This Burns My Heart (38 page)

“You always told me you were afraid to fly. Did that fear just go away overnight?” Soo-Ja asked Min quietly.

“Hana, go take a shower and wash the chlorine off your body,” said Min.

Hana pecked her mother on the cheeks and left, a tearful expression on her face. Min took her spot, sitting on the swing next to Soo-Ja. They spoke quietly, watching the others gather by the barbecue grill, on the other side of the pool.

“Dad offered you and me jobs in his warehouse. They sell wholesale unisex sportswear. He said you could work the front area, and me in the back, but you’d have to learn Spanish. Most of our customers are from Mexico.”

“He’s very eager to boss me around, isn’t he?” Soo-Ja looked toward the house, where she knew Father-in-law was sitting on his plush white leather couch, probably watching them. “Why would I work for him when I could just start my own business in Seoul?”

Min bit his lower lip, an old habit of his when he was nervous.

“Dad wants to keep our money for us. He said it’s so we can contribute to the expenses here. He said we can’t expect to live here for free.”

Soo-Ja could not help letting out a small, rueful laugh.

“Look at this big pool, Min, this nice house. Who do you think is paying for all this? Do you really think your father would welcome you with open arms if you didn’t have the money with you?”

“Don’t talk like that. He’s my father,” said Min.

“The only reason that what I say bothers you is because you’ve wondered it yourself. Fine, keep the money, but give my daughter back. And by the way, I will never, ever forgive you for this.”

Min looked at her with a bit of a start, and the look on his face confirmed it—he had felt no guilt about taking the money from selling
the land she herself had originally bought; he thought of that money as his, the same way he thought of Hana as his, and her future, too—all his.

“Can we talk about this later?” asked Min. “It’s Mother’s birthday.”

Soo-Ja closed her eyes, resting her forehead against the palm of her hand. An elder’s sixtieth birthday represented a momentous occasion, with a number of ceremonial gestures. At which point, Soo-Ja wondered, should she confront her in-laws? Maybe after the “offering of the flowers,” but before the “song of congratulations”—maybe that would be a good moment to ask them why ten years ago they had abandoned Soo-Ja, penniless, while they started a new life in America with her father’s money. Or maybe after the “offering of the ceremonial liquor” but before the “congratulatory address”—maybe that would be the right moment to demand why they hadn’t sent back their son and granddaughter to Korea, when they knew very well that Min had brought Hana there without Soo-Ja’s consent.

“No, we can’t talk about this later. I want everyone gathered here to know exactly what kind of people your parents are,” said Soo-Ja, preparing to get up. She saw, not far from her, the banquet table covered in white and laid out with the traditional sixtieth birthday dishes: sliced rice cakes stacked almost four feet in the air, and shiny pears sitting on different rungs of a three-story silver platter.

Min’s parents had taken their place on the other side of the banquet table, and in a moment, the ceremony would start. Each of their five children—along with their wives, or in the case of Na-yeong, her husband—were expected to bow to Soo-Ja’s in-laws and offer them a gourd filled with red wine. By living to age sixty, Mother-in-law had reached a milestone. She’d completed the sexagenarian cycle of the zodiac, and, for the first time in her life, her animal element, the monkey, had finally aligned with her
yin-yang
heavenly stem, metal. The already revered matriarch would be even more so, and given more power and respect than ever.

“If you make a scene, no one will sympathize with you. Everyone here is on Mother and Father’s side,” said Min. “And as far as knowing what kind of people they are… we all know already. We’re their children, remember?”

Soo-Ja took a deep breath, frustration running through her veins like water boiling in a cauldron. “Don’t speak to me. I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

Soo-Ja sat on one of the lawn chairs, holding a thick paper plate filled with spicy radishes, sulfurous eggs, and rice wrapped in seaweed. She made a point of sitting apart from the others, and away from Min.

But not soon after, a woman not much older than her, perhaps in her early forties, plunked down next to her. She had a perm, and big, heavy locks of curly hair. She must have been a distant relative, for she seemed to know Soo-Ja, though Soo-Ja herself didn’t recognize her.

“It’s very nice of your father-in-law to bring you to America,” the woman said, settling into her own lawn chair, and balancing the overflowing plate of food on her lap.

“Yes, he brought me here all right,” said Soo-Ja, savoring the irony.

