“Isak-ah, don’t move,” Yoseb said, trying to keep his voice normal. “I’m going to get rid of all these itchy bastards.”
Yoseb made clean strokes across Isak’s head and threw the cut hair into the metal basin.
“Yah—Isak-ah.” Yoseb smiled at the memory. “You remember how the gardener used to cut our hair when we were kids? I used to holler like a crazy animal but you never did. You sat there like a baby monk, calm and peaceful, and you never once complained.” Yoseb grew quiet, wanting what he saw in front of him not to be true. “Isak-ah, why did I bring you to this hell? I was so lonesome for you. I was wrong, you know, to bring you here, and now I’m punished for my selfishness.” Yoseb rested his blade in the basin.
“I will not be all right if you die. Do you understand? You cannot die, my boy. Isak-ah, please don’t die. How can I go on? What will I tell our parents?”
Isak continued to sleep, oblivious to his family encircling his pallet.
Yoseb wiped his eyes and shut his mouth, clamping down on his jaws. He picked up the blade again, working steadily to take off the bits of gray hair remaining on his head. When Isak’s head was smooth, Yoseb poured oil over his brother’s beard.
For the remainder of the evening, Yoseb, Kyunghee, and Sunja rid him of nits and lice, dropping the bugs into jars of kerosene, only stopping to put the boys to bed. Later, the pharmacist came to tell them what they already knew. There was nothing a hospital or a doctor could do for Isak now.
At dawn, Yoseb returned to work. Sunja remained with Isak, and Kyunghee went to the restaurant. Yoseb didn’t bother complaining about Kyunghee going to work alone. He was too tired to argue, and the wages were badly needed. Outside the house, the street was filled with the morning bustling of men and women heading to work and children running to school. Isak slept in the front room, his breathing fast and shallow. He was clean and smooth like an infant—all the hair from his body shaved.
After Noa finished breakfast, he laid down his chopsticks neatly and looked up at his mother.
“Umma, may I stay home?” he asked, never having dared to ask for such a thing, even when things were awful at school.
Sunja looked up from her sewing, surprised.
“Are you feeling ill?”
He shook his head.
Isak, who was half-awake, had heard the boy’s request.
“Noa—”
“Yes, appa.”
“Umma told me that you’re becoming a fine scholar.”
The child beamed but, out of habit, looked down at his feet.
When Noa received high marks in school, he thought first of his father.
Yoseb had told the boy several times that his father had been a prodigy, having taught himself Korean, Classical Chinese, and Japanese from books with scant tutoring. By the time he went to seminary, Isak had already read the Bible several times.
When school felt difficult, knowing that his father was a learned man had strengthened the boy’s resolve to learn.
“Noa.”
“Yes, appa?”
“You must go to school today. When I was a boy, I wanted to go to school with the other children very much.”
The boy nodded, having heard this detail about his father before.
“What else can we do but persevere, my child? We’re meant to increase our talents. The thing that would make your appa happy is if you do as well as you’ve been doing. Wherever you go, you represent our family, and you must be an excellent person—at school, in town, and in the world. No matter what anyone says. Or does,” Isak said, then paused to cough. He knew it must be taxing for the child to go to a Japanese school.
“You must be a diligent person with a humble heart. Have compassion for everyone. Even your enemies. Do you understand that, Noa? Men may be unfair, but the Lord is fair. You’ll see. You will,” Isak said, his exhausted voice tapering off.
“Yes, appa.” Hoshii-sensei had told him that he had a duty to Koreans, too; one day, he would serve his community and make Koreans good children of the benevolent Emperor. The boy stared at his father’s newly shaved head. His bald pate was so white in contrast to his dark, sunken cheeks. He looked both new and ancient.
Sunja felt bad for the child; he’d never had a day with both his parents and no one else. When she was growing up, even when there were others around, it had been just the three of them—her father, mother, and her—an invisible triangle. When she thought back to her life at home, this closeness was what she missed. Isak was right about school, but it wouldn’t be much longer. Soon, Isak would be gone. She would have given anything to see her father again, but how could she go against Isak’s wishes? Sunja picked up Noa’s satchel and handed it to the boy, who was crestfallen.