The Secret of Water
WINTER, END OF FEBRUARY 1919.
LOUNGING ON MY BEDROOM FLOOR IN THE LONG LIGHT OF YELLOW sunset, I lazily copied sentences. Kira stuck her head in. "Quick, Ahsee! Your mother calls-her time has come!"
I flew to my mother's room. A wrinkled woman with slits for eyes and a downturned mouth pointed her finger and barked. "No children! I'm a midwife, not a nursemaid."
"She's old enough," said Mother. "Her hands are strong. She can help and learn, and maybe she'll be more prepared when she becomes a woman than I was." My eyes widened at her forceful words and cross tone toward the lower-class woman. Scowling, the midwife tossed me a rag to tie around my hair.
The floor had been cleared of its mats. Cloths were piled neatly next to three containers of water and a large empty pan. Kira whispered to me importantly that it was her job to keep one bucket filled with hot, another with cold, and the urn with lukewarm water to bathe the new baby. My mother's table and chest had been moved to the hallway to make more room, but with the four of us moving about, the space was crowded and stuffy. I sat beside a bed pallet made of old quilts where my mother, in a cotton slip and old blouse, alternately rested and squatted, breathing sharply with tight lips when contractions came. Between those fearful episodes, she explained what would happen, but nothing she said could truly prepare me for the coming ferocity of birth. The midwife timed the spasms and instructed me to keep Mother's neck and brow cool with wrung cloths.
Mother squinted, her face white and sweating, and suppressed the cries that claimed her throat. Despite her earlier assurances, I was certain she was dying, and scared tears ran down my cheeks. I gripped her arm, wanting to keep her in this life. When the pain passed, my mother exhaled and relaxed. "Don't be frightened, Najin-ah." Her eyes were ardent, bright and peaceful. "This is a woman's natural act-a great gift from God-and though hard for the body, it's nothing to fear." After the next contraction, my mother said it was the same as when I was born, and look at the goodness that had come from such pain. I wanted to, but couldn't smile. I brushed aside the sodden hair clinging to her cheeks and burning forehead. The corners of the room seemed to approach; grasping shadows that clawed at the bubble of safety created by my mother's rhythmic breathing.
The labor pains intensified, and she clenched her teeth with such severity that saliva wet her chin. The midwife thrust a twisted cloth into my mother's mouth. Between her bouts of rapid breathing, I saw her face contort to a fierceness I'd never seen before. Petrified, I wanted to scream, and the same spirit that had entered my mother's body sealed my throat. It seemed obvious that screaming would help, but my mother was in a trance, her eyes pinpoints, her neck and shoulders sinewy and glistening, lips blue and stretched taut around teeth clamped on the wad of cloth. Then she groaned-a low and long animal sound, curiously soft, that seemed to emanate not from her mouth but from deep within her body-and her belly rippled like the spiraling wake of a rock tossed in a pond. She gasped for breath, and veins I'd never known existed pulsed like snakes on her temples. She curled her back and pressed downward, her face fiery red. I cried out in fear. The midwife stooped low in front of my mother and caught the baby's bloody wet head. He was ugly and alarming, but all my fear left when I saw his flattened human ear. "Umma-nim, look!" I shouted.
"Hush," she said through her teeth, and pushed again. Thus did I witness my mother's strength and the miracle of her body birthing my dongsaeng dongsaeng, my younger sibling, a wet and wailing mess.
"A boy!" cried the midwife, her stern features lightened with pleasure. She cut and tied the cord and swept the baby aside to clean and check him, encouraging Mother to continue pushing to deliver the afterbirth. An overwhelming stench and a surprising mess of blood and tissue made me afraid again, and I turned from the baby to my mother. I was unaware how tightly I clutched her arm until she said gently, "Let go now, and help me bathe." I was so happy she had returned to me that I burst into tears. My fingerprints remained white on her arm for the entire time it took to wash and help her to a bed freshly made by Kira. It was odd to see Kira treating my mother like a child, but her soothing clucks and instructions to lift an arm, turn the hips a little, and the sound of her rough hands coddling the quilts around my mother's body helped restore us all.
The midwife laid the infant against Mother's breast. "Huh!" said the old woman. "He's a smart one, eh? Look how hungrily he suckles!" They cooed over the perfectly formed infant while Kira and I soaked stained linens and washed the floor. The midwife gave me dried anise leaves and shavings of angelica root for Cook to make a tea that would promote milk production, relieve cramping and revive the uterus. As I left for the kitchen, I heard the midwife whisper admiringly to Kira that she had never before witnessed such refinement during a birth.
