This Burns My Heart

PART TWO

Orchid

Three Years Later

Daegu, South Korea

1963





chapter six

Soo-Ja thought of herself as a mother first, but for the rest of the world, she was a daughter-in-law. And as such, she was expected to take care of all the Lee children, especially her teenage sister-in-law Na-yeong. Her parents lavished upon Na-yeong all kinds of expensive sweets and treats, though Soo-Ja wasn’t sure why they had chosen her as the single object of their attention and love. Perhaps they favored Na-yeong because she was one of the youngest, thought Soo-Ja, and thus least damaged, or the one with the shortest list of grudges. Maybe the chosen one had originally been Min, until her in-laws finally realized they couldn’t rely on him—Min was too erratic and rebellious, quitting activism one day, then taking up boxing the next, only to quit it, too, and return to his father’s factory, though not as a manager but as a packer. Soo-Ja wondered if maybe her in-laws, in private discussions, had gone down the list of names of their children one by one and ran out of options—Min’s sister Seon-ae, the second oldest, had left home and never come back; Chung-Ho, the third eldest, resented being forced to leave school and work; Du-Ho was not very smart and therefore written off; and In-Ho, the youngest boy, was too prone to sickness.

So when Na-yeong turned eighteen, it was a momentous occasion, and her in-laws set up a meeting with a matchmaker to find her a husband. When Soo-Ja heard about this, she began to look at Na-yeong with a suitor’s eyes. Tall, long-limbed Na-yeong wasn’t beautiful, but she also wasn’t homely. Na-yeong had fine, almost patrician features, her face not round like her parents’, but a long oval. Her eyes were also bigger, and sometimes luminous. Na-yeong did not look like Mother-in-law, who was tanned and robust, but when Soo-Ja looked through an old photo album of the family, she saw she looked just like her grandmother. Na-yeong’s features had skipped one generation, and she had been plucked straight from the past, maybe from a long line of women who looked just like she did.

But Na-yeong was clearly her parents’ daughter, in that she had almost all the same facial expressions and, like her father, hardly ever smiled. You could tell right away they were father and daughter. Soo-Ja imagined that what was inside Father-in-law had managed to manifest itself on the surface of Na-yeong’s body, as if what’s inside a parent could show up on the child’s appearance. Father-in-law had a general’s build and moved like a tree trunk, but in Na-yeong’s thin frame, Soo-Ja could see the emptiness inside Father-in-law; in Na-yeong’s bony arms and legs, his exquisite avarice.

If she were the matchmaker, what kind of man would she bring for Na-yeong? Soo-Ja wondered. For there must be someone for her, since everyone has a match. Only in books is marriage reserved exclusively for heroines. In real life, her cousin and her cousin’s cousin must get married, too. Soo-Ja pictured boy after boy for Na-yeong—slender, chubby, young, old, rich, poor—until Na-yeong caught Soo-Ja staring at her, and she looked away. But when Na-yeong focused her attention back on a magpie outside the window, Soo-Ja stared at her again, wondering what makes two people right for each other. Was it invisible, like gas, or open to the eye, like sparks in wiring?

Weeks went by without news from the matchmaker, until finally she said she’d bring a suitor for Na-yeong. Mother-in-law clapped her hands once, in excitement, as if catching a fly, and when Na-yeong shyly looked up from her romance novel, Soo-Ja could hear her young heart beating from across the room. So they were like her, Soo-Ja realized; unable to temper their emotions with caution, jumping at a new possibility like a mad diver off a cliff. How is it that they were not exhausted and spent at the end of the day, when the mere promise of love, of a partner, could whip them all into a state of frenzy?

The day the suitor was to arrive, the entire house was in a whirl, for they rarely had guests, and never any of consequence. They all felt invested in this, as if they’d been movie extras previously forgotten in a greenroom, and had finally been asked to report to the soundstage for their scene. The boys all dressed up in their best, and Father-in-law and Mother-in-law put on their hanboks. Soo-Ja herself spent the morning making sweet rice cakes. She steamed the grain until it became sticky and pounded it on the mortar until it hardened. She then covered the white cake with mashed red beans, cutting it into square pieces.

Soo-Ja did not complain as she prepared the confection. In the years since her wedding, Soo-Ja had mastered what she called her outside Hahoe face—serious, though not serious enough to the point of being a frown. She put that mask on, preventing others from looking in and seeing her unhappiness. With it, she could hide her anger and frustration, and expertly play the part of the obedient daughter-in-law. For Soo-Ja, that was a job like any other, and if she couldn’t be a diplomat, then she would take all her energy and discipline and channel it to the household. While her sister-in-law frequently feigned being ill to avoid doing chores, Soo-Ja rose without complaint early every morning, and did the work that kept things running.

Around the time the suitor was supposed to arrive, Soo-Ja ran back toward her room to change. She wanted to make her daughter and herself look more presentable. She was about to go in when she saw Mother-in-law walking urgently in her direction.

“The rice cakes are on the plate. I’m just getting changed,” Soo-Ja told her.

But Mother-in-law—her hanbok gown sweeping the floor—kept walking until she reached her. She looked worried.

“Hana’s mother, go for a walk with your daughter and stay outside for a few hours.”

“Go out? Why?” Soo-Ja stood on the small walkway between the main house and her own quarters. Her daughter leaned against her legs playfully.

“Just until he’s gone.”

Soo-Ja looked at her, stung. “Why? Why can’t I stay?”

“Because of the way you look.”

“The way I look?” asked Soo-Ja, more confused than offended.

“Like a poor relation.”

Soo-Ja looked down at her old pink cotton shirt, faded after many washings; her indigo skirt passé now, but fashionable a few years back. It had been months, too, since she’d had a proper haircut, and now she wore her hair held back all the time.

“It’s cold outside,” said Soo-Ja curtly, holding her daughter closer to her. “I don’t want Hana to get sick.”

“You’re always dying to go out, to do this, to do that. Now I ask you, for a good reason, and you’re reluctant. You’re like the stubborn frog in the folk tale, always doing the opposite of what he’s asked.”

“I’ll just wait in my room until he’s gone.”

“No! The child’s going to make a racket and disturb the guest!”

“Child? You mean, your granddaughter,” said Soo-Ja, indignation scorching her body.

“Yes, granddaughter, not grandson. You have a big mouth for someone who’s failed at her only duty in life. Now go. You remember what happened last time you disobeyed me?”

“You took Hana away from me for a day,” said Soo-Ja, the memory still branded into her brain.

“Yes. Let’s see how you’d like it if I made that a week. But the problem isn’t her, it’s you. You can leave her behind if you want,” said Mother-in-law, turning around and rushing back to the main house.

Soo-Ja wouldn’t leave Hana behind any more than she would leave behind an arm or a hand. Hana went everywhere with her. How unfortunate that mothers didn’t have pouches on their bellies, like kangaroo mothers did! Instead you saw them as Quasimodo creatures on the street, women with babies (and sometimes toddlers as old as three) strapped to their backs, hunched forward like two-headed animals, one face to the past, the other to the future.

Hana, who’d been listening to this conversation carefully and who loved leaving the house, glanced at her, waiting for her decision. Saying nothing, Soo-Ja put a coat on her daughter and placed a warm woolen cap over the child’s head. Hana spontaneously danced, as she always knew when Soo-Ja gave her the cap that she’d get to go for a walk.

