danced among the stones and pebbles and made the spongy moss look cool and inviting, I thought of how many hundreds of ancestors had trod the rocky path. And when the mounds appeared before us, speckled with shade and light, I felt the same quiet reverence of family history and longevity that I imagined all those who had walked the path before must have felt. Dongsaeng, too, seemed becalmed, his cheeks relaxed into their fullness, his eyes at rest.
"Cut those and I'll fetch water." I pointed at gangly grasses clumped around the tall stone markers. On the far side of the burial ground, I filled the bucket from a trickling stream and stood a moment. I heard wood thrushes whistle and chitter, and my brother's thwacking scythe. Dipping my hand in the bucket, I drank the fresh water and wet my face. My neck felt sticky, my forehead cool, and I smelled a pleasantly sharp pine tar. In the cemetery I gathered armfuls of grass cuttings and tossed them in the woods. When Dongsaeng finished, red and sweating, I offered the bucket for him to drink and splash himself, after which he retreated to the shade. As I washed the grave markers, I pictured the ancient bones lying within the mounds and silently spoke to the souls once housed in the earth-bound remains below. I'm going away, Grandfathers and Grandmothers. I'm going away, Grandfathers and Grandmothers. I traced my finger on the weatherworn ink of their names. Father would come in autumn with a feast and would repaint the letterforms. I wondered, as I had every autumn, spring and New Year's Day, if during those holidays Father kept one eye on the gate for his brother. I felt the gratifying weight of family and also understood how its heavy pull could bring unhappiness to Dongsaeng, upon whom, according to the old way, so much depended. I traced my finger on the weatherworn ink of their names. Father would come in autumn with a feast and would repaint the letterforms. I wondered, as I had every autumn, spring and New Year's Day, if during those holidays Father kept one eye on the gate for his brother. I felt the gratifying weight of family and also understood how its heavy pull could bring unhappiness to Dongsaeng, upon whom, according to the old way, so much depended.
Watch over the ones I leave behind: Mother, Father and Dongsaeng. Imo and Jaeyun. Younger Uncle and Grand Uncle, wherever they may be. Yee Sunsaeng-nim. Kira and Joong, Cook, Byungjo. If your spirit can cross the oceans, help me to honor your names as I journey far from this place. I felt an unexpected swell of tears and gazed at the sky-pale blue stretched high and striated white with cirrus, the heavens seeming to blow an eastbound pattern. I felt an unexpected swell of tears and gazed at the sky-pale blue stretched high and striated white with cirrus, the heavens seeming to blow an eastbound pattern.
Dongsaeng reclined on a bed of pine needles at the edge of the glen and chewed a grass stem. I sat beside him in the shade. "I'll miss you, Dongsaeng, more than I can express."
"Me too, Nuna." He smiled. "Maybe I'll see you in Los Angeles one day."
I doubted Father would allow him to leave Gaeseong. "When I get a job, I'll send you money."
He threw his grass stalk into the woods. "You wouldn't have to if I could've kept what I made today. I sold a scroll for twenty won!"
Twenty won could buy several weeks of food. Few Koreans had that kind of money readily available. "He's probably saving it for your new school."
"No. He embarrassed me terribly! I had to return the money and and let that bastard keep the scroll!" let that bastard keep the scroll!"
"Who?"
"Watanabe. That pig-faced stewpot bastard!"
Watanabe was the tax officer assigned to our neighborhood. So this was what Mother had started to tell me when the men came home. How foolish of Dongsaeng to approach this man. "Tell me what happened. How did Abbuh-nim find out?"
"That pig bastard told him! Summoned him to the office and told him everything."
"Oh Dongsaeng, what a mistake." I spread my arm wide toward the graves. "Do you think they would have done what you did?"
"They were once young men with fathers-so, yes."
"But now Watanabe-san knows you want money-enough to disobey your father. This gives him more power over us, especially your future. He can have you drafted."
"But he's been paid for that!"
"You would trust a money-hungry tax collector over your own father? I'm sure he was only too happy to buy your scroll."