By the time I returned, dignity had been fully restored in my mother's room. I checked the corners, and no spirits were lingering. Mother showed me how quickly the baby took to each breast, and then her own breath and body quieted, and her eyes closed.
"Let her rest, now," the midwife said kindly. "You did very well," she added, as if I had done anything at all. I bowed gratefully and thought that she was a most amazing woman to come and work the arduous hours of birthing, to help bring order, and life, out of chaos and pain. She wrapped the baby in white silk bunting and took him to my father.
I sat outside the door partially hidden by the linen chest when Father came, holding his son in upturned hands as if he held a sacred relic. Mother woke when he crouched beside her, and the smile they shared seemed so filled with light it made me breathless. In the dim room, Father's features were as smoothly washed with wonder as Mother's. He spoke with a voice as gentle as the sunset filtering through the high windows. "On the hundredth day, I will name him Ilsun, first son of Korea."
I knew it was wrong of me to think that, as the baby's elder, I was then first daughter of Korea, and I remained a motionless shadow. But I admit that I was smiling inside.
THE NEXT MORNING, the house still felt strange. I tiptoed into Mother's room and, relieved, saw her sleeping peacefully. Wanting to be close to her, to be reassured after the previous day's ordeal, I knelt by the bed and touched a finger to her forehead. A shiver coursed up my arm, and with it, a dream of tall palms bursting from an oasis of shimmering water. The dream desert's clean light flooded my eyes, and the image nestled in my breast. I gasped with its sharpness, and my mother's eyes opened, smiling at me, confirming the vision, and my heart swelled with this surprising bond between us. Cook entered with herb broth and a basket of towels and chased me away. Like hearing the last echo of a wonderfully read story, I wanted to keep the vision in my head as long as I could and went to my room to lie on the bare floor. Yes, two palm trees, like those in Bible pictures, two long straight legs reaching to heaven, and water that I knew was absolutely clear, as cool and sparkling as the stars in the night sky, water of a purity that only a dream could hold. I ached to ask my mother what it meant.
She would stay in bed for five days cosseted by blankets and servants-postpregnancy being the only time in her life when she would allow herself to rest. As the day wore on, I felt lost without Mother on her feet. I didn't feel like reading or helping Kira or Cook, which I knew I should be doing. I wandered through the courtyard and saw my father sitting on his inner porch. I approached to see the prize he caressed in his lap. He gazed at his son with such steadfastness that I wondered if he could see anything else. I was nearly upon him before he noticed me, startled. "Yah!" He turned and held the baby close. "Have you washed your hands?"
"They're clean, see?"
"Don't talk back! Have you no respect?" His rebuke and the deepening furrow between his eyes confused me.
"Abbuh-nim-"
"Where are your manners? Where is graciousness? What kind of things will my son learn from an inept peasant of a sister!"
I knew that I should bow, offer an apology and go away, but somehow my body wouldn't bend.
"Look at your hands. It won't help to wash-dark as a peasant's! What will he learn?"
I had the terrible sacrilegious thought that it was I who had seen the baby born-I who was was the firstborn-and that made me special, more special ... I couldn't finish the thought and forced my feet to retreat, remembering at the last minute not to run in my father's presence. I turned at the edge of the courtyard to see him tighten the baby's bunting and go inside. the firstborn-and that made me special, more special ... I couldn't finish the thought and forced my feet to retreat, remembering at the last minute not to run in my father's presence. I turned at the edge of the courtyard to see him tighten the baby's bunting and go inside.
Dried stalks of tiger lilies whipped my arms as I ran toward the pond in the far corner of the estate. I stopped, panting from running and holding in my angry tears. I had only wanted to see him! The toes of my gray rubber shoes touched the edge of the pond, its surface spotted with lacy green mire. I remembered the tiny white elbow I'd seen in the bundle Father held. I wiped my eyes and face with my fingers and looked at my hands and wrists-ruddy brown, carelessly tanned. Remembering what he'd said, I rubbed my forehead as if to erase my skin color, and tried to retract my hands into too-short sleeves.
