The Calligrapher's Daughter (35 page)

“All the more reason to be grateful for a Christian wedding. No humiliating games and drunkenness.”

“Lucky for you, your future minister-husband will never drink.”

I looked at her sideways. This would be her first train ride, her fourth journey overall and her first without traveling in a palanquin, which was how she’d traveled from Nah-jin to Gaeseong to be married. “Are
you
nervous?” I asked.

“Certainly not! Well, maybe just a little, but I have you to show me all the modern ways.”

“I’m nervous about being in front of a hundred ministers.” Reverend Cho had invited all the conference attendees to the wedding.

“You’ve stood before more than a hundred students and each one learned something from you. Be reserved and stand straight. Say a prayer if anything upsets you.”

“I think I’ll be fine. Honestly, I’m more excited about tomorrow than today.” I saw my wedding day as a springboard for the adventure of travel and college, rather than the fearful beginnings in a new household with unknown in-laws. “Aiu! Not very bride-like. What’s wrong with me!”

“Every bride is different, especially one embarking on an American journey.”

I pushed my hair behind my ear to see my mother’s face better in the weak slanting sunlight. My short hair tickled the back of my neck. After I had it bobbed, I wrote to Calvin with some apprehension, telling him I’d sold my braid for the passport fee. He wrote back thanking me for my thoughtfulness and enterprising spirit. I hadn’t told him that my haircut was also vanity. Many young women now bobbed their hair and I didn’t want to appear old-fashioned in America. I saw my mother’s steady features, the outer corners of her eyes wrinkled with warmth, filling me with peacefulness and melancholy. “Umma-nim—”

“Don’t talk. No need.” We walked, Mother stepping stiffly with arthritic knees, humming bits of hymns.

Her quiet singing filled my throat with pain. How long would it be before I would have her beside me again? To chase away sad thoughts, I said, “They have the same hymns at the Presbyterian church.” In deference to the Bennetts, I’d attended their church and had come to understand Calvin’s curiosity about the different Protestant denominations, since the order of worship was virtually identical. I remembered my first walk in the garden with Calvin and our conversation about suffering and the origins of his name. And at that moment I sincerely thanked God for Calvin and the probability that if all went well with my papers, such subjects would be thoroughly discussed on the long passage east.

“A Presbyterian wedding!” said Mother. “I hope someone will show you where to get ready and what to do. Write as soon as you can to tell me about your mother-in-law.” I would not meet Calvin’s mother until the next day, after my papers were secured. I was told she was too frail for the journey, and I wondered about her ailment, which seemed continuous since Calvin’s youth. When we passed the hospital, Mother said, “That baby will miss you.” Mrs. Bennett had delivered a blond, three-and-a-half-kilo boy the previous month, and I had helped with his care. When I first visited Mrs. Bennett at the hospital, I was astonished by the baby’s pure whiteness. I visited every day, once dragging my mother along to see his porcelain skin. I’d nicknamed him “Little Turnip.”

“Perhaps, but I’ll miss him more. And home—” My voice broke and we couldn’t look at each other.

At the station, we found Reverend Bennett waiting for us. He was now nearly fluent in Japanese and his Korean was also quite good. He still bowed in his funny bobbing way, his skin as pink as ever. I said a sad goodbye to Byungjo and watched him leaning forlornly against his empty cart while the train pulled out, until he was only a dot on the platform, lost among the other dots of people left behind in Gaeseong.

MY MOTHER AND I held hands on the train ride like girlfriends. In Hsin-ching, Dongsaeng stored my luggage while Mr. Bennett hurriedly walked with Mother and me toward town and church, where we were met by four American ladies whose loud congratulations and fussing hands took over. My mother sat patiently in a large room with maroon velvet furniture they called the parlor, while I changed into the dark blue cheongsam and
had my passport picture taken. I longed to ask for a portrait of my mother and me, but propriety prevented this. The church ladies kept saying, “Everyone is waiting,” and were so eager to dress me that there wasn’t a moment to say another word to Mother. Reverend Bennett knocked and said that Dongsaeng had successfully found the church from the train station and was sitting in the front pew. He escorted my mother to the sanctuary. The complicated Western undergarments were donned, snapped and secured, the donated ivory dress hooked to the neck, the veil attached, and then, with mincing steps in tightly tied and too-big white shoes, I followed the ladies to the sanctuary, my head spinning like a fallen bowl.

