Strands of her bun had come loose, and Kyunghee smoothed her hair behind her ears. Even at the end of a long workday, there was still something so clean and bright in her expression; it could not be defiled.
“Last night, he yelled at her again about the schools. My husband means well. He’s also in a lot of pain. Noa wants to go to Japanese school. He wants to go to Waseda University. Can you imagine? Such a big school like that!” She smiled, feeling proud of his grand dream. “And, well, Mozasu never wants to go to school at all.” She laughed. “Of course, it isn’t clear when we can return now, but the boys need to learn how to read and write. Don’t you think?” Kyunghee found herself crying, but couldn’t explain why.
From his coat pocket, Kim dug out a handkerchief that he used to clean his glasses and gave it to her.
“There are so many things we can’t control,” he said.
She nodded.
“Do you want to go home?”
Without looking at his face, she said, “I can’t believe my parents are dead. In my dreams, they seem alive. I’d like to see them again.”
“But you can’t go back now. It’s dangerous. When things get better—”
“Do you think that will be soon?”
“Well, you know how we are.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Koreans. We argue. Every man thinks he’s smarter than the next. I suppose whoever is in charge will fight very hard to keep his power.” He repeated only what Hansu had told him, because Hansu was right, especially when it came to seeing the worst in people—in this, he was always right.
“So you’re not a communist, then?” she asked.
“What?”
“You go to those political meetings. I thought if you went to them, then perhaps they’re not so bad. And they’re against the Japanese government, and they want to reunify the country, right? I mean, aren’t the Americans trying to break up the country? I hear things at the market from the others, but it’s hard to know what to believe. My husband said that the communists are a bad lot; they’re the ones who shot our parents. You know, my father smiled at everyone. He always did good things.”
Kyunghee could not understand why her parents were killed. Her father had been the third son, so his plot had been very small. Had the communists killed all the landowners? Even the insignificant ones? She was curious as to what Kim thought, too, because he was a good man and knew a lot about the world.
Kim leaned in to the cart, and he looked at her carefully, wanting to comfort her. He knew she was looking to him for advice, and it made him feel important. With a woman like this by him, he wondered if he would even care about politics anymore.
“Are there different kinds of communists?” she asked.
“I think so. I don’t know if I’m a communist. I am against the Japanese taking over Korea again, and I don’t want the Russians and the Chinese to control Korea, either. Or the Americans. I wonder why Korea can’t be left alone.”
“But you just said, we quarrel. I suppose it’s like when two grannies have a dispute, and the villagers constantly whisper in their ears about the wickedness of the other one. If the grannies want to have any peace, they have to forget everyone else and remember that they used to be friends.”
“I think we should put you in charge,” he said, pushing the cart toward the house. Even if it was just this brief walk, he felt happy to be with her, but of course, it made him want more. He’d gone to those meetings to get out of the house, because sometimes being near her was too much. He lived in that house because he needed to see her every day. He loved her. This would never change, he thought. His situation was impossible.
Only a few paces from home, the two walked slowly, murmuring this and that about their day, content and only a little less shy. He would continue to suffer with love.
10
Osaka, January 1953
Worried about money, Sunja had woken up in the middle of the night to make candies to sell. When Yangjin noticed that her daughter wasn’t in bed, she went to the kitchen.
“You don’t sleep anymore,” Yangjin said. “You’ll get sick if you don’t sleep.”
“Umma, I’m fine. You should go back to bed.”
“I’m old. I don’t need to sleep so much,” Yangjin said, putting on her apron.
Sunja was trying to make extra money for Noa’s tutoring fees. He had failed his first attempt at the Waseda exams by a few points, and he felt certain that he’d be able to pass on his next try if he could be tutored in mathematics. The fees for the tutors were exorbitant. The women had been trying to earn more so Noa could leave his job as a bookkeeper to study full time, but it was difficult enough to manage their household costs and Yoseb’s medical bills on his salary and their earnings from selling food. Each week, Kim gave them money for his room and board. He had tried to add to Noa’s tutoring fund, but Yoseb forbade the women from taking any more than what was a reasonable sum. Yoseb would not allow Sunja to accept any money from Hansu for Noa’s schooling.