I walked by the pond late into the morning and listened to the rhythmic whir of dragonflies' wings, catching glimpses of their fleet black bodies reflected in clear circles left by melting ice on the algae-coated surface of the pond. Sometimes I saw my face mirrored as well, but I drew back to avoid the reminder of my features. Even if I swore to always carry an umbrella to shade me from the sun's baking rays, my skin would never be as fair as that pure pale newborn's. With a long stick, I stirred circles in the water, and the algae shapes swirled as inchoately as my feelings. I was thrilled to have a sibling, especially the boy both my parents had long prayed for, but I also feared that things would be different, like how my father had turned toward the house. I trailed through the willows, their bare wispy arms softly brushing my shoulders, and I remembered how my mother said she was counting on me to be a good nuna to my brother. It calmed me to think that fulfilling my responsibilities as older sister might favorably shape the changes the baby brought to our lives. I headed back toward the house, hoping he'd grow out of infancy soon, so I could prove how good a nuna I could be.
LATER THAT WEEK, after school, I sat on my knees next to Mother's bed, admiring the contented baby's appetite.
"Let me show you something," she said. "You should know this so you can understand your father better, and now your dongsaeng, and be properly respectful to them." Mother lifted the blanket and her nightskirt, and with clinical description explained the origins of the blood staining the cloth between her legs, the soft, loose flesh of her still-expanded belly, the seepage of milk from dark, flowering nipples. Having washed together with my mother countless times and having witnessed the birth, I merely raised my own skirt to examine my child's body with comparative interest as she described the biological process of life so recent that her body still trembled in remembrance of its violence and mystery.
"This is the great gift that God has given to women," she said, "and women alone." She smoothed her skirt and blanket over her legs. "Following the glory of Jesus's example, we suffer with the greatest gifts we receive. This is something that a man will never understand in the way a woman will. Certainly a man's seed is essential, but the creation of life is within us. For them it is outside. They are our fathers, husbands and our sons, and it's your duty to honor and respect them, but this they will always be standing outside of."
She patted my hand beside hers on the bed. "Do you remember how the palm trees sprouted from the lake in the dream?" A shiver ran up my back and became needle pricks down my arms. I looked at her fully, and my eyes rounded and fused with the warm blackness of her pupils. "Yes, my daughter, that was a dream of your brother. I knew when you touched me that you had seen the same vision. I dreamed of those palm trees many times when he was inside me. The first time was the night before your first day of school. That day was a double blessing for us."
I remembered that the trees seemed like long legs, so it made immediate sense that they would symbolize males. "That's how you knew he was a boy."
"Yes, and for you too. In my fourth month with you, I dreamt of catching a small white fish between my hands as I waded in a lovely stream, so cool, so fresh, so clean. Such a beautiful little fish, it made me laugh in my dream and I woke up laughing! That was you." She took my hand, and I felt as close and safe as if snuggled underneath her quilt beside her. I was made full and whole in her love, and she didn't let go of my hand for a long time.
"Dongsaeng was the trees?" I asked, and she nodded. "But why is there water in both dreams?"
"Men need water to live, but they cannot move as it does. Women are like the water that flows, feeds and travels over and under man's two feet stuck solidly in the earth. We are liquid. It is from us that he emerges, drinks and grows. And so," said Mother, brushing aside my hair sprouting wildly from restless braids and bronze combs, "when your father seems gruff, I want you to remember this. Women are especially blessed in a way that men can never grasp. Keep God's love in your heart and remember this always."
"Yes, Umma-nim." I clasped my hands tightly together in my lap, to prevent the secret of water from leaking between my fingers.
Ten Thousand Years!
MARCH 1, 1919.
THROUGH AN UNDERGROUND WEB OF LETTERS AND COURIERS, NEWS reached the men of the church that the nationwide demonstration for independence would be moved to the Saturday three days before Emperor Gojong's funeral. Japanese troops had been mobilizing in Seoul to control the large expected crowds, and staging the protest on March 1-Sam-il-instead of March 4, would catch them off guard. I was excited to hear this news. Since mission schools were closed on Saturdays, it increased the likelihood that Father would allow me to witness Gaeseong's demonstration. The day dawned dry, temperate and full of conviction. Branches tipped with flower buds and bursting leaves shone in the crisp morning sun. The tender pinks and baby greens of new growth attracted masses of birds, whose happy chirps and trilling made the trees ring with song. Outside the city, newly tilled soil filled mountain breezes with rich earthy smells, and sometimes the stench of fertilizer wafted through the streets.
