When the men stepped outside the house, Yoseb held his brother’s hand.
“So you’re a father now.”
“Yes.” Isak smiled.
“Good,” Yoseb said.
“I want you to name him,” Isak said. “It takes a lot of time for us to write to Father and to wait. You’re the head of our house here—”
“It shouldn’t be me.”
“It must be you.”
Yoseb took a breath and faced the empty street, and it came to him.
“Noa.”
“Noa,” Isak repeated, smiling. “Yes. That’s wonderful.”
“Noa—because he obeyed and did what the Lord asked. Noa—because he believed when it was impossible to do so.”
“Maybe you should give the sermon today,” Isak said, patting his brother on the back.
The brothers walked briskly toward the church, their bodies close, one tall, frail, and purposeful, and the other short, powerful, and quick.
Book II
Motherland
1939–1962
I thought that no matter how many hills and brooks you crossed, the whole world was Korea and everyone in it was Korean.
—Park Wan-suh
1
Osaka, 1939
Yoseb inhaled deeply and planted his feet squarely on the threshold—ready to be tackled by a six-year-old boy who had been waiting all week for his bag of taffy. He slid open the front door, steeling himself for what would come.
But nothing.
There was no one in the front room. Yoseb smiled. Noa must be hiding.
“Yobo. I’ve arrived,” he shouted in the direction of the kitchen.
Yoseb closed the door behind him.
Pulling out the packet of candy from his coat pocket, Yoseb said dramatically, “Huh, I wonder where Noa could be. I suppose if he isn’t home, then I can eat his share of the candy. Or I can put it aside for his brother. Maybe today would be a good day for baby Mozasu to have his first taste of candy. One can never be too young for a treat! He’s already a month old. Before you know it, Mozasu and I’ll be wrestling, too, just like Noa and me! He’ll need some pumpkin taffy to make him stronger.” Not hearing a sound, Yoseb unfolded the crinkly paper with a flourish and pretended to put a chunk of taffy in his mouth.
“Wah, this is the best batch of pumpkin taffy that Piggy ajumma has ever made! Yobo,” he shouted, “come out here, you must have some of this! Really tasty!” he said, making chewing noises while checking behind the clothing chest and the screen door—Noa’s usual hiding spots.
The mere mention of Noa’s infant brother, Mozasu, should have made the boy bolt out from hiding. Normally a well-behaved child, Noa had been in trouble at home lately for pinching his brother, given the chance.
Yoseb checked the kitchen, but there was no one there. The stove was cool to the touch, and the side dishes had been put out on the small table by the door; the rice pot was empty. Dinner was always made by the time he came home. The soup kettle was half-filled with water, cut-up potatoes, and onions, waiting to be put on the fire. Saturday evening meals were Yoseb’s favorite, because there was no work on Sundays, and yet nothing had been prepared. After a leisurely Saturday dinner, the family would go to the bathhouse together. He opened the kitchen back door and stuck his head out, only to face the filthy gutters. Next door, Piggy ajumma’s oldest girl was fixing supper for her family and didn’t even look out from her open window.
They could have gone to the market, he supposed. Yoseb sat down on a floor cushion in the front room and opened up one of his many newspapers. Printed columns of words about the war floated in front of his eyes—Japan would save China by bringing technological advancements to a rural economy; Japan would end poverty in Asia and make it prosper; Japan would protect Asia from the pernicious hands of Western imperialism; and only Germany, Japan’s true and fearless ally, was fighting the evils of the West. Yoseb didn’t believe any of it, but propaganda was inescapable. Each day, Yoseb read three or four papers to glean some truth from the gaps and overlaps. Tonight, all the papers repeated virtually the same things; the censors must’ve been working especially hard the night before.
In the quiet of the house, Yoseb felt impatient and wanted his dinner. If Kyunghee had gone to pick up something at the market, there was still no reason why Sunja, Noa, and the baby would’ve gone, too. No doubt, Isak was busy at church. Yoseb put on his shoes.
On the street, no one knew where his wife was, and when he reached the church, his brother wasn’t there. The office in the back was empty, except for the usual group of women seated on the floor, their heads bowed, mumbling their prayers.
He waited for a long time until the women raised their heads.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but have you seen Pastor Baek or Pastor Yoo?”