I caught a glimpse of his smile and thought derisively that it was the practiced minister in him that made such obvious kindness shine in his eyes. No, this was impossible, hateful thinking. I pushed it down, found comfort and even pride in my ability to do so.
"Now then." He patted my hand and pulled a fountain pen and small pad from inside his jacket. "We'll need to send a cable to your husband." His rough palm on my hand recalled the demonstrative goodbyes shared by father and son. I cringed to think what more I would see of the Cho family's ill-mannered sense of physical propriety.
"After that," said the minister, "I'll take you home. Your mother-in-law waits eagerly to meet you, especially since she's heard your charms extolled for several months now. Naturally, you'll come home with us. As to what the days ahead might bring, we'll leave that to God with, perhaps, a little help from common sense and the American Post Office." He opened the pen and handed it to me.
I wrote more crookedly than I thought possible, and flushed with longing for home and Gaeseong, ended my message to Calvin with my father's parting sentiment from yesterday morning, eons ago. I pushed the paper across the table.
"Fine. See if you can finish your tea while I send it."
During his short absence, I wove an invisible wall around my emotions, strong enough to carry me through the next few unknown days, resilient enough to permit access to my feelings when I felt more able to wrestle with them.
INSIDE THE CHOS' brushwood gate, a small weedy yard led to tall dusty shrubs that hid most of the house. Mrs. Cho welcomed me warmly at the door. She grasped my arms and came quite close, peering into my face. I stiffened until I saw her cloudy eyes. I thought of poppy root and gingko extract with gentian to improve her obviously failing vision. This automatic educated medical response made me bitter, it being largely the cause of my present disillusionment. God had punished me for ambition, for failing the test presented in the guise of my husband-a man of God-who had brought with him the dream of an American education. Had I sincerely cared for him, or was it what he offered that had attracted me? It was hard to believe that God, any god, would be so vindictive, so petty as to bother with my tiny worthless soul. And yet here I was, abandoned by my husband, stuck with my in-laws, everything lost. I drowned these spinning thoughts in the darkness covering my heart.
Small and brown-skinned, Mrs. Cho demonstrated that her numerous wrinkles were earned from frequent smiles. Reverend Cho explained the situation. Still holding my arms, she said, "Omana! "Omana! Such a shame!" I shook my head to discount the disappointment. I did not want their sympathy. Reverend Cho retrieved a raincoat and hat from inside the house, told us to watch for my luggage, which he would arrange to be delivered from the station, and left. My mother-in-law led me into the grass-roofed house just as it started to rain. "We live simply," she said, "but I pray you'll find comfort here." Such a shame!" I shook my head to discount the disappointment. I did not want their sympathy. Reverend Cho retrieved a raincoat and hat from inside the house, told us to watch for my luggage, which he would arrange to be delivered from the station, and left. My mother-in-law led me into the grass-roofed house just as it started to rain. "We live simply," she said, "but I pray you'll find comfort here."
When my eyes adjusted to the dim interior, I was glad that I knew well how to hide my feelings. Not larger than my mother's kitchen, the one-room hovel-for that was my first impression-had a coarse floor of loose boards barely covered by a worn and stained hemp mat, two haphazard chests, a small bookshelf and table, a closet crammed with bedding and a narrow earthen stove built into the back wall. The room reeked of smoke, old food smells and damp earth. Mrs. Cho kicked off her shoes and hurried to the kitchen area. She grabbed a gourd and two tin pots off wall hooks and placed them strategically on the floor. They soon splashed with raindrops leaking through the thatch. I bent to unlace my shoes and to hide any indication of my utter dismay.
"Luckily, we still have my son's bed," said Mrs. Cho, "which, of course, is yours now. Put your things here until your trunk arrives." She pointed to a corner beside the bookshelf. "Those are all the books he had no room to pack," she said proudly.
I felt as if I were hearing her through layers of fog and veils, and struggled to speak normally. "May I look?"
She crouched beside the books, her arthritic fingers fluttering along their spines. "Of course! They're yours now too."
I heard those words with dread. How could I live here? Knowing I had no choice, I relied on my training and bowed to the floor. "Thank you, Umma-nim, Mother, for welcoming me home. It's- It's unexpected to have the burden of this daughter unexpectedly on your hands, yet you've shown me only kindness."
She smiled warmly. "Well then, Daughter, what is a Christian family for but to welcome their son's bride? I consider the unexpectedness of it a special blessing!" She fingered the books again. "Before he left for college, Second Son used to read to me from the Bible and some of these others. Perhaps you'll humor me by reading to me occasionally? Your father-in-law has no time for a foolish old wife with no education."
"I'd be honored to." I hadn't known Calvin's mother was illiterate. Once again anger flashed through me at the careless thoughtlessness of men. With a houseful of intellectuals and men doing women's work, why had no one taught her? I was doomed if I continued to nurse such emotions. I bowed again and spoke as politely as I could, praying the formalities would even out my tone. "I apologize for coming empty-handed, but my gifts are in my luggage." How easily my manners brought this lie to my lips.
"Don't worry about that. All the gifts we need come straight from God." She leaned closer to examine my features. "Clearly you've had quite a sophisticated upbringing. I worry- Perhaps you- Well, I hope you'll find comfort here."
"Your consideration is most kind, Ssi-umma-nim."
We sat awkwardly as the rain blew against the shutters and dripped into the gourd and pots. Presently she said, "I'll show you where everything is and you can help me prepare supper. I used to feed all the students, but I'm afraid that was too much for me and the church took that over."
"Students?"
"Oh yes. Next door." She opened a window and pointed to the two-story brick building between the church and the house. "We lived there for a time. All those rooms to clean! So many visitors staying for months. Too much! Especially when my eyesight worsened. Your father-in-law grew weary of hearing me complain, and we moved back here. The church houses seminarians there now, a much better use of the place. Besides, I worried all the time that those bricks would cave in on me as I slept. All that worry made me old and wrinkled before my time." She laughed and I forced a smile.
She showed me how the stove extended through to the back of the house where the roof overhung an outdoor cooking and working area sided with floppy walls of woven matting. A path through a tangled vegetable garden beyond the outdoor kitchen led to the outhouse. We prepared a plain lunch of clear soup, millet, gimchi, steamed beansprouts and dried fish in pepper sauce. When Reverend Cho returned, we ate together around the one small table. They conversed throughout the meal, which took me aback. I couldn't help but cover my mouth, though neither of my in-laws did, to answer questions about my parents and education. I knew I hadn't eaten much that day but had no appetite, and with my mouth too full of talking, I ate very little.
After the minister went out again, Mrs. Cho said, "You're a very lucky newlywed. Your father-in-law won't often be home. His duties call him at all hours and he regularly eats at the mission." Lucky indeed Lucky indeed, I thought bitterly. And then I remembered Imo telling me her tragic story after I'd asked about Queen Min. Imo had married in 1900, considered an auspiciously lucky year. The terrible losses and personal dangers she had weathered in her loyal decades devoted to the royal family made the intensity of my disappointment and dismay seem petulant and deplorable.
When my footlocker and suitcase arrived, I paid the porter and thought about my money and possessions, all of which had been packed with an opposite destination in mind. I knew what my duty was, but couldn't yet part with my hard-earned steamer fare. I decided to do nothing for the time being. My unopened trunk dominated the small room like a misplaced palanquin until I shoved it on its end into the bookshelf corner and leaned the suitcase against it.
