“But you’ve grown much bigger than me. That’s disrespectful!”
Isak bowed waist-deep in mock apology.
Sunja stood there holding her bundles. She was comforted by the brothers’ ease and warmth. Isak’s brother Yoseb was funny. His joking reminded her a little of Fatso, the boardinghouse guest. When Fatso first learned that she’d married Isak, he had pretended to faint, making a splat sound on the floor of the front room. Moments later, he took out his wallet and gave her two yen—over two days of a workman’s wages—telling her to buy something tasty to eat with her husband when she got to Osaka. “When you’re munching on sweet rice cakes in Japan, remember me, lonely and sad in Yeongdo, missing you; imagine Fatso’s heart torn out like the mouth of a sea bass hooked too young.” He had pretended to cry, rubbing his meaty fists into his eyes and making loud boo-hoo noises. His brothers had told him to shut up, and each of them had also given her two yen as a wedding present.
“And you’re married!” Yoseb said, looking carefully at the small girl beside Isak.
Sunja bowed to her brother-in-law.
“It’s good to meet you again,” Yoseb said. “You were just a little thing, though; you used to follow your father around. Maybe you were five or six? I don’t think you can remember me.”
Sunja shook her head because she had tried but couldn’t.
“I remember your father very well. I was sorry to hear about his death; he was a very wise man. I enjoyed talking with him. He didn’t have extra words, but everything he said was well considered. And your mother made the most outstanding meals.”
Sunja lowered her eyes.
“Thank you for letting me come here, Elder Brother. My mother sends her deepest thanks for your generosity.”
“You and your mother saved Isak’s life. I’m grateful to you, Sunja. Our family is grateful to your family.”
Yoseb took the heavy suitcases from Isak, and Isak took Sunja’s lighter bundles. Yoseb noticed that her stomach protruded, but her pregnancy was not entirely obvious. He looked away in the direction of the station exits. The girl didn’t look or talk like some village harlot. She seemed so modest and plain that Yoseb wondered if she could have been raped by someone she knew. That sort of thing happened, and the girl might have been blamed for having misled a fellow.
“Where’s Sister?” Isak asked, looking around for Kyunghee.
“At home, cooking your dinner. You better be hungry. The neighbors must be dying of jealousy from the smells coming from the kitchen!”
Isak smiled; he adored his sister-in-law.
Sunja pulled her jacket closer to her body, aware of the passersby staring at her traditional dress. No one else in the station was wearing a hanbok.
“My sister-in-law’s a wonderful cook,” Isak said to Sunja, happy at the thought of seeing Kyunghee again.
Yoseb noticed the people staring at the girl. She’d need clothes, he realized.
“Let’s go home!” Yoseb guided them out of the station in no time.
The road opposite the Osaka station was teeming with streetcars; hordes of pedestrians streamed in and out of the main entrances. Sunja walked behind the brothers, who darted carefully through the crowd. As they walked toward the trolley, she turned back for a moment and caught sight of the train station. The Western-style building was like nothing she had ever seen before—a stone and concrete behemoth. The Shimonoseki station, which she’d thought was big, was puny compared to this immense structure.
The men walked quickly, and she tried to keep up. The trolley car was approaching. In her mind, she had been to Osaka before. In her mind, she had ridden the Shimonoseki ferry, the Osaka train, and even the trolley that could outpace a boy running or cycling. As cars drove past them, she marveled that they did look like metal bulls on wheels, which was what Hansu had called them. She was a country girl, but she had heard of all these things. Yet she could not let on that she knew of uniformed ticket collectors, immigration officers, porters, and of trolleys, electric lamps, kerosene stoves, and telephones, so at the trolley stop, Sunja remained quiet and still like a seedling sprouting from new soil, upright and open to collect the light. She would have uprooted herself to have seen the world with him, and now she was seeing it without him.