Waxing Moon (3 page)

“I appreciate your gift, but my aging legs are not as agile as they once were. I can’t carry that sack back home. I will take a few,” Mrs. Wang said, examining the cooked potatoes peeking out from under the hemp cloth on a low table.

“I will carry it for you.”

“What did I do to deserve that?”

“You brought my son out to this world. He is such a good sleeper. He is sleeping right now by the way. But I must say, and forgive me for saying this, but Mr. O’s daughter keeps my wife awake all night. Every night, she cries several times. My son and I sleep through thunder. But the baby girl’s a very delicate sort,” Dubak said, scratching his head vigorously.

Mrs. Wang quickly understood that the invitation to their son’s one-hundredth-day birthday had a flip side. They were also wondering when another money pouch might find its way to them from Mr. O.

“Tomorrow is her hundredth day. We wonder if it will be all right to celebrate hers the way we do, or do they have something else in mind? Commoners like us don’t know how to imitate the nobleman’s way of life. Besides, we don’t have the means to do it anyway,” Dubak said, pulling his hair. “My wife says we should take her home for the occasion, so that they can see how well she has been fed and taken care of. But I say no, we can’t go uninvited, even though we care for their offspring.”

“I get your meaning. But I thought you were paid. I mean, your wife was paid for the entire period of nursing the baby up front. Is that not true?” Mrs. Wang asked, raising her caterpillar eyebrows.

“Yes, of course,” Dubak answered. “But that’s not—that’s not what I am wondering. It’s not the-the money,” he stuttered.

“Of course it’s the money,” his wife interrupted. “Mrs. Wang, we are commoners. And I can only speak as a commoner. I was paid for nursing their baby. It’s true they paid enough money for that. But is milk all that a baby needs? She needs clothes, she needs . . .” She couldn’t think of what else a baby needed. “Personally, I am a little concerned that no one has ever come to see how the baby is doing. What if they don’t take her back when she is done nursing? Are we stuck with her? I would like to know. What if another baby comes along? I can’t care for this baby long unless—” She stopped her speech there.

“I will deliver your message. I just didn’t know I was here for that mission.” Mrs. Wang scowled.

“No, Mrs. Wang. That’s not why we invited you. Please sit down,” begged Jaya.

She brought more food to the table and then sat down across from Mrs. Wang, encouraging her to please take the chopsticks. When Mrs. Wang finally succumbed to tasting the food, Jaya pulled out her large breast to give to the whimpering baby girl.

“Do you like my scallion patties?” Jaya asked, a grin spreading across her face.

“Heavenly,” Mrs. Wang replied as she picked up her third one. Right now, a bowl of mud would be delicious, she thought to herself.

After devouring half a dozen scallion patties, Mrs. Wang gulped down a large bowl of milky white rice wine. She was in an excellent mood. She burped and then she wanted to take a look at the babies. Jaya brought them close and Mrs. Wang examined them. Like his mother, the boy was double-chinned, twice the size of Mr. O’s daughter. She was alert and staring at Mrs. Wang as if she understood what was being said.

“She sucks blood out of me all night long, and then when my baby boy wakes up, there is hardly any milk left for him.” Jaya laughed superficially.

“When the mother of the poor thing finds her way to a good place, she will remember your effort. Even though I saw her only after she was dead, I knew she had been a good soul,” Mrs. Wang said.

“Oh, we knew of her excellent reputation. A few years ago my husband was hired to escort her to her grandfather’s funeral in her hometown. He said that Mistress Kim was more queenly than the queen of China,” Jaya said.

Mrs. Wang got up, leaving a few coins on the table.

“What is this, Mrs. Wang?”

“Buy something for your son. What’s his name?”

“Sungnam is his name. Star of the South,” Jaya said self-consciously.

“A good name that is,” Mrs. Wang said.

Dubak got up from the yard, where he had been mending his straw shoes. He put the sack of potatoes on his shoulder and a towel around his head.

“Are you sure you want to walk back with me with that on your shoulder?” Mrs. Wang asked.