Rain fell steadily. I asked about the ways of their house. I was to draw water at one of the mission compound's pumps on the other side of the dormitory, and every morning visit the market just outside the compound walls. Laundry was done with pans and buckets in the outside kitchen, and the garden tended as needed. I readily accepted these duties, causing Mrs. Cho to deliver a prayer of thanks. She would now have time to visit church members at the hospital and mend the seminarian's clothes. I was too polite, too anxious and too dazed to ask about sleeping arrangements.
That evening after the dinner dishes were cleared and washed, in the pungent smoke of a fish-oil lamp, I presented my in-laws with prized Gaeseong ginseng, sacks of rice and beans, lengths of silk, decorative fans and several embroidered towels. I remembered the original intention of each item I gave-the ginseng for Calvin's elder brother, the rice and beans to cook on the overseas journey, the silk, fans and towels for my American patrons and teachers-and I felt that a part of me disappeared as each item left my fingers. Mrs. Cho delighted in all the gifts, commenting on their richness and the fine quality of my handiwork, and Reverend Cho suggested the ginseng and rice be given to certain church members who had greater need, the fans and silk be sold for food. I nodded and said nothing more, feeling guilty about the numerous possessions still hoarded in my trunk.
Reverend Cho handed me a folded yellow paper, the copy of my telegram. "I forgot to give you this."
I absently tucked it in my skirtband. "Thank you. I should tell my parents about-that I- May I write a letter tomorrow?" I felt I should ask to use the one table to write on.
"Of course. Give them our blessings and best regards. You may tell them, despite the unfortunate turn of the day, how pleased we are to have you here," said Reverend Cho. My mother-in-law reiterated the sentiment by clasping my hand, a gesture that only added to my deepening sense of dread. The minister said an evening prayer and announced it was bedtime.
I followed Mrs. Cho's instructions to empty the linen closet and spread the heavy quilts-my bedding next to the bookshelf, and beside mine, theirs. With the blankets spread, there was no space left on the wooden part of the floor. Even when she indicated she'd sleep beside me, it remained a layout of considerable discomfort. She brought her husband a basin of warm water. Without further ado, Reverend Cho undressed and, completely naked, wiped himself all over with a washrag. Thoroughly shocked, I turned to the wall and buried my eyes in my hands, too appalled to be polite, and mortified that I'd seen more of him than I had my own husband. Mrs. Cho added water to the basin and I heard her splashing. "There's hot water on the stove still for you too, Daughter." She snuffed the lamp, crawled into bed and settled on her side facing away from me. "Goodnight."
I waited until they breathed evenly with sleep, and still I couldn't move. It was impossible to remove my clothes in this setting. Impossible to bathe, to sleep! I huddled in the corner with my face to the wall, tugged Calvin's stained blanket around my legs and agonized. After a few hours of uncomfortable dozing, I tiptoed out of bed and filled the basin with now-cold water. Holding the blanket around my shoulders, I stepped into the linen closet and gingerly undressed. I washed quickly and silently, donned a nightdress and added a jacket for extra coverage. I rearranged the blanket on the rough floor as far away from them as possible-a few centimeters' gap. Although exhausted, I slept hardly at all and woke at the first hint of dawn to dress, scrub my face and use the outhouse before my in-laws stirred. I folded my bedding quietly and packed it in the closet. The yellow telegram fell from its folds. I went to the back porch to catch the sun's first rays to read what I'd written-a lifetime ago!
TO MR. CALVIN CHONGSO CHO C/O PUSAN PRESBYTERIAN MISSION STOP PASSPORT DENIED STOP I STAY IN PYEONGYANG STOP STUDY TWICE HARD STOP GO WITH GOD STOP WRITE YOUR WIFE.
The words blurred as the wall around my emotions burst. I ran through the garden and beyond the outhouse until I tripped in my socks and fell in the wet brush, sobbing. I wept with grief and fury, and railed against God for teasing me so cruelly-giving me a summer filled with boundless hope, only to erase it in an instant with a single word delivered in hated Japanese. Even though I'd told Calvin to continue on, I cried out in my heart to call him home. I knew that he must go on, and that he would, but I wanted him to not leave me, to not abandon me to this deprivation and hopelessness. I felt shame for my jealousy, knowing his foot might at that moment be leaving this land to board the steamer, and failure for not being beside him. I grieved not only for the missed journey and loss of my dream but because I longed to be near him, to see his slow smile, hear his thoughtful questions, feel his warm and dry hands again on my neck. At least that much was true, that I did love him, although it now meant less than nothing, only yearning and pain.
When my tears were done, I remembered my father-in-law's prayer and knew I was undeserving of Calvin, of America, of anything good. The demeaning peasant's life I faced was punishment for pride, willfulness and Christian doubt. I refused to aspire to martyrdom, to accept suffering as the way to salvation. Still, I tried to pray for forgiveness for my arrogance and selfish wanting, for relief from the hurt I felt, but my bitterness was too acute to receive any sense of grace. I had seen the crude life that lay ahead and knew I had to accept it. My rage would not make the days pass any easier. I sat up at last, feeling empty and resigned. For that, I gave grim thanks.
I wiped my nose with leaves and returned to the house, resolved because of my love for my husband and my pious sense of duty to do right as his wife, to be my mother's daughter, to do right by God; subdued because I had no choice. In the outside kitchen, Mrs. Cho stuffed kindling in the stove. "Let me do that, Umma-nim," I said.
I didn't care that my mother-in-law knew I'd been crying. She ran her fingers through my blunt hair, handed me a pair of dry socks and held my hand. "Sad face, daughter-in-law. Jesus will see you through."
I thought, If only it were that easy If only it were that easy, but I said, "Thank you. I'm grateful, Ssi-umma-nim." I lightly disengaged my mother-in-law's hand and added what I knew she'd want to hear. "I'll pray for guidance."
Mrs. Cho's face curled in all its wrinkles. We fixed breakfast. Before setting the table, I dug through my suitcase and brought out my brass rice bowl, which I filled with porridge along with my in-laws' bowls. I greeted Reverend Cho, who was dressed and jotting notes at the table as dawn's light filtered through the shutters, and I announced the meal. I wanted to erect invisible walls of discretion and form in this household. After I served them both, I bowed and gave him all of my money.
He handled it, gave one of his sympathetic grunts and returned a few bills. "You keep this until you decide how you'll occupy your days."
I thought for a moment. "Am I to decide?"
"There's little work for you in this house. Your mother-in-law has time on her hands even with her duties here. You could offer your services to the church. You could work at the mission or teach. Watch what goes on around you the next few days and see what work you might do. I'll introduce you to the mission director's wife on Sunday. I understand you play the organ. We do need an organist."
I spoke directly. "You're very kind. I'll do that, thank you."
His smile was friendly and inviting, and I felt even more ashamed about my earlier suspicion of his ministerial sincerity and revulsion at their home life.
"Come," said my father-in-law, "let's eat."
Watching them eat this time, I discovered they both devoured their food as quickly as Calvin had. I'd have to increase my pace or go starving, for I couldn't continue eating when they were done.