“I like eomma when eomma take me out!” said Hana, the words roundly slipping out of her lips.

“I know, but it’s cold, Hana.”

“I don’t like eomma!” Hana protested, thinking that her mother had changed her mind.

“But you just said you did,” Soo-Ja teasingly replied.

“Only when eomma take me out!”

“Oh—so only when eomma take Hana out?” asked Soo-Ja, kneeling in front of her, smiling. “You don’t like eomma all the time?”

Hana shook her head. “No!”

“Eomma likes Hana all the time, though. Does Hana like eomma when I give her sweet potatoes?”

“I like eomma!”

“How about when I sing a song for Hana?”

“I like eomma!”

“Then I guess I’m going to have to take you out all the time, and give you sweet potatoes, and sing to you, huh?”

“Yes! Do that!”

“Do that?” Soo-Ja could not hide her delight. “All right, I’ll do that.”

How could her daughter entertain her so? Soo-Ja wondered. In her little girl, she had found her greatest ally. Hana made her laugh, made her feel light. Even though Soo-Ja spent so much time taking care of her, she still felt like she was the one getting the better part of the bargain.

Soo-Ja could not imagine her life without Hana. From the moment she was born, Hana had delighted her. On each birthday, Soo-Ja thought, with a tinge of regret, Oh, don’t get older. You’ll never be as adorable. She didn’t want her child to lose her baby fat. She would miss the plumpness of the girl’s arms, the rotund, soft belly. She wanted to keep Hana a baby forever.

But babies had a way of surprising their parents, and each year, Soo-Ja found her daughter even more lovable. Around Hana, Soo-Ja felt like she could do and say anything. Her daughter, now almost three years old, gave her a magic lasso, and inside this circle—large enough only for the two of them—Soo-Ja felt freer than ever.

“All right, Hana, let’s go,” said Soo-Ja.

On her way out, Soo-Ja saw everyone nervously and excitedly gathering in the main room. Nobody noticed her, the whole family caught up in the roles they were to play. Only Du-Ho, who was now fourteen, and who appreciated her help with his sugje—his homework—stopped her and asked her where she was going. When she told him she had an urgent errand, he smiled mischievously and said not to worry, as he’d fill her in later and let her know if the suitor was ugly or handsome, and what kind of clothes he wore. If he wore flannel pants, Du-Ho said, he’d make faces at him. She smiled back at him and continued walking to the door.

As she made her way into the courtyard, Soo-Ja noticed the fish swimming in the murky lotus pond. There were four or five of them, and they seemed as excited as the people inside, rushing off in all directions. Soo-Ja smiled, admiring their intense colors and odd shapes—a yellow koi with a long tail; some goldfish with protruding mouths; twin orfes with silvery fins. The fish were about to disappear from her line of vision when she noticed the first specks of snow of the season landing on the stone edges of the pond.

Soo-Ja looked around, hoping to find Du-Ho or one of the boys, but they were all inside, adjusting their outfits and combing their hair. She could not find a servant, either. There had been many forecasts of snow; Soo-Ja wondered why no one had had the forethought to remove the fish from the pond and put them indoors. As Hana cooed at her beloved pets, her little fingers tracing their zigzags, Soo-Ja realized that the fish had been simply left to die.

With no further thought, Soo-Ja reached for a pot and tried to use it to scoop up the fish. She failed the first few times, with the fish too alert to her, anticipating her movements. Soo-Ja grew frustrated, aware that the suitor could be arriving at the house at any moment. Mother-in-law would be furious if she caught her still at home.

But the more eagerly Soo-Ja approached the fish, the quicker they seemed to evade her, swimming out of the pot each time she tried to lift it out of the water. Oh, you dumb, dumb fish, Soo-Ja muttered under her breath. Can’t you see I’m trying to save you? What do you think is going to happen if you stay in that pond?

Soo-Ja placed the pot by the side of the pond. She decided she would have to catch the fish by hand. Trying to ignore the glacially cold water, Soo-Ja lowered her outstretched palms into the pond and waited for one of the fish to linger over them. She could barely keep her hands still, as the cold seemed to travel directly to her brain. She fought the temptation to free her hands, watching as they trembled.

When a goldfish that had been lying sluggish at the bottom of the pond finally rested above her palms, Soo-Ja snapped her hands shut. She could feel the fish beating against her flesh wildly, obviously unaware that she was trying to save it. As if reading her mother’s mind, Hana quickly raised the half-empty pot in her mother’s direction, spilling much of the water. Soo-Ja opened her hands into it. The tiny fish flopped in the air for a second, and then seemed to take a dive, careening wildly back and forth before it finally settled down. Soo-Ja repeated this with the others, one by one. By the time she’d finished, her hands had turned a ghostly white, and she could no longer feel any sensation in them.

Soo-Ja sighed with relief, glad that she was done before the suitor’s arrival, and before the snowstorm started. But just as she was about to finally make her way out of the courtyard, Soo-Ja heard the gate open and saw a handsome man in his thirties, wearing a Western-style suit, walk hurriedly toward her. He had surprisingly long hair, with bangs that fell slightly over one eye and a healthy tan that spoke of far away, of long retreats in the mountains. He smiled overexcitedly and delivered a deep, heartfelt bow. Soo-Ja bowed back and knew right away that this was the suitor, Iseul.

“Did I get the time wrong? I thought I was early, but maybe I’m late, as I see you’ve gotten impatient and decided to leave,” said Iseul.

Soo-Ja saw that he had mistaken her for Na-yeong. She glanced over to see the matchmaker still at the front gate, haggling with the taxi driver who’d brought them there in his Senara.

“You’re mistaking me for Nam’s daughter,” Soo-Ja told him, trying to think of an excuse to leave. “I’m his daughter-in-law.”

“I don’t believe you. I think you saw my ugly mug and changed your mind,” teased Iseul. “You’re going to ask some ugly cousin to pass herself off as you.”

“Who do you think this is, then?” asked Soo-Ja impatiently, pointing at Hana, who’d been hiding her face against her mother’s hips.

“Some child you’re babysitting!” Iseul said, scratching his arms.

Around this time, Mother-in-law and Na-yeong appeared next to them, and both looked horrified to see Soo-Ja and Iseul together. Soo-Ja tried to think of something to say so she could leave without appearing rude.

Before she could speak, however, Soo-Ja was interrupted by the matchmaker. The old woman had finally joined them, pocketing the extra coins she’d saved through the haggling.

“I see you’ve already met Min’s mother, and her lovely daughter, Na-yeong,” said the matchmaker, ignoring Soo-Ja completely. “Min’s mother, Na-yeong, this is the suitor I spoke so highly about. He comes from a wonderful family that owns property in Seoul, and he is a very successful engineer!”

The matchmaker stopped once she noticed the frown on Mother-in-law’s face. The suitor turned to look at Na-yeong, the true intended, and his smile immediately vanished. Na-yeong saw this, and she looked as if she was on the verge of tears. Soo-Ja wanted to disappear.

The suitor turned to Mother-in-law and bowed, all his enthusiasm gone.

“I’m sorry. I made a foolish mistake. I’m honored to meet you, Min’s mother.”

Not knowing what to say or do, Soo-Ja nodded her head slightly to the others and began to walk away. But before she could take a single step, the suitor turned to her.