“But then again, he’s always taken care of you, I hear. He gave you a business to run in Seoul, didn’t he?”

“Is that what he tells people?” asked Soo-Ja.

“And I heard he gave you a house, too.” The woman smiled broadly, revealing some gold in her back molars. Soo-Ja wondered if she did this on purpose, an older woman’s version of a young woman flashing a diamond engagement ring.

“Oh, yes,” Soo-Ja said, bewildered at her father-in-law’s distortions. “He’s so kind.”

“So how do you like America?” the woman asked, playfully waving her hands in the air, as if she were a magician and had just produced this country, for Soo-Ja’s benefit, for her to look at.

“It’s very large,” said Soo-Ja.

“I heard you just arrived from Korea. You’re very lucky.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. That country’s so hopeless. After the war, we should’ve all just emigrated and let it stay in ruins.” Soo-Ja looked at her closely, this middle-aged Korean face wearing Western clothes, a French logo emblazoned on her chest pocket: Pierre Cardin. “There is nothing good there,
only pollution and people with bad manners. The local American paper here had a letter to the editor about how nasty Koreans are—they never smile, don’t apologize when they bump into you, cheat you in business. I think that’s all true.”

Soo-Ja took this in and thought of simply letting go at first, but she couldn’t. She stared straight into the woman’s eyes and spoke, and though she did not know where the words came from, she felt them vibrate through the deepest parts of her body. “Did you know Korea was the first country in Asia to have a standing army? And even through decades of being colonized by foreigners, it still managed to create world-class art, literature, and the finest tradition of brush ink paintings you’ve ever seen? When I visit the magnificent, centuries-old temples of Naksansa or Shinhungsa, or drive past the Namdaemun Gate, or think of the astonishing
Tripitaka Koreana
and the thousand Buddhas of Jikjisa Temple, I am always proud that in my blood runs a tradition of great scholars and artists.” The woman shifted, uncomfortable, but Soo-Ja held her gaze and did not stop. “Or when I hear a woman, dressed in a colorful hanbok, sing and dance the
pansori
, and do so beautifully, I find myself swooning with joy. This is what I like about being Korean: when we were attacked by all those different countries, and our names, language, and occupations taken away, we may have looked as though we were bound to our enemies, but deep down we never forgot our worth, we never let them into our heads. And that’s why we’ll be able to triumph in the end, and be proud to call ourselves Korean, and even a woman like you will be proud one day to call herself Korean.”

Soo-Ja wandered through the bright and airy house on her own, as the sound of the party outside filtered through the sliding glass doors and windows. She noticed the high, sloped ceiling, and how the sunlight bounced against the walls, creating a bubble of warmth. She had not expected her in-laws to have such a large living room, full of so much furniture.

In the living room, Soo-Ja sat on the soft L-shaped pink couch and let it sink comfortably under her, like a pillow molding to her body. She
glanced around the room, noticing the color TV with long rabbit ears and a large dial, the record player with numerous knobs, and a series of commemorative silver and gold coins. By glancing at the objects gathered around the room, Soo-Ja could see hobbies taken up and abandoned: golf balls, a badminton racket, some fishing line. On the bookcase shelves, Soo-Ja could make out some of the English writing: a thick world almanac, a stack of
Life
magazines, and Korean-English dictionaries.

Soo-Ja had been by herself for only a few minutes before she noticed someone else in the room. It was Min, standing against the wooden railing by the stairway.

“I’m glad you didn’t start a fight, with all those people outside,” said Min.

“Are you giving me an opportunity now? I’m more of a ticking bomb than you realize.”

“I’m still not going to apologize,” said Min, coming into the room, and sitting across from Soo-Ja. “I’m doing what I think is right for Hana.”

“When did you ever do what’s right for her?”

Min leaned forward on the sofa, his hands locked together.

“You think you’re the only one who suffers for this family?”

“Name one thing you did for me or Hana,” said Soo-Ja.

“I stayed with you when my parents moved here!” Min suddenly shouted.

“And you always remind me how you regret that.”

“You think it’s so simple. You think I’m a bad person. Do you think it’s easy, to live with a woman who thinks I’m nothing?” Min’s voice rose and fell, as if afraid others could hear them. But they couldn’t. They were alone in this impossibly bright room.