I FOUND AN excellent herbalist in the market and began to treat my mother-in-law's eyes. After learning that Mrs. Cho was slightly diabetic, I regulated her diet based on my own knowledge, enhanced by the advice of the pharmacist and what I could glean from copies of the ancient Compendia of Korean Pharmacopeia Compendia of Korean Pharmacopeia in the mission library. in the mission library.
I washed and relined Calvin's tattered quilt with a deconstructed night-colored skirt and meters of cotton I had in my trunk. Every evening after I arranged my in-laws' blankets and their washbasin, I went outdoors to dampen the stove until they were in bed. I undressed in the linen closet wrapped in my quilt, and laid as close to the wall as I could, but still heard every sound their bodies made. I was relieved that I never heard them being man and wife at night.
I chose to teach kindergarten in the mission compound partly because the innocent, earnest children made me forget my unhappiness, and it gave me a private physical space. It also left adequate hours to clean house and repair the thatch, tote water, visit the market, cook, wash clothes, tend the garden and keep the fuel stores filled. I couldn't refuse Reverend Cho's urging to play the organ, though it meant half a day at church every Sunday, and on Wednesday evenings hurrying to cook and leave without eating to rehearse with the chorus until the moon rose. Fortunately the choral director was a funny and energetic man who made rehearsals enjoyable.
One morning several weeks after my arrival, Reverend Cho opened his jacket and delivered a letter from Calvin. My heart leapt, and I thought I'd wait to read it during the half hour of quiet in my classroom before kindergarten began. I noticed the torn envelope at the same time that Reverend Cho said, "I was hoping he'd write more about the progress of his elder brother's church in Los Angeles, but he only talks about how charitable he's been. Well, you'll see what he says."
I stared at my father-in-law as I tucked the letter into my classroom notebook, incredulous at this invasion of privacy. He and Mrs. Cho ate speedily as usual, which meant that reading my mail would be routine. Then Reverend Cho met my eyes, smiled in that practiced ministerial way and said he'd forgotten to mention something about the house. One of the incoming seminarians, a rising star of a student, had a wife and an infant child. Since the dormitory was men-only, it had been promised that the new mother would live at the manse. "It'll be a little crowded, but you've been managing the house well and I'm sure you'll find a way to accommodate her and the baby. There's really no other place for her. Originally, I thought she might be helpful to Mother, but that was before you came. He's considered a prize for our seminary. His wife is yangban like you, and it's likely you'll become friends. Your mother-in-law is certainly experienced with babies, and it will bring her some joy to have an infant around."
I studied my porridge, hiding anger and the sense of violation over my opened letter, and also the horrible prospect of one more-one and a half more-bodies living in this room. We would have to share a bed. I prayed that the woman was at least well groomed.
Midday when I came home from teaching, my thoughts lingered on the faint hopes Calvin's letter had brought, and my resolve to try harder to make peace with the situation. I found my mother-in-law with an infant boy in her lap and the baby's mother sitting nearby. Lim Yonghee looked puffy with postpregnancy and decidedly unhappy. We were introduced, and I said, "Welcome, Dongsaeng, Little Sister. I hope that Ssi-umma-nim Ssi-umma-nim has familiarized you with our humble home." has familiarized you with our humble home."
"Humble indeed!" she said. "Unnee, Elder Sister, where do I put my son's diapers to be washed? I can't find room for my bed and Auntie said I should wait for you to fix me something to eat." Yonghee's perfectly shaped lips pouted and the faint vertical line between her eyes sank into a well-worn frown. When she saw my expression, she looked wounded. "Well, I would do it myself, but I'm still recuperating from the baby, you see, and such a long journey for my husband to come here. Naturally, I insisted we go to Pyeongyang because of the superior education he would receive, even though it would be a hardship on me, but I had no idea there'd be no other servants than-that there'd be no servants."
Mrs. Cho said, "We live very simply, but you'll see how helpful Daughter-in-law can be. It's an honor for your husband to be here. Don't wrinkle your pretty forehead, dear. You mustn't sour your milk."
I attempted friendliness and pointed to the linen closet. "That's where your bedding goes, but come to the stove and I'll show you how to heat water to wash diapers. I heard you were nursing, so I bought seaweed for soup. Why don't you come and make soup?"
"I'm tired from travel, Unnee, and I need to rest. It's only been a month since the baby, you see. Set out my bed and bring me the soup, won't you? It sounds delicious." Yonghee waved at a soiled diaper on the floor and displayed a sweet smile that rounded her cheeks beneath eyes glittering with ice. Aware that my next move would set a precedent, I refused to budge while my head spun to find a polite way to make this lazy girl take care of herself. I wished I were as practiced as she obviously was with the acerbic sarcasm of a spoiled brat.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Cho intervened. "Unnee will make a nice place for you to rest and I'll watch the baby. Such a handsome boy! Come, Grandma will rock you and sing you a song." I wanted to slap Yonghee's smirk away; instead I efficiently unstrapped her bedroll and spread it on the floor, swept up the dirty diaper and primly went outside to make soup.
I washed diapers, gardened and prepared food while the two women fussed over the baby. When he slept, Yonghee lay beside him in bed, flipping through a cheap Japanese magazine. When my mother-in-law asked her to read the Bible aloud, Yonghee complied in a drone that I likened to a wasp ready to sting. At sundown Mrs. Cho said Reverend Cho would come home soon, and Yonghee visited the latrine and lingered in the garden so long that I had to fold her bedding to make room for the table. She sat with Mrs. Cho and the baby until Reverend Cho's footstep was heard in the entryway. Yonghee dashed to the kitchen and brought bowls to the table. She greeted him warmly. "Auntie has kindly watched the baby all day so I could make dinner." My eyes widened in disbelief at this trivial maneuvering. I looked at my mother-in-law, who gestured that it didn't matter.
Yonghee had no problem with the bedtime routine and freely exposed her ample figure when she readied herself to lie in the blankets I'd repositioned next to Mrs. Cho. Once again, I stayed busy in the kitchen, waiting to hear rhythmic sleeping breaths before I undressed. With no more room for my bedding, I remained wrapped in my quilt and made myself as comfortable as I could on the linen closet floor, where I continued to sleep for all the miserable days I lived with my in-laws, days that slowly lapsed into months, then years.
Each time I gave my earnings to my father-in-law, he accepted them without comment and gave me a small amount back for food. At first I saved fifty jeon to visit the public bathhouse down the street, but saving became impossible when I saw that cash flowed through the house like smoke. Because of our dependency on the market for food and fuel, we were vulnerable to its rapidly rising prices and decreasingly available goods. Yonghee ate large portions and always asked for more, and I sometimes pretended I'd eaten at school so my in-laws would have a balanced meal. Within six months, I had sold all of the supplies I'd packed for American college. By the end of the first year, I had sold most of my books, more than half my clothes including the wedding dress, Western underwear and shoes, and then I sold the locker, and finally, Imo's suitcase. Even as I handed it to the peddler, I wondered that I felt little emotion about parting with my beloved aunt's thoughtful and cherished gift. I was tired, and empty.
My hands and feet became calloused and cracked as I washed diapers in all seasons, chopped wood, wove mats, mended the stove, walls and shutters. Without a proper entryway, mud, dirt and dust tracked through the house, and I was forever cleaning the floor.