“Where are you going?” Iseul asked, confused.

“I have to go. I really have to,” said Soo-Ja, picking up the bucket of fish.

“No, you must stay for tea,” said Iseul, taking the bucket from her hands and putting it back on the ground.

“She has to go! Let her go!” snapped Mother-in-law. “Come inside, before the apples turn sour and dark.”

But the suitor would not budge. “I expect the whole family to be there,” Iseul said sternly. “What kind of a first meeting is this, where not everyone is there? Are you trying to hide something?”

“No, of course not,” said Mother-in-law, offering him a strained smile.

“Then let’s all go in,” he said.

Soo-Ja tried to escape one more time, but the suitor reached for her arm and then pointed the way with his right hand, as if he were the host and she the guest. He walked next to her the entire way to the house, ignoring Mother-in-law and never looking at Na-yeong. Soo-Ja glanced behind for Hana, and saw that she had picked up the pot with the fish inside and was carrying it into the house.

In the main room, two serving trays with tea, rice cakes, and sliced pears had been set up on the floor—one for the adults, and one for the children. Soo-Ja saw the look of surprise on her father-in-law’s face when he saw her coming back in. He clearly had to hide his reaction, however, as he received the suitor. The boys, too, looked confused to see Soo-Ja and Hana still there, though Du-Ho smiled, quietly cheering their presence.

After a series of bows between the guests and the hosts, Iseul finally sat down on a mat, asking Soo-Ja to remain next to him. Soo-Ja reluctantly agreed, knowing that if she refused, she’d simply be drawing more attention to his request. Soo-Ja sat down, telling Hana to join the boys at the small table. Mother-in-law plopped down on the other side of the suitor, with Father-in-law sitting across from Soo-Ja. Na-yeong and the matchmaker remained the farthest from the suitor, completing the square.

“Iseul, you haven’t spoken a word yet to Na-yeong,” said the matchmaker in an animated manner. “Have you ever seen such a beauty? I knew at once that you two would make a fashionable pair.”

“Don’t call her a ‘beauty,’ matchmaker. It’s too much for her to live up to. Who can stand so much pressure?” asked Iseul. He looked quite pleased with himself, as if he’d just said something very wise. He didn’t notice the look of annoyance on Mother-in-law’s face, or the embarrassment registering in Na-yeong’s eyes.

“Did I mention already that your zodiac signs are very compatible?” asked the matchmaker, ignoring Iseul’s comment. “You being a horse, and Na-yeong a dog.”

“What sign are you, Hana’s mother?” asked Iseul, turning to Soo-Ja. As the suitor glanced adoringly at her, Soo-Ja understood why Mother-in-law had wanted her gone during his visit.

“I’m a tiger, and my husband’s a rabbit,” said Soo-Ja, quickly but patiently. She prayed that Na-yeong would not notice the way Iseul stared at her. But when Soo-Ja looked in the direction of her sister-in-law, her heart sank. Na-yeong seemed to be fighting back tears, and trying to hide her face.

Iseul eventually noticed the subtle dance of gazes between Soo-Ja and Na-yeong. He shook his head, as if chastising himself, and took Mother-in-law’s hand into his. “With all this talk of animals, I’m forgetting the real purpose of my visit.”

Mother-in-law’s face brightened. “There’s no real purpose for this visit. My only concern is that you enjoy yourself.”

“If I’m not paying enough attention to Na-yeong,” Iseul continued, “it isn’t because I don’t find her enchanting. It’s just that the bride is only half the matter. The other half is the family.”

The matchmaker nodded. “It is very smart of you to know that. And I can assure you the Lee family is a truly extraordinary one.”

Iseul gave her a skeptical glance. “You have to say that. They’re paying you.”

The matchmaker let out a loud snort. It registered as a girlish chuckle, but was really more of a rebuke. Mother-in-law laughed as well, as if trying to pass his comment off as a joke.

“I should ask someone more objective. Someone who has nothing to gain from this,” said Iseul. He then turned to Soo-Ja in a theatrical manner. “Not long ago, you were in the same boat that I am. What do you think of this family? Are you glad you married into it?”

“I’m not sure what you mean by that,” said Soo-Ja, trying to buy time. She knew that everyone’s eyes suddenly fell on her. She also knew what lies they expected her to say: This is a wonderful family.

“I’m asking a simple question,” said Iseul, his manner growing a little more impatient. “I’m asking if you recommend that I take your in-laws as my in-laws.”

Soo-Ja looked around her. She could see her mother-in-law piercing daggers into her with her eyes, and Na-yeong looking as if she was about to faint. But Soo-Ja had never been able to lie when asked a direct question.

“I’m sorry, Iseul, but I cannot answer that.”

With that, Soo-Ja excused herself and rose to leave. She reached for Hana and the bucket of fish, and then made her way out. She knew the suitor would not stay much longer and, in spite of Mother-in-law’s efforts, would probably never return.

The punishment came swiftly.

That same night, Soo-Ja came to her room to discover that someone had gone through her things. As Soo-Ja opened her drawers and looked through them, she realized her bag of cosmetics was gone. She wondered if one of the boys had taken it, as a prank.

After she put Hana to bed, Soo-Ja decided to find Mother-in-law and ask her if she had her makeup kit. Soo-Ja found her in her quarters, sitting on the floor with Na-yeong in front of her, brushing her daughter’s long, silken hair. Mother-in-law’s room was one of the largest in the house, and the only one with a mirror. Egg-shaped, with a cherry frame around it, the mirror sat atop a large chest decorated with a painting of long-tailed dragons. The chest, which was Mother-in-law’s pride and joy, had been inlaid with paper-thin layers of bull’s horn that were attached to the oak wood, and the horn plate had the odd effect of making the chest look as if it were made entirely of translucent bull’s horn, when in fact it was only the outer layer.

“Eomeonim, I wonder if I may have your attention for a second?” Soo-Ja asked after her initial bow. She sat in front of her mother-in-law, with her knees touching the floor and her bottom resting on her ankles, her body feeling awkward but in the proper position for a well-bred young lady.

“You can have it for a moment. I’m going to bed soon. It has been an exhausting day,” said Mother-in-law, never taking her eyes off her own daughter.

“I just wanted to know if you borrowed my makeup kit,” Soo-Ja asked in a restrained voice.

“Makeup kit? Why are you bothering me about a makeup kit?” asked Mother-in-law, still facing her own daughter. “A single girl, I can see why she’d own a makeup kit. She needs to make herself attractive for her suitors. But a married woman? Why would a married woman need a makeup kit?”

Soo-Ja held her tongue at this, arching her eyebrows. “Just so you know, I wasn’t wearing any makeup today,” she said.

“Oh? Is it because you think you are so beautiful that you don’t need it?” asked Mother-in-law, looking away from the mirror for the first time.

Soo-Ja rested her bottom on the floor, trying to remain calm.

“What did you do with my makeup kit? Did you do something to it?”

“And if I did?”

“That was my kit, purchased with my money, from before I was married to Min,” said Soo-Ja, her blood starting to boil. “It was a kit from Europe, from Paris. Very expensive. I used it sparingly, to make it last longer, since I knew I wouldn’t be able to get a new one for a long time to come. Please, give it back.”

Mother-in-law looked at her with disgust. “For as long as you live in my house, you’re not to wear any makeup. Keep your face the way God made it.”

