This Burns My Heart by Samuel Park Page A

“Syngman Rhee has been deposed. Our country’s struggle for freedom, which began when we freed ourselves from the Japanese colonizers, then continued with the war against the communists, has finally come to an end with the end of the dictatorship. I was talking about this to the people in the crowd, as we watched the slow procession of the President’s motorcade through the streets of Seoul. And you know what the amazing thing was? Some people were crying. I don’t know if it’s because they were thinking of the terrible things he’d done, or because they felt sorry for him and his wife. But what matters is that he’s gone now, and this is a beautiful day for democracy.”
    Min had left as an idler, but he would return as a hero.
    Soo-Ja sat on the front steps of her house, watching the servants do the week’s laundry in the courtyard. One of them worked the lever of the water pump, her heavy arms pushing up and down, until a clean stream spurted out. Another sat on top of a stone, scrubbing wet, soapy clothes on top of a washboard. Finally, a third one rinsed the clothes in the pump and shook them before hanging them up to dry with clothespins. Soo-Ja stared at their plump bodies, hidden away underneath their old hanboks. Soo-Ja felt self-conscious about the weight she’d recently lost, shed from her already thin frame.
    Soo-Ja enjoyed the rhythms of their talk, the way they spoke like folks from the countryside, dispensing with the more formal-
io
at the end of the sentences. Sometimes their words overlapped, like a chorus, and Soo-Ja envied the easy, casual way they’d tease or scold one another.If she lost the ability to speak, and needed to learn again, she could simply listen to them. They often spent hours telling stories. The house chores—cooking, cleaning, washing—seemed to be incidental. In Soo-Ja’s mind, their real job was to gossip, giving their opinions about the others’ lives. Soo-Ja wondered if they talked about
her
behind her back, and she realized that they must, of course.
    Soo-Ja closed her eyes. She often became sleepy when melancholia hit her. She could feel her head grow heavy when she suddenly heard the servants’ talking stop. She opened her eyes and glanced at them—their eyes were directed at an intruder. A man had arrived at the house unannounced, slipping past the gate, and making his way into the courtyard. He looked tired and beaten down, wearing an army camouflage jacket cut off at the forearms, and pants rolled up to his knees. He held a satchel behind his back, and for a moment Soo-Ja thought it was one of her brothers, returning home from some war she hadn’t been told about.
    It took a few seconds to realize it was Min, and when she did, Soo-Ja leapt out of her seat and ran to him. He’d been to her house before, but she hadn’t been ready then. This time, with no concern for modesty or propriety, Soo-Ja jumped into his arms, and the two of them held each other, burying their noses in each other’s shoulders. Their bodies made shapes together—her chin on his sternum, her temple against his cheek—until theirs were interlocking parts. He had not been lost; he’d been returned to her.
    “Is your father here?” asked Min, once they finally let go of each other.
    “Yes. Why?” asked Soo-Ja, glancing into his eyes.
    Min looked shyly at her. “There’s something I want to ask him.”
    “What is it?” asked Soo-Ja, staring at his cherry-sized nose, and his downcast gaze.
    “I want to ask him for your hand in marriage.”
    “You want to marry Soo-Ja?” asked her father, looking startled.
    “Yes, I do,” said Min, with his satchel by his side, sitting across from him on the floor.
    “Isn’t this a little sudden?” asked Soo-Ja’s father, trying to maintain his self-control.
    “The protests—the violence in Seoul—made me realize how fragile our lives are. It could all be over in a second,” said Min.
    Soo-Ja moved closer to Min and instinctively held