“Is there enough food for the women?” Isak put down his spoon.
“Yes, yes, there’s plenty of food for us. Please don’t worry. If Fatso wants more food, we can bring him some,” Yangjin assured him.
Fatso looked sheepish.
“I’m not hungry. We should smoke a pipe.” He rooted in his pockets for his tobacco.
“So, Pastor Isak, will you be leaving us soon for Osaka? Or will you join us on the boat and look for mermaids? You look strong enough to pull in the nets now,” Fatso said. He lit the pipe and handed it to his eldest brother before smoking it himself. “Why would you leave this beautiful island for a cold city?”
Isak laughed. “I’m waiting for a reply from my brother. And as soon as I feel well enough to travel, I’ll go to my church in Osaka.”
“Think of the mermaids of Yeongdo.” Fatso waved at Sunja, who was heading to the kitchen. “They will not be the same in Japan.”
“Your offer is tempting. Perhaps I should find a mermaid to go with me to Osaka.”
Isak raised his eyebrows.
“Is the pastor making a joke?” Fatso slapped the floor with delight.
Isak took a sip of his tea.
“It might be better if I had a wife for my new life in Osaka.”
“Put down your tea. Let’s pour this groom a real drink!” Gombo shouted.
The brothers laughed out loud and the pastor laughed, too.
In the small house, the women overheard everything the men said. At the thought of the pastor marrying, Dokhee’s neck flushed scarlet with desire, and her sister shot her a look like she was crazy. In the kitchen, Sunja unloaded the dinner trays; she crouched down before the large brass basin and began to wash the dishes.
9
After she finished cleaning up in the kitchen, Sunja said good night to her mother and retreated to the makeshift bedroom they shared with the servant girls. Normally, Sunja went to bed at the same time as the others, but in the past month, she’d been more tired than she’d ever been; it was no longer possible to wait for them to finish their work. Waking up was no less difficult; in the morning, strong hands seemed to clamp down on her shoulders to keep her from rising. Sunja undressed quickly in the cold room and slipped under the thick quilt. The floor was warm; Sunja rested her heavy head on the lozenge-shaped pillow. Her first thought was of him.
Hansu was no longer in Busan. The morning after she’d left him at the beach, she’d asked her mother to go to the market in her place, claiming that she was nauseous and couldn’t be far from the outhouse. For a week, she didn’t go to the market. When Sunja finally returned to her usual routine of food shopping for the house, Hansu was no longer there. Each morning that she went to the market, she had looked for him, but he was not there.
The heat from the ondol floor warmed the pallet beneath her; all day she had been feeling chilled. Her eyes finally closed, Sunja rested her hands over the slight swell of her stomach. She could not yet feel the child, but her body was changing. Her keener sense of smell was the most noticeable change and hard to bear: Walking through the fish stalls made her feel sick; the worst was the smell of crabs and shrimp. Her limbs felt puffier, almost spongy. She knew nothing about having a baby. What she was growing inside her was a secret—mysterious even to herself. What would the child be like? she wondered. Sunja wanted to talk about these things with him.
Since Sunja’s confession to her mother, neither of them talked again about the pregnancy. Anguish had deepened the lines along her mother’s mouth like a frown setting in for good. During the day, Sunja went about her work faithfully, but at night, before she went to bed, she wondered if he thought about her and their child.