This Burns My Heart Page 0,56

his direction, but he was gone.

“I’m sorry, Soo-Ja,” said Yul. “But the only people the police want to find these days are North Korean spies.”

“Let’s go back to the market square,” she said. “I have to find a mother. A mother will want to help. They notice children, and they notice very subtle things. They can tell when a child is with someone she doesn’t belong to.” Soo-Ja was amazed at her own coolness, after the previous night’s desperation. But it was a precarious coolness; a single word, and she could be undone.

Besides, she had something inside her pocket that gave her confidence, an odd kind of security. Before Yul and Soo-Ja had left his office, she had stolen something from him—his prescription pad. If she could not find Hana—odious thought!—she knew exactly what kind of pills she’d have to swallow.

“When was the last time you ate?” Yul asked her.

They had been working through the market square for hours, as Soo-Ja spoke to every living being about her daughter. She even asked the children, who were the most curious about her, and who shook their heads vigorously. Soo-Ja overheard one or two people saying she was crazy, that this daughter of hers didn’t exist.

Oh, but she does, she does, thought Soo-Ja. How could she explain to them that hers was the most beautiful and precious child, one who laughed so easily when you tickled her, and who shrieked with joy when you lifted her into the air? She loved her daughter, and in that love she had once expected to live forever, the rest of her days.

“Soo-Ja, you have to eat. You can’t go on like this,” Yul continued. Soo-Ja ignored him, approaching another woman with a description of her child. Soo-Ja cursed herself for not having a picture of Hana, for having left everything back in Daegu. “You haven’t had breakfast, or lunch. We’re going to stop by that noodle stand, and you’re going to eat.”

Soo-Ja looked at Yul as if he were the most unreasonable being she’d ever met, and she shook her head. It had been more than twenty-four hours since she had eaten anything, but she had no appetite. “You go eat. I’ll be here.”

“No, please.” Yul reached for her arm.

Soo-Ja looked at him and saw the concern on his face. She was not a superhero, like in the radio shows; she was a human person, she had to remind herself. Without saying anything, Soo-Ja let him guide her to the noodle stand, which was only a couple of yards from them. It quickly drew them in, with the smell of bean-curd paste rising from the pots.

They sat at one of the two tiny tables at an arm’s reach from the cook, and next to a teenage couple. They were so crowded in, elbow to elbow, they could be a single party. Soo-Ja did not speak to Yul. Instead, she listened to the hissing of the griddle and the whistling of the kettle. She watched the dumplings turn brown and jump from the pan to the plates. The cook, who did not smile, placed their food in front of them and then his daughter—Soo-Ja heard her call him appa earlier—as if to compensate, smiled brightly as she filled their cups with water.

“For you, ajeossi,” she said, respectfully, handing Yul his glass. Soo-Ja already had a full glass in front of her, but the waitress still wanted to acknowledge her. “Ajumma, you have a very pretty scarf.”

Soo-Ja nodded weakly, quietly signaling that she did not want to talk. The girl, who must have been thirteen or fourteen, did not see this and remained standing next to her, her hands casually resting against her hips. She played the host a little too well, acting like the cook’s wife instead of his daughter, almost a parody of an older woman. Soo-Ja wondered if the girl was replacing her sick mother for the day, and had been repeating what the elder woman usually said to the customers. But maybe she wasn’t imitating anyone at all. Maybe there was no mother—dead or separated—and she had always played this part herself, helping her father, serving customers by his side, never knowing what it was to play like a child.

“Did your husband get it for you as a gift?” the waitress asked, smiling at Soo-Ja. When she said husband, the girl glanced over at Yul for a second, before turning her gaze back to Soo-Ja. Soo-Ja knew instantly that she should correct her,