Mother-in-law reached inside her bandaji and produced Soo-Ja’s makeup kit. She tossed it at her daughter-in-law.

“I’m sorry about what happened with Iseul,” said Soo-Ja, trying to speak evenly. “But that does not give you an excuse to take my things.”

Mother-in-law looked angrily at Soo-Ja, while Na-yeong watched quietly. “You’re not scared of me. Why are you not scared of me? I talk to my friends. Their daughters-in-law are terrified of them. But you, you’re not afraid of me at all.”

“Why would I be? You’re not a mountain bear.”

“And how can you not be afraid of Father-in-law? The way you talk to him… it’s so informal. It’s almost brazen.”

“I don’t see why I should treat him like some god just because he was born a man.”

“I knew you’d make a bad daughter-in-law, but I didn’t expect you to be this bad.”

Suddenly, Mother-in-law grabbed the kit back from Soo-Ja’s hand and pulled some of the cosmetics out of the bag. She then proceeded to break the lipstick off at the base, snap the cover off the foundation case, and tear off the tips of the mascara brushes. She did this with the quick movements of a child, completely focused on the task, glancing over at Soo-Ja occasionally, daring her to stop this. Na-yeong watched this, too, with a look of surprise on her face, and a tinge of regret, as if all these items could have—should have—been hers. Finally, Soo-Ja reached over and took away some of the pencils and lipsticks that her mother-in-law hadn’t yet gotten to. While Soo-Ja leaned forward, her mother-in-law tried to pry her fingers open, slapping at her arm.

“Stop that!” Soo-Ja told her.

But her mother-in-law kept hitting her, and she leaned forward clumsily, so that her arms and hands fell over Soo-Ja for support. When Soo-Ja moved to get away from her slaps, Mother-in-law lost her balance, fell back, and hit her head on the floor. She gave a great cry of pain.

The commotion brought Father-in-law and the boys to the room, along with Min, who appeared a few seconds later. Soo-Ja pictured the tableau through their eyes: Mother-in-law rubbing her head with her hand, squinting her eyes in obvious pain; Soo-Ja—enemy, attacker, villain—standing over her with no apparent weapon but her strong hands.

“She hit me! She hit me!” Mother-in-law cried out.

“I didn’t!” Soo-Ja called out. “She fell on the floor by accident.”

“I fell because of you! Because you hit me!” She began to bang on the floor, like a woman whose body has been overtaken by a spirit. “Aigo meah! Oh my Lord!”

Everyone’s eyes turned not to Soo-Ja but to Min, to see how he would respond to this. Soo-Ja looked at him a little complicitly, expecting him to ask his mother if she wasn’t sure she’d fallen by accident. He was, after all, her husband, and she expected him to side with her. But instead, he turned to his wife, hate flashing in his eyes.

“Why are you so mean to my mother?” Min cried out. He reached for Soo-Ja’s arm and shook her. “I know what goes on behind closed doors! You act nice to her in front of me, but I know when it’s just the two of you, you’re abusive to her! Well, you’ve been caught this time.”

Soo-Ja looked back at him in disbelief, and then she turned to Na-yeong, waiting for her to tell them it had been an accident, and that she had never laid a finger on Mother-in-law, even while she was slapping her. But Na-yeong said nothing, and the men stared down at Soo-Ja in fury.

“Hana’s father, you don’t believe her, do you?” asked Soo-Ja. “I didn’t hit her.”

Min did not answer. Instead, he spied a pair of scissors on the floor near a sewing kit and dove to grab them. In a second’s flash, he was waving those scissors in front of Soo-Ja, not saying anything coherent. Soo-Ja watched the sharp blades as they punctured the air. All the others stepped back, afraid of getting hit by accident.

If you stab me, my death will be slow and agonizing, thought Soo-Ja.

It was Du-Ho who quickly grabbed Min’s hands from behind and took the scissors away from him. Soo-Ja noticed that Min gave them up freely, as if he had been waiting for someone to do precisely that.

His hands now free, Min used them to grab Soo-Ja. He dragged her all the way to their room, where he finally let go of her arm. He did it with such force that Soo-Ja almost fell to the floor.

Sitting down, Soo-Ja massaged her bruised skin and looked at Min with anger in her eyes. “Don’t you have any desire to hear my side of the story?”

Min paced the room in a half circle, his fist tapping against the walls. “Why did you have to flirt with Na-yeong’s suitor? If you’re not satisfied with me, why don’t you go after the milkman, or the gardener’s son?”

Soo-Ja felt the frustration tighten around her neck. “Because I’m not you, Min. I don’t believe in sleeping with the help.”

Min made his hand into a fist and he held it above Soo-Ja’s face. He glared at her, trembling a little, as if trying to gather the courage to hit her.

“You lay a hand on me, Min, and I will kill you. I will take a knife from the kitchen and I will stick it in your heart.”

Min’s eyes grew bigger, and he punched the wall instead. The thud was so loud it made Soo-Ja flinch. She waited to hear if Hana woke in the next room. The impact, however, had not been loud enough to disrupt her daughter’s slumber.

Min, as if tired from the punch, sat down on the floor next to Soo-Ja. He looked like a man ill with fever.

“I’m not going to hit you, Soo-Ja. I’m not my father.”

Soo-Ja looked at him sideways, cautiously, her words prodding him like a stick. “Your father used to hit your mother?”

Min laughed. “He had a room especially for that.” Min rested his head against the wall. “He had us empty it out, take out the furniture. Then he’d put Mother in there and he’d beat her. He’d chase after her in a circle, and she’d try to get away. When he caught up with her, he’d hit her. She’d fall, then get up, and keep running in the circle, until Father’s knuckles gave out. Even when I stayed away from the room, I could still hear them, and I could see their shadows on the paper doors.”

“Is that what you wanted to do to me tonight?” asked Soo-Ja. Outside their door, she could hear the wind howling as the snow dove onto the ground. By morning, they’d all be buried in layers of crystals and powder. “Trust me, I didn’t flirt with Iseul.”

“No, you did something much worse.” Min’s voice gained a sureness that bothered Soo-Ja. She wondered if something else had happened.

“If you’d met Iseul, you wouldn’t be saying that.”

“I met Iseul,” said Min, cutting her off. “I ran into him as he was leaving. He pulled me to the side and told me to take better care of you.”

“Why would he say that?” asked Soo-Ja, confused, turning to him.

Min met her gaze. “He said he saw you pulling fish out of our pond. He said it looked like your hands were freezing.”

Soo-Ja placed her hand on her forehead and squeezed her temples. So the suitor hadn’t been late, after all. He’d been at the gate, watching her that entire time. Soo-Ja wondered why he hadn’t come to help her.

“Why do you do things like that? To make people feel sorry for you?” asked Min.

“I didn’t know he was there.”

“He said that you must have married badly. Did you, Soo-Ja? Did you marry badly?” asked Min.

In his voice, Soo-Ja heard a kind of desperation she had never thought him capable of feeling. She figured he wanted her to say Yes, I did, so he could continue to fight with her, and yell at her, and accuse her of being ungrateful. In his words, Soo-Ja heard a bottomless guilt, frustration the size of an ocean. He did not provide for her, and did not take care of her. He did not know how to.