"I'm not that stupid! I didn't accept his loan and I could have-just by grabbing the bigger stack of bills."
"Don't you see? That's exactly the power he wants over you. You mustn't seek him out again, ever."
"Yah, now you sound like Father!" He scrambled up and shook his trousers free of needles.
"You know I'm going overseas. How can I leave knowing you'll be reckless? You know better than I how hard it's been at home. Why do you think there's no pocket money? Father needs medicine! Kira does too. Cook starves herself so you can eat. Mother has sold all her jewelry and silver to send you to school. She boils cocoons and feeds worms-like a farmer-to feed you!" I stood and clenched hands that wanted to slap the selfishness out of him.
"They're parents! It's their duty."
"It's your your duty to take care of duty to take care of them them. You're grown now. A man!"
His lip curled. "Man enough to do whatever I want."
"No, Dongsaeng. Man enough to understand your obligation to the family, especially to your parents."
"He'll never relinquish his authority. Even if he finds a wife for me, he'll hold the purse strings always!" He walked toward the graves, his shoulders tight.
I wanted to shake him, shout at him, even knowing that yelling was fruitless. I walked among the stone posts painted with the solidity of my father's considerable talent, the talent he had passed on to a son who could find no moral virtue in having it. To my ancestors, I said quietly, "How can I leave?" And as I walked in the old silence surrounding their mounds, the tart smell of cut grass scenting the air heavily imbued with the stilled breath of Han souls, I knew that I shouldn't. I I was the selfish one, wanting to pursue a career abroad, wanting the attention of someone interested in helping me fulfill my own narrow needs. Love! I saw how unreasonable it was, how foolish it had made me. My brother was too volatile, too restless and disrespectful to govern the household. I couldn't leave. was the selfish one, wanting to pursue a career abroad, wanting the attention of someone interested in helping me fulfill my own narrow needs. Love! I saw how unreasonable it was, how foolish it had made me. My brother was too volatile, too restless and disrespectful to govern the household. I couldn't leave. I can't leave, can I? I can't leave, can I? No wind answered me, no sigh of a single blade of grass. My eyes burned and I let their fire drop on the graves. My duty was here. No wind answered me, no sigh of a single blade of grass. My eyes burned and I let their fire drop on the graves. My duty was here.
I pressed my handkerchief to my eyes and said clearly, "I've been a bad example for you. Father was right. If I'd been more attentive and willingly followed his wishes rather than being stubborn and selfish, you would've done the same. I apologize to you for that." I turned to him. "I'm going to stay here. I'll wait to get married."
He whirled. "You're crazy!"
"No. It's best for all of us. Mother can't do it all by herself. I'll work for the Bennetts and help out at home."
Dongsaeng approached, his eyes wide with surprised happiness, then plain and loving as he touched my damp cheeks. "Nuna, you would give up your freedom."
"It wouldn't be freedom if our family was in disarray." I took his hand. "It's my duty to watch over you. Mr. Cho will return in three years. I can wait until then."
He stared at me and squeezed my hand. "You would wait?"
"I will. Gladly." But a sob broke my words.
Dongsaeng dropped my fingers and walked to Grandfather's grave. He laid his hand against the stone. "One day I will join you, Harabeoji Harabeoji, Grandfather," he said. "My life planned for all this before I could hold up my own head."
He turned to me. "No, Nuna. Go. You can help me more by finding a college that will accept me. Los Angeles has summer year-round, they say."
"Father will never let you leave." There was no reason to give him false hopes.
"Like you said, times change. If I marry-anyway, it doesn't matter. Of course you must go now. Three years is too long to wait. I'll work harder. Things do change." His smile was guileless, as sweet as when in his childhood he'd finally admit to losing a game of checkers after denying it for several days.
I looked carefully at my brother, very nearly the master of the household, and nodded. My breath cleared. I had needed his permission to go to America more than I realized-no, not his permission, but his understanding that every action of his affected all the family, and that our individualism was meaningless without accepting our bonds of blood.