My father and many others gathered at the church at two o'clock to hear the Declaration of Independence read by Reverend Ahn. Mother was on her feet and managing the household as always, but Father denied her desire to join him, deeming it unseemly for her to attend a political gathering, regardless of how many women they knew who would be there. Joong would accompany him and would run home at the proper time to alert the family to unfurl flags in celebration of freedom. How confident we were, and how naive.
That afternoon in a patch of glaring light in the southern courtyard, Kira and I wrung diapers and spread them on hedges to dry. The water was winter-cold on my hands, but the bright day warmed them as fast as flame. We heard a strange roaring sound and looked at each other as it grew louder. Nearing, the roar clearly became a crowd of people singing and chanting, most likely approaching the paved boulevard a few blocks south. I ran to Mother. "They're coming down the main road! Can we go, please? Can we watch?"
It took only a moment for her to decide. "Quickly! Get the flags. Call the servants!" Mother tied the baby onto her back and hurried down the street with Cook, Kira, Byungjo and me behind her unrolling our flags. We turned the corner and saw Joong sprinting toward us, all the spaces between his teeth visible in his big smile. He bowed to Mother and directed us to the next street. A parade passed through the intersection- a throng twenty times the size of a full church congregation. Men, women, boys and girls raised their arms in unison and shouted, "Man-se! "Man-se! Ten thousand years! Long live Korea's independence!" We waved our flags, our arms raised high like flagpoles, and hurried to greet the crowd. Cook and Kira lifted their skirts to dash up the street. Soon we saw Father in the midst of the marchers, his old-fashioned sleeves flapping with each salute of Ten thousand years! Long live Korea's independence!" We waved our flags, our arms raised high like flagpoles, and hurried to greet the crowd. Cook and Kira lifted their skirts to dash up the street. Soon we saw Father in the midst of the marchers, his old-fashioned sleeves flapping with each salute of Man-se! Man-se! his face youthful and joyous as he kept chorus with the others. Mother untied the baby and lifted him high above her head, and Father saw them and waved vigorously. his face youthful and joyous as he kept chorus with the others. Mother untied the baby and lifted him high above her head, and Father saw them and waved vigorously.
"Please, can I follow?" I asked. I felt flushed with everything looking lively and bustling and full of energy-the mass of people with their forward pulsing march, the froth of white sleeves and skirts brilliant in the sunlight, like a tidal wave whose force would sweep aside all ills. "Look, there's Sooyung from church, and look! His sister too! May I, please?"
"No, what would your father think? Come now-Man-se!" The baby cried at the thunder of the crowd every time Mother hoisted him in unison with each The baby cried at the thunder of the crowd every time Mother hoisted him in unison with each Man-se! Man-se! and the servants shouted and raised their arms. We marched alongside until the street narrowed, then watched the marchers turn the corner a few blocks ahead, waves of song and rallying cries fading, then swelling through cross alleys, then diminishing to echo in the wind. Road dust swirled in a sudden surprising silence. Mother wiped the baby's face with bunting. "I'll remember this momentous day for you, little son, so you'll know what wonders you saw." and the servants shouted and raised their arms. We marched alongside until the street narrowed, then watched the marchers turn the corner a few blocks ahead, waves of song and rallying cries fading, then swelling through cross alleys, then diminishing to echo in the wind. Road dust swirled in a sudden surprising silence. Mother wiped the baby's face with bunting. "I'll remember this momentous day for you, little son, so you'll know what wonders you saw."
"Where are they going?" I waved my flag at the empty street.
"Father will tell us about it when he returns. Oh! It's a historic day for Korea!"
I was too eager for Father's return to sit and study in my stuffy room. I asked Cook how I could help prepare the celebration meal, and she sent me to gather fiddlehead ferns by the north wall.
In the cool shade of tall pines, shafts of sun warmed the patch of neck between my braids, my hair absorbing the heat like a woolen scarf. I tied the front of my skirt to prevent it from dragging on the ground and stooped to pinch tender shoots, collecting them neatly in a basket, and carefully harvesting every other fern to reserve a crop for the following year. The ferns smelled dark and loamy. I roamed beyond the woods to the meadow by the brook where we did laundry in the summer, and found wild leeks and new dandelion greens. I plucked them and savored their green sharp smell on my fingertips, my cheeks sucking in as I anticipated the tangy salad Cook would make.
When I returned to the house, the fruit trees in the courtyard cast long clawlike shadows at my feet. "Look what I found!" The basket thudded on the kitchen table.
