The Calligrapher's Daughter by Eugenia Kim Read Free Book Online
Authors: Eugenia Kim
become a woman, and anything I needed, and much that I merely wanted, was brought to me. Your grandfather’s house was the largest in the province, and I had the entire enclosure to roam. You’ve heard Cook talk about how our gardens were famous for beauty and variety. I kept quite busy, especially as I grew older and took care of my brothers.”
We reached a field stippled with hilly brush between our neighborhood and downtown. Habitually, on this route to and from church, neither of us spoke when we passed the checkpoint, where two silhouettes of policemen were now framed in the guardhouse’s cloudy window. Once the checkpoint was well behind us, Mother continued. “Still, like you, I was curious about the world outside, so your grandfather gave my brothers permission to pass their lessons on to me, as long as it didn’t interfere with their examinations or disrupt the household. When they told me what they’d learned, I drank from their lessons like a thirsty fish! Eventually, since your grandfather was the kindest of men, I was allowed to sit outside their studio when the tutors came.” Her voice grew lighter, as if lifted by an inner breeze. “This is also how we learned about Jesus. A teacher brought news of foreigners and gave your grandfather a Bible. Then, after we became Christians, everything changed.”
“Is that when you were allowed to go out?” I’d heard this part of the story before.
“Not only did I go out, but your grandmother also, the two of us, like commoners! We walked to church, you see, and actually sat in the same building as the men, since that’s how the foreigners did things. People were shocked at first, but your grandfather was the governor and highly regarded, and soon, others did the same.”
Whenever she talked about her family, her changed voice made me want to take her hand.
“Now that I think about it, I was older than you are now, but that first walk to church must have been like today is for you, except we veiled our faces with our coats. Thankfully it wasn’t a hot summer day. In fact,” she said, looking skyward at the treetops’ changing colors, “it might have been this time of year. I can’t remember. What I do remember is keeping an eye out for my mother’s feet in front of me, and the dust from the road on our skirts and coats when we came home.”
“Were you afraid?”
“Don’t be afraid of new things, Najin-ah.”
“I’m not!” I said before remembering my mantra. “Excuse me. I’m excited, Umma-nim, not afraid. It must be strange to walk with your coat over your head.”
“That was for modesty. Something you should try to have a bit more of.”
I knew to bow my head and close my lips. Straightening my shoulders, I focused on my mother’s footsteps, imagining a veil of modesty covering me from head to toe.
We neared the market where the cool air held odors of decomposing scraps and trash. Anticipation had heightened my senses, making colors and smells more intense, shapes sharper, details bright and bold. A few star maple leaves, deeply red and yellow, scuttled along the ruts eroded in the dirt roadside. Passing narrow alleyways, I glimpsed heaps of rubbish, a dog rooting, a cluster of empty chicken cages, a man spitting tobacco between brown-stained teeth. The sounds of the market distracted me— cries of bartering, a rooster crowing, an underwhir of chatter and clamor.
“I was excited, like you,” said Mother. “And yes, with excitement there’s often fear. But I had little to fear since my brothers watched me as closelyas a tiger her cubs. Also, I knew by then that I would be married soon.” She smiled, her eyes crescents. “So I had many other fears to consider for the future.”
In the market square she pointed out a bakery and a small restaurant. “If you do well with your lessons, I’ll give you a few jeon. The owners of those two shops are church members. You could buy treats there occasionally.”
My mouth watered at
We reached a field stippled with hilly brush between our neighborhood and downtown. Habitually, on this route to and from church, neither of us spoke when we passed the checkpoint, where two silhouettes of policemen were now framed in the guardhouse’s cloudy window. Once the checkpoint was well behind us, Mother continued. “Still, like you, I was curious about the world outside, so your grandfather gave my brothers permission to pass their lessons on to me, as long as it didn’t interfere with their examinations or disrupt the household. When they told me what they’d learned, I drank from their lessons like a thirsty fish! Eventually, since your grandfather was the kindest of men, I was allowed to sit outside their studio when the tutors came.” Her voice grew lighter, as if lifted by an inner breeze. “This is also how we learned about Jesus. A teacher brought news of foreigners and gave your grandfather a Bible. Then, after we became Christians, everything changed.”
“Is that when you were allowed to go out?” I’d heard this part of the story before.
“Not only did I go out, but your grandmother also, the two of us, like commoners! We walked to church, you see, and actually sat in the same building as the men, since that’s how the foreigners did things. People were shocked at first, but your grandfather was the governor and highly regarded, and soon, others did the same.”
Whenever she talked about her family, her changed voice made me want to take her hand.
“Now that I think about it, I was older than you are now, but that first walk to church must have been like today is for you, except we veiled our faces with our coats. Thankfully it wasn’t a hot summer day. In fact,” she said, looking skyward at the treetops’ changing colors, “it might have been this time of year. I can’t remember. What I do remember is keeping an eye out for my mother’s feet in front of me, and the dust from the road on our skirts and coats when we came home.”
“Were you afraid?”
“Don’t be afraid of new things, Najin-ah.”
“I’m not!” I said before remembering my mantra. “Excuse me. I’m excited, Umma-nim, not afraid. It must be strange to walk with your coat over your head.”
“That was for modesty. Something you should try to have a bit more of.”
I knew to bow my head and close my lips. Straightening my shoulders, I focused on my mother’s footsteps, imagining a veil of modesty covering me from head to toe.
We neared the market where the cool air held odors of decomposing scraps and trash. Anticipation had heightened my senses, making colors and smells more intense, shapes sharper, details bright and bold. A few star maple leaves, deeply red and yellow, scuttled along the ruts eroded in the dirt roadside. Passing narrow alleyways, I glimpsed heaps of rubbish, a dog rooting, a cluster of empty chicken cages, a man spitting tobacco between brown-stained teeth. The sounds of the market distracted me— cries of bartering, a rooster crowing, an underwhir of chatter and clamor.
“I was excited, like you,” said Mother. “And yes, with excitement there’s often fear. But I had little to fear since my brothers watched me as closelyas a tiger her cubs. Also, I knew by then that I would be married soon.” She smiled, her eyes crescents. “So I had many other fears to consider for the future.”
In the market square she pointed out a bakery and a small restaurant. “If you do well with your lessons, I’ll give you a few jeon. The owners of those two shops are church members. You could buy treats there occasionally.”
My mouth watered at