This Burns My Heart Page 0,64

of tree branches and the gates of houses, but nothing whole; they seemed to float, all light and watery, without their usual density.

“You don’t need to. We’re friends. Friends take care of each other,” said Yul, as he reached for her and rearranged the wrinkled collar around her neck. He then gently patted Hana’s head; she lay asleep, wrapped in his windbreaker. Soo-Ja made as if to give it back to him, but he shook his head.

“Do you want to come in and meet my in-laws?” asked Soo-Ja. Even in the dark, she could see the sadness ebb and flow on Yul’s face, like the waves in the sea.

“What would you introduce me as?”

“It depends,” Soo-Ja said softly, looking into his eyes. “If I want to lie, or if I want to tell the truth.”

He stared back into her eyes. “I think one should always tell the truth. Except in situations like this.”

Soo-Ja’s heart leapt and then sunk. But she knew that she had no right to be disappointed. She was the one who turned away from him when he asked her to marry him, who refused when he first held out his hand and said, Try me, and be happy.

“Chamara, Soo-Ja. Chamara,” said Yul. Chamara. What is the word that comes closest to it? Soo-Ja wondered. To stand it, to bear it, to grit your teeth and not cry out? To hold on, to wait until the worst is over? There is no other word for it, no way to translate it. It is not a word. It is a way to console yourself. He is not just telling her to stand the pain, but giving her comfort, the power to do so. Chamara is an incantation, and if she listens to its sound, she believes that she can do it, that she will push through this sadness. And if she is strong about it, she’ll be rewarded in the end. It is a way of saying, I know, I feel it, too. This burns my heart, too.

chapter nine

When Soo-Ja opened the door triumphant, with Hana in her arms, feeling like Admiral Yi Sun-Shin back from his campaigns, the house awoke and Mother-in-law scrambled to turn the lights on. Soo-Ja knew they must have been in a state of suspense for the last two days. And then she saw him: Min on the floor, at first half asleep, then wide awake, leaping to reach for his daughter. Everyone gathered around them, with Mother-in-law clapping her hands, and the boys smiling and waiting for their turn to pet Hana. How odd to see them like this, thought Soo-Ja. Did they, in the end, love Hana more than she gave them credit for? Father-in-law was the only one not there, though her wondering about him didn’t last very long, caught up as she was in the warmth and excitement of Hana’s reception. This was truly a family, after all.

Soo-Ja knew Hana was tired and should be put to bed. She was tired, too. She had spent the last twenty hours on her feet, and she felt ready to topple over any second now. But she could not stop this scene, so rare and wonderful it was: everyone fussing over Hana, kissing her cheeks and taking turns holding and hugging her. Theirs was not an affectionate extended family. For all she knew, this might be the last time Hana experienced this kind of love from them.

Finally, after many hallelujahs from Mother-in-law and a thousand cheers from the boys, Soo-Ja told them they should all go to bed. Hana herself could barely keep her eyes open. In a matter of minutes, all the noise gave way to a placid quiet, as if all of them had been given a potion from an apothecary. Their eyelids grew heavy, and they fell asleep in one swoop, all at once, their bodies covering the floor in all kinds of shapes, looking like one giant figure with many limbs.

In the middle of the night, Soo-Ja woke to use the chamber pot and found Na-yeong still awake. Soo-Ja told her to go to sleep, but Na-yeong said she could not. Soo-Ja decided to use the outhouse instead, in spite of the cold. As she rose to leave, she heard Na-yeong call out for her. Soo-Ja made a shhh sound and lowered herself back, coming to sit next to where she lay.

“What is it?” Soo-Ja asked.

“Are you going to tell them that I lost Hana in the market?” Na-yeong