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Authors: Eugenia Kim
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your own brother soon enough.”
“Even Abbuh-nim says it’s a boy,” I whispered back. The previous evening, when Mother had false contractions, Father visited her to ensure all was well. I glimpsed their profiles outlined in lamplight, their heads bent with noses nearly touching. He spoke as if in prayer, and I leaned closer to hear. “This child shall surely be my heir, for none other than a son could be born on the eve of our independence.” I had never before heard him speak so emotionally and with such tenderness. It made me think of him in a new way, a way I couldn’t quite describe that seemed to relieve a degree of my general state of fear around him.
“I have to see your father now,” said Hansu. “Will you tell him I’m here?”
Going down the dim hallway to the front of the house, I privatelyadmired Hansu’s prominent cheekbones and the wiry peaks and valleys of his Western-shorn hair. “You’ll remember everything about your adventure and tell me all about Seoul?”
“Shh! Not a word—you know it’s a secret.” He pinched my ear and smiled. “Of course. You’re the only sister I’ll ever have. Now show me in, will you?”
I held his hand until we neared Father’s sitting room, then cleared my throat to announce us and bowed in the doorway. “Abbuh-nim, the son of our neighbor is here.”
My mother sat across from my father, sewing a clean collar onto a laundered shirt. The room felt snug and overly warm, the air tinged with smoke and lamp oil. Mother indicated that I should fill and light Father’s pipe and sit beside her.
Hansu bowed from the waist. “Good evening, sir. I received the gifts of your kitchen, and now if you’ll allow me a great honor, may I receive your blessing?”
“Enter, my boy. Sit for a moment.” Father’s long sleeve brushed his lap as he gestured Hansu to the pillows beside his reading table. He asked about Hansu’s family’s health and reviewed the logistics for the journey. He noted that places to sleep would be plentiful; the travelers merely had to ask at any village church to be referred to a welcoming household or a dry shed. In a growing silence, I noticed in Hansu’s bunched trousers that his calves contracted at regular intervals, as if he were already marching on what I imagined were the wide paved avenues of the capital city. The punk-punk sound of Mother’s needle into the starched collar was like a steady drumbeat of victory.
“Yah,” said Father with a regretful sigh. “If only it was a different day …”
Mother shifted her legs, and I wondered if her brows were knit with discomfort from the baby or the knowledge that her pregnancy was the reason that Father would not participate in the demonstration in Seoul. Or perhaps he remained in Gaeseong because of his arrest record. I wished I could ask.
Hansu cleared his throat. “Sir, since I probably won’t be here when the baby comes, please excuse my early congratulations. My family offers their blessings and prayers for a healthy baby boy.”
Father made his face stern, but his pursed lips held visible satisfaction. Mother’s eyes twinkled at Hansu and I smiled outright.
“Well then,” said Father, and everyone bowed heads for his prayer and blessing. My mother and I stood to escort our guest out. Surprisingly, Father also stood and bowed. Hansu’s eyes opened wide at this honor from an elder, and he bowed low, backing out the door.
I heard the next day from Kira that Hansu had distributed the packages throughout the night, then left with two other men at first light.
The Secret of Water
WINTER, END OF FEBRUARY 1919
LOUNGING ON MY BEDROOM FLOOR IN THE LONG LIGHT OF YELLOW sunset, I lazily copied sentences. Kira stuck her head in. “Quick, Ahsee! Your mother calls—her time has come!”
I flew to my mother’s room. A wrinkled woman with slits for eyes and a downturned mouth pointed her finger and barked. “No children! I’m a midwife, not a
“Even Abbuh-nim says it’s a boy,” I whispered back. The previous evening, when Mother had false contractions, Father visited her to ensure all was well. I glimpsed their profiles outlined in lamplight, their heads bent with noses nearly touching. He spoke as if in prayer, and I leaned closer to hear. “This child shall surely be my heir, for none other than a son could be born on the eve of our independence.” I had never before heard him speak so emotionally and with such tenderness. It made me think of him in a new way, a way I couldn’t quite describe that seemed to relieve a degree of my general state of fear around him.
“I have to see your father now,” said Hansu. “Will you tell him I’m here?”
Going down the dim hallway to the front of the house, I privatelyadmired Hansu’s prominent cheekbones and the wiry peaks and valleys of his Western-shorn hair. “You’ll remember everything about your adventure and tell me all about Seoul?”
“Shh! Not a word—you know it’s a secret.” He pinched my ear and smiled. “Of course. You’re the only sister I’ll ever have. Now show me in, will you?”
I held his hand until we neared Father’s sitting room, then cleared my throat to announce us and bowed in the doorway. “Abbuh-nim, the son of our neighbor is here.”
My mother sat across from my father, sewing a clean collar onto a laundered shirt. The room felt snug and overly warm, the air tinged with smoke and lamp oil. Mother indicated that I should fill and light Father’s pipe and sit beside her.
Hansu bowed from the waist. “Good evening, sir. I received the gifts of your kitchen, and now if you’ll allow me a great honor, may I receive your blessing?”
“Enter, my boy. Sit for a moment.” Father’s long sleeve brushed his lap as he gestured Hansu to the pillows beside his reading table. He asked about Hansu’s family’s health and reviewed the logistics for the journey. He noted that places to sleep would be plentiful; the travelers merely had to ask at any village church to be referred to a welcoming household or a dry shed. In a growing silence, I noticed in Hansu’s bunched trousers that his calves contracted at regular intervals, as if he were already marching on what I imagined were the wide paved avenues of the capital city. The punk-punk sound of Mother’s needle into the starched collar was like a steady drumbeat of victory.
“Yah,” said Father with a regretful sigh. “If only it was a different day …”
Mother shifted her legs, and I wondered if her brows were knit with discomfort from the baby or the knowledge that her pregnancy was the reason that Father would not participate in the demonstration in Seoul. Or perhaps he remained in Gaeseong because of his arrest record. I wished I could ask.
Hansu cleared his throat. “Sir, since I probably won’t be here when the baby comes, please excuse my early congratulations. My family offers their blessings and prayers for a healthy baby boy.”
Father made his face stern, but his pursed lips held visible satisfaction. Mother’s eyes twinkled at Hansu and I smiled outright.
“Well then,” said Father, and everyone bowed heads for his prayer and blessing. My mother and I stood to escort our guest out. Surprisingly, Father also stood and bowed. Hansu’s eyes opened wide at this honor from an elder, and he bowed low, backing out the door.
I heard the next day from Kira that Hansu had distributed the packages throughout the night, then left with two other men at first light.
The Secret of Water
WINTER, END OF FEBRUARY 1919
LOUNGING ON MY BEDROOM FLOOR IN THE LONG LIGHT OF YELLOW sunset, I lazily copied sentences. Kira stuck her head in. “Quick, Ahsee! Your mother calls—her time has come!”
I flew to my mother’s room. A wrinkled woman with slits for eyes and a downturned mouth pointed her finger and barked. “No children! I’m a midwife, not a
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