This Burns My Heart (16 page)

The world, as explained by her father-in-law, felt like the narrow mazelike streets near her house that Soo-Ja used to run through as a child. You had to know where to turn, or you could get lost for days, steeped in their unspoken secrets.

“Then I will stay here with Min,” said Soo-Ja. “It’s not fair for him to endure this alone. He needs Hana and me.”

“No. You’re coming back to Daegu with us,” said Father-in-law. “And you’re going to get your father to help us.”

Soo-Ja noticed that Mother-in-law had been silent through this. She had stopped dyeing her hair with henna, and the gray now crowded out the black. Her eyes—usually knowing and canny—seemed foggy and distant. So she missed Min after all, thought Soo-Ja. In her fantasies, Soo-Ja could see Min’s mother making Father-in-law magically disappear, trading him for the son she loved.

“Be sensible, Soo-Ja,” said Father-in-law gently, almost kindly. “Go talk to your father.” She finally understood his pull. After all his angry and harsh words, the mere hint of his approval could be irresistible. For all her mistrust of him, it was amazing how much she still wanted him to like her.

Nevertheless, Soo-Ja decided to stand firm. “No, I won’t bring my father into this. You’ll have to find some other way.”

Pusan reminded Soo-Ja of the years during the war, when her family had fled there to escape the communists. It also made her think of Yul, who had moved there a few months after his graduation from medical school. They hadn’t seen each other in almost four years, but for a while, he had sent her letters—not to her house, but to her parents’ house. An investor had agreed to back Yul’s medical facility, and he’d opened an office, along with another partner, in the ever-growing port city. Soo-Ja pictured him practicing medicine behind a window in a square box of a room, with a wooden plaque the size of a mailbox out front, his name carved and colored in black ink.

Soo-Ja desperately wanted to see Yul. It would be foolish to be in Pusan and not look for him. So the day before she was supposed to return to Daegu, she decided to track down his address. She got it rather quickly, just by asking the telephone operator, who told her of a Dr. Yul-Bok Kim practicing in the Suyeong-gu district, near the city’s busiest marketplace. The woman also gave Soo-Ja directions, telling her which bus stop to get off at. (“On the way back, you should try the fish market. Squid like you’ve never tasted it.”) Soo-Ja wrote down the street name on a piece of paper and stared at it for a long time.

She knew she didn’t have much time, and that she couldn’t bring Hana. She couldn’t subject her child to the ride on the bus and the walk in the cold wind. But Soo-Ja feared asking Mother-in-law to watch her, as she’d bombard her with questions. The boys she couldn’t trust, since they were rowdy and unreliable and would probably leave Hana forgotten by the side of the road, while they threw snowballs at one another. That left Na-yeong, a poised eighteen-year-old, old enough to have her own daughter now. She’d never shown much interest in Hana, preferring her Bible and hymnal books, but Soo-Ja figured she’d do her this favor.

“Where are you going?” Na-yeong asked, taking Hana’s hand as Soo-Ja offered it to her. They were standing by the front steps of the house, with everybody else scattered about.

“I have to get some of my shirts mended, I left my good ones in Daegu,” said Soo-Ja, looking down at her clothes.

“Can’t this wait until we get back? And why can’t you take Hana with you?”

“If you don’t want to watch her, just tell me, and I’ll ask Du-Ho. He seems to have more maternal feelings than you,” said Soo-Ja. She reached back for Hana, as if she were an exotic gift from abroad and Na-yeong simply too uncultured to appreciate her.

Na-yeong held on to the child. “It’s fine. Go, eonni. I’ll watch over her,” she said, calling her “older sister.”

Soo-Ja turned to Hana and kissed her head, feeling enormously guilty. It was rare for Soo-Ja to leave her behind; Hana was always beside her or strapped to her back, wherever she went. Soo-Ja looked at her
daughter and waited for her to tell her not to go, to ask for her to spend the day playing with her. But of course, Hana just said, “Bye, eomma,” and focused back on the doll she had in her hands. Soo-Ja wavered a bit. Was she on a fool’s errand? But things had been set in motion now. She knew that if she didn’t go—even if it was just to see what Yul looked like now, even if it was just to gather one more memory of him to last her another four years—she would regret it, and taste that regret on the rim of every glass she drank from thereafter. Then, as Soo-Ja put on her heavy winter coat, something in Na-yeong’s demeanor made her hesitate. A sadness fell over her, like sudden hail, and Na-yeong suddenly seemed as old as Mother-in-law herself.

