This Burns My Heart

Chapter five

Outside the temple, the sun began to set, as Soo-Ja’s yin, her night, crept onto Min’s yang, his day. They arrived in their own traditional palanquin—Soo-Ja’s an enclosed carriage hiding her body from the world, Min’s an exposed wooden chair held by four bearers. Soo-Ja wore a traditional green and yellow silk hanbok dress with billowing sleeves, keeping her arms bent in front of her, one on top of the other. She had her long black hair tied tightly at the back and fastened by a long pin with a dragon head at one end. Min wore a high black hat with flat sides resembling wings, and a maroon jacket embroidered with the picture of two red-crested white cranes. At the bottom, his flowing silk pants were cut off at the calf area, revealing black boots made of cloth.

As the bearers rested the palanquins on the floor, Soo-Ja and Min emerged, facing the two hundred or so invited guests sitting on long rows of white foldout chairs. Guided by their attendants, Soo-Ja and Min took their initial places, standing a few feet apart from each other. With the sound of a twelve-string zither underlining their movements, Soo-Ja’s and Min’s respective attendants gently guided them so that they would face each other. Soo-Ja and Min performed their first bow—long and slow, in perfect unison.

Then, Soo-Ja alone began a second bow, as her attendant filled a gourd with rice wine and handed it to her. Taking it with both hands and her head down, Soo-Ja kneeled on the ground and stretched out her arms, offering Min the drink. Min made sure to also hold it with both hands, his elbows out, and drank slowly, before handing the empty gourd back to his bride.

After that, it was Min’s turn to receive a gourd of wine from his attendant and offer it to Soo-Ja. Once the two of them had performed a quarter bow, not as deep and long as their initial one, Min handed her the drink. According to custom, Soo-Ja was supposed to take only a sip, express her embarrassment, and hand it back to Min. But much to his surprise, and that of the guests, Soo-Ja drank it all, in a single gulp, making a point of enjoying it.

At this point, like seasoned actors, Min’s parents took their places on the ground. Soo-Ja and Min turned to them and performed a long, elaborate bow, one in which they folded their entire bodies, hands touching the floor, and heads lowered in respect. Then, Soo-Ja walked to them in small steps, her head slightly lowered, as customary, and offered them wine. Min’s father bowed back lightly and took the wine from her. The attendant then refilled the gourd, so Soo-Ja could offer it to Mother-in-law, who took a small sip in a solemn manner.

Her offerings done, Soo-Ja rose, as Min’s father threw jujube fruits into the air. Soo-Ja had some trouble navigating the way out, having to maintain her arms in a difficult position, and keeping aloft the costume’s heavy silk fabrics. Min, walking slightly ahead, seemed only dimly aware of her presence, almost leaving her behind.

During the meal afterward, Soo-Ja mentioned the awkwardness of the moment to Jae-Hwa, who told her not to be paranoid about such silly things, and that from the outside, she looked glorious, and it was one of the best ceremonies she’d ever been to.

When a young woman finally marries, the custom rules that she spend three days with her own parents, and then go live with her husband and his parents at their house. But as she stepped past the gates of Min’s home, Soo-Ja felt like she was trespassing. Her arrival there was marked by the fact that neither of her in-laws had stayed up to greet her, and both the main house and the adjacent quarters were completely dark. All of the lights were off, including those outside in the courtyard, and she had to walk carefully so as not to trip. Min made his way easily, clearly accustomed to this, but he never looked back to check on her, and she finally had to ask him to slow down.

Soo-Ja followed Min into the compound, walking past a small garden and toward the back. There, Soo-Ja saw where the main house ended and Min’s own adjacent, one-story house began, as humble and unassuming as a distant cousin. Min and Soo-Ja had two rooms to themselves, one for him to receive visitors, another for them to sleep in. They would be sharing the kitchen in the main house, where she was expected to cook and eat with the rest of the family. The single outhouse, on the other side of the courtyard, would also be shared with the others.

They went into Min’s quarters, and Soo-Ja waited for him to turn on a light to illuminate her way, but he didn’t. Finally, she reached for the lamp herself and turned the knob. Min looked at her as if she had violated a rule.

“You’re not supposed to do that,” he said.

“What? Light the lamp?”

“My mother doesn’t like us to waste electricity,” he said, pointing to the lamp.

“But it’s dark.”

“I know. We should be asleep. Turn that off.”

“I can’t see anything. How am I supposed to find the blankets?”

“They’re in the back there, on top of the armoire. Now turn that off. My mother will see the light,” said Min, pointing at the lamp again.

“Is she still up?”

“She’s in the house, praying.”

“Praying for what?” asked Soo-Ja, confused.

“What do you think?” Min retorted dismissively.

A grandson, of course. Already. And every night, until Soo-Ja delivered the expected news, her mother-in-law would pray, sometimes loudly outside, rocking her body back and forth with her eyes closed. During their honeymoon, which was to begin the next day—a trip to Cheju Island—Soo-Ja was expected to conceive. It was not unromantic; it was practical. Two days away from home, they could be noisy if they wished.

Soo-Ja reluctantly turned the light off, but only after she quickly memorized the position of everything in the room. There was not much furniture to speak of, only the armoire with mother-of-pearl for their clothes and blankets, and a small oak table resting against the back of the wall. As she began to make her preparations, Soo-Ja remembered something she had noticed a while back, during their wedding reception.