"Let's go back," he said. "I'm hungry."
I touched his cheek lovingly and he grasped my hand. We stood a moment, then he tucked the scythe in the back of his trousers while I took the bucket, and we slowly climbed down the mountain path toward home.
There's Time Later
AUGUST 31, 1934.
I WOKE WHEN THE MOON STILL SHONE IN THE COURTYARD ABOVE whispered hues of dawn. It was the end of August and my wedding day. I stayed in my quilts a moment to savor the disappearing vestiges of my last sleep in this room, its familiar shadow-shapes, the smell of bed and home. I heard Mother stir. She called softly, "Your wedding day, Daughter."
"I'm awake, Umma-nim." I sat up and stretched, and as I rose to the day, excitement also rose.
I had said goodbye to Kira and Joong the night before, pressing into Kira's hands precious ginseng and angelica root. "For fertility and strength," I whispered as Kira cried shamelessly and Joong bowed low.
Cook had refused to say goodbye, insisting that she would make my breakfast the next day. "How can I sleep worrying when you'll eat next?" Indeed, she was already awake and soon set a large tray of several steaming bowls in our sitting room. "Who knows when and what they'll feed you there!"
I would be married today in Manchuria. Traditionally a bride would go to the groom's house to marry, but there had been nothing traditional about our betrothal. Adding unconventionality to the wedding made little difference. The annual Far East Presbytery Conference, for which Calvin's father was the chairman this year, was also scheduled for August 31, the only possible day we could marry due to complex arrangements for our American journey, and Reverend Cho had decided to integrate our wedding into the conference, gaining the benefit of an on-site photographer and a feast for numerous guests at little personal expense. Perhaps, had I not been busy with travel plans and the dizzying activities that consume any bride, I might have seen my future father-in-law's decision as peculiar. But I was getting married and going to America!
Mother and I shared the enormous breakfast, and when I returned the dishes to the kitchen I started to thank Cook for all her artistry. She kept her back to me and I knew she was crying. I stacked the bowls and said quietly, "Every time I touch food I will think of you. You have given me so much more than training in the kitchen." She turned and we held each other's hands. We did not speak of such things in a Confucian household, but this moment was thick with love. To ease the pain of our parting, Cook and I did what we did best together, and prepared packets of food for the long day ahead.
My mother and Dongsaeng would accompany me. Father's history with the Thought Police required a special permit to cross the border, and loath to call official attention to our family, he chose to stay home. I was afraid for Dongsaeng to travel with us as well, but Mother needed an escort for the return trip. Reverend Bennett was attending the Presbytery Conference and would escort us north, but he would remain in Manchuria for other business. We knew no one in Hsin-ching, the city of my marriage, so my mother and brother had nowhere to spend the night. Further, there was only one return train to Gaeseong which departed shortly after the church service. My mother and brother could not attend the reception. It was an enormous disappointment, but at least they could attend the ceremony.
Father had risen early for my departure and I greeted him in his sitting room, its tranquil lines gradually growing solid in the slow daybreak. After lighting a lamp and serving him water, I faced him and bowed low to the floor. "Honorable Father, forgive this disobedient child all the heartache she has brought to this family. This person wishes only that she might have served this family better. She is grateful beyond human measure for your guidance, patience and direction." I bowed twice more saying, "Thank you."
Father stroked his beard and sat in contemplation for a time. A moth flitted just beyond the lamp's flame and cast flickering patterns on the walls. "Obey your husband in all things." He spoke slowly, his voice as quiet as the rising dawn. "Be dutiful and serve your new family with decorum and propriety as you've been taught. I'm pleased with this union, and trust that you will honor your ancestors with diligence, honest work and many sons, no matter where you land. Go with God." The depth of feeling behind his words moved me to tears, and I bowed my head to hide them, and having so rarely seen such emotion from him, to hold on to the moment for as long as was polite.