“Iseul never asked for a second meeting.” Na-yeong was talking, of course, about her suitor. The only one she’d ever had. Soo-Ja wasn’t sure whether she was asking her a question or stating a fact, so she simply nodded. “He barely spoke to me that day. He was too busy admiring you.”

“There’ll be other suitors, Na-yeong. You’re still very young,” Soo-Ja said gently.

“The first time is the only one that counts. Were you afraid I’d make a better match than you?”

“I can’t imagine a better match than your brother,” Soo-Ja said, not hiding her sarcasm.

“I’ve been so mad at you. And you haven’t even noticed. Could you tell I’ve been giving you the silent treatment?” Na-yeong looked terribly sad, more sad than angry, and Soo-Ja felt as if she were seeing her for the first time. Na-yeong was always so quiet that Soo-Ja had made the mistake of assuming her silence indicated a kind of nothingness, when inside her there must actually be drums and waves and peaks.

“I didn’t mean to ruin that day for you, Na-yeong.”

“Why didn’t you sing my praises to him? I’m sure he was impressed that you chose to marry into our family. Your words would have counted for a lot.”

“I’m not sure if I’m the right person to be selling other people on your family.”

“Of course not. You look down on us. You don’t think I noticed the look of disdain on your face when I met you for the first time? I’m sorry we’re not as educated as you,” said Na-yeong.

“Maybe I should stay,” Soo-Ja said. “It’s so cold, anyway.”

“No. Go,” urged Na-yeong, speaking normally again. She looked a little embarrassed by her earlier burst of emotion. She forced a smile and began toying with Hana’s hair. “I’ll take her for a walk. I saw some kids playing outside, maybe I’ll introduce her. It’ll be good for her to meet kids her own age, instead of being with adults all the time.”

Soo-Ja hesitated, and almost reached back for Hana, but she decided she’d just make the situation worse if she changed her mind. Hana, distracted by her doll, did not pay attention to their conversation. She was like a figure in the corner of a painting, placed there amid the scenery. Soo-Ja stepped back, feeling an odd sensation of being exiled. For a second, she hoped something would keep her from going to see Yul—an emergency or some urgent news—but no, the road was clear, nothing on the way, nothing to prevent her from doing this.

The doctor’s office smelled of lye and cleaning supplies. In the middle of the room, a boiler gave out heat; the few waiting patients clustered around it, all still wearing their heavy coats and jackets. Soo-Ja sat down in one of the small metal foldout chairs. She wondered if the others could read on her face her reasons for being there, and hoped that they would take her for another sick person.

Not too much later, Soo-Ja saw a nurse come out. She wore no uniform, only a red windbreaker and a mask over her mouth. Soo-Ja signaled to her, asking if the doctor would be long.

“No,” she said. “It looks like a heavy snowstorm is on its way. Even the sick are staying indoors. You said you had business with the doctor? You can speak to him as soon as this patient comes out.”

At that moment, Soo-Ja heard the door to the inner room open, and the sound of talking filled the air behind them. She looked at the nurse, who nodded brightly and said
Yes, that’s the doctor.
Soo-Ja turned, full of
hope, her heart beating fast, expecting to see Yul, but instead she saw a man much older and shorter than him, wearing thick glasses and a long white uniform.

“Excuse me, miss.” Soo-Ja reached toward the nurse again. “But that is not Dr. Yul-Bok Kim.”

“Ah, Dr. Kim is not in today,” said the nurse, a little too loudly. “He and his wife are vacationing in the mountains. They ski. Do you know what skiing is?”

“Skiing?” Soo-Ja repeated weakly.

The nurse’s words echoed in her head:
He and his wife
… So Yul was married now. Why was it that she’d never considered that as a possibility?

“He’ll be back tomorrow, though. Are you a patient of his? What is your name?”

Soo-Ja looked at her and panicked, feeling ill.

How foolish I’ve been! What did I think was going to happen? That Yul would rescue me from my marriage? He’d probably think I was crazy for coming here.

“It’s all right. I—I’ll come back tomorrow,” said Soo-Ja, knowing she would be back in Daegu by then.

“Where were you?” Mother-in-law asked her as soon as Soo-Ja came into the courtyard. Behind her, Soo-Ja could see the sun erasing itself.

Soo-Ja looked at her, confused, noticing how Mother-in-law’s voice seemed too strident, almost hysterical. For a moment, Soo-Ja felt the odd sensation that her mother-in-law stood in her way, not letting her go find Hana.

“I was just running an errand. Didn’t Na-yeong tell you?” Soo-Ja tried to walk past her mother-in-law.

