On the heated floor, her daughter, Sunja, was asleep already, snoring lightly, her loose hair crimped by the braids she’d worn during the day and spread across her pillow like a shimmering rectangle of black silk. Beside her remained just enough space for the maids to turn in when they finished their work for the evening.
“Didn’t you tell him that the master passed away?”
“Yes. He seemed surprised. The gentleman said his brother had written to the master but hadn’t heard back.”
Yangjin sat up and reached for the muslin hanbok that she’d just removed, which was folded in a neat pile by her pillow. She put on the quilted vest over her skirt and jacket. With a few deft movements, Yangjin put her hair into a bun.
At the sight of him, it made sense that the maid hadn’t turned him away. He was formed like a young pine, straight and elegant, and he was unusually handsome: slender smiling eyes, a strong nose, and long neck. The man had a pale, unlined brow, and he looked nothing like the grizzled lodgers who yelled for their food or teased the maids for being unmarried. The young man wore a Western-style suit and a thick winter coat. The imported leather shoes, leather suitcase, and trilby were all out of place in the small entryway. From the looks of him, the man had enough money for a room downtown in a larger inn for merchants or tradespeople. Nearly all the inns of Busan where Koreans could stay were full, but for good money, it was possible to get something. He could have passed for a rich Japanese in the way he dressed. The maid stared at the gentleman with her mouth slightly agape, hoping he would be allowed to stay.
Yangjin bowed, not knowing what to say to him. No doubt, the brother had sent a letter, but she did not know how to read. Once every few months, she asked the schoolmaster in town to read her mail, but she hadn’t done so this winter for lack of time.
“Ajumoni”—he bowed—“I hope I didn’t wake you. It was dark when I got off the ferry. I didn’t know about your husband until today. I am sorry to hear the sad news. I am Baek Isak. I come from Pyongyang. My brother Baek Yoseb stayed here many years ago.”
His northern accent was mild, and his speech was learned.
“I’d hoped to stay here for a few weeks before going to Osaka.”
Yangjin looked down at her bare feet. The guestroom was already full, and a man like this would expect his own sleeping quarters. At this time of night, to find a boatman to take him back to the mainland would be hard.
Isak withdrew a white handkerchief from his trousers and covered his mouth to cough.
“My brother was here almost ten years ago. I wonder if you remember him. He had admired your husband very much.”
Yangjin nodded. The older Baek stood out in her memory because he wasn’t a fisherman or someone who worked in the market. His first name was Yoseb; he’d been named after a person in the Bible. His parents were Christians and founders of a church up north.
“But your brother—that gentleman didn’t look like you very much. He was short, with round metal spectacles. He was headed to Japan; he stayed for several weeks before going.”
“Yes, yes.” Isak’s face brightened. He hadn’t seen Yoseb in over a decade. “He lives in Osaka with his wife. He’s the one who wrote to your husband. He insisted that I stay here. He wrote about your stewed codfish. ‘Better than home,’ he said.”
Yangjin smiled. How could she not?
“Brother said your husband worked very hard.” Isak didn’t bring up the club foot or the cleft palate, though of course, Yoseb had mentioned these things in his letters. Isak had been curious to meet this man who’d overcome such difficulties.
“Have you had dinner?” Yangjin asked.
“I’m all right. Thank you.”
“We could get you something to eat.”
“Do you think I could rest here? I realize you were not expecting me, but I’ve been traveling now for two days.”
“We don’t have an empty room, sir. This is not a big place, you see.…”
Isak sighed, then smiled at the widow. This was his burden, not hers, and he did not want her to feel bad. He looked about for his suitcase. It was near the door.
“Of course. Then I should return to Busan to find a place to stay. Before I head back, would you know of a boardinghouse around here that might have a spare room for me?” He straightened his posture, not wanting to appear discouraged.
“There’s nothing around here, and we don’t have an empty room,” Yangjin said. If she put him with the others, he might be upset about the smell of the men. No amount of washing could remove the fish odors from their clothes.
Isak closed his eyes and nodded. He turned to leave.
“There’s some extra space where all the lodgers sleep. There’s only one room, you see. Three guests sleep during the day and three at night, depending on their work schedule. There’s just enough space for an extra man, but it wouldn’t be comfortable. You could look in if you like.”
“It will be fine,” Isak said, relieved. “I would be very grateful to you. I can pay you for the month.”
“It might be more crowded than you are used to. There weren’t as many men here when your brother stayed with us. It was not so busy then. I don’t know if—”