Going to the station, Mother and I walked side by side, following Dongsaeng. Behind us Byungjo pulled a cart with my luggage: a footlocker from the Bennetts and Imo's well-worn suitcase. Our steps fell soundlessly in the soft humid morning, while the cart creaked noisily.
"You have all your papers?"
"Yes, Umma-nim." This simple utterance filled me with pain and I stopped talking to contain my feelings. I had earned enough from the Bennetts for train and steamer travel and a gift sum, a dowry of sorts, for my in-laws. The Bennetts were my gracious sponsors for a full scholarship at Goucher College in Baltimore, where I was expected for delayed fall enrollment in a premedical course of study.
All our original wedding and travel plans had been disrupted when we learned I was ineligible for international travel as an unmarried woman. I was required, after marriage, to apply for a passport in my husband's city of residence, Pyeongyang. In addition, the policeman friend who'd helped procure Calvin's passport in Pennamdo had been reassigned to the southern city of Busan, our departure port. Before this friend left Pyeongyang, he alerted Calvin to rumors about a coming freeze on foreign travel and recommended that we leave the country at the earliest opportunity. He assured us that any problems that might arise could usually be solved with a bribe to the passport clerk.
The day after our wedding, Calvin would leave for Busan to meet his policeman friend, who would help secure our visas. Meanwhile, Calvin's father would escort me to Pyeongyang to apply for my passport. If my papers were issued that day, I'd have time to catch the train and reach Busan to travel with Calvin, who had a nonrefundable ticket for a steamer departing September 2. The unlikelihood of an immediate issue of my passport prompted contingency plans, so I delayed in purchasing a steamer ticket. If my documents weren't ready in time to cross the Pacific with my husband, I would stay with my in-laws and take the following week's ship, or travel later if necessary. We would rendezvous in San Pedro, spend a few weeks in Los Angeles at Calvin's brother's house, acclimating and practicing English, then we'd cross the United States together by train. A complicated arrangement, but the best that circumstances would allow, and one we trusted to God.
The sun emerged over the distant hills and I felt a sheen of warmth. "Rain coming," I said. "Kira and I left the laundry out-"
"Don't worry. You know she'll take care of it this morning. Walk slower. You mustn't sweat."
"I'm not sweating from heat."
We spoke freely since the rickety cart prevented Byungjo or Dongsaeng from hearing us. As we neared town, I felt a mix of excitement, dread and sadness. My string pouch swung from my shoulder, heavy with school transcripts, identification papers, an American pocket atlas-another parting gift from the Bennetts-the worn Chinese-English phrasebook and some cash. I'd wrapped the bulk of my money in my skirt bindings and carried a bundle packed in anticipation of my wedding day: cosmetics, the dress from Jaeyun I'd wear for my passport photograph which would be taken by the conference photographer, Western-style underwear after Calvin wired to say a donated wedding dress was waiting for me, and a night dress to sleep in, the mere thought of which made me burn with embarrassment.
Mother said, "Najin-ah, don't be nervous. God will ease your mind if you pray." Startled to think that she had read my mind, I reddened further, but she said, "Yah, did you wish for a traditional wedding? Instead of walking you might be riding in an automobile sent by Reverend Cho! Think of that! In the olden days the palanquin carriers tried to disgrace the bride by making her vomit the entire way."
"All the more reason to be grateful for a Christian wedding. No humiliating games and drunkenness."
"Lucky for you, your future minister-husband will never drink."
I looked at her sideways. This would be her first train ride, her fourth journey overall and her first without traveling in a palanquin, which was how she'd traveled from Nah-jin to Gaeseong to be married. "Are you you nervous?" I asked. nervous?" I asked.
"Certainly not! Well, maybe just a little, but I have you to show me all the modern ways."
"I'm nervous about being in front of a hundred ministers." Reverend Cho had invited all the conference attendees to the wedding.
"You've stood before more than a hundred students and each one learned something from you. Be reserved and stand straight. Say a prayer if anything upsets you."
