This Burns My Heart Page 0,11
come and introduce himself, so I can officially tell him how inappropriate he is for you.”
“He’s not in Daegu. He’s in Seoul. You shouldn’t have read my—”
“I didn’t. And what’s he doing in Seoul? He hasn’t finished college yet? Is he younger than you are? You cannot consider someone who isn’t at least a year older than you.”
“He’s in Seoul for something else. And appa, don’t make a scandal out of this. He’s barely an acquaintance.”
Her father flashed her a grim look. “Is he a member of a student group? One of those lazy bums, living in boardinghouses, who can’t get a job, and so wastes his time getting into fights with the police? Some fool dying for democracy?”
“He’s not dying for democracy,” she said, looking away. “Maybe getting bruised, but not dying for it. He’s there more for the social aspect.”
“How do you know so much about him? I thought you said he was barely an acquaintance.”
It was no use trying to lie to her father. Soo-Ja threw her hands up in the air.
“I can’t imagine anything I say is going to satisfy you, so maybe I should just sit here like a mute.”
“At least you no longer fight with me about diplomat school. I have that to be thankful for. You seem to have taken that decision rather well.”
“I have, haven’t I?” said Soo-Ja, using the back of her hand to wipe off the serene, mysterious smile taking residence on her lips.
My dear Soo-Ja,
I hesitate before writing you this letter, as I do not wish to involve you in anything dangerous. But the protests are moving beyond Seoul and are making their way to our own hometown of Daegu. You may have heard about this—or maybe not, as the government has been trying to keep this away from the newspapers—but a neighbor of ours has gone missing. He’s a young boy—a twelve-year-old middle school student—from our very own town of Won-dae-don. His name is Chu-Sook Yang, and he attended a demonstration in Daegu; in Jungantong, we believe. Group records show he called himself a member of our organization. Apparently, he never made it home after the demonstration. All of us here suspect some kind of foul play.
The leader of the Daegu chapter of our group, a rather smart medical student named Yul-Bok Kim, has tried to contact the boy’s mother, but she refuses to provide any information, and won’t speak to any of us. (Have the President’s men gotten to her already, maybe?) Yul has asked me if I know her, and I laughed at him, since I don’t exactly spend my weekends with teenage boys from the slums. But then I thought, I may not know the boy’s family, but maybe Soo-Ja does. I know your father’s factory employs a lot of people in town—even if the boy’s mother doesn’t know you, I’m guessing she’d be willing to talk to someone of your stature. Yul lives in the Mangwon district, not too far from you. I’m attaching his phone number and address—he’ll await contact from you—should you decide to get involved in this.
Min Lee
“Excuse me, excuse me,” said Soo-Ja, making her way to the back of the bus. She wore a pink embroidered coat with a high collar, a red silk chemise with a bow over her chest, and a long cream polyester skirt. She also had a yellow headband on top of her head, accentuating her bangs. She looked as if she were simply heading for an afternoon stroll.
According to the instructions she’d been given, she was to take the Dalseo-gu bus at the Won-dae-don stop and sit on one of the last seats in the last row, making sure to keep the one next to her empty. As the bus sputtered forward on the unpaved asphalt, driving over stones on the road, its constant bumps made Soo-Ja lose balance several times, grabbing the metal handrail repeatedly to keep steady. Outside, wreaths of smoke covered the ground behind them, tinting everything she saw out the windows in shades of brown.
When Soo-Ja finally reached the last row, she sank into one of the hard cloth-covered seats, drawing the attention of an old man in a broad-rimmed black horsehair hat, the kind that had gone out of fashion in the twenties. He turned to glance at her, and Soo-Ja glowered at him until he went back to talking to his friends. They were a group of about four white-haired men in their sixties, sitting on the two rows