This Burns My Heart Page 0,5
They didn’t know love; they were only imitating its gestures. Too bashful to even speak to her in class, they couldn’t have become courtly lovers overnight.
“Do you know them?” asked her father.
“Not who they are. Only where they came from.”
“Your college?”
“I think so.”
“Should we invite them in, then, for some green tea?” asked her father, giving her a sardonic look. Soo-Ja knew there was nothing her father would have liked more than to dump a big, cold bucket of water on the boys. He would know how to work out the theatrics of it—how to open the gate slowly, to play up their expectations; how to toss the water from the right angle, to catch more of them; how to deliver the final words, the punchline.
Before he could be tempted to do that, Soo-Ja asked him to wait. She ran inside, toward her mother’s room. When she returned, a minute or so later, Soo-Ja had her face covered by some kind of mask. She headed straight to the gate and pushed it open, like a general opening the fortress to the enemy.
The young men grew noisy with excitement, and then utterly silent. They saw an apparition in front of them: Soo-Ja wearing a grotesque tal mask, carved out of alder wood and painted in red and blue colors. It was the traditional Hahoe dance mask, worn in old times by actors performing songs. It had exaggerated facial expressions—half human, half spirit—with gigantic eyebrows; tiny slits for eyes; and three red dots, one on the forehead, and one on each cheek. Until a few minutes ago, the mask had hung as decoration on the wall of Soo-Ja’s mother’s room.
“Here I am! You asked for me, and here I am!” Soo-Ja said, from behind the tiny horizontal slits of the mask.
None of the young men knew what to say. As the effects of the rice wine started to wear off, they hesitated—some of them laughing awkwardly—while Soo-Ja stood there, daring them.
“You wanted to see me. Well, here I am!” Soo-Ja felt emboldened by the day’s events. Her parents had hurt her; now she wanted to hurt others.
It was then, as Soo-Ja watched the boys look away, that she noticed the crowd part a little, and someone in the middle moved forward. She recognized him right away as Min, the young man she’d encountered on the street. She watched as he came closer, smiling his cocky smile, his hair slicked back with Vaseline. She noticed his lip was a bit cut, and his face bruised. She wondered how he’d found out her address. Were these his friends? Min wore the same white jacket and white pants, but either they were a different pair or had already been cleaned, and immaculately so. What kind of man, Soo-Ja wondered, had an armoire full of all-white clothes?
Min came close enough to reach her face. For a moment, she thought he’d try to rip the mask away from her. But instead, in a quick gesture, like a military man, he bowed deeply to her. When his head snapped back, he stared at her again, with great respect. Then he turned to his companions and spoke as if they’d been the ones bothering Soo-Ja.
“Everyone go home. You’ve bothered her enough for tonight.”
The young men hesitated—some hissing—but eventually began to disperse, walking in different directions. They did so slowly, curious to hear the words Soo-Ja and Min were to exchange. Like children—who wondered what adults did after they put them to bed—they imagined some magical alchemy might take place.
“What do you want from me?” asked Soo-Ja, once they were completely alone.
“I already told you. A date.”
Soo-Ja sighed and took her mask off. So this is what it came down to—a lovesick boy, caught in some fever, like the youngest member of a tribe long inured to such malaise. Soo-Ja didn’t know what to say. All she knew was that it was an ungodly late hour, and the moment could not be any less romantic. Soo-Ja stepped back and leaned her head against the gate, her body parallel to his, and she liked that they didn’t have to look directly at each other. She stared at her street through Min’s eyes: the rose of Sharon blooming on the ground, stubbornly bursting forth from between rocks and concrete; the rows of acacia trees resting after a long day of giving shade, branches swaying quietly with the wind.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think that’s possible,” said Soo-Ja, turning away from him. She longed