"Where have you been?" said Cook, her tone unnaturally sharp. "Your mother's looking for you. Quick! Wash hands and go."
"Is Father back yet?"
"Go on!"
I dipped my hands in the washbowl and rushed to the women's quarters, dripping water, my worried steps shaking the walls.
"Najin-ah!" Mother called from her room. I helped untie the baby from her back, and he started to cry. Mother pointed to a pile of clothes, brown and yellow with road dirt. "Take the baby and give those to Kira to wash right away. She's to lay them out in Joong's room to dry. Ask Cook to bring more hot water and clean rags to Father's room."
"What happened?"
"Do as I say!" She went out the porch to the courtyard, and I was alarmed to see her cut through the garden to reach Father's rooms, where the lamps burned brightly.
I cuddled Dongsaeng, humming until he quieted. I bent and held him on my back with one hand, and clumsily wound the binding cloth around my torso, tying it tightly until he felt snug against my spine. I gathered the dirty clothes and saw dark stains on the collar. Unbunching what I recognized was my father's shirt, I smelled earth and metal before I saw that the garment was soaked with blood. I hugged the clothes and ran to the kitchen.
"Is Father all right?" I showed Cook the bloodied shirt. "What happened?"
"What did your mother say?" Cook stoked coals beneath a cauldron of steaming water.
"Nothing!" I almost stamped my foot, impatient for information, and afraid. I remembered my mother's instructions and took a breath. "She said to bring hot water and clean rags."
Cook shoved a block of wood into the stove and fetched a large ceramic bowl. Moving with speed, she rolled her sleeves down her wiry arms. "And what else?" She kicked a stool over to a cabinet, climbed up and grabbed a handful of folded cloths from a high shelf.
"That Kira should wash these clothes. There's blood-"
"I see that. Do as your mother says. Kira's out back."
"But is Father-"
Cook carefully ladled boiling water into the crock. "Your father is hurt. Just above his eye, thank God. It's messy but not deep. Joong went for the surgeon, who's in with him now." The spry woman tucked the rags beneath her arm and cradled the steaming crock in a towel. "Maybe you can help Kira wash those clothes."
I hurried outside. When she saw Father's shirt Kira said, "Aigu!" "Aigu!" and clucked her tongue. Frightened childish tears wet my cheeks. and clucked her tongue. Frightened childish tears wet my cheeks.
"Now then, Ahsee. You'll wake the baby. See how nicely he's sleeping? He must like riding on your back the best. Don't worry. We can get the blood out. Look, I'll show you how."
I wiped my nose and followed Kira, who plunked a tub on the washing platform near the drain ditch. The youthful water girl energetically filled the tub with a bucket from the cisterns. She crouched beside the tub, threw in a handful of salt and splashed cold water on the bloody clothes. "Ahsee, sit here." She patted a dry spot beside her on the planks. "I'll tell you what I saw and heard."
I squatted next to her, rocking from one foot to the other to keep the baby asleep. While Kira swished water through the clothes and patiently rubbed the stain with a worn bar of ashy soap, she spoke. She'd been filling the cisterns on Father's side of the house when he came through the gate. "He walked normally, but he was holding this very sleeve against his head. I could see something was wrong and I said, 'Master, how can I help?' He told me to get Madam and Joong, and some towels. I did that, and when I brought the towels in, he was sitting on the porch saying he didn't want to bloody the mats. He sent Joong for the doctor, and Madam tried to clean his wound. A lot of blood came from his head still." Kira wrung the shirt and changed buckets.
"I saw tears in your mother's eyes," she said with a kindly look to me. "But her hands were steady and calm. She said Cook should boil water and I should get fresh water and some clean clothes for the master. When I got back, I heard him talking. I waited a little apart before I went in. See how it's almost gone?" She plunged the shirt in a second bucket and soaped it again. "Your father said that when they got to the police station no one knew what to do. They decided to go back to the church, but some of the young men disagreed. Then your mother saw me and said to put the clothes down and take the baby, but he was sleeping so peacefully, she changed her mind and told me to go."
Kira tipped the washtub and poured bloodied water into the ditch. "Cook said to bring them drinking water and take the soiled rags and wash them right away. This time the master was in his sitting room. I waited a little before I went in, so I heard him telling more." She looked sideways at me. "Except I don't think your mother would want you to hear."
"You must!" I stood to shift the baby higher on my back. "I promise I won't say anything."
