Shin smiled weakly at the young minister. After losing four of his children and his wife to cholera five years ago, Shin found that he could not speak much about loss. Everything a person said sounded glib and foolish. He had never understood suffering in this way, not really, until he had lost them. What he had learned about God and theology had become more graphic and personal after his family had died so gruesomely. His faith had not wavered, but his temperament had altered seemingly forever. It was as if a warm room had gotten cooler, but it was still the same room. Shin admired this idealist seated before him, his young eyes shining with faith, but as his elder, he wanted Isak to take care.
“Yesterday morning, I had begun the study of Hosea, and then a few hours later, the boardinghouse ajumoni told me about her pregnant daughter. By evening, I knew. The Lord was speaking to me. This has never happened to me before. I’ve never felt that kind of clarity.” Isak felt it was safe to admit this here. “Has that ever happened to you?” He checked for doubt in the elder pastor’s eyes.
“Yes, it has happened to me, but not always so vividly. I hear the voice of God when I read the Bible, so yes, I suppose I understand what you felt, but there are coincidences, too. We have to be open to that. It’s dangerous to think that everything is a sign from God. Perhaps God is always talking to us, but we don’t know how to listen,” Shin stated. It felt awkward to confess this uncertainty, but he thought it was important.
“When I was growing up, I can remember at least three unmarried girls who were abandoned after becoming pregnant. One was a maid in our house. Two of the girls killed themselves. The maid in our house returned to her family in Wonsan and told everyone that her husband had died. My mother, a woman who never lies, had told her to say this,” Isak said.
“This sort of thing happens with greater frequency these days,” Shin said. “Especially in difficult times.”
“The boardinghouse ajumoni saved my life. Maybe my life can matter to this family. I had always wanted to do something important before I died. Like my brother Samoel.”
Shin nodded. He had heard from his seminary friends that Samoel Baek had been a leader in the independence movement.
“Maybe my life can be significant—not on a grand scale like my brother, but to a few people. Maybe I can help this young woman and her child. And they will be helping me, because I will have a family of my own—a great blessing no matter how you look at it.”
The young pastor was beyond dissuading. Shin took a breath.
“Before you do anything, I would like to meet her. And her mother.”
“I’ll ask them to come. That is if Sunja agrees to marry me. She doesn’t know me really.”
“That hardly matters.” Shin shrugged. “I didn’t see my wife until the wedding day. I understand your impulse to help, but marriage is a serious covenant made before God. You know that. Please bring them when you can.”
The elder pastor put his hands on Isak’s shoulders and prayed over him before he left.
When Isak returned to the boardinghouse, the Chung brothers were sprawled out on the heated floor. They had eaten their supper, and the women were clearing away the last of the dishes.
“Ah, has the pastor been walking around town? You must be well enough now to have a drink with us?” Gombo, the eldest brother, winked. Getting Isak to have a drink with them was a joke the brothers had kept up for months.
“How was the catch?” Isak asked.
“No mermaids,” Fatso, the youngest brother, answered with disappointment.
“That’s a shame,” Isak said.
“Pastor, would you like your dinner now?” Yangjin asked.
“Yes, thank you.” Being outdoors had made him hungry, and it felt wonderful to want food in his stomach again.
The Chung brothers had no intention of sitting up properly, but they made room for him. Gombo patted Isak on the back like an old friend.
Around the lodgers, especially the good-natured Chung brothers, Isak felt more like a man, not a sickly student who’d spent most of his life indoors with books.
Sunja carried in a low dinner table for him, its small surface covered with side dishes, a piping hotpot brimming with stew, and a generously rounded portion of steamed millet and barley rice.
Isak bowed his head in prayer, and everyone else remained silent, feeling awkward, until he raised his head again.
“So, the good-looking pastor gets far more rice than I do,” complained Fatso. “Why should I be surprised?” He tried to make an angry face at Sunja, but she didn’t pay him any mind.
“Have you eaten?” Isak lifted his bowl to Fatso. “There’s plenty here—”
The middle Chung brother, the sensible one, pulled back the pastor’s outstretched arm.
“Fatso ate three bowls of millet and two bowls of soup. This one has never missed a meal. If we don’t make sure that he’s well fed, he’d chew off my arm! He’s a pig.”
Fatso poked his brother in the ribs.
“A strong man has a strong appetite. You’re just jealous because mermaids prefer me to you. One day, I’m going to marry a beautiful market girl and have her work for me the rest of my days. You can repair the fishing nets by yourself.”
Gombo and the middle brother laughed, but Fatso ignored them.
“Maybe I should have another bowl of rice. Is there any left in the kitchen?” he asked Sunja.
“Don’t you want to leave some for the women?” Gombo interjected.