Because I had asked Calvin and my family to write to me in care of the school, my father-in-law began to treat me with a coolness that grew into unfounded suspicions. He accused me of having an affair with the choral director and then, laughably, of trying to seduce Yonghee's husband. I couldn't fathom how such ideas entered his consciousness, but suspected that he had recognized my distaste for their way of living, and, perhaps, my despair, and had thus found fault with me. This sort of petty and calculated thinking exhausted me.
My cheeks sunk, my skin dulled and my lips were always held tight to hold resentment in and to mask my outright hatred of Yonghee. I enjoyed the kindergarten children and the choral rehearsals, which I defiantly continued attending, and even found time to study for my license to practice obstetrics. But when I came home, the spark faded from my eyes and my spirit darkened. Sometimes the baby cried at night and Yonghee breastfed him. I listened to the soft nestling of mother and child. My body ached for my husband then, for the future I'd counted on and lost, for Gaeseong, for anything different from this peasant life, this slavery. I wondered if the despicable living conditions and my despair would ever end, but I did not pray.
Saved Letters
AUTUMN 1934 SUMMER 1936
September 16, 1934Los Angeles, CaliforniaMy Dear Wife,I regret that a letter cannot express my emotion, my deep sorrow, after I received your telegram. For all the days of travel, I could not look forward to the journey ahead, so burdened was I with sadness. I blame myself that you suffered alone at the passport office. While it is a relief to know you are safe and in the welcoming arms of my parents, that fact is scant compensation for the hopes you had harbored, hopes I had fostered, which were taken from you. It was indeed unexpected news, and without reasonable explanation. Despite my friend's warning about certain rumors (which apparently are true), it seemed that improvement was coming. I have heard the Depression has ended. From fellow passengers, I heard many tales of new factories and industrial advances-which makes your experience even less understandable. From Busan to Shimonoseki, then by train to Tokyo, I was surprised by the stringent review my documents received. In fact, in Hawaii I had to rely on an American pastor from first class to intervene on my behalf and verify my itinerary before I was allowed to debark. I can only pray and ask that you do the same. It is certain that God's plan for you- for us-will soon be revealed.Tomorrow is our birthday, and a sad one it will be. I had hoped to have you beside me on that day, our first together as husband and wife.I am writing to you in haste from my brother's home, wishing to send you encouragement and to urge you to not give up. As quickly as the policy changed to create this situation, it may change again. I will press my father to assist you as he can. I know you will be loath to request further support from Rev. Bennett or to approach Dr. Sherwood, but they may have some recourse or information regarding this matter, and it may be to your benefit to swallow pride for the time being and write to them, at the least for guidance.I am astonished with the multitude of strange plant life and the mild temperature at this time of year in Los Angeles, as well as my brother's consuming hospitality. It seems he desires that I meet and dine with every one of his parishioners. Perhaps because my stomach did not fare well on the ocean journey, these parties seem excessive, but my weakness in that department is not the problem that concerns me in the slightest. My concern is that the Pacific ships that dock in San Pedro are empty of my wife and all the possibilities she had placed in my hands. Therefore I take your words to study twice hard as my promise, and pray that we will soon be reunited.Yours in Christ September 23, 1934 September 23, 1934My Dear Wife,I trust this letter finds you and the family well. I wonder how you occupy your days and if you are finding your way around Pyeongyang. Naturally, I miss home, but it is the unfolding of our marriage that I am missing more. I have hardly had time to breathe, but every spare moment I have is spent in prayer for your good health, safety, and your forgiveness for my inability to have you beside me today.I am astounded by the vastness and beauty of this country. My brother has put me on the train to Richmond, Virginia, where I will meet with those who will help me begin my studies. I am presently in the dining car of this modern train, which has tables covered in white linen and small electric lamps attached to the wall. Nevertheless, the rails are bumpy, although not as bad as at home, so please forgive my crooked penmanship. From a marvelous galley kitchen in the next coach, you can order hot coffee, hot dogs-a soft ground-up meat cake (pork) in a wheat bun-vegetables hot and cold, pastries and many other kinds of sweets, and even beef and mashed potatoes with a meat sauce called "gravy." My brother's wife packed several days' meals for me, so I am fortunate to be able to save my few coins. I was surprised to learn the small value of the money I brought, and was quite dependent on my brother. I have faith that one day you will meet him. His church, Yungnak Presbyterian, is impressive with a congregation of nearly three hundred Koreans, an inspiration to me. But God knows my path, and I leave thoughts of my future in His hands, praying only that it will soon include our reunion. I have entrusted my father to assist you in any way he can.The Americans I have met are cautious with me until they learn about my country. Then they ask all manner of questions, which I am glad to instruct them on as best I can. It is sobering to realize that not a single person I have met on this train knows anything about us. Most have never heard of us. The church people I will meet in Richmond have set up evening meetings to teach others about the mission and to raise funds, and although my accent concerns me, I look forward to speaking about home. Your family is in my prayers, as are you.With blessings and the love of Christ,CalvinNovember 29, 1934Richmond, VirginiaMy Dearest Wife,Just this morning your letter of September 13 arrived, forwarded to me by my brother, and how glad I was to receive news of you and my parents. I am pleased to hear you are well and that your constitution is strong. I praise God that you have taken this turn of events as an opportunity to examine His presence in your heart. I commend your industrious teaching position and hope that your work in the mission is rewarding. I cannot thank you enough for the care you deliver to my mother, and give thanks that you have adjusted to their plain life, and with generosity.This is the American holiday of Thanks Giving and the campus is closed. I am staying with the dean of student affairs' family during the break, learning how to cook and clean American style. I know you will find this amusing, but Dean Howe believes I can become what is known as a Houseboy, since I am in sore need of employment. As it is, I must shamefully rely on the seminary for pocket money. Luckily the cafeteria has an abundance of good food and I have a ticket that allows me three hearty meals a day. A single trip down the steam table line, where cafeteria workers serve you all manner of hot food, is enough to grasp the wealth of this country. My fellow students take it all for granted, and I am beginning now to become less tongue-tied about choosing country ham or fried chicken. It is still warm here. They say it snows hardly at all.A curious thing occurred earlier this week when we had a class picnic out in a field. Excuse me for mentioning it, but when I found the latrines, I saw signs posted for "Colored" and "White." I headed toward the door marked "Colored," but my classmates pulled me from that entrance, saying, "Cal, you are not supposed to go in there. That is only for Negroes." I protested that I was colored and that no one would accept me as White. They said, "Yes, you are. You're very well accepted as White among us." And so, though I'd read about such things, this was the first time I understood the special connotation of "Colored." There are no Negroes at the seminary and scant few to be seen in town. I am told they live in their own section of the city. One day soon, I will visit that area. They tell me that Negroes are mostly Baptists, and of a particular variety called Southern Baptist. I must learn why.I have much to catch up on in my studies. I may be sufficiently versed in the classics, but that means nothing here. I have tended to the schoolwork as never before, and when I grow weary of thumbing through my dictionary and am discouraged by the number of books before me, I remember my wife's situation and then can easily apply myself with diligence.While I am saddened that it is not possible at present for you to journey overseas because[image][image] I trust that God will see us reunited, and that soon you will complete your education despite I trust that God will see us reunited, and that soon you will complete your education despite[image] . .You are always in my thoughts and in my prayers.Yours in ChristSunday, January 13, 1935GaeseongDaughter,It is odd to write to you at your school, but since you insist, I continue to do so. I hope you do not keep secrets