In the narthex someone gave me an awkwardly shaped bouquet of white gladioli and chrysanthemums, and my free hand was firmly taken by Calvin’s mentor, Dr. Sherwood. With the veil on, I could only see his large outline, but when he bent to murmur, “Miss Han, it’s an honor to deliver the charming bride to my most promising graduate,” I saw white sideburns and full lips stretched over big and perfect teeth in a magnificent smile. I managed to compliment him on his fluent Korean. He firmly tucked my hand into his elbow and held tight, and I was too startled and unsure to do anything but hang on.

An insistent organ note followed by crashing chords came from the sanctuary, and the music swelled when ushers opened the doors. I reflexively clutched Dr. Sherwood’s arm and he patted my hand. “I’m going to walk you up the aisle to the altar where your husband-to-be is waiting. Reverend Cho will tell you what to do. Just follow his instructions and you’ll be fine. It’s your wedding day, Miss Han, and I want you to think of nothing else. We’ll go slowly, I promise, and there’s nothing to fear. See if you can fall in step with me and we’ll march to the music, shall we?”

I nodded, grateful that he knew I was terrified. He took a step, I took a step, and we walked in together. With back erect and neck slightly bowed, I kept my veiled eyes exactly one meter ahead on the white-draped aisle. I heard people standing and felt hundreds of strange eyes on us. As we neared the altar, it calmed me to catch glimpses of my mother and Dongsaeng standing in the front pew, though I didn’t dare look at their faces.

I took three steps up, negotiating lifting my hem while holding the bouquet. Dr. Sherwood placed my hand in Calvin’s. A fresh-soap smell greeted me, and he ceremoniously held my hand on his, his touch warm, firm and exquisite.

During the service, I thought Reverend Cho’s delivery was similar to Calvin’s careful vocal tempo. All I saw of my father-in-law were his worn but polished shoes, the hem of his minister robes and the fringed ends of his shawl. I concentrated on the instructions given, prayed when I was supposed to pray and repeated what I was told to repeat, until I realized I was hearing Calvin pledge his life to me, and then I was saying my own marriage vows, bonding in word with this man, whose face I had not yet seen on this day. My heart flooded for a moment, but anxious about what might be next, it was only a moment. I remembered that Calvin, in a letter, had apologized to me about not exchanging traditional Western wedding rings after speaking our vows. He hoped that I would forgive him for the assumption that our steamer fare took precedent over the expense of wedding rings, and that I would accept our verbal promise to each other as solid and as true—in God’s eyes and in our own—as gold. Naturally I agreed, and I was also touched by his earnestness and found his practicality appealing. I wrote back that one gold ring in this woman’s lifetime was more than she had ever expected.

Another prayer, then someone came and lifted my veil. The air, open and refreshing on my face, also left me feeling exposed. I raised my eyes to see Mr. Cho—Calvin, my husband—nearing, his features serious yet shining, his skin gleaming in afternoon light colored and subdued by stained-glass windows, his eyes rich with love. He pressed his lips lightly on my cheek, people broke out in applause, the organ exploded in music, and he clasped my hand in his arm and walked me back up the aisle. To be the center of attention and see all the strange faces smiling and clapping at us made my cheeks flush red, except one little cool spot where his lips had touched.

We reached the outer lobby followed by crowds of people shaking our hands and saying congratulations. I was soon separated from my new husband, until Dr. Sherwood formed a receiving line where well-wishers wrung my hand into a bruised mitt. My poor mother and Dongsaeng were forced into awkward introductions and greetings with hundreds of
ministers, their wives, missionaries and church dignitaries. My mouth ached from smiling; my fingers throbbed with pain. I finally met my father-in-law, a dark-skinned balding man with glasses and a quiet but powerful demeanor. He bowed, patted my shoulder and said we’d have a real chance to talk later. As people left for the conference hotel, the photographer took over and in relative calm, gave instructions for formal poses. I was relieved that the solemnity of the day required a sober face, allowing my smile muscles to rest.

My mother and Dongsaeng had to catch their train right after the photography session. Too soon, we were saying goodbye in the church lobby. Just outside the doors at the top of steep stone stairs, Calvin and Reverend Cho were surrounded by friends and colleagues who were waiting to walk with us to the hotel banquet. “Before he comes,” began Mother, referring to Reverend Bennett, who would walk them to the train station, but she said nothing more. Instead she fixed her eyes on mine and took my hand. I gave her the flowers and pressed her hand against my tear-stained cheek.

