marry you? Was he first in his class? Is he a doctor or an engineer? He didn’t even finish college!” yelled her father. His eyelids struggled to stay open, and his clothes quickly became wet.
“I don’t care about that,” Soo-Ja said, trying hard not to shiver. Her long, wet hair covered her entire face, with clumps sticking to her mouth, and strands creating lines over her eyes.
“Don’t care about that? A boy like him—with no education or professional skills—he would be laughed out of a matchmaker’s meeting!”
“But he comes from a good family! They own a factory,” said Soo-Ja, her breath catching in her throat.
“For a firstborn to be sent away from the family business, he must have done something very bad,” said her father.
Soo-Ja looked over to her mother’s room and saw the lights come on. “We woke up Mother.”
“He is unacceptable in every way. And he is the oldest son. Do you know what it means to be the wife of the oldest son?” asked her father, coming closer to her. “You would have to be responsible for the entire family. Do you know how much work that is, having to serve your in-laws? Does he have brothers or sisters?”
“He has one brother and a sister.”
“Well, at least he doesn’t have a lot of siblings, but the ones that he has you’d be expected to help raise, and this in addition to your own children. Soo-Ja, being married to an oldest son is a lot of work.”
“Appa, I know you only want the best for me, but there is nothing to worry about. I have always made good decisions, haven’t I?”
Soo-Ja’s father stood still for a moment, his clothes growing heavier, soaked by the rain. “It is a losing proposition to always be right when it comes to little things, but then be wrong on the big things.”
Soo-Ja knew her father was right. Marriage was serious business. The choice of a husband was the only time a woman could exert her will. Choose wisely and have a chance at a decent life. Choose wrong andhave endless time to regret it. Her husband would dictate the rest of her life—her social class, her daily routines, her very happiness. And yet, knowing her father might be right only made her dig her heels further into the ground.
“Well, at least this is one decision that I
can
make, and I don’t depend on your approval for it.”
Soo-Ja saw by the stricken look on her father’s face how much her words had hurt him—he seemed to age five years in five seconds. What is the statute of limitations on resenting those we love? she wondered. Could past wrongs be wielded so easily, pulled out of a back pocket, like a silver knife, and used to tear, rip, slice through an argument?
“Is that why you want to marry him? To
punish
me? For Seoul?”
“Of course not,” she said, a little too quickly. Soo-Ja’s father looked at her askew, squinting his eyes. She wondered if he suspected her plans to move there after her wedding. For what felt like a long while, Soo-Ja’s father did not speak, as if trying to guess at Soo-Ja’s reasons. The prisoner is always thinking about escape, but she wondered what the jailer always thought about. Suddenly, Soo-Ja’s father seemed to feel the cold and shivered once or twice. They looked at each other awkwardly.
“It’s raining,” her father said, as if he’d only just noticed it. “Go to your room.”
Soo-Ja nodded, terrified to think that she’d won the fight. She turned away from him and walked a few steps until she found herself outside her room. She stood still for a moment, fighting the temptation to run back to her father.
Soo-Ja finally took her shoes off and crossed over the elevated step. Once inside her room, she turned on her lamp and sat on the warm floor, taking the time to catch her breath. Leaning against a corner, she let her long arms and legs droop, weak and disorderly, like broken matchsticks. Soo-Ja felt the tears forming in her eyes. After a while, she could no longer hold her feelings back,
“I don’t care about that,” Soo-Ja said, trying hard not to shiver. Her long, wet hair covered her entire face, with clumps sticking to her mouth, and strands creating lines over her eyes.
“Don’t care about that? A boy like him—with no education or professional skills—he would be laughed out of a matchmaker’s meeting!”
“But he comes from a good family! They own a factory,” said Soo-Ja, her breath catching in her throat.
“For a firstborn to be sent away from the family business, he must have done something very bad,” said her father.
Soo-Ja looked over to her mother’s room and saw the lights come on. “We woke up Mother.”
“He is unacceptable in every way. And he is the oldest son. Do you know what it means to be the wife of the oldest son?” asked her father, coming closer to her. “You would have to be responsible for the entire family. Do you know how much work that is, having to serve your in-laws? Does he have brothers or sisters?”
“He has one brother and a sister.”
“Well, at least he doesn’t have a lot of siblings, but the ones that he has you’d be expected to help raise, and this in addition to your own children. Soo-Ja, being married to an oldest son is a lot of work.”
“Appa, I know you only want the best for me, but there is nothing to worry about. I have always made good decisions, haven’t I?”
Soo-Ja’s father stood still for a moment, his clothes growing heavier, soaked by the rain. “It is a losing proposition to always be right when it comes to little things, but then be wrong on the big things.”
Soo-Ja knew her father was right. Marriage was serious business. The choice of a husband was the only time a woman could exert her will. Choose wisely and have a chance at a decent life. Choose wrong andhave endless time to regret it. Her husband would dictate the rest of her life—her social class, her daily routines, her very happiness. And yet, knowing her father might be right only made her dig her heels further into the ground.
“Well, at least this is one decision that I
can
make, and I don’t depend on your approval for it.”
Soo-Ja saw by the stricken look on her father’s face how much her words had hurt him—he seemed to age five years in five seconds. What is the statute of limitations on resenting those we love? she wondered. Could past wrongs be wielded so easily, pulled out of a back pocket, like a silver knife, and used to tear, rip, slice through an argument?
“Is that why you want to marry him? To
punish
me? For Seoul?”
“Of course not,” she said, a little too quickly. Soo-Ja’s father looked at her askew, squinting his eyes. She wondered if he suspected her plans to move there after her wedding. For what felt like a long while, Soo-Ja’s father did not speak, as if trying to guess at Soo-Ja’s reasons. The prisoner is always thinking about escape, but she wondered what the jailer always thought about. Suddenly, Soo-Ja’s father seemed to feel the cold and shivered once or twice. They looked at each other awkwardly.
“It’s raining,” her father said, as if he’d only just noticed it. “Go to your room.”
Soo-Ja nodded, terrified to think that she’d won the fight. She turned away from him and walked a few steps until she found herself outside her room. She stood still for a moment, fighting the temptation to run back to her father.
Soo-Ja finally took her shoes off and crossed over the elevated step. Once inside her room, she turned on her lamp and sat on the warm floor, taking the time to catch her breath. Leaning against a corner, she let her long arms and legs droop, weak and disorderly, like broken matchsticks. Soo-Ja felt the tears forming in her eyes. After a while, she could no longer hold her feelings back,
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