Soo-Ja felt the tears form in her eyes. She closed her eyelids, trying to trap them inside. “My life is good, Min. Don’t worry about me.”

It had not been so bad in the beginning. During the first week of the marriage, Soo-Ja’s in-laws bragged about their new daughter-in-law, whose enterprising father, they liked to remind others, had started one of Korea’s first modern shoe factories. Mother-in-law took Soo-Ja to the market with her and introduced her to all the shopkeepers she did business with. When she met them, Soo-Ja saw that her mother-in-law had already spoken to them about her, and brought her because they’d asked so often to meet her.

But even then, Min’s mother would give her daughter-in-law a hard time. She’d comment on Soo-Ja, saying, “Your hips are very narrow. That is not good for birthing babies.” Or she’d sneer, “Your hands are so smooth. Have you ever done a day’s work in your life?” Like other women of her generation, Mother-in-law did not welcome a comely daughter-in-law. Beauty meant trouble, and mothers whose sons married attractive girls often cursed the union. The ideal daughter-in-law had rough hands, large hips, and a homely face.

During the months of Soo-Ja’s pregnancy, Mother-in-law prayed every night to her ancestors at a small shrine she had built in the backyard, asking for a grandson. She observed all the traditional restrictions that were believed to encourage the birth of a boy. She did not let her daughter-in-law run, read, or walk up too many stairs. She did not let her have visitors, or talk about serious matters. She did not let her wear clingy clothes, or get near rotten or raw meat. Interestingly, thought Soo-Ja, her restrictions did not extend to her chores as a daughter-in-law. She still had to scrub the laminated floors of the house every day—floors that had to be clean enough for them to sit, eat, and sleep on—as well as wash everyone’s clothes, many of which were white and also had to be cleaned daily. Those activities were not thought to affect the sex of a baby, her mother-in-law explained.

When Hana was born, Soo-Ja’s in-laws were deeply disappointed. Mother-in-law tore off the chili peppers she’d hung on the entrance to the house, and disassembled the small shrine in the backyard. Girls were like grass—to be stepped on. As the oldest, Min was expected to give birth to a son and continue the family line. In his eyes, and in the eyes of the family, Soo-Ja had failed at her duty.

From that day on, her new family began to treat her differently. Occasionally, they’d remind her that if she were to get pregnant again, and give birth to a boy, her status in the household would improve. But Soo-Ja could not bring herself to have another child with Min. One was enough, she decided. In her mind, children had to be born out of love, not out of necessity. Besides, she already had her daughter, and even though no one ascribed the child any value, Soo-Ja believed that Hana was a blessing, and a thousand times better than any boy.

• • •

Soo-Ja had been ironing clothes when Father-in-law unexpectedly came to her room. She was a little startled by his presence there, since he’d never been there before. He slid the paper door shut behind him and sat down in front of her, without asking first if he could see her. He made it clear that this room, too, belonged to him. As usual, he never smiled or shifted his gaze. She had realized early on that he derived his authority from the fact that he did not care if others liked him. He’d given up the need to be loved—in the same way some monks gave up sex or rich food or nice weather—and it had made him invulnerable. While the rest of the world would stumble and trip in their quest for kindness, he remained impervious, never bothered by needing or wanting anything from anyone. Watching him made you think of love as a kind of weakness; without it, you were able to operate in as precise and calculated a manner as you wished.

“To what do I owe the honor of your visit, abeonim?” Soo-Ja asked. She placed the iron down, so that it wouldn’t face Hana, who was folding the clothes next to her.

Father-in-law glanced at his granddaughter but did not smile, as if wondering what she was doing there. “I’m concerned about you. I’ve been watching what’s been happening lately, and I can tell you’re not happy here.”

“No, I’m perfectly content. This is married life. It’s not meant to be a playground.”

“But you and I both know your days here could be much more pleasant.”

Soo-Ja turned her face away. “I’m not going to get pregnant again. Let one of your other boys marry and have a son.”

“That’s not what I’m here to talk about. I don’t care so much about the future generation. I care more about bills, and heating costs, and no one living off my sweat.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Let me put it this way. If you were a guest in a boardinghouse, would you expect to live there without paying?” asked Father-in-law.

Soo-Ja stared at his leathery, dark skin, noticing how the folds around his eyes and his chin lent him the appearance of a bulldog. “You think I’m living off you?” asked Soo-Ja, furrowing her brow.

“I see for all the studying you have done, you don’t know much at all. In fact, you may know even less than the beggar on the street. At least the beggar knows he must beg, or he will not eat. You, on the other hand, seem to be under the impression you need not do anything, and a roof will always be over your head, and rice will magically appear.”

“I think no such thing,” she said. “That is why my father gave my husband a dowry, so I would not be a burden to my in-laws.”

Father-in-law scoffed. “Your dowry is gone. It has been spent.”

Soo-Ja gasped. “Gone? How can such a large sum be gone?”

“Don’t argue with me. If I say it’s gone, it’s gone.”

Oh, how she wanted to lash out at him. But one word, and he could have thrown her out. And if he did, word would get around town and shame her father. No, she had to endure this. She had to succeed here, as a wife and a daughter-in-law. A good report must go to her parents. Above all, they must think that she was happy. Her duty to them was the harshest taskmaster, making her bear pain and put up with matters she had not thought she could. Her days were fueled by hate for her in-laws, but that was insignificant next to the need to make her own parents proud.

“What would you like me to do?” Soo-Ja finally asked, hoping to quell the growing frustration building inside her.

Father-in-law looked pleased. The question, she realized, was what he’d been hoping to hear from the beginning of this conversation. “You must ask your father for money. And that money you must bring to me.”

Soo-Ja looked at Father-in-law, dumbfounded. She realized, in that moment, how much they had misled her about their supposed fortune. Soo-Ja had thought about this first when she noticed the armoires in their sparsely furnished rooms. Unlike the antique nong and bandaji in her own father’s house, which were made of dark, decorative grains like zelkova and persimmon, the dressers and chests in Min’s home had rusty fittings and were made of wood with undistinguished grain, like chestnut and pearwood. Even the clothes they wore seemed cheaply made. Mother-in-law’s and Na-yeong’s hanboks were made not of shimmering silk, but of dull ramie. They also lacked details, with no bindings along the hem or cuffs.

“How can I ask him for more money?” Soo-Ja asked, frowning. “Hasn’t he already given you enough?”

“Know that I can kick you out of here any day, for any reason,” barked Father-in-law. “No one will question me, and if they ask, I can say you were lazy, or dirty, or drank too much. They would side with me, you know that.” Soo-Ja’s eyes burned with anger, thinking about the shame that would bring to her parents. “Either way, know that from this day on, everything you eat, every piece of clothing on your back, is there thanks to my charity. I will keep strict accounts, and every day that passes, you will owe me more and more. And I will be able to ask more and more of your father.”

Some mornings, when Soo-Ja had to go food shopping at the market, she would stop by a newspaper stand and scan the headlines of the Chosun Ilbo. The military, which had seized power two years earlier, had finally agreed to transfer rule to a civilian government. Conveniently, the candidate chosen by the people turned out to be the same man who had staged that earlier coup d’état, Chung-Hee Park. His inauguration would take place shortly.

