“You could come with me. The first ship leaves next week, but we can go later. Korea needs more people who have the energy to rebuild a nation. We’re supposed to get our own apartment with all the latest appliances, and we’ll be in our own country. White rice three times a day. We can take his ashes there, and we can visit your parents’ graves. Do a proper jesa. We can go home. You can be my wife.”
Stunned, Kyunghee said nothing. She could not imagine that Yoseb would have offered her to him, but she could not imagine that Changho would lie to her. The only thing that made sense was that Yoseb was worried enough about her to suggest such a plan. After the meeting at the church broke up, she had asked the minister to pray for Changho’s journey and well-being in Pyongyang. Changho didn’t believe in God or Christianity, but Kyunghee had wanted to pray for him, because she didn’t know what else she could do for him. If the Lord watched over him, then she would not worry.
He had told her that he was leaving only a week ago, and it was difficult to think of him being gone, but it was the right thing. He was a young man who believed in building a great country for others. She admired him, because he didn’t even have to go there. He had a good job and friends. Pyongyang wasn’t even his home—Changho was from Kyungsangdo. It was she who was from the North.
“Is it possible?” he asked.
“But you said—that you wanted to go. I thought you’d marry someone back home.”
“But you know that—that I’ve cared. That I do—”
Kyunghee looked around. The shopkeeper of the convenience store was seated in the back and couldn’t hear them over the noise of his radio program. On the road, a few cars and bicycles passed by, but not many, because it was Saturday morning. The red-and-white pinwheels attached to the store awning spun slowly in the light winter breeze.
“If you said it is possible—”
“You can’t talk that way,” she said softly. She didn’t want to hurt him. All these years, his adoration and kindness had nourished her but had also caused her anguish, because she could not care for him in that way. It was wrong to do so. “Changho, you have a future. You must find a young woman and have children. There isn’t a day when I don’t feel heartbroken that my husband and I couldn’t have them. I know it was the Lord’s plan for me, but I think you might have some. You’d make a wonderful husband and father. I couldn’t ask you to wait. It would be sinful.”
“It’s because you don’t want me to wait. Because I would if you told me to.”
Kyunghee bit her lip. She felt cold suddenly and put on her blue wool mittens.
“I have to make dinner.”
“I leave tomorrow. Your husband said I should wait. Isn’t that what you wanted? For him to give you permission? Wouldn’t that make it okay in the eyes of your god?”
“It isn’t up to Yoseb to change God’s laws. My husband is alive, and I wouldn’t want to hasten his death. I care for you very much, Changho. You have been the dearest friend to me. I’m not sure if I can bear it when you go, but I know we’re not supposed to be man and wife. To even talk about it while he is alive cannot be right. I pray that you’ll understand.”
“No. I don’t understand. I will never understand. How could your faith allow such suffering?”
“It isn’t just suffering. It isn’t. I pray that you will forgive me. That you will—”
Changho laid down the juice bottle carefully on the bench and got up.
“I’m not like you,” he said. “I’m just a man. I don’t want to be holy. I’m a minor patriot.” He left, walking away from the direction of the house and didn’t return until late in the evening when everyone was asleep.
Early in the morning, when Kyunghee went to the kitchen to get water for Yoseb, she saw that Changho’s room door was open. She looked in, and he was gone. The bedding had been folded neatly. Changho had never had many possessions, but the room looked even more empty without his pile of books, his extra pair of glasses resting on top of them. The family was supposed to have accompanied him to Osaka Station to see him off, but he had taken an earlier train.
Kyunghee stood by his door crying, when Sunja touched her arm. She was wearing her work apron over her nightclothes.
“He left in the middle of the night. He told me to tell everyone good-bye. I only saw him because I got up to make candy.”
“Why didn’t he wait? Until we could go with him to the train station?”
“He said he didn’t want to make a fuss. He said he had to go. I tried to make him breakfast, but he said he’d buy something later. That he couldn’t eat.”
“He wanted to marry me. After Yoseb died. Yoseb had told him that it was okay.”
“Uh-muh,” Sunja gasped.
“But that’s not right, is it? He should be with someone young. He has a right to have children. I couldn’t give him any. I don’t even have blood anymore.”
“Maybe you’re more important than children.”
“No. I could not disappoint two men,” she said. “He is a good man.”
Sunja held her sister-in-law’s hand.
“You told him no?” Her sister-in-law’s face was wet with tears, and Sunja wiped it with a corner of her apron.