from your inlaws. We received the New Year's money for Dongsaeng, and while he is grateful for it, you must give all your earnings to your in-laws. It is not proper otherwise. His school is not expensive, so do not worry about him. You say your father-in-law returns an allowance to you, but instead of sending it to Dongsaeng, give it to his church if you have no need for it. Do not worry, we manage fine. Sadly, there is no news to report from Kira. She is thankful that you ask after her.Your father's health has greatly improved. It may well be because our diet is more balanced with a wider variety of food available lately, even after the winter. But his wellness is partially due to this other news: he has found an excellent prospect for Dongsaeng, a lovely young woman from Seoul recommended by Imo. Min Unsook is her name, and yes, a descendant of the royal family-one of the[image][image] majored in secondary education at Ewha. Best of all, she is a devout Christian. Her photograph shows her as being quite pale and thin. I worried that she appears frail, but Imo says she is a woman of great inner strength and elegance. Your brother complains, as you did, that he is far too young to be thinking of marriage, but otherwise he seems content. They will be married when he graduates in two years. She is just a little older and has another year at Ewha herself, and then she plans to work with the church, probably teaching. You should take comfort in the fact that your independence eventually had a positive effect on your father, enough that he approves of this plan. Once they are married, she will stay home. majored in secondary education at Ewha. Best of all, she is a devout Christian. Her photograph shows her as being quite pale and thin. I worried that she appears frail, but Imo says she is a woman of great inner strength and elegance. Your brother complains, as you did, that he is far too young to be thinking of marriage, but otherwise he seems content. They will be married when he graduates in two years. She is just a little older and has another year at Ewha herself, and then she plans to work with the church, probably teaching. You should take comfort in the fact that your independence eventually had a positive effect on your father, enough that he approves of this plan. Once they are married, she will stay home.Here is something else that will surprise you. Your father is carving many decorative doors and shutters, a hobby that he discounts as mindless and meaningless, but the pieces are exquisite with vines, flowers and birds. Naturally we never speak of it, but I think this also contributes to your father's improved health.As to your living situation, I hope that my daughter would find a way to adjust. Ask yourself, where is Jesus's example in your life? Of course it is an enormous disappointment that your husband is not at home to guide you in his household's ways, but it is small of you to call it "exile," and it is rude, as well as pointless, to complain. Is it so bad that you have completely forgotten your upbringing? The student's wife is your guest, is she not? You say it is not easy to live with her, but remember how Imo took such good care of you? You should return that hospitality to this woman. Some new mothers need more help than others. Try to be more generous in spirit. As for your father-in-law, he is a famous minister,[image][image] certainly a great man of God. What else matters? You should be honored to be in service to him and his church. In James it says, "Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He shall lift you up." Pray for guidance and patience. Think of your in-laws first. certainly a great man of God. What else matters? You should be honored to be in service to him and his church. In James it says, "Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He shall lift you up." Pray for guidance and patience. Think of your in-laws first.MotherApril 16, 1935Richmond, VirginiaMy Dearest Wife,During our long Easter vacation, I am glad to have a letter from home to mull over. First let me say how heartened I am to hear from you on the matter of your struggles, and that contrary to your fears, I welcome your confession and admire your frankness in searching for a way to Jesus. There is no shame in admitting weakness in faith. In fact, it is often a necessary step to open one's eyes to God. The Holy Spirit cannot easily enter an ignorant soul. Nor do I believe that our separation is punishment for lack of faith. That occurrence is not God's doing but others'. You know of what I speak. However, the opening of your eyes is, I believe, God's doing.I laughed at your description of how your neighbor described my youthful days back in the big house. I can see it left quite an impression, and yes, you are wise to have extrapolated that I was searching for the meaning of God at that time. So I will tell you what changed for me, although I believe that faith does not always grow in such a dramatic way. Some people, like your mother, come naturally to grace. I would remind you of her Christian example as one most sincere and inspiring.What happened is this. In early 1926 I accepted a job as principal of the ChoongKang Christian Elementary School, high in the north, not far from the Yellow River. Now please excuse this long description, but it is an important detail. From Pyeongyang it took almost three full days to reach the school, it was that remote: a half day by train to Gaecheong, a dirt road by bus to Gangweo, then a very treacherous mountain road several hours by bus to Jasang. From that point, there was scant regular transportation, but now and then a few nine-passenger cars went up the mountain, each taking about four hours to reach the destination.I taught twenty pupils in the third and fourth grades, and supervised another teacher who had thirty-five children in the first and second grades. Another part of my job was to assist the minister of the church in that community who served seventeen different parishes. He seldom stayed in one parish but traveled around to take care of many scattered churches. When the minister was not in town, the elders and I alternated on the pulpit, and I preached once a month. Fortunately, there were no funerals during the absence of the minister! After one of my sermons, an elderly woman said, "Principal Cho, your sermon was good, but how come you did not mention Jesus Christ?" I told her I would keep it in mind, and the next time she was apparently satisfied. So you see, at one time I practiced my faith without full sincerity.For the summer vacation I thought to venture home by the river route, which would save me a day's travel. At that time of year, loads of timber are floated down the rapids. A group of farmers and timbermen allowed me to ride in one of seven boats carrying soybeans down to Manpo where the rapids end. None of us realized that recent rains had made the water unusually wild. For a time we were lined up with the logs rushing in the same direction as the current, but at a narrow section of the river the logs went every which way and rammed the boats. The men jumped onto the logs, and with their lifetime of experience balancing on spinning timbers, all of them managed to reach the shore. I knew I could not walk on the logs and clung to the boat, which nearly capsized several times. Surprising everyone, for I'd been given up for lost, my boat was pulled to shore in Manpo. The other six boats had been crushed.At the end of that summer I returned to open the fall session. At Jasang there was a car but no driver available for the last leg of the journey. I waited many hours, and finally when a group of five other passengers arrived, one of them claimed to be the driver, although we learned later that he was not. We gladly climbed aboard and began the ascent. At one of the sharp turns, the inexperienced driver hit a bank and the car stalled, slipped back and fell over the edge. It rolled and I was tossed from the window. It rolled again and crashed farther down. I received only a bruised elbow and knee, some big bumps and a torn jacket. The driver and two men were killed. The women who sat near the front suffered serious injuries, and I learned later that they both had died.You will recall that my two younger brothers perished from TB. My life had been spared twice. Furthermore, each of these accidents occurred exactly on the one-year anniversary of my brothers' deaths. There had to be a very particular reason for this, and as I began to investigate, all the answers were larger than what I could fathom. So I came to believe in God's plan: first, because there was no other answer; now, because of His love. I decided to devote my life to the cause of the church. When I resumed my post as principal, I began reading the Bible, which I'd neglected for many years. I wrote to ask my father his advice on how best to understand this book and its intent, which led me to my study today. I pass his wisdom along to you, praying that you will take it to heart and find your own way. The best way to understand the Bible is simply to read it, and not rely on someone else's interpretation, but to read interlocking interpretations and discover them by yourself. He suggested starting with Psalms, Isaac and Matthew.As I mentioned earlier, the way to God is as unique as our human individuality. I'm afraid God had to knock rather hard