“When you bite into one of my potatoes for dinner, you will be happy you let me carry this for you.” He smiled, showing his horsey, square front teeth. He was already sweating. The blazing sun was still fastened in the middle of the sky.

Mrs. Wang led the way, thinking of the name of the boy, Sungnam. Southern star or northern star, he is a peasant. And a peasant is a peasant, she said to herself.

By the time she arrived home, the sun was heading west, and her animals were not excited to see her. The heat had been too much for them. She should have left more water, she thought, looking at the bone-dry bowls in the yard.

3

Dr. Choi arrived at Mr. O’s house to examine Mistress Yee. She was sure she was pregnant. This wasn’t the first time she had thought she was pregnant. The other two times, Dr. Choi’s diagnoses had put the household in a somber mood for a few days.

Mr. O was in his room, tapping his thin brass pipe on the ashtray and fidgeting a little.

In the hallway outside Mistress Yee’s room, the maid stood behind the latticed door while the doctor felt Mistress Yee’s pulse. A few seconds later, the doctor nodded.

“What do you think?” Mistress Yee asked impatiently.

“Mistress Yee, you are indeed pregnant,” the doctor announced dryly.

“Of course I am,” she said. I didn’t need an old frog like you to tell me that, she thought to herself. “Now you go and tell my husband what you’ve discovered,” she ordered him, without looking in his direction.

The doctor was amazed by her audacity. She looked half contemptuous, half amused, and she gazed into thin air, as if seeing something invisible, something only
she
had the power to see. The doctor stood up, cleared his throat, and walked out, looking grave.

A tray of plum wine was brought in for the doctor and Mr. O, whose face was all mouth, from one ear to the other, at the news. He was not getting younger and felt that this was a divine gift, finally.

“Thank you, Dr. Choi, thank you,” Mr. O said, as if it had been the work of the doctor that his wife was pregnant.

“Mistress Yee is in good spirits, and by nature she is very strong. She will have no trouble carrying this through to the end,” Dr. Choi said, remembering his first wife, Mistress Kim, whose sudden death confounded him, for her constitution had been in excellent harmony despite her delicate frame.

“I was sorry to hear the news about Mistress Kim,” the doctor mentioned. He knew that it wasn’t the right moment for condolences, but he couldn’t stop his tongue once it got started.

“Poor woman. She was good through and through,” Mr. O said. There was a tinge of melancholy in his voice. “Please,” he said, recommending more plum wine to the doctor.

At that moment, Mrs. Wang was on her way to Mr. O’s mansion. She thought her legs were going to break, the way she had recently walked miles and miles on low fuel. She sat under an old pine tree and listened to the silence of the earth. It was good to sit in the shade. She looked inside her pouch, where no more cucumbers or rice balls remained. She never carried enough food.

Out of nowhere, a deer appeared. Its innocent eyes stared at Mrs. Wang intently, making her feel rather uncomfortable. She pretended she was a statue, fearing she might frighten the little creature. She remembered she had bought deer meat from a hunter once and it was the best thing next to beef, but right now she wasn’t in the mood to strangle this little creature. There was something about the deer or, perhaps in the atmosphere, that prevented her from acting hastily. She held her breath and stared back at the deer.
Those eyes.
She had seen them before. Lurid and sad and silent. A large pinecone dropped on Mrs. Wang’s head, shocking her, and she jumped up. The deer ran away. Mrs. Wang sighed.

Her legs wobbled as she walked downhill toward her destination. The night before, she hadn’t been able to sleep for some reason, and during those sleepless hours, she had thought of one wish: when she grew really old and it was time for her to go, she wanted to die instantaneously, in her sleep, without knowing it. That would be a blessing.

She approached Mr. O’s vast land with its colossal grove of trees, and she listened to the loud and monotonous a cappella singing of summer insects. All of a sudden a young lad jumped out of a field screaming, with a leech on his leg. Mrs. Wang took a stick and removed the bloodsucking creature. She said, “Reserve your screaming for the end of the world. It’s just a leech.”

“I am sorry, Mrs. Wang. I was terribly scared,” he apologized.

A woman shouted from the field, “Mrs. Wang, we are having some food. Why don’t you join us?”