"I think I'll be fine. Honestly, I'm more excited about tomorrow than today." I saw my wedding day as a springboard for the adventure of travel and college, rather than the fearful beginnings in a new household with unknown in-laws. "Aiu! Not very bride-like. What's wrong with me!"
"Every bride is different, especially one embarking on an American journey."
I pushed my hair behind my ear to see my mother's face better in the weak slanting sunlight. My short hair tickled the back of my neck. After I had it bobbed, I wrote to Calvin with some apprehension, telling him I'd sold my braid for the passport fee. He wrote back thanking me for my thoughtfulness and enterprising spirit. I hadn't told him that my haircut was also vanity. Many young women now bobbed their hair and I didn't want to appear old-fashioned in America. I saw my mother's steady features, the outer corners of her eyes wrinkled with warmth, filling me with peacefulness and melancholy. "Umma-nim-"
"Don't talk. No need." We walked, Mother stepping stiffly with arthritic knees, humming bits of hymns.
Her quiet singing filled my throat with pain. How long would it be before I would have her beside me again? To chase away sad thoughts, I said, "They have the same hymns at the Presbyterian church." In deference to the Bennetts, I'd attended their church and had come to understand Calvin's curiosity about the different Protestant denominations, since the order of worship was virtually identical. I remembered my first walk in the garden with Calvin and our conversation about suffering and the origins of his name. And at that moment I sincerely thanked God for Calvin and the probability that if all went well with my papers, such subjects would be thoroughly discussed on the long passage east.
"A Presbyterian wedding!" said Mother. "I hope someone will show you where to get ready and what to do. Write as soon as you can to tell me about your mother-in-law." I would not meet Calvin's mother until the next day, after my papers were secured. I was told she was too frail for the journey, and I wondered about her ailment, which seemed continuous since Calvin's youth. When we passed the hospital, Mother said, "That baby will miss you." Mrs. Bennett had delivered a blond, three-and-a-half-kilo boy the previous month, and I had helped with his care. When I first visited Mrs. Bennett at the hospital, I was astonished by the baby's pure whiteness. I visited every day, once dragging my mother along to see his porcelain skin. I'd nicknamed him "Little Turnip."
"Perhaps, but I'll miss him more. And home-" My voice broke and we couldn't look at each other.
At the station, we found Reverend Bennett waiting for us. He was now nearly fluent in Japanese and his Korean was also quite good. He still bowed in his funny bobbing way, his skin as pink as ever. I said a sad goodbye to Byungjo and watched him leaning forlornly against his empty cart while the train pulled out, until he was only a dot on the platform, lost among the other dots of people left behind in Gaeseong.
MY MOTHER AND I held hands on the train ride like girlfriends. In Hsin-ching, Dongsaeng stored my luggage while Mr. Bennett hurriedly walked with Mother and me toward town and church, where we were met by four American ladies whose loud congratulations and fussing hands took over. My mother sat patiently in a large room with maroon velvet furniture they called the parlor, while I changed into the dark blue cheongsam and had my passport picture taken. I longed to ask for a portrait of my mother and me, but propriety prevented this. The church ladies kept saying, "Everyone is waiting," and were so eager to dress me that there wasn't a moment to say another word to Mother. Reverend Bennett knocked and said that Dongsaeng had successfully found the church from the train station and was sitting in the front pew. He escorted my mother to the sanctuary. The complicated Western undergarments were donned, snapped and secured, the donated ivory dress hooked to the neck, the veil attached, and then, with mincing steps in tightly tied and too-big white shoes, I followed the ladies to the sanctuary, my head spinning like a fallen bowl.
In the narthex someone gave me an awkwardly shaped bouquet of white gladioli and chrysanthemums, and my free hand was firmly taken by Calvin's mentor, Dr. Sherwood. With the veil on, I could only see his large outline, but when he bent to murmur, "Miss Han, it's an honor to deliver the charming bride to my most promising graduate," I saw white sideburns and full lips stretched over big and perfect teeth in a magnificent smile. I managed to compliment him on his fluent Korean. He firmly tucked my hand into his elbow and held tight, and I was too startled and unsure to do anything but hang on.