My brother grasped my shoulders. “I’ll miss you, Nuna.” His tired smile showed love. Then he remembered his family position and his voice grew adult and serious. “Study hard with your husband and see as much as you can of America. Write to us.”

Reverend Bennett called from the doorway, and Mother said quietly, “You are always a part of me, my daughter.” I squeezed her hand and she slipped her damp handkerchief into mine. Before I could think another thought I was looking between the gaps of many black-suited bodies as Dongsaeng and my mother descended the steps. She appeared so small, her receding back sedately moving farther and farther down the sidewalk, her head held gracefully high, her shoulders a little stooped with sadness, and I wanted to reach through the crowd and clasp her to my breast. Reverend Cho said it was time to go and our group turned in the other direction. The image I held in my heart during the long walk from the church to the hotel was Mother’s serene back and the silver shining in her hair, gleaming with sunlight that had broken through the clouds.

IN THE BANQUET room of Hsin-ching’s most modern hotel, I sat poised beside my new husband. I clutched my mother’s handkerchief in my lap,
trying to hold her presence within me and trying not to feel the pain of knowing that half the world and many years would separate us. My sadness, the intensity of the day’s events and my anxiety about what would happen next left me dazed. The instructions for my “big day,” as the church ladies called it, had ended with the reception. Punch and fancy sandwiches were served and conference speeches made. I couldn’t eat and time passed in a blur.

Eventually everyone stood and Reverend Cho gave the benediction. As the ministers began to depart, Reverend Bennett made his way through the crowd toward us. “Well, Mr. Cho, Miss Han, er, Mrs. Han—pardon me, Mrs. Cho!” He took my sore hand. “Blessings, my dear! This is where we part. A lovely wedding it was. I’ll be sure to tell Edna all about your special day.”

I wanted to thank him, but words wouldn’t come. Calvin said, “You’ve been most generous, Reverend sir, and kindly considerate of my fiancée, now my wife—” I breathed easier, glad that my husband spoke for me, as was proper.

“Now, now. My goodness! We’re the ones who benefited from your wife’s excellent tutelage. She’s a fine teacher.” He shook Calvin’s hand. “A fine teacher and a wonderful friend. We’ll miss her! Good luck to both of you on your travels and studies. Keep us apprised of your progress, Mrs. Cho.” And with a practiced bow, Reverend Bennett took his leave. I watched his bent shoulders blend into the other black-clad shoulders, sad that my last contact from home was gone.

“Ready?” Calvin smiled nervously.

“Yuhbo,” I said, shyly using the term of familiarity between husband and wife. “My bundle—” I worried about my documents and money as well as my clothes.

He steered me through a door to the hotel lobby. “Reverend Sherwood’s wife and his secretary took care of it after the service. It should be in our room. I’m sorry,” he said at my surprised expression. “No one told you? A gift from my father. The hotel gave him a complimentary room as coordinator of the conference, but he’s going back to Pyeongyang tonight. I thought we should go with him because I wanted to introduce you to my mother, but he insisted that we meet in Pyeongyang in the
morning. Wait here.” He pointed to an ottoman. “I’ll explain everything after I get the key.”

Conspicuous in my wedding dress, I was certain that every one of the few scattered people in the lobby were smirking at the thought of my wedding night. My stomach churned. I recognized Calvin’s shoes approaching and saw a large manila envelope by his knee.

“The photographer’s assistant developed our pictures during the reception as a special favor for the newlyweds.” Calvin smiled at that last word. “We can inspect them upstairs.” I followed him up a grand curved staircase, then another more modest stairwell, and down a plushly carpeted hallway to a double shutter that opened to a dark wooden door, into which he inserted the key.

“Yuhbo,” he said when the key in his shaking fingers refused to unlock the bolt. “It’s a beautiful night. Change clothes and let’s walk a while.”

I nodded and heard relief in his breath. His next attempt with the key opened the door to a plain room with a huge Western bed, an armoire, side table and armchair. My bundle drooped shabbily over a shiny portmanteau that had the gold initials
CJC
embossed by the latch. He pointed to a half-open door across the hall, and I clutched my clothes and escaped into the gleaming bathroom that had an enormous porcelain tub. I bolted the door, struggled to unclasp the complicated veil, dress and garters, and marveled at the wondrous bathtub. What an incredible waste of water to fill this tub for one person! I carefully folded the gown and donned the navy blue Chinese dress, buttoning the frog closures high to the neck.