Mrs. Wang looked up into the sky to see what time it might be, and thought, people can wait but food can’t. So she joined them for lunch. The farmers and Mrs. Wang passed the weathered
Jang Seung
, totem poles. Three offering bowls of rice, with incense planted among the grains, were lined up in front of the totem poles, whose grotesque expressions were varied but muted, with faded colors and chipped noses.

The farmers met up with two women carrying trays of food on their heads. Steamed barley and young pumpkin leaves and bean paste and green chilies were their lunch. The farmers ate and talked and laughed and shouted with their food in their mouths.

“Hope we will have enough rain this year,” a woman said as she stuffed her mouth with steamed barley wrapped in a pumpkin leaf.

“Last year was terrible. The brittle surface of the field cracked at the end of the summer. How many lizards and snakes did the children find, all dried up on the rocks and paths? It was just awful. Do you remember?” a young lad said.

“What kind of crops the earth yields is up to the gods,” said another woman.

“That’s right,” agreed a man.

“What brings you down here, Mrs. Wang?” the woman asked, her cheeks bulging with food.

“Some business with Mr. O,” Mrs. Wang answered.

“Is Mistress Yee pregnant?” the second woman asked, grinning.

“So soon after the death of the first wife?” a voice asked.

“Who would have thought that Mistress Kim would die so young? What a pity. She was a good lady. What use are gold and silver and a nobleman’s title? When the devil takes your life away, there is nothing left to boast about,” another man said.

“She was not like the second mistress, for sure. But whose life does the devil take first? There is no such thing as fairness. Enjoy your life while it lasts. The dead know no pleasure,” a sinewy farmer said caustically, staring intently at the woman on the opposite side.

“Mistress Kim had the eyes of an innocent doe,” a woman said, pouring rice wine into the bowls.

It was Mistress Kim whom Mrs. Wang had seen under the pine tree. The doleful eyes even when her breath had left her. The thought chilled her bones. Uncharacteristically quiet, Mrs. Wang took one of the bowls brimming with rice wine, which was meant for the men, and drank it until the bottom of the bowl was exposed. Without thanking her hosts for the meal, she got up and walked away like a sleepwalker.

In no time, she arrived at Mr. O’s southern gate, which seemed oppressively massive. She couldn’t remember her impression of the place from her previous visit. Before she banged the gate with the circular brass piece that hung in the middle, she took a deep breath. But the gate was flung open suddenly. Mistress Yee was leaving with her maid in a spectacular palanquin. She was all covered up to protect herself from the harsh sunlight.

“Who is that?” Mistress Yee asked Mirae, looking directly at Mrs. Wang.

“Mrs. Wang, the midwife,” Mirae answered.

“Did my husband send for you? What an impatient man! It takes a while for the baby to arrive,” she said to no one in particular and laughed in a high-pitched voice. And then she left without saying another word to Mrs. Wang.

Stunned by both her striking beauty and her blunt arrogance, Mrs. Wang stood still for a moment and observed the palanquin ambling away. She mumbled to herself, “A rose has more thorns than any other flower.” Before she entered through the gate, Mrs. Wang turned around suddenly to have a glimpse of the maid once more. She was dressed in orange silk, an unusual color and fabric for a maid. Perhaps she wasn’t a maid. But she was treated like a maid. Mrs. Wang slipped into the gate, thinking the maid was also a thorny rose.

Mrs. Wang took another deep breath. Her left knee throbbed. Her mind was preoccupied with the thought of Mistress Yee. A gorgeous little thing, but with eyes full of malice.

“Oh, Mrs. Wang!” Nani, overexcited, greeted her.

“Here you are. I was hoping to find you. Go and let your master know I am here to see him. Tell him it is concerning his daughter,” Mrs. Wang said.

“How is the baby, Mrs. Wang?” Nani asked.

“Couldn’t be better,” Mrs. Wang replied quickly.

“I am so glad to hear that. Your kindness will not pass unrewarded, Mrs. Wang. I know that Mistress Kim is watching over her baby,” Nani said, her face suddenly turning sad, like an old apple.

“I have no time to lose. I have a long way to go back,” Mrs. Wang said.