As she filled her basket with barley and dried laver, Soo-Ja often wondered what she would be doing, right at that moment, if she had indeed become a diplomat. She might be sitting opposite the ambassador from Uganda, wearing a light blue seersucker jacket with big buttons over a white silk blouse, and a freshly ironed navy pencil skirt tight at the waist. She might be explaining the election results’ relevance to the international community: “While not ideal, this shows our country moving in the direction of freedom, and proves that it deserves to be accepted into the United Nations. South Korea has established diplomatic relations with thirty-five countries in only the last two years, and will not abide by Russia’s attempts to block it.”

On the way back, with a pensive smile on her face, Soo-Ja would make a detour and stop by her father’s house to visit her family. Soo-Ja never told Mother-in-law about these trips, as she would have been furious. Mother-in-law thought she spent too much time there. “This is your new home. You don’t live there anymore. Stop visiting them so much. Do you like them better than you like us?” she would ask her.

Ignoring her mother-in-law’s words, Soo-Ja took the bus with Hana by her side, and then walked to the house in Won-dae-don. Her heart grew lighter with joy the closer she got. This was her true home, she knew. As soon as she walked past the gate, she could hear her brothers’ loud screams of delight, followed by her mother coming out, complaining that she’d have to pull out the good china.

Soo-Ja’s mother took Hana by the hand and guided her to the house, where Father sat in the main room, waiting. He had softened since Soo-Ja had left home. Not having to see his daughter every day was a good thing—perhaps the secret to many a harmonious father-daughter relationship.

Soo-Ja told Hana to peck him on the cheeks, and Hana and her grandfather traded turns showering each other with kisses.

“Hana, who is this?” asked Soo-Ja, in an animated voice.

“It’s Grandpa!” Hana replied.

“Hana love Grandpa?”

“Yes!”

“How much does Hana love Grandpa?”

Hana frowned, very serious all of a sudden. “Too much!”

Soo-Ja laughed at her daughter’s seriousness. “Too much? That’s a lot if it’s too much. Hana love Grandpa more than candy?”

The toddler looked thoughtful for a moment, as if weighing an enormously important decision. Finally, she nodded her head momentously. “Grandpa is candy!”

Soo-Ja laughed. “Grandpa is candy? Are you going to eat him? Yan, yan, yan?”

“Yes!” Hana smiled sheepishly, and then pretended to chew, mimicking her mother. “Yan, yan, yan.”

Soo-Ja’s mother cut up a melon and served its slices with tea, a gesture that made Soo-Ja feel sad—Mother-in-law was right, she had become a guest in her own house.

“And to think I almost missed out on all this by moving to the West,” said Soo-Ja.

“You could still become a diplomat, you know,” said Soo-Ja’s father with a hint of guilt in his voice. Soo-Ja thought about making a biting remark, but decided not to. This would be as close to an apology as she’d ever get from him, she knew. She watched as he lifted one leg and rested his arms on his knee. “Your mother and I could watch Hana during the day.”

“Oh, appa, you know Min and his parents wouldn’t let me do that.”

“Then why don’t you separate from him?”

Soo-Ja’s mother glared at her husband. “Don’t put such ideas in her head! Not even in jest.”

“Yes, Father, you heard Mother: Not even in jest!” mocked Soo-Ja.

Soo-Ja’s mother began smoking one of her cigarettes. Hana, seeing this, walked toward her grandmother, trying to wrest the lighter away from her.

“Your father misses you a lot,” her mother continued. “You should see him crying at night, getting all your pictures wet with his tears.”

“You’re softening with old age, appa,” said Soo-Ja quietly. “But it’s not as if I died or moved away. I’m not that far, and I always come visit.”

“I don’t cry just because I miss you. I cry out of worry for you,” said her father, trying to fill Soo-Ja’s sudden, contemplative silence. “If you had married well, I’d rest, in relief. But you… in that house… with those people.”

“It’s about time she matured,” said Soo-Ja’s mother. “A woman changes when she has a child.”

Soo-Ja’s father shook his head, his face that of an artist who has toiled night and day at his creation, only to see it ruined. “I fought with you so many times to make sure you’d have a good life. Maybe I should have just let you be.”

“It’s fine, appa. There’s nothing perfect in this world. It could be much worse.” Soo-Ja thought about Father-in-law’s request. Of course her father would give her the money. Should she ask for it?

But before she could even broach the subject, her mother cut in again. “She’s right. Just look at your friend Jae-Hwa. Look what she has to live with.”

“What do you mean by that?” Soo-Ja turned to her mother.

“Jae-Hwa hasn’t said anything?” asked her father.

Soo-Ja felt guilty for a moment. She hadn’t spoken to Jae-Hwa in months, busy as she was with housework and Hana. Jae-Hwa had called on her once, but Soo-Ja hadn’t been home. After Mother-in-law told her about it, Soo-Ja said to herself that she should return the visit. But she had never done it.

“Sang-Kyu’s mother lives across the street from them. She says…” Her mother’s voice trailed off.

“What does she say?” Soo-Ja asked. “Is Jae-Hwa not happy with her husband?”

“He beats her,” her father blurted out.

“What? How long has this been happening?” Soo-Ja asked.

“Since they returned from the honeymoon. He’s always getting drunk, calling her names. Babo. Byeongsin,” said Soo-Ja’s mother. She inhaled deeply from her cigarette and let out a big cloud of smoke. She then turned the radio on, and the plaintive voice of an old woman singing a ballad began to fill the room.

My brother, the musician, is so mean to me!

Always peevish, always in a hurry, always lying.

Why do you have to steal my food?

You take the meats, and leave me only soybeans!

Why do you leave me alone for hours?

It’s like living with a vagrant.

Soo-Ja pictured Jae-Hwa as an eight-year-old, her age the first time she’d met her. Plump Jae-Hwa was a new girl in her school, and had been eating her lunches alone in a stall in the bathroom. When Soo-Ja found out about this, she insisted that Jae-Hwa sit with her at her table. They’d become inseparable, and Soo-Ja’s father had jokingly nicknamed her Duljjae Ttal, Daughter No. 2.

“I have to help Jae-Hwa,” Soo-Ja said distractedly, trying to think of a plan.

“No. Stay out of it, Soo-Ja,” said her mother sharply. “Her life is her life.”

“We have to tell Jae-Hwa’s parents.”

“They know,” said Mother.

“And what are they going to do?” asked Soo-Ja.

“What all parents do. Bury their heads in the sand and never speak of it.” And as if reading her daughter’s thoughts, she added, “And it would be monstrously impolite if someone brought it up to them. They would lose face for the rest of their lives.”

“What about the police?”

“The police would never interfere in a private matter.”

“Something has to be done!” cried out Soo-Ja.

Soo-Ja’s mother shook her head at her, putting out the cigarette on a round silver ashtray. “Look at you getting all worked up. And where were you when Jae-Hwa went to your house that day? What do you think she went there for? To borrow some chili peppers?”

“I can’t, Soo-Ja. I already spoke to my parents. They think I should stay here,” said Jae-Hwa, her voice practically quivering. Soo-Ja sat next to her on the floor, in the middle of the small, windowless room. Although everything in it was similar to where Soo-Ja herself slept—pink mats and cushions, the black ink calligraphy scrolls hanging on the walls, the huge armoire with mother-of-pearl and pictures of cranes and blackbirds—the place felt oppressive, as if it had soaked up Jae-Hwa’s unhappiness during the night, only to exhale it during the day.