"Come closer." Kira lowered her voice. "Somebody named Kim was shot, and your father tried to help another man who got stabbed in the shoulder clean through. Then he said something about a soldier and a spear. The master stopped talking then-maybe they heard me. When I went in, he was sitting calmly in clean trousers. Madam had tied a towel around his head and was washing his back. She pointed to the bloodied towels I should take, and as I left, the doctor came.
"So you see, the master is perfectly alive and talking as usual. And now the doctor is taking care of him, and soon I'm sure he'll be wanting to see you and the little master too." Kira laid her heavy hand on my shoulder. Icy from the wash, her palm delivered a chill through my light cotton jacket that cooled my rapid heartbeats.
"Oh, Kira."
The baby fussed. Kira said to take him to Cook and perhaps Madam would feed him soon.
"I forgot to tell you that Mother said to dry the clothes in Joong's room. Are they his now? It's still a good shirt."
Kira shrugged.
"She wants to hide them?"
"Some things I don't want to know. Never mind. Now you know how to take out bloodstains, and next time I'll show you how to make soap." The gold edging on her front tooth flashed, and I thought I'd never seen such a generous smile.
I found Mother saying goodbye to Dr. Mun. The doctor's dark Western suit passed like a night spirit through the gate. The baby started to cry, fully awake and hungry. Back in our rooms, Mother breastfed him, her brow deeply creased.
I folded the binding cloth and sat quietly in front of her, waiting until the questions stopped spinning in my head and I could speak calmly. "Umma-nim, may I ask if Abbuh-nim is badly hurt?"
The baby's soft feeding noises, his miniature chubby hand resting on Mother's breast, the creamy smell of milk and the twilit room worked to smooth her lines of worry, her cheeks blushed pink from breastfeeding. Her voice, a low singsong, kept rhythm with the baby's sucking. "Your father's doing fine. Resting now. No need to worry."
"May I ask what happened?"
Mother nodded, her eyes half shut and bright from lactation. "After we saw them on the road, your father and the crowd marched all the way to the police station. Everyone had sworn a pledge of nonviolence and understood it was to be a peaceful demonstration." She stroked the baby's head, gazing at him, and said, "'Be not afraid!' was the motto for nonviolence that everyone swore to."
I hugged my knees and waited while she shifted the baby. "But what happened at the police station?"
"There was confusion. Some said they should return to the church to wait for news from Seoul. Others said they should wait there and hear the Declaration read once more. But armed policemen came out with a firehose, and a truck drove up behind the marchers. Your father thinks it was a traitor's work since they were organized and well prepared. An officer said to disperse or be arrested, and they turned the hose on with such force that people were thrown against each other. Those who tried to run were met with blows from the soldiers. This made some of the young men angry and they threw stones and dirt. Just dirt and pebbles from the road!"
Mother straightened her back and the baby made little noises, waving his hands to find a nipple. I squeezed his foot. "But still, it was wrong, and dangerous," she continued. "Your father said someone fired a shot then. The soldiers drew sabers and people screamed. They shot into the crowd. Everyone panicked and the soldiers charged. They beat people with clubs and bayonets. Animals! Many were hurt and arrested. Saegong's father was shot. Poor man! You know him, the baritone soloist." She bowed her head, praying he would be spared and his family protected. "Your father stopped to help another badly wounded man, and that's when he was hurt."
"Is it bad?" I twisted the ties on my blouse, the ends wrinkled and increasingly damp. I felt suddenly and irrationally responsible. I did not love my father enough, did not respect him or honor him enough, was not well behaved enough.
"No, his hat protected him somewhat. He was brave and foolish, but now I'm afraid they-" Mother hugged the baby and hid her eyes, but I saw tear tracks and was struck with new fear that he would be arrested again.
"Don't worry," she said. "He's home. He'll be fine. The surgeon cleaned his wound with iodine and sewed it together as easily as a torn sleeve. The bleeding's stopped and he says there's little pain. He'll have to sleep sitting up for a few days. I must remember to ask Joong to bring more pillows." She closed her blouse and held the baby out by his armpits. "Here, learn how to burp your brother. Hold him close, that's right. Support his head and rub his back."
I brushed my nose against my brother's feathery hair, inhaled his delicious scent and rubbed a little circle on the small of his back as my mother instructed. He released a loud gassy burst and we laughed.
"A good one! Watch me change his diaper, then you'll know everything about taking care of your brother."