This Burns My Heart Page 0,6

to be back in her room, but as she opened the gate, she hesitated. Standing still, her face under a lamp, Soo-Ja watched as dragonflies danced around her. “Please go now. I don’t want my father to come out and see you here.”

Min placed his hand against the gate, not letting her open it. “Does he like to beat up your suitors?”

“No, he prefers to torture them with long stories about French missionaries.”

Then, as if on cue, Soo-Ja heard her father’s unmistakable footsteps walking toward the gate. Soo-Ja thought about hiding Min behind one of the trees, but just as she grabbed his hand to lead him, her father came out and saw them. Soo-Ja immediately let go of Min. She felt her father’s disapproving eyes corrode her skin, looking straight at her.

Soo-Ja could sense the anger her father felt, but she knew he would not admonish her—not after all the forbidding he’d already done that day. He’d have to forgive this indiscretion the way lords allow peasants a single day of festivity, so they won’t mind the return to the fields the rest of the year.

“Come back inside,” he said sharply, before he turned around and left.

Soo-Ja stood in the same spot, her heart pumping fast. She wondered if she would ever see Min again. He looked at her, the whites of his eyes shining in the dark. Soo-Ja stared back at him. If she had been the man, she might have kissed him. He stood there, silent, unsure what to do with a river to cross, or a sea dragon to get past. He looked like a boy who’s been brought over to the adults’ table and asked to sing. For all his swagger, he was no Romeo. He was barely Mercutio.

“Good night,” Soo-Ja finally said.

“Good night,” Min repeated, suddenly coming to life, as if she’d broken a spell. He turned around and, for some reason, began to run. Never looking back, Min ran as if someone were chasing him.

Seollal, the celebration of the Lunar New Year, began early in the morning, and Soo-Ja woke to the lively sound of relatives being greeted by her father in the main house. They had been arriving since six o’clock, aunts and uncles Soo-Ja rarely saw and didn’t really think of as family except twice a year, when everyone would gather for the two major holidays—Chuseok, the day of giving thanks, was the other.

Soo-Ja thought for a moment of staying in bed, but she did not want to disappoint her dead ancestors—Seollal was the day of honoring them. She pushed aside the heavy quilted blankets, got up from the floor, and staggered to her armoire, where her collection of hanbok dresses waited for her.

Hanbok was the traditional formal dress, made up of a short jacket top, fastened together with a large ribbonlike ot-ga-reom, and a long wraparound skirt. The bottom, with the top held tightly over the breasts, funneled outward until it was as wide as a wedding gown. Unlike an outfit made of cotton or nylon, hanbok did not hang limply—the thick hand-woven silk gave the cloth so much body, it looked as if the fabric floated over her.

After methodically getting dressed—working through the many knots and layers of the hanbok—Soo-Ja decided to stop by the outhouse in the back of the compound. The cubicle next to it had running water, and Soo-Ja thought it best to splash some on her face, still a bit swollen from the previous night’s tears.

Soo-Ja walked swiftly outside, holding up the hem of her long hanbok so it wouldn’t brush against the ground. The day, devoid of sun and color, felt like an only slightly less punitive extension of night, its chill blowing against her bare neck and ankles.

Soo-Ja was in a hurry; she could hear in the distance the start of the prayers, and she knew everyone would already be gathered in the main house. But as she was about to turn the corner, she heard something that made her stop in her tracks. It was her name, spoken in the high-pitched trill of her cousin Ae-Cha.

“She really must think she’s something special,” said Ae-Cha, coming off a bit muted, as if inside the outhouse. Soo-Ja leaned against the wall, keeping her breath still so she wouldn’t be noticed. “She wants everyone’s attention, and that’s why she’s creating so much commotion.”

“So you don’t think she really wants to be a diplomat?” Soo-Ja heard someone else ask. Her voice sounded more clear, and Soo-Ja