before I let Him enter. Read as you will, knowing the words themselves and then the numerous translations over the centuries sometimes had political origins and motivations. I hope my story did not bore you. I share it with you so you will know that I understand something of one's struggle with faith. Please write me with your questions and discoveries, as I am eager to know your thoughts.It is very late. I will close now. My boss will frown at the electric light burning this long. I am houseboy for the Wilcox family three blocks from campus. For a few dollars, a room and two meals a day during school breaks, I clean, cook weekend suppers and otherwise help Mrs. Wilcox as I can. She is quite patient with me, and it will amuse you to know that I have become like a bride at her in-laws, learning all their odd ways. I have new understanding of your position, dear wife, and am glad that my family is not as particular as my employer.Yours in Christ23 November 1935GaeseongNajin, dearest friend,Congratulations on your certification! If only my father were still alive, you know how surprised and pleased he would be to hear about your obstetrics license. Mother is well, thank you. When I told her to whom I was writing, she said to say hello to "that free-thinking friend of yours." Since father died, his sense of humor has been reborn in her! So take what she says as a compliment, for she thinks highly of you, especially since she attributes my decision to marry Dr. Song to you.No, I have no regrets. He is kind and good to Mother, and he is quite modern. He is actually proud to have a wife in medicine, even if it is not his field of dentistry. I do not think of the past. No point. Besides, he makes me laugh sometimes, saying he is lucky to be the youngest in his family and therefore accustomed to following orders. He teases me that I am the big boss, not him. I suppose it is true. Have you heard from your husband yet? I would not worry that it is anything other than[image][image] these days. It took a month for your last letter to reach me. these days. It took a month for your last letter to reach me.Congratulations on your first official delivery. And a fat healthy boy! I am glad that the mother showed you something of her fine character, especially since she is[image] . I certainly cannot imagine giving birth to four kilos and not letting go a single cry. One thing I have definitely learned in medicine is that our bodily needs are equal to those of . I certainly cannot imagine giving birth to four kilos and not letting go a single cry. One thing I have definitely learned in medicine is that our bodily needs are equal to those of[image] heart, the kidneys, liver and lungs all function in one body like the next. In that part of our humanity, we are all the same. This and, of course, the other thing of the past probably makes it easier for me than it has been for you. Besides, my father was never quite as busy as yours was in that way, perhaps because he too dealt with the flesh and organs of all kinds of men and women every day. You are lucky to have a father-in-law and your own father still alive, especially since your father-in-law is esteemed. Lucky that he allowed you to take those classes and the examination, and that he lets you go out to deliver babies. You make me laugh when you say you wish you had a bicycle to get to mothers faster! heart, the kidneys, liver and lungs all function in one body like the next. In that part of our humanity, we are all the same. This and, of course, the other thing of the past probably makes it easier for me than it has been for you. Besides, my father was never quite as busy as yours was in that way, perhaps because he too dealt with the flesh and organs of all kinds of men and women every day. You are lucky to have a father-in-law and your own father still alive, especially since your father-in-law is esteemed. Lucky that he allowed you to take those classes and the examination, and that he lets you go out to deliver babies. You make me laugh when you say you wish you had a bicycle to get to mothers faster!I am glad you have found a friend in the choral master. What is so improper about having a friend, especially someone who works in the church with you? Surely, your father-in-law is jesting when he accuses you of falling in love with this man! I cannot quite interpret the hidden meaning in your words sometimes, and look forward to the day when we might be together again, laughing over one silly thing or another.It was great to hear from you, dearest friend. I promise to write sooner than the last time you heard from me!JaeyunSunday, February 16, 1936Daughter,It disturbs me to address my letters to your school. As you wish, then. I have posted at the same time a separate note to your father-in-law with an appeal to allow you to return home to tend to your very ill mother who is increasingly in need of care since the winter is severe. I pray God will forgive me for the lie, but I do it for you. Under no condition are you to accept any money from him. This is to be completely at your own expense and on your own conscience. While I am eager to have you home, I am also disappointed that you found the situation impossible. You must learn that there are all kinds of people in the world and there is something of God in each of them, even if they do not show it on the surface. I blame myself that I did not prepare you for a different kind of life, instead always encouraging you to think independently and to set your goals higher than traditional expectations. But I have learned something from this lesson, disappointing as it is, and see that I must pray hard to overcome the uncharitable thinking that I have passed on to you. I will say no more, other than to say we have met Min Unsook, who is indeed as lovely as reported. Even your stubborn brother is taken with her. Think little of the fact that letters from your husband[image] . Take heart. I doubt it is anything other than . Take heart. I doubt it is anything other than[image][image] which your father which your father[image] . Come home then. . Come home then.MotherAugust 31, 1936Wilmington, DelawareMy Dearest Wife,This afternoon I was relieved to receive the one letter dated "fourth month" from you, the only letter from home this year so far, and it[image][image] for I have written steadily every week. That the for I have written steadily every week. That the[image][image] , and is what I surmised since your letters simply ceased to arrive. I was quite worried, so my relief that you are well is enormous, especially on this, the second anniversary of our marriage. By my absence I have not been a good husband to you and I beg your forgiveness. A classmate from New York tells me that the talk at the , and is what I surmised since your letters simply ceased to arrive. I was quite worried, so my relief that you are well is enormous, especially on this, the second anniversary of our marriage. By my absence I have not been a good husband to you and I beg your forgiveness. A classmate from New York tells me that the talk at the[image][image] as well as the rising temperatures toward as well as the rising temperatures toward[image] . I hear also that the controversy about . I hear also that the controversy about[image] , and that the division is along class lines as it has historically always been. We are starved for accurate information. Know that I continue to keep you in my prayers and my mind as the distance between us, with unpredictable correspondence, seems to grow. , and that the division is along class lines as it has historically always been. We are starved for accurate information. Know that I continue to keep you in my prayers and my mind as the distance between us, with unpredictable correspondence, seems to grow.I hope your mother's health is benefiting from your wise hands as well as my own mother's health benefited. I also have not heard from my parents for some time now, but I know from what you have written to me that my mother will never forget the caring and gentle soul of her second son's wife. And you needn't feel sorry that now she has no one to help her. The seminarian's wife is there for another year and will undoubtedly be of assistance. How frightening it must have been to see a glimpse of your mother's mortality! I pray for her and for your continued strength in providing for her wellness. As for what you say is your failure as a wife, that is nonsense. It is I who have failed you, for no new wife should have had to suffer the transition from one household to another without her husband. I assure you that my parents will get along fine. They have the strong presence of their church and the mission community surrounding them.