bow, one in which they folded their entire bodies, hands touching the floor, and heads lowered in respect. Then, Soo-Ja walked to them in small steps, her head slightly lowered, as customary, and offered them wine. Min’s father bowed back lightly and took the wine from her. The attendant then refilled the gourd, so Soo-Ja could offer it to Mother-in-law, who took a small sip in a solemn manner.
Her offerings done, Soo-Ja rose, as Min’s father threw jujube fruits into the air. Soo-Ja had some trouble navigating the way out, having to maintain her arms in a difficult position, and keeping aloft the costume’s heavy silk fabrics. Min, walking slightly ahead, seemed only dimly aware of her presence, almost leaving her behind.
During the meal afterward, Soo-Ja mentioned the awkwardness of the moment to Jae-Hwa, who told her not to be paranoid about such silly things, and that from the outside, she looked glorious, and it was one of the best ceremonies she’d ever been to.
When a young woman finally marries, the custom rules that she spend three days with her own parents, and then go live with her husband and his parents at their house. But as she stepped past the gates of Min’s home, Soo-Ja felt like she was trespassing. Her arrival there was marked by the fact that neither of her in-laws had stayed up to greet her, and both the main house and the adjacent quarters were completely dark. All of the lights were off, including those outside in the courtyard, and she had to walk carefully so as not to trip. Min made his way easily, clearly accustomed to this, but he never looked back to check on her, and she finally had to ask him to slow down.
Soo-Ja followed Min into the compound, walking past a small garden and toward the back. There, Soo-Ja saw where the main house ended and Min’s own adjacent, one-story house began, as humble and unassuming as a distant cousin. Min and Soo-Ja had two rooms to themselves, one for him to receive visitors, another for them to sleep in. They would be sharing the kitchen in the main house, where she was expected to cook and eat with the rest of the family. The single outhouse, on the other side of the courtyard, would also be shared with the others.
They went into Min’s quarters, and Soo-Ja waited for him to turn on a light to illuminate her way, but he didn’t. Finally, she reached for the lamp herself and turned the knob. Min looked at her as if she had violated a rule.
“You’re not supposed to do that,” he said.
“What? Light the lamp?”
“My mother doesn’t like us to waste electricity,” he said, pointing to the lamp.
“But it’s dark.”
“I know. We should be asleep. Turn that off.”
“I can’t see anything. How am I supposed to find the blankets?”
“They’re in the back there, on top of the armoire. Now turn that off. My mother will see the light,” said Min, pointing at the lamp again.
“Is she still up?”
“She’s in the house, praying.”
“Praying for what?” asked Soo-Ja, confused.
“What do you think?” Min retorted dismissively.
A grandson, of course. Already. And every night, until Soo-Ja delivered the expected news, her mother-in-law would pray, sometimes loudly outside, rocking her body back and forth with her eyes closed. During their honeymoon, which was to begin the next day—a trip to Cheju Island—Soo-Ja was expected to conceive. It was not unromantic; it was practical. Two days away from home, they could be noisy if they wished.
Soo-Ja reluctantly turned the light off, but only after she quickly memorized the position of everything in the room. There was not much furniture to speak of, only the armoire with mother-of-pearl for their clothes and blankets, and a small oak table resting against the back of the wall. As she began to make her preparations, Soo-Ja remembered something she had noticed a while back, during their wedding reception.
“Who were those three boys standing near your parents all the time at our wedding?” It was dark, and Soo-Ja could not see Min, just hear him breathing. She felt her way among the unfamiliar comforters, measuring through touch their thickness. The thinnest one went on the floor, and they’d sleep over it; then, they would place the thicker one over their own bodies. It would be unclean to sleep directly on the laminate and, no matter how hot it was, it would go against custom to sleep without something covering them. Soo-Ja began