This Burns My Heart Page 0,125

benefit, for her to look at.

“It’s very large,” said Soo-Ja.

“I heard you just arrived from Korea. You’re very lucky.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. That country’s so hopeless. After the war, we should’ve all just emigrated and let it stay in ruins.” Soo-Ja looked at her closely, this middle-aged Korean face wearing Western clothes, a French logo emblazoned on her chest pocket: Pierre Cardin. “There is nothing good there, only pollution and people with bad manners. The local American paper here had a letter to the editor about how nasty Koreans are—they never smile, don’t apologize when they bump into you, cheat you in business. I think that’s all true.”

Soo-Ja took this in and thought of simply letting go at first, but she couldn’t. She stared straight into the woman’s eyes and spoke, and though she did not know where the words came from, she felt them vibrate through the deepest parts of her body. “Did you know Korea was the first country in Asia to have a standing army? And even through decades of being colonized by foreigners, it still managed to create world-class art, literature, and the finest tradition of brush ink paintings you’ve ever seen? When I visit the magnificent, centuries-old temples of Naksansa or Shinhungsa, or drive past the Namdaemun Gate, or think of the astonishing Tripitaka Koreana and the thousand Buddhas of Jikjisa Temple, I am always proud that in my blood runs a tradition of great scholars and artists.” The woman shifted, uncomfortable, but Soo-Ja held her gaze and did not stop. “Or when I hear a woman, dressed in a colorful hanbok, sing and dance the pansori, and do so beautifully, I find myself swooning with joy. This is what I like about being Korean: when we were attacked by all those different countries, and our names, language, and occupations taken away, we may have looked as though we were bound to our enemies, but deep down we never forgot our worth, we never let them into our heads. And that’s why we’ll be able to triumph in the end, and be proud to call ourselves Korean, and even a woman like you will be proud one day to call herself Korean.”

Soo-Ja wandered through the bright and airy house on her own, as the sound of the party outside filtered through the sliding glass doors and windows. She noticed the high, sloped ceiling, and how the sunlight bounced against the walls, creating a bubble of warmth. She had not expected her in-laws to have such a large living room, full of so much furniture.

In the living room, Soo-Ja sat on the soft L-shaped pink couch and let it sink comfortably under her, like a pillow molding to her body. She glanced around the room, noticing the color TV with long rabbit ears and a large dial, the record player with numerous knobs, and a series of commemorative silver and gold coins. By glancing at the objects gathered around the room, Soo-Ja could see hobbies taken up and abandoned: golf balls, a badminton racket, some fishing line. On the bookcase shelves, Soo-Ja could make out some of the English writing: a thick world almanac, a stack of Life magazines, and Korean-English dictionaries.

Soo-Ja had been by herself for only a few minutes before she noticed someone else in the room. It was Min, standing against the wooden railing by the stairway.

“I’m glad you didn’t start a fight, with all those people outside,” said Min.

“Are you giving me an opportunity now? I’m more of a ticking bomb than you realize.”

“I’m still not going to apologize,” said Min, coming into the room, and sitting across from Soo-Ja. “I’m doing what I think is right for Hana.”

“When did you ever do what’s right for her?”

Min leaned forward on the sofa, his hands locked together.

“You think you’re the only one who suffers for this family?”

“Name one thing you did for me or Hana,” said Soo-Ja.

“I stayed with you when my parents moved here!” Min suddenly shouted.

“And you always remind me how you regret that.”

“You think it’s so simple. You think I’m a bad person. Do you think it’s easy, to live with a woman who thinks I’m nothing?” Min’s voice rose and fell, as if afraid others could hear them. But they couldn’t. They were alone in this impossibly bright room.

“Then make something of yourself. I dream of the day you’ll do something courageous, when you’ll prove yourself,” said Soo-Ja.

“What do I have to do to prove myself?”

“I don’t know,” said Soo-Ja, pressing