“Stay here with a lunatic? What kind of advice is that?” Soo-Ja asked, unable to hide her anger.

“I talked to my brothers and sisters, too. They’re afraid of offending my parents if I stay with them. So I have nowhere to go,” said Jae-Hwa.

“Stay with my parents, then.”

Jae-Hwa shook her head. “Soo-Ja, you know how people treat a separated woman. Nobody will have tea with me or meet my eyes when I walk by them. I would hate to become some kind of pariah.”

Soo-Ja edged closer to Jae-Hwa and reached for her friend’s arms. She had her stretch them out in front of her, and then she pulled the sweater back so she could see her skin. When she did so, Jae-Hwa flinched a little. Her body was covered with purple and green bruises.

“What time does Chul-Moo come back?” Soo-Ja asked.

Before Jae-Hwa could answer, the front gate slammed, and their bodies became instantly taut, like coiled wires. Jae-Hwa’s husband had arrived. He soon slid open the doors to the room and looked at them, still wearing his white cotton mask over his mouth. Soo-Ja saw the frightening might in his eyes, but she wouldn’t let herself be intimidated.

“Say good-bye to your wife. She’s going to stay with my parents for a few days,” said Soo-Ja, speaking politely, but making it clear this would not be a matter of debate.

Behind her, Jae-Hwa reached for a padded comforter and spread it on the floor. She began to put her clothes in the middle of it, leaving enough room so she could later tie up all the edges together.

“Jae-Hwa, come over here and massage my neck,” said Chul-Moo, ignoring Soo-Ja. “It’ll help me go to sleep.” He then began undressing in front of her, pulling off layers until he had on only the sleeping long johns he wore underneath his day clothes.

“Please don’t pretend you didn’t hear me,” said Soo-Ja. She ignored the effrontery of his changing in front of her—she knew he was just trying to unnerve her.

“Go take care of your own husband, ajumma,” barked Chul-Moo. “Before he starts wandering around seeding other women’s babies.”

He spread a mat on the floor and lay down, ignoring Jae-Hwa as she packed her things.

“I can assure you she’ll be treated very well at my parents’,” said Soo-Ja drily, unable to hide her contempt as she stared at him. “Since I’m sure you’re very concerned about your wife’s well-being.”

“Jae-Hwa, quit this nonsense and come over here,” said Chul-Moo, ignoring Soo-Ja.

Jae-Hwa shook her head defiantly. But she also began to hesitate as she knotted the edges of the comforter together, her clothes packed inside but almost too heavy for her to lift. Jae-Hwa rested her hands over the silk cover. She could see an area where the fabric had ripped, revealing the thick, curdled dust fibers that served as padding.

“Jae-Hwa!” Chul-Moo growled again, and Soo-Ja could see the fear rising in Jae-Hwa. His voice sounded like a lion’s, low and guttural. “Wherever you’re thinking of going, they’ll grow tired of you after a while, boring woman that you are who can’t cook, and then you’ll come back here on your knees, begging for me to take you back, and by then I’ll have had such a long rest, my hands will be ready for a spectacularly vicious beating. Better not leave at all and spread out the beating over time, so you can take it little by little instead of a big beating all at once.”

Soo-Ja was ready to tear the few remaining hairs out of his head. “Jae-Hwa deserves better than you. How can you speak to her like that?”

Chul-Moo got up from the mat and pointed a finger at her. “Be careful now. You may be a guest in my house, but guests in my house, they have no rights!”

“And what are you going to do? Are you going to hit me?” asked Soo-Ja as sharply as the edge of a knife, her voice rising with every syllable. “See what the police will say, you hitting another man’s wife!”

Chul-Moo hesitated, though the anger still gleamed in his eyes, and Soo-Ja could feel it sting her like a hot fork.

“Jae-Hwa, can’t you see your friend is envious of what you have?” asked Chul-Moo, sounding much more gentle now. “Yes, I may get angry with you sometimes, but what happens afterward? What happens after you stop crying and I comfort you? Nobody sees that part of things, when you open up to me like a happy flower and giggle. You can tell just by looking at your friend that she doesn’t get the same kind of love from her own husband. She doesn’t want you to be happy, so she comes here to meddle and take you away from the only man you have.”

Jae-Hwa, whose head had been bent down while her husband said this, finally looked up. She seemed wan, weightless, colorless. Soo-Ja knew what would happen if her friend stayed there. She would become one of those ghost women in the village with dead eyes and hunched shoulders.

“Jae-Hwa,” said Soo-Ja, holding her hand. “There is a better life for you. I can’t prove it, you just have to believe me. But there is a better life for you. Not everyone is mean. I’ve seen enough beauty and kindness in the world to know that not every man is awful to his wife. I believe there are good men out there. Please believe me when I say this.”

Soo-Ja watched Jae-Hwa drop her bundle, and she knew then that her friend wouldn’t be coming to her parents’ house with her. She had failed. She could see from the corners of her eyes Jae-Hwa’s husband’s quiet jubilation, along with a hint of fear, as if he knew how close he’d been to losing his wife that night. But such nuances didn’t matter. Jae-Hwa was staying, and that was the end of it. All Soo-Ja could do was pick up Hana, waiting at her parents’ house, and return home.

Soo-Ja held Jae-Hwa in her arms for one last time, and as their cheeks brushed past each other’s, she could feel the moistness under her own eyes. She wiped them quickly and then nodded, resigned to leaving Jae-Hwa behind. Why did she feel so much sadness for her, when her own life was in shambles, when she herself was not that much better off? Soo-Ja wondered.

Is that the real reason I wanted to save her? So that in saving her, I could see if I could save myself, too? And what did it mean, then, that I have failed?

Soo-Ja rose, her back aching a little from sitting on the floor so long. When she slid open the door and went over to the porch looking for her shoes, she was struck by the coldness of the air, lashing at her from all sides. She realized it was even later than she thought, and the feeling of being out at this hour made the whole moment feel oddly surreal, as if the real Soo-Ja were still sitting at home with Min’s parents, at the house in central Won-dae-don, while this other Soo-Ja wandered around aimlessly, knocking about from place to place.

Soo-Ja had not walked very far when she heard her name being called. It felt unfamiliar to hear it like this, at night, in an anguished voice. She turned around and saw Jae-Hwa standing on the steps of her house. She stood as still as a pillar, like Lot’s wife, who’d dared to look back. She did not have her coat and seemed to shiver slightly.

“He won’t let me take my clothes with me,” Jae-Hwa finally said, the syllables seeming to escape from her lips one at a time. “He said it’s a waste of energy, since I’m coming back.”

Soo-Ja felt the relief lift her up, and she smiled, extending her hand to Jae-Hwa. Jae-Hwa hesitated, and then slowly began to walk toward her. When Jae-Hwa finally reached her, Soo-Ja took off her own coat and placed it over Jae-Hwa. It would still be a while before they got to Soo-Ja’s parents’ house.