An insistent organ note followed by crashing chords came from the sanctuary, and the music swelled when ushers opened the doors. I reflexively clutched Dr. Sherwood's arm and he patted my hand. "I'm going to walk you up the aisle to the altar where your husband-to-be is waiting. Reverend Cho will tell you what to do. Just follow his instructions and you'll be fine. It's your wedding day, Miss Han, and I want you to think of nothing else. We'll go slowly, I promise, and there's nothing to fear. See if you can fall in step with me and we'll march to the music, shall we?"
I nodded, grateful that he knew I was terrified. He took a step, I took a step, and we walked in together. With back erect and neck slightly bowed, I kept my veiled eyes exactly one meter ahead on the white-draped aisle. I heard people standing and felt hundreds of strange eyes on us. As we neared the altar, it calmed me to catch glimpses of my mother and Dongsaeng standing in the front pew, though I didn't dare look at their faces.
I took three steps up, negotiating lifting my hem while holding the bouquet. Dr. Sherwood placed my hand in Calvin's. A fresh-soap smell greeted me, and he ceremoniously held my hand on his, his touch warm, firm and exquisite.
During the service, I thought Reverend Cho's delivery was similar to Calvin's careful vocal tempo. All I saw of my father-in-law were his worn but polished shoes, the hem of his minister robes and the fringed ends of his shawl. I concentrated on the instructions given, prayed when I was supposed to pray and repeated what I was told to repeat, until I realized I was hearing Calvin pledge his life to me, and then I was saying my own marriage vows, bonding in word with this man, whose face I had not yet seen on this day. My heart flooded for a moment, but anxious about what might be next, it was only a moment. I remembered that Calvin, in a letter, had apologized to me about not exchanging traditional Western wedding rings after speaking our vows. He hoped that I would forgive him for the assumption that our steamer fare took precedent over the expense of wedding rings, and that I would accept our verbal promise to each other as solid and as true-in God's eyes and in our own-as gold. Naturally I agreed, and I was also touched by his earnestness and found his practicality appealing. I wrote back that one gold ring in this woman's lifetime was more than she had ever expected.
Another prayer, then someone came and lifted my veil. The air, open and refreshing on my face, also left me feeling exposed. I raised my eyes to see Mr. Cho-Calvin, my husband-nearing, his features serious yet shining, his skin gleaming in afternoon light colored and subdued by stained-glass windows, his eyes rich with love. He pressed his lips lightly on my cheek, people broke out in applause, the organ exploded in music, and he clasped my hand in his arm and walked me back up the aisle. To be the center of attention and see all the strange faces smiling and clapping at us made my cheeks flush red, except one little cool spot where his lips had touched.
We reached the outer lobby followed by crowds of people shaking our hands and saying congratulations. I was soon separated from my new husband, until Dr. Sherwood formed a receiving line where well-wishers wrung my hand into a bruised mitt. My poor mother and Dongsaeng were forced into awkward introductions and greetings with hundreds of ministers, their wives, missionaries and church dignitaries. My mouth ached from smiling; my fingers throbbed with pain. I finally met my father-in-law, a dark-skinned balding man with glasses and a quiet but powerful demeanor. He bowed, patted my shoulder and said we'd have a real chance to talk later. As people left for the conference hotel, the photographer took over and in relative calm, gave instructions for formal poses. I was relieved that the solemnity of the day required a sober face, allowing my smile muscles to rest.
My mother and Dongsaeng had to catch their train right after the photography session. Too soon, we were saying goodbye in the church lobby. Just outside the doors at the top of steep stone stairs, Calvin and Reverend Cho were surrounded by friends and colleagues who were waiting to walk with us to the hotel banquet. "Before he comes," began Mother, referring to Reverend Bennett, who would walk them to the train station, but she said nothing more. Instead she fixed her eyes on mine and took my hand. I gave her the flowers and pressed her hand against my tear-stained cheek.