“Please follow me, Mrs. Wang. I will take you where you can sit and wait,” the maid said, sniffling.

“Where is Mistress Yee going?” Mrs. Wang asked, following the maid. It was none of her business, but she couldn’t stop herself from inquiring.

“She is going to the temple to pray for a healthy son. She is pregnant, Mrs. Wang,” the maid whispered.

Feeling a little irritable, Mrs. Wang didn’t respond.

The maid disappeared while Mrs. Wang observed the butterflies in the flower garden. Butterflies always fascinated her. The extraordinary designs on their wings seemed to have been printed with some unknown purpose. Without those black imprints, butterflies would not be quite butterflies. Quietly, she tried to catch a yellow butterfly with her two fingers. But the surprised butterfly fluttered away ever so slowly, teasing her. When she was a little girl, she had been equally fascinated but could never catch a single butterfly. She didn’t know what she would do if she caught it. What does one do with butterflies anyway?

“Our master invites you to come and see him, Mrs. Wang,” Nani said from behind her.

Mrs. Wang followed her, organizing her thoughts and thinking about what she was going to say.

“Mrs. Wang is here,” the maid announced.

After a few moments of formal greetings and expressions of gratitude, Mrs. Wang settled down with Mr. O in his sparsely furnished salon. A painting of a phoenix on the wall with a handsome calligraphy read,
Silence Commits No Mistake.
Mr. O lit his pipe. Mrs. Wang stared at him. Something about him, the way he squinted his eyes as he sucked in the air frantically to get the pipe going, reminded her of someone else she had met recently. Tilting her head, she was recalling the manservant. Min, was that his name? Then she shook her head collecting herself.

“What should her name be?” Mrs. Wang asked in her straightforward way.

Mr. O was struck by the way Mrs. Wang spoke with such composed authority. She was surely a hen with no tamer.

“She is without a name. And she looks as though she is going to live for a long time. She needs a name to be called by,” Mrs. Wang reiterated.

“Yes, I understand. I will consult the book of our genealogy and send the name by tomorrow,” Mr. O said, puffing his pipe rapidly.

“One more thing before I leave,” Mrs. Wang said.

“Yes?” Mr. O raised his eyebrows.

“How long would you have the peasant family take care of your daughter?”

“I shall consult my wife and get back to you.”

“But she is not your daughter’s mother,” Mrs. Wang said boldly, looking straight into his eyes.

What Mrs. Wang pointed out seemed to be news to Mr. O, as if he had forgotten entirely about his first wife. One of his ears moved, involuntarily, and then his mouth fumed a white cloud.

Mrs. Wang watched him placidly. He reminded her of her former father-in-law, a chain-smoker. His teeth had been browner than a dog’s, and he had coughed so deeply that the hollowness in his lungs resonated. She could have broken his legs, easily, when he wanted to put her in the storage room, but she preferred to run away. Her husband had cried when he learned of her plan. “I am not the only woman in the world,” she had said to him to console his broken heart.

“Ah, Mrs. Wang, I know she didn’t give birth to the child, but she is her mother now by law,” Mr. O finally said.

“I suppose so,” Mrs. Wang responded. She had no grudge against Mistress Yee, she told herself. Whatever suits them, she thought.

“The peasant woman, Jaya she is called, is hoping to be rid of any unnecessary burden before winter. But I know you will take care of the matter without my intervening further. I’ve come only because I arranged your daughter’s stay at the peasant woman’s so she could be nursed,” Mrs. Wang elaborated.

“It hurts me to hear that my daughter has become a burden on the wet nurse and her family. I have rewarded them more than generously,” Mr. O said, frowning. Actually, he had forgotten how he had rewarded them.

“Well, I have done my duty. I will go now,” Mrs. Wang got up.

“Thank you for all your work, Mrs. Wang,” Mr. O said, getting up, too, reluctantly, holding his skinny pipe.

Mrs. Wang walked out of the house, and it was already time for dinner. On the way back, Mrs. Wang sat under the old pine tree where she had seen the doe and waited for her to appear once again, but she only saw a bird defecate from a branch high above her.