Soo-Ja arrived home to find Min’s silhouette waiting by the door. It struck her then, how boyish and skinny he looked. If she wore a miniskirt and held her hair back with her signature headband, would she look like a teenager, too? Is that what they were, teenagers playing at being adults? Would one day someone—a real couple, wearing heavy coats and wool scarves—come by, thank them for taking care of their child, and haul away Hana and their clothes and marriage license, and would she and Min nod and leave that house and walk in separate directions, like contestants in some radio show who didn’t know each other? Would she be relieved and look back on the whole adventure with fondness, but enjoy her safe, welcome distance from it? Or would she find life without Min and her in-laws unbearably easy, meaningless almost, as her sacrifices had made it possible for her to appreciate the smallest of gifts—like the beloved quiet for a half hour or so in the morning before the house woke and the day lay rich with promise. Or the sight of Hana sleeping peacefully, or any one of a thousand surprises that shook the day—like being able to help a friend who weeps in your arms with gratitude, whispering, “A better life… Yes, a better life for me.”

“You were gone so long,” said Min. “What happened?”

“A lot,” Soo-Ja said simply, slipping past him like a draft of wind, with Hana sleeping in her arms.

“Did you talk to your father?”

It took her a second to realize what he meant. Of course, Father-in-law must have told Min about his plans. She wondered what Min’s reaction had been. She assumed he had simply gone along with his father’s wishes, as he always did.

“No, I didn’t,” said Soo-Ja curtly. “I didn’t ask for the loan. I didn’t get a chance to. And that’s for the best. I shouldn’t even have considered asking my father for more money.”

Min followed her into their room. He seemed lost in thought. Close like this, he looked different, thought Soo-Ja, wearing a blue sweater with a light yellow vest over it, and pants that ended slightly too short at the ankle, showing his long johns underneath.

“We have to pay back our creditors, Soo-Ja. The situation is very dire. If we don’t pay them back, they’ll take the factory from us,” he said.

Soo-Ja busied herself getting their mats and comforters ready for bed. She avoided Min’s eyes, but she could feel them on her skin, following her around.

“Your father would have plenty of money to pay those creditors if he didn’t mismanage the factory,” she said.

“Yes, my father is horrible and your father is perfect. Are we in a children’s playground? Don’t you get tired of playing this childish game? My father is your father now,” said Min, starting to pace.

“If the factory goes down, you can find a job somewhere else. I can go work in a store, or a restaurant, and ask my mother to watch Hana during the day,” Soo-Ja said matter-of-factly, brushing some stray fibers off a comforter.

“No, Soo-Ja. If we have to shut down the factory, things will be much more serious than my needing money or another job. Do you know what happens to men who default on their loans?” He paused, waiting to catch her gaze. “They go to jail.”

Soo-Ja took this in. “Your father’s been essentially stealing from others, to keep the factory operating. I know he never intended in good faith to pay anyone back.”

It was then that she saw a shadow fall over Min’s face, and she realized something was truly wrong. When he spoke, she could hear the fear in his voice. “Soo-Ja, last month, when the troubles got serious, my father changed the ownership of the factory… to me. If someone has to go to jail, it’s going to be me.”

Soo-Ja looked at Min, shocked. She thought she didn’t love him, but maybe she was wrong. How else to explain the punch in the gut she felt, the sudden overload of emotions grabbing at her? How could he do this to his own son? And why wasn’t Min fighting him, yelling at him? “Your father is a disgusting man.”

“I’d go to jail for him anyway,” said Min, full of bravado.

Soo-Ja dropped the comforters on the ground. “No, no, you can’t be defending him!”

“What he did makes perfect sense. I’m the oldest; so whatever is his, is mine, too. The good things and the bad.”

“But that’s not what he’s done,” Soo-Ja said, shaking her head. “Can’t you see what he’s done?”

“Yes, but I’m trying very hard not to see. He’s my father. I’d rather think what I think and be a fool, than be a man—”

“With a bastard for a father,” she said, cutting in.

They were standing face to face, Min fidgeting and Soo-Ja frozen, staring at him. Min did not jump to his father’s defense, and she could see how even he—the most devout of sons—would have trouble explaining this away to his own heart. Min’s father treated Min as if his life belonged to him, to be used or discarded as necessary. And Min never disputed this. She wondered if he, too, believed, deep down, that he was a mere appendage to his father, and his life worth only as much as was of service to the elder.

“Do you want me to ask my father for money?” asked Soo-Ja.

Min looked at her and she saw the hope dance across his eyes. But then only a few seconds later, she saw his pupils darken, and his jaw tighten a little. To her surprise, he shook his head, and in that moment, she saw the most extraordinary event in nature—that of a human being changing. She wondered if a few seconds was all it took to shake up one’s habits and impulses, unearth them like hardened soil, and replace them with the trickling drops of choice and whim, and all those things that made life unbearably complicated. She could see the strain in her husband, leaving behind one thought and reaching for a new one. She could see him become a different person—or try, at least, as he unstitched his father’s shadow from his back, and checked to see if his own could grow.

“I don’t want you to talk to your father,” said Min. “Before, I wanted you to. I waited for you all night to ask you if you had. But now I don’t want you to anymore. I can’t put you in that position. I can’t use you like that.”

Soo-Ja nodded, feeling waves of tenderness rush at her. “Maybe if you explained to a judge…”

“I can’t challenge my father’s decision. I don’t know how to explain, but… It would be disrespectful.” He looked at her to see if she understood, and she nodded. “See, he can’t know that I know what he’s doing. Because he would lose face. I would be making him look bad, and that would be worse than any jail time. I can’t do that to him.”

Soo-Ja wondered if Min secretly wanted her to speak to her father, but do so out of her own volition, and not at his request. She searched his face for signs of this, but found none, much to her relief. She couldn’t ask her father to do this for her. Father-in-law had lied; it wasn’t a small loan he wanted. As Min explained the details of the bankruptcy, she realized that Father-in-law wanted Soo-Ja’s own father to take up the burden of all the costs of his operations, paying a sum of money so big she was taken aback at first when Min told her.

That night as they lay on their own mats to sleep (though sleep would not come till much later), she felt for the first time that they were husband and wife. More so than the day of their wedding, or the night of their honeymoon, this was when it felt like they were truly spouses: they were on the same side; they shared a decision; they were in this as one. They had decided together not to speak to her father—not as a compromise but as an agreement—and the meaning of that weighed upon them both. In that moment, Min may have lost his freedom, but he earned her gratitude, and perhaps even her love; she could see the equation being one he could live with. Besides, he wasn’t in jail yet. All was not lost. They had watched enough movies to know rescue could come; it would be delayed just long enough for the hero and heroine to learn something about each other.

“So where were you tonight? What happened?” There was no recrimination in Min’s voice as he lay next to her.

Soo-Ja stared straight ahead, at the ceiling. If the roof blew away, she could see stars. “I went to help a friend. I tried to help her get out of a bad marriage.”

“What makes it a bad marriage?”

“Her husband isn’t nice to her. But she’s afraid to leave, so I tried to help her.”

“Do you think the husband knows she wants to leave?”

“I think husbands always know, don’t they? They know everything that is taking place,” said Soo-Ja.

“And wives, too? Do wives know what their husbands are thinking?”

“Yes, they do. They both know. But sometimes they choose not to say anything. Because they think things can change.”

“But they’re wrong?” asked Min. “Things can’t change?”

“I think if both people try…”

Min was silent for a moment, and she could hear his chest heaving. Finally, when he spoke, his words landed as quietly as a single drop of dew on a leaf. “I’m sorry,” he said, and he did not need to say anything more.

She realized, much to her surprise, that she had already forgiven him.