“Then
make
something of yourself. I dream of the day you’ll do something courageous, when you’ll prove yourself,” said Soo-Ja.

“What do I have to do to prove myself?”

“I don’t know,” said Soo-Ja, pressing against the pink couch with her hands, as if to measure the thickness of the foam.

“You’ve made sacrifices for me, I know,” said Min. “You could’ve married someone else. But you stuck with me. Don’t think I don’t appreciate that. One day I’ll be able to make a sacrifice for you, and you’ll love me.”

Min looked away, toward the party outside. He watched his parents and his brothers and his sister smile and laugh at one another. Soo-Ja, following his gaze, looked out at the sea of bodies in the backyard, at Min’s big family. She noticed their laughter, their cheerful talk. She could see Min wondering what the joke was—the source of their happiness. She knew he would give anything to unlock it. If he lived here, he wouldn’t be alone even if he tried. She realized then how lonely he must have been in Seoul, with just Hana and her.

“You don’t need to sacrifice anything for me,” said Soo-Ja.

“I’d like for you to respect me.”

“I would have respected you if you had let me divorce you, all those years ago, and still keep Hana.”

“Is that what you want? For me to let you go?”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“Is that so you can go off with Yul?”

“I can’t, even if I wanted to. Yul said he was tired of waiting for me. There’s nothing left for me back in Korea,” said Soo-Ja, fighting back the sadness growing inside her. “And anyway, it’s not about me leaving you and going off with another man. It’s about you becoming the kind of person who’s willing to do what’s right for me and Hana.”

Soo-Ja noticed the sliding glass door open, and one of the guests made her way in. They would have to end this conversation for now. Min rose and turned his back to Soo-Ja, heading back outside.

“Yeobo
…”
Soo-Ja called out.

“What?”

Losing her father had been bad enough. Soo-Ja couldn’t bear to add Hana to her list of losses. Hana was all she had left—if she had to stay in this foreign land and serve as her father-in-law’s handmaiden in order to keep her daughter around her, so be it.

“If you and Hana really want to stay here, I—” Soo-Ja hesitated, her voice trembling a little, struggling to get the words out. It killed her to have to say it. “I’ll take your father’s offer. I’ll work for him.”

T
he party ended late, long past sundown, after the small caravan of Fiats and Cadillacs and Oldsmobiles noisily left the driveway, one after the other, like a procession. Soo-Ja retreated to the downstairs area next to the garage, a kind of fancy chauffeur’s suite, with its own bathroom, separate from the rest of the house. Hana and Min had been staying there, Min sleeping on the floor, and Hana by herself in the large queen-sized bed. Now that Soo-Ja was there, she and Hana would sleep on the bed, and Min on the floor. There was also a small TV in the corner, on top of an old chest made of paulownia wood. Soo-Ja stared at its dark grain, made all the more noticeable by the lighter shades surrounding it.

“Grandpa wants to see you.” Soo-Ja heard Hana’s voice behind her. Soo-Ja rose, only to be struck by the incredible silence in the house. She realized that this was where she’d live, not the bustling house of a few hours ago, filled with sunlight and life; but
this
—this eerie home where unhappiness seemed to linger like dust on top of the furniture.

Soo-Ja walked up the stairs and found herself in the dining room, which had been turned into a kind of multipurpose area, with a second refrigerator, an old leather couch, a color TV, and a round white Formica table pushed against the wall. Father-in-law sat at his chair, waiting for her, holding a backscratcher that he tapped on his knees lightly,
repeatedly, as if counting time. Mother-in-law sat on the floor, a few feet away, her back against the couch; she had a quilted blanket on her lap, and she was stitching the silk cover. Min and Hana sat on the couch, supposedly watching the TV, but the sound was turned too low for them to actually hear. As Soo-Ja sat down across from Father-in-law, she knew the others were just pretending to be busy, and they were there for this conversation as much as she was, like human props placed there for an important scene.

“I want to make something clear to you. You’re not here on vacation. You’re here to work,” said Father-in-law. “Work starts tomorrow. Early. Six o’clock. It’ll be a long day, twelve hours. You can have a little break for lunch, twenty minutes, but if a customer comes in while you’re eating, you leave your food aside and go wait on her. The work is not easy. We sell in bulk, which means carrying ten, twenty pounds’ worth of clothing at a time. All day. But I don’t want to hear complaints. You understand?”