[image] and I am more than grateful for all that you've done for them and their church. It is difficult to express my emotion realizing that two years have passed without having you beside me. I pray every day for your forgiveness, and that soon we will be reunited. and I am more than grateful for all that you've done for them and their church. It is difficult to express my emotion realizing that two years have passed without having you beside me. I pray every day for your forgiveness, and that soon we will be reunited.You need not apologize nor suppose that I would have anything other than feelings of pride for your profession in obstetrics. Our situation as husband and wife is extraordinary, and you have adapted to it with both grace and strength. I applaud your enterprising spirit in pursuing at least some version of the plans we had laid, and hope the work gives you satisfaction. The only shame there is comes from my not having been able to properly provide for you. You need not ask my permission nor fear any judgment I may have over your decisions or actions. I am the one indebted, to you. Nor do you need to apologize for selling your engagement ring. I can[image] for you to have sold it. If the ticket home and the medicine it bought helped to relieve one hour of your mother's illness, the choice to sell it was well made. for you to have sold it. If the ticket home and the medicine it bought helped to relieve one hour of your mother's illness, the choice to sell it was well made.[image] I feel it necessary to let you know of my plans, as far as they can be known at this time. I can only pray I feel it necessary to let you know of my plans, as far as they can be known at this time. I can only pray[image] . You will note my new address, as I now study at Faith Theological Seminary trying to make inroads into the question of the separation of the Presbyterians. This seminary is the more extreme fundamentalist group. I see few theological differences, but there is definitely a difference in attitude. I am somewhat ostracized here because I attend many different churches, including Episcopalian and apostolic churches, to which the student body is strongly opposed. However, I shall be moving next month to Princeton Theological Seminary. With all my credits from various colleges, I expect to graduate in less than a year and become ordained. Here is the English address: c/o Dean of Students, Princeton Theological Seminary, Princeton, New Jersey. He will have some idea of my whereabouts. . You will note my new address, as I now study at Faith Theological Seminary trying to make inroads into the question of the separation of the Presbyterians. This seminary is the more extreme fundamentalist group. I see few theological differences, but there is definitely a difference in attitude. I am somewhat ostracized here because I attend many different churches, including Episcopalian and apostolic churches, to which the student body is strongly opposed. However, I shall be moving next month to Princeton Theological Seminary. With all my credits from various colleges, I expect to graduate in less than a year and become ordained. Here is the English address: c/o Dean of Students, Princeton Theological Seminary, Princeton, New Jersey. He will have some idea of my whereabouts.Thereafter, I will need to earn passage home, and will keep you apprised. The New York Presbytery is receptive to my inquiries, and it is likely that I will pursue work there. I can always rely on being a houseboy, though the payment is only a few pennies along with room and board. I hope for an assistant pastorship, but being a foreigner decreases that likelihood. Since my English has greatly improved, I can also translate. While long-term plans are difficult to make, I wanted to give you some idea of my possible whereabouts. And, as our distance grows[image] at home, I can only pray that God will provide as He has so far. I pray that His mercy and goodness keep you and your family safe and well. at home, I can only pray that God will provide as He has so far. I pray that His mercy and goodness keep you and your family safe and well.Your husband in Christ
The Moon's Portent
AUTUMN 1936 WINTER 1938
THE SCHOLAR HAN'S BREAKFAST LAY COLD AND UNEATEN ON A TRAY beside him. A note listing several classic poems and an open Bible were centered on his writing table in preparation for the words he'd speak at his son's wedding. Beside his elbow were the household accounts he'd soon relinquish to Ilsun as master of the family. And at his feet two Seoul newspapers, Dongah Ilbo Dongah Ilbo and and Kidok Shinmun Kidok Shinmun, bore headlines of another student protest in Seoul, this one spurred by the imprisonment of each newspaper's editors for superimposing an image of the Korean flag over the Rising Sun in the victory photograph of the winning Olympic marathoner, a Korean national. Rumors that the papers would soon be shut down concerned him as much as reports of the foreboding policies of the new governor-general, Minami Jiro. Among them was the required recitation of the Imperial Oath and Pledge at any public gathering and in the schools. Endless brainwashing! Endless brainwashing! thought Han. It was the subtlety of the smallest-seeming acts that proved to be the most coercive. On one of his recent walks, he'd heard a gaggle of young schoolchildren speaking Japanese, and when he addressed them in Korean, they looked at him uncomprehending. He rationalized that they were peasant children or Japanized orphans, but it needled him. thought Han. It was the subtlety of the smallest-seeming acts that proved to be the most coercive. On one of his recent walks, he'd heard a gaggle of young schoolchildren speaking Japanese, and when he addressed them in Korean, they looked at him uncomprehending. He rationalized that they were peasant children or Japanized orphans, but it needled him.
"Abbuh-nim, would you like your soup reheated?" There was his daughter, two months home from her failed marriage. He waved her away, not wanting to deal with the unanswered question of her procuring a job. A bad example for the new wife A bad example for the new wife, he thought as he scanned the list of poems. He was trying to remember a sijo about marriage written by a poet, a former military commander, who had famously commemorated the end of the Japanese invasions at the close of the sixteenth century. It was bad enough that he couldn't recite the poem, and now, was it possible that he'd forgotten the poet?
His stomach growled and he called for Najin. "You can reheat."
"Yes, Abbuh-nim."
He sensed her lean form as she bent for the tray and regretted that her husband had gone to America before providing a real chance for a grandson. He would remember to ask for that blessing during his son's wedding. Preparing his message, he culled from the Confucian theologian Zhu Xi, early Joseon Dynasty poets and the Bible. His wife had once accused him of being so old-fashioned as to be unable to see beyond the woods of his ancestors' cemetery. He could now concede to this, feeling reassured that Ilsun's classical training had prepared his son to have a foot in both yesterday and today. This made Han frown, knowing that more often than he liked to admit, Ilsun had both feet planted firmly in the present without regard for the past whatsoever.
Well, he thought, marriage will cure that marriage will cure that. When one's seed sprouts beneath one's roof, what was, and what will be, take on new meaning.
Najin returned quietly, startling him. "Here is chamomile tea with peppermint," she said, pouring. "Please drink this first."
He smelled its restful steam and nodded, pleased with her herbalist skills.
Najin's eyelids flickered with a faint smile, and he suppressed his pleasure at finding a rare moment when they understood each other. She bowed and left.
He sipped the tea and soup and his stomach calmed. Then he remembered Pak Il-lo as the poet and knew that the words he sought referred to the primacy of the spousal relationship. He also remembered that Pak's sijo and his "Song of Peace" were in a bundle buried beneath the floor of the hidden pantry. Too much trouble to dig it up, and he didn't want to hear Joong's grumbling if put to the task. He thought that the bookseller, Mr. Pahk, would have recalled the poem word for word, and regretted that the bookstore had gone under during the Depression. Father wondered if his old friend had survived the long journey to Nanking where he had relatives. Tension between Japan and China was as taut as a hangman's rope, and unfortunately, Han believed the prevailing news of an imminent and full-blown Sino-Japanese war. Already the Mongols had aligned with the Russians-what was it they now called themselves? yes, the Soviets-against further Japanese aggression. China was preoccupied with its own conflicts between the Kuomintang and Mao's Red Army. Mao's policies of violent revolution were also erupting in skirmishes in northeast Korea, and while Han believed any resistance against the Japanese was a good thing, the poorly armed and disorderly "justice fighters"-peasants led by peasants-seemed doomed to failure. Things were stewing with Western nations too. There was civil war in Spain, and the Showa Emperor had pulled out of naval treaty talks in London with the British and the Americans. It seemed the world was rife with controversy and foment. Han knew he wasn't so old yet as to be forgetful, but he was feeling overwhelmed by the many things he heard and read in the papers that he knew little about: Rhineland, Tunisia, Mussolini, the Nazis, and the Showa Emperor's talks with Hitler.
His eyes swept over his desk. What had he been looking for just then? The sijo, of course The sijo, of course, he thought, relieved to be in the familiar if momentarily forgotten territory of Korean literature. Perhaps Reverend Ahn, a classically educated man, would know the poem. Han also wanted to ask the minister about Bible passages used in traditional Christian weddings. He decided to visit the church and called Joong for his coat.