“Who were those three boys standing near your parents all the time at our wedding?” It was dark, and Soo-Ja could not see Min, just hear him breathing. She felt her way among the unfamiliar comforters, measuring through touch their thickness. The thinnest one went on the floor, and they’d sleep over it; then, they would place the thicker one over their own bodies. It would be unclean to sleep directly on the laminate and, no matter how hot it was, it would go against custom to sleep without something covering them. Soo-Ja began to spread the mats and comforters on the ground, waiting for Min’s answer.

“They’re my brothers,” he finally said.

“I thought you said you only had one brother and one sister.”

“You must’ve heard wrong.”

Suddenly, she heard the flick of a match, illuminating Min’s face for a second as he lit his cigarette.

“How old are they?” she asked.

“Chung-Ho is seventeen, Du-Ho is ten, and In-Ho is eight. And then there’s Na-yeong, my sister, and she’s fourteen.”

“So you have three brothers and a sister,” noted Soo-Ja, surprised.

“Two sisters. Seon-ae left when she turned eighteen.”

“Where is she?”

“Who knows.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had such a big family?” she asked, without moving.

“Are you getting the blankets ready?”

“Almost. You should have told me, Min.”

“I couldn’t risk it. I didn’t want you to slip away from my hands.”

“Like a bird, you mean?” Soo-Ja asked, half joking. She was on the floor now, unfolding the blanket and spreading it out to four corners.

“I can’t believe it. It’s done. I got you here,” said Min to himself, as he lit another match and watched it burn. His voice sounded completely foreign, as if he’d been using an accent and had finally dropped it. His features, too, seemed to rearrange themselves, returning to some earlier, previously unseen mold.

“What’s done?”

“My parents didn’t think I could find a wife. Because of my… poor economic prospects. But they underestimated the power of looks. Parents do that. They never know when their kid’s handsome.”

“I didn’t marry you for your looks,” said Soo-Ja sternly.

“Did you see my friends’ faces? Did you see how envious they were? Nobody thought I could do it. Nobody believed in me.”

Soo-Ja was done arranging the mats and pillows on the floor. Though she could not see Min well, she could tell from his movements that he’d taken his shirt and pants off before he slipped under the comforter in his undershirt and long pajama bottoms. She did not join him.

Instead, she leaned her back against the wall and stayed there, listening to the hum of his inhaling and exhaling the cigarette smoke. Min did not call for her or demand that she join him, as if he were already spent, as if the important act had already taken place, and all he wanted to do was rest and revel in its aftermath.

“I did it. I got you.”

“And I got you,” said Soo-Ja, trying to sound casual.

Min laughed, as if she were a fool. “Yes. That’s what you got.”

Soo-Ja was still bothered by Min lying to her about how many siblings he had. “Was there anything else you lied to me about?” She realized this might sound harsh, but Min did not seem to notice. Strange talk for one’s wedding night.

“I couldn’t take the risk of you bolting. If you knew I had five siblings, you’d never have agreed to marry me.”

“I never thought about your family much. I always knew we’d leave them and go to Seoul, just the two of us,” said Soo-Ja, tasting the anticipation in her lips.

“I don’t know what gave you that idea,” said Min, his voice sounding like metal. “We belong here, with my parents. It is our job to serve them.”

Soo-Ja felt as if the air were being squeezed out of her lungs. “But you said you’re going with me to Seoul,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “To start my training as a diplomat. You said you’d let me—”

“I never said anything like that,” said Min, a little too quickly, almost snapping at her. “Why would I?”

“I thought… You told me…” said Soo-Ja, her heart sinking.

“Are you talking about that letter your father gave me?” asked Min.

“My father?” asked Soo-Ja, her jaw dropping. “He gave you that—”

“Yes, but I threw it away. Pieces of paper like that are dangerous. They give you paper cuts.”

Soo-Ja felt the room begin to whirl around her, and she had to reach against the wall to remain steady. Soo-Ja realized how badly she had misjudged Min. He would never let her go to diplomat school. He would never support her goals. She had imagined she could live outside her own time and place, free from the same gravity that bound everyone else. But she’d been wrong.

“What did my father tell you when he gave you that letter?” asked Soo-Ja.

“Your father is not like mine,” said Min, not answering her question. “Once my father makes a decision, he sticks with it. Is this how it’s always been for you? He says no to you, and then he feels sorry and says yes? I bet you don’t even know what it’s like. To not get what you want. You have been spoiled all your life, Soo-Ja. I could tell when I first met you.” Min let out another big cloud of smoke. Soo-Ja knew the unfairness of his words. “You also have a habit of not wanting to admit defeat. I’m not sure yet if it’s a good or a bad quality.”

“I didn’t realize I was defeated,” said Soo-Ja, feeling bruised. Her mind wandered to the night they had first made love. Lights flashed in her head, blinding her.

“Have you ever not come out on top?” asked Min.

“You didn’t get much in the bargain, Min,” said Soo-Ja, trying to recover some of her footing. “I’m not exactly a princess.”

“No, but you’re not a factory girl or a farmer’s daughter, and those were the kinds of girls I was courting before I met you.”

Soo-Ja closed her eyes. She could not bear to look at her husband. “I think we should try to go to sleep. We have a long trip ahead of us tomorrow. I would say good night and turn off the lamp, but it’s dead already.”

“All right, I’m sorry,” said Min, sounding disingenuous. “What I said, just strike it from the record.”

In the dark, Soo-Ja changed from her street clothes into her pajamas. She slipped under the blankets and lay next to Min. Tears began to fall. She could not fall asleep, and she sensed that neither could he. Then she heard a small voice say something. It barely registered, like a sound squeezed out of an animal’s throat. She turned to Min and heard him repeat it, louder this time.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?” Soo-Ja whispered back.

Min turned his back to her. “You’ll find out soon enough.”