The skin on the palms of her hands was rough with calluses, but the skin on her belly was smooth and taut like fine fabric. He was with his wife, and he should have been more sure of himself, but he wasn’t. Between his legs, his cock had grown to its full measure—this thing that had happened to him each morning since he was a boy felt different now that he was lying beside a woman. Of course, he had imagined what this might be like, but what he hadn’t anticipated was the warmth, the nearness of her breath, and the fear that she might dislike him. His hand covered her breast—its shape plush and heavy. Her breath changed.
Sunja tried to relax; Hansu had never touched her like this with such care and gentleness. When she’d met him at the cove, sex was initiated in haste, with her not knowing what it was supposed to mean—the awkward thrusting, his face changing with relief and gratitude, then the need to wash her legs in cold seawater. He used to stroke her jawline and neck with his hands. He had liked to touch her hair. Once, he wanted her to take her hair out of her braids and she did so, but it had made her late in returning home. Within her body, his child was resting and growing, and he could not feel this because he was gone.
Sunja opened her eyes; Isak’s eyes were open, too, and he was smiling at her, his hand rubbing her nipple; she quickened at his touch.
“Yobo,” he said.
He was her husband, and she would love him.
14
Early next morning, using the map his brother Yoseb had drawn for him on a scrap of butcher paper, Isak found the Hanguk Presbyterian Church—a slanted wooden frame house in the back streets of Ikaino, a few steps away from the main shotengai—its only distinguishing mark a humble white cross painted on its brown wooden door.
Sexton Hu, a young Chinese man raised by Pastor Yoo, led Isak to the church office. Pastor Yoo was counseling a brother and sister. Hu and Isak waited by the office door. The young woman was speaking in low tones, and Yoo nodded sympathetically.
“Should I return later?” Isak asked Hu quietly.
“No, sir.”
Hu, a matter-of-fact sort of person, examined the new minister carefully: Pastor Baek Isak did not look very strong. Hu was impressed by the man’s obvious handsomeness, but Hu believed that a man in the prime of his life should have greater physical stature. Pastor Yoo was once a much larger man, able to run long distances and play soccer skillfully. He was older now and diminished in size; he suffered from cataracts and glaucoma.
“Each morning, Pastor Yoo has been asking for any word from you. We didn’t know when you’d come. If we’d known that you were arriving yesterday, I would’ve come to pick you up at the station.” Hu was no older than twenty; he spoke Japanese and Korean very well and had the mannerisms of a much older man. Hu wore a shabby white dress shirt with a blown-out collar, tucked into a pair of brown woolen trousers. His dark blue sweater was knit from heavy wool and patched in places. He was wearing the winter remnants of Canadian missionaries who hadn’t had much themselves.
Isak turned away to cough.
“My child, who is that with you?” Yoo turned his head to the voices by the door and pushed up his heavy horn-rimmed eyeglasses closer to his face, though doing so hardly helped to sharpen his vision. Behind the milky gray cast clouding his eyes, his expression remained calm and certain. His hearing was acute. He could not make out the shapes by the door, but he knew that one of them was Hu, the Manchurian orphan who’d been left at the church by a Japanese officer, and that the man he was speaking with had an unfamiliar voice.
“It’s Pastor Baek,” Hu said.
The siblings seated on the floor by the pastor turned around and bowed.
Yoo felt impatient to end the meeting with the brother and sister, who were no closer to a resolution.
“Come to me, Isak. It’s not so easy for me to reach you.”
Isak obeyed.
“You have come at last. Hallelujah.” Yoo put his right hand lightly over Isak’s head.
“The Lord bless you, my dear child.”
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I arrived in Osaka last night,” Isak said. The elder pastor’s unfocused pupils were ringed with silver. He wasn’t blind, but the condition was severe. Despite his nearly lost vision, the minister appeared vigorous; his seated posture was straight and firm.
“My son, come closer.”
Isak drew near, and the older man clasped Isak’s hands at first, then cradled his face between his thick palms.
The brother and sister looked on without saying anything. By the transom of the door, Hu sat on bended knees, waiting for Yoo’s next instruction.
“You were sent to me, you know,” Yoo said.
“Thank you for allowing me to come.”
“I’m pleased that you’re here at last. Did you bring your wife? Hu read me your letter.”
“She’s at home today. She will be here on Sunday.”
“Yes, yes.” The older man nodded. “The congregation will be so pleased to have you here. Ah, you should meet this family!”
The siblings bowed again to Isak. They’d noticed that the pastor looked happier than they’d ever seen him.