The street smelled crisply of leaves and fall debris. Han clasped his hands behind him and walked slowly, the sun warm on his neck. Some families had pasted banners written with harvest thanks and blessings outside their walls. Han wondered that thanks could be offered at all these days. Yes, the Depression was over and food was more plentiful, but the change was a by-product of the industry of war. He felt that preservation of the Korean way had become an afterthought. Instead, the northern insurgents and the youth, who had grown more vocal, were calling for a new paradigm that had little to do with the proven traditions, little to do with Korea's long history. How had Russia managed to spread its Bolshevik ideals? He felt a disquieting inner conflict, because the Japanese agreed with his distaste for communism.
A woman wearing anklets, high heels and a yellow cloth coat brushed by him. "Excuse me, Harabeoji." She ducked her head and hurried on. It wasn't the first time he'd been called Grandfather rather than Uncle. Naturally he didn't mind the misnomer. He attributed it to his appearance, as few men wore Korean clothes anymore. Frowning at the woman's bare calves and the visible sway of her hips, Han thought that his daughter might be forward thinking, but thank God she dressed with propriety. He passed through the market and noted that the people wearing Korean clothes were grandparents, women, peasants and workingmen. One man, burdened by a tower of straw strapped to his back frame, wore Western trousers with his Korean shirt and vest. Han unconsciously quickened his pace.
In the narthex he heard voices coming from the sanctuary. If the minister was busy, he'd return later in the day. He decided to check and opened the heavy wooden door. A dozen of the church elders were clustered in the front pews, talking animatedly. Having recently become aware of people's attire, he noticed that all the men wore suits. He cleared his throat loudly. Deacon Hwang jumped to his feet, as did a few of the others, visibly turning red.
"W-w-we're glad you c-c-could make it," said Hwang as hastily as his speech would allow. Han chose to ignore the obvious, and content to see that the minister was not among them, asked for him.
"Please come in, sir, and have a seat," said the new assistant pastor. He was a young man from the south who had struck Han as being too strident about the need for the church's outright support of the chaotic independence movement, particularly the uneducated warmongering clansmen leaning toward communism. "The minister was called to the hospital."
"I see," said Han. He stood a moment, using his dignity to augment their discomfort at having neglected to include him in their meeting. "Good day, gentlemen." He heard their dutiful protests, their respectful goodbyes and shuffling of feet as they stood and bowed, and he suspected he wasn't imagining the relief he heard beneath their parting words.
He climbed down the broad steps of the stone church, his back bent. He noticed nothing in the market on his return trip except for an increasingly painful stitch in his side. By the time he reached the hill home, he was resolved that Ilsun, after marriage, would fight for his point of view in the church community. His dinosaur ways might be discounted in the immediate present, but time would prove that tradition and history could be relied upon as the guide to a national solution. And it's possible And it's possible, he thought as he rattled the outside bolt to his gate, that I'm wrong that I'm wrong.
HAN GRACIOUSLY PRETENDED that nothing had occurred between himself and the churchmen, who gladly joined in Ilsun's wedding celebration, which was a quiet affair followed by a meager yet costly banquet in the church hall. The bride, Min Unsook, immediately proved to be an exceptional wife: softspoken, harmonious in her manner, a capable cook and a fine example for Najin, not to mention Ilsun himself. His wife had only good things to say about their daughter-in-law's contributions to the household. The responsibility for the family's affairs shifted to Ilsun, who had graduated from upper school with respectable marks, although disappointingly not at the top of his class.
Winter draped the estate in snow and freezing sleet, and Han felt less and less inclined to take his daily walk. Reverend Ahn continued to beseech him to join in their clandestine meetings, and Han continued to send Ilsun in his place. His son reported little from these gatherings, which were held in the guise of Bible study at irregular times and locations. Ilsun merely said they were boring and that the copastor indeed had leftist leanings. Soon, the requirement that all public gatherings be police-monitored and delivered in Japanese language prevented meetings altogether. Still, the men managed to convey news and discuss politics in private social events.
Han said nothing when Ilsun permitted Najin to work at the mission school, and heard from his wife that his daughter was taking courses at the new medical college connected to the hospital. He privately hoped her training would help improve his daughter-in-law's apparent inability to conceive. Based on the nighttime sounds from Ilsun's rooms, Han didn't have to tell his son to work harder toward that goal. He continued to read the newspapers and urged Ilsun to speak for him among the churchmen. Then, by summer, darkening changes made even this simple request too risky, and he told Ilsun to avoid talk of politics altogether.
In July 1937, training exercises on the Marco Polo Bridge just south of Peking escalated into a skirmish between Japanese and Kuomintang troops. Each nation blamed the other for instigating the event, and Chiang Kai-shek refused Japan's offers to negotiate, which included demands for an apology. Within a month, Japan overcame the poorly trained northern Chinese in Peking and Tsientsin, then attacked Shanghai. By the end of the summer, just as Han had feared, Japan was at war in northern China. Winter brought newspaper stories of glorious imperial victories in Nanking, but by then the press was once again completely controlled by the Japanese. Missionaries were telling contrasting stories: massive slaughter of prisoners of war, uncountable civilians murdered and shocking atrocities. During the Battle of Nanking, an incident sparked hope that the Americans would become involved, which might soon end the war and free Korea. Japanese planes had destroyed the U.S. gunboat Panay Panay in the Yangtze River during the attack. But diplomatic apologies and reparations were offered, accepted, and the Americans kept their distance. It seemed that no one wanted to confront the Japanese, whose might was largely being drawn from the Korean peninsula- Korean rice shipped to feed the Japanese military, raw material churned from Korean mines to feed hundreds of new factories, which smelted the ore into mechanical parts for the war machine. The military presence in Gaeseong multiplied again, newspapers trumpeted imperial propaganda-and occasionally included the drivel of a serial novel-and mail grew increasingly censored, if delivered at all. in the Yangtze River during the attack. But diplomatic apologies and reparations were offered, accepted, and the Americans kept their distance. It seemed that no one wanted to confront the Japanese, whose might was largely being drawn from the Korean peninsula- Korean rice shipped to feed the Japanese military, raw material churned from Korean mines to feed hundreds of new factories, which smelted the ore into mechanical parts for the war machine. The military presence in Gaeseong multiplied again, newspapers trumpeted imperial propaganda-and occasionally included the drivel of a serial novel-and mail grew increasingly censored, if delivered at all.
Ilsun had come to him once, proposing to invest what little they had in an illegitimate-sounding deal to export ginseng, but Han lost his temper and insisted that his son continue his art and calligraphy with an eye toward the rest of his formal education, perhaps-after Unsook conceived-at Yonhi College in Seoul. He told his son to save for the tuition. But since Han no longer monitored the household accounts, he had no knowledge that within six months all ready cash had disappeared, nor was he aware of the reason for the rapid depletion. He did know that his son spent too little time with brush in hand, and that he was often not at home.
One winter night late in February 1938, Najin came to Han in his study. As she stood before him, he realized they hadn't shared this space since she was a child. He looked at the scattered shavings of maple surrounding him like termite's waste, the scraps of seasoned oak and maple limbs, rough pine boards, chisels, awls and files-a different kind of place than twenty years ago. He rubbed an oiled rag on a spindle that would become part of a shutter, and indicated that she should sit.
She brushed sawdust aside and sat on her knees. "Father, I've come to ask your advice about quitting my job."