avarice.
If she were the matchmaker, what kind of man would she bring for Na-yeong? Soo-Ja wondered. For there must be someone for her, since everyone has a match. Only in books is marriage reserved exclusively for heroines. In real life, her cousin and her cousin’s cousin must get married, too. Soo-Ja pictured boy after boy for Na-yeong—slender, chubby, young, old, rich, poor—until Na-yeong caught Soo-Ja staring at her, and she looked away. But when Na-yeong focused her attention back on a magpie outside the window, Soo-Ja stared at her again, wondering what makes two people right for each other. Was it invisible, like gas, or open to the eye, like sparks in wiring?
Weeks went by without news from the matchmaker, until finally she said she’d bring a suitor for Na-yeong. Mother-in-law clapped her hands once, in excitement, as if catching a fly, and when Na-yeong shyly looked up from her romance novel, Soo-Ja could hear her young heart beating from across the room. So they were like her, Soo-Ja realized; unable to temper their emotions with caution, jumping at a new possibility like a mad diver off a cliff. How is it that they were not exhausted and spent at the end of the day, when the mere promise of love, of a partner, could whip them all into a state of frenzy?
The day the suitor was to arrive, the entire house was in a whirl, for they rarely had guests, and never any of consequence. They all felt invested in this, as if they’d been movie extras previously forgotten in a greenroom, and had finally been asked to report to the soundstage for their scene. The boys all dressed up in their best, and Father-in-law and Mother-in-law put on their hanboks. Soo-Ja herself spent the morning making sweet rice cakes. She steamed the grain until it became sticky and pounded it on the mortar until it hardened. She then covered the white cake with mashed red beans, cutting it into square pieces.
Soo-Ja did not complain as she prepared the confection. In the years since her wedding, Soo-Ja had mastered what she called her outside Hahoe face—serious, though not serious enough to the point of being a frown. She put that mask on, preventing others from looking in and seeing her unhappiness. With it, she could hide her anger and frustration, and expertly play the part of the obedient daughter-in-law. For Soo-Ja, that was a job like any other, and if she couldn’t be a diplomat, then she would take all her energy and discipline and channel it to the household. While her sister-in-law frequently feigned being ill to avoid doing chores, Soo-Ja rose without complaint early every morning, and did the work that kept things running.
Around the time the suitor was supposed to arrive, Soo-Ja ran back toward her room to change. She wanted to make her daughter and herself look more presentable. She was about to go in when she saw Mother-in-law walking urgently in her direction.
“The rice cakes are on the plate. I’m just getting changed,” Soo-Ja told her.
But Mother-in-law—her hanbok gown sweeping the floor—kept walking until she reached her. She looked worried.
“Hana’s mother, go for a walk with your daughter and stay outside for a few hours.”
“Go out? Why?” Soo-Ja stood on the small walkway between the main house and her own quarters. Her daughter leaned against her legs playfully.
“Just until he’s gone.”
Soo-Ja looked at her, stung. “Why? Why can’t I stay?”
“Because of the way you look.”
“The way I look?” asked Soo-Ja, more confused than offended.
“Like a poor relation.”
Soo-Ja looked down at her old pink cotton shirt, faded after many washings; her indigo skirt passé now, but fashionable a few years back. It had been months, too, since she’d had a proper haircut, and now she wore her hair held back all the time.
“It’s cold outside,” said Soo-Ja curtly, holding her daughter closer to her. “I don’t want Hana to get sick.”
“You’re always dying to go out, to do this, to do that. Now I ask you, for a good reason, and you’re reluctant. You’re like the stubborn frog in the folk tale, always doing the opposite of what he’s asked.”
“I’ll just wait in my room until he’s gone.”
“No! The child’s going to make a racket and disturb the guest!”
“Child? You mean, your granddaughter,” said Soo-Ja, indignation scorching her body.
“Yes, granddaughter, not grandson. You have a big mouth for someone who’s failed at her only duty in life. Now go. You remember what happened last time