“Leaving your child with another child, what kind of thinking is that?”

Soo-Ja could hear it clearly now, the panic in Mother-in-law’s voice. Soo-Ja swallowed, feeling something hard sprout inside her lungs.

“Na-yeong is hardly a child. Where is she? Where is Hana?”

Mother-in-law didn’t answer but looked at Soo-Ja with pity and fear in her eyes. The lump inside Soo-Ja’s lungs felt like a massive growth now, and it began to pulsate.

“Where’s Hana? Tell me, where’s Hana?” Soo-Ja walked past her and went into the house. As she opened the door to the main room, Soo-Ja found Father-in-law and the boys gathered there. When they looked up at her, she witnessed the graveness in their eyes. Then, she saw something that chilled her blood: in the back of the room, as if hiding, Na-yeong ate from a bowl of rice by herself,
without
Hana. Trying to keep her rising panic in check, Soo-Ja walked slowly toward her.

“Where’s Hana?” Soo-Ja asked, hearing the dread in her own voice.

Na-yeong made no answer, using her chopsticks instead to hide part of her face.

Soo-Ja did not see Mother-in-law appear behind her.

“Na-yeong, go to your uncle’s room and wait there.”

“No, stay here,” said Soo-Ja. “Tell me.
Where. Is. Hana?
” She knew by then something bad had happened.

“I don’t know!” Na-yeong blurted out. “I lost her!”

“What do you mean, lost her?” yelled Soo-Ja.

Mother-in-law grabbed Soo-Ja by the arm. “There’s no sense in getting hysterical. She didn’t do it on purpose.”

Soo-Ja shook her arm away from her. “What happened, Na-yeong? Where did you leave Hana?”

“Outside,” said Na-yeong, quivering, the chopsticks in her hand beating against the sides of the bowl of rice.

Turning her back on all of them, Soo-Ja ran outside, calling out her daughter’s name. “Hana! Hana! Where are you?” she screamed into the twilight. Almost immediately, Na-yeong followed, her little body shaking with fear. Soo-Ja looked at her with a madwoman’s eyes and began to squeeze her sister-in-law’s arms. “Tell me exactly where you left her. Tell me
exactly.
”

“I…. I followed you,” said Na-yeong, trembling, looking back toward the house, as if to make sure no one could hear them. “Today… I took Hana with me and I followed you. I knew you weren’t going to
the seamstress. I wanted to know if you were doing something bad, so I could tell on you. Oh, if I’d known you were just going to the doctor I never would’ve—”

“You followed me? You followed me all the way to the marketplace? You mean, you didn’t lose Hana here, you lost her in the busy marketplace?”

Na-yeong nodded. “I wanted to make sure it was a doctor’s office, and I had to cross the street to read the sign properly. I told Hana to stay quiet, and away from the curb. I thought it’d be all right if I left her there for just a few seconds. I was coming right back! So I went over to get closer, and tried to peek in through the window glass. I saw the back of your head in the waiting room, and knew for sure it was you. When I saw you, I got this panicked feeling that maybe you’d turn around and see me, so I hid, and ran back to Hana, as fast as I could. But when I got there, she was gone. I kept calling her name and looked for her everywhere, but it was like she was never there in the first place! I did this for a while, until a policeman came to me and I got scared. I told him I wasn’t looking for anything and I ran back home. I was so afraid he was going to put me in jail if he knew what I’d done.”

Soo-Ja grabbed Na-yeong by her bone-thin arm; it reminded her of a wooden ladle, almost slipping away from her. Soo-Ja made her walk with her, and as she did so, she could see her own Fury-like gaze reflected back in the girl’s eyes.

“What are you doing?” asked Na-yeong, whimpering. “Let me go, eonni.”

“We’re going back to the marketplace. You’re going to show me exactly where you left her.”

“Eonni, it’s getting dark now. It’s not safe. We can’t go back there.”

“Yes, we can. And we are,” said Soo-Ja. Soo-Ja grasped harder at Na-yeong’s arm, almost snapping it in half. If it bruised, fine. Let it be a reminder of what she’d done.

Soo-Ja had to block out her fears for Hana, otherwise her heart would stop beating. All she could hear was her own voice inside her calling out for her child,
Wait for me, Hana. I’m coming for you.
She needed her daughter more than she needed any of her own limbs. She had only one
thought, running through her head in a single loop:
Bring Hana back. Bring Hana back.
If somebody had told her that her child was in Mongolia, she would not have stopped to pack a bag or change clothes, but simply started walking in the direction of Mongolia.