Sonju was at a coffee shop in Myungdong. Lady Cho had news. “Professor Shin told me Chairman Park left for Europe for a month-long tour.”
“I think a change of scenery is good for him,” Sonju said.
A group of young men and women came and took the empty seats behind Lady Cho. They seemed to be college students. The girls were lovely in their wool miniskirts and boots. They were an animated bunch, chatting away and laughing. A few of their words jumped out.
Sonju smiled in their direction and then at Lady Cho. “I wrote to Jinju once that there are things beyond Korea, that there are things to see and to experience.” Her voice was high and light like the college students’ when she said, “Let’s go to America and Europe one day.”
“Yes, let’s. We will visit Miss Im and Roger. We will see how American she is now.” Lady Cho laughed, then turned serious. “On the phone, you said you had something to discuss.”
Sonju took a sip of coffee. “The income from my building has been stable. I am now ready to set up a scholarship for motivated girls who can’t afford to go to college.”
“I always knew you would do something.”
“I haven’t figured out how to set it up. I want to remain anonymous. Do you have any idea how I should go about selecting the students? I can do two a year, so that will be eight a year all together once I get it going for a four-year university education.”
“Hmm. Let me think … I can help, but Assemblyman Kim would be a better person to help you with that. A request from him will be taken more seriously by the schools.”
Sonju hadn’t wanted to rely on him, but he would be taken more seriously not only because of his position but also because of his gender.
The following week, Sonju told him about her plan. “The recipients will not know me. I prefer not to be involved in the selection process. I need your help.”
“What type of students would you consider?” he asked.
“Highly motivated, public-minded girls, those who will be able to help many others. At some point, I want an art student in honor of Artist Ilchon.”
In February, a month before the first semester began, the assemblyman told Sonju, “I met with students that the schools have recommended. I chose two. One wanted to be an attorney, the other a writer. I told them that their benefactor is a woman. I hope you don’t mind. I thought it was important for them to know.”
Things were good. The cook had been in relatively good health and her son recently started a metals-recycling business. Yunghee almost married three times in the last two years. She took the last breakup hard even though she was the one doing the breaking up. Gija still bought books from used bookstores and still sported simply cut clothes in muted colors. Miss Im wrote about her seasonal melancholy of missing cherry blossoms, fall colors, and winter snow. She became a certified public accountant.
On the first day of spring, Sonju’s sister came to visit with a box of French pastries from a bakery. Her sister kept her life separate from Sonju’s and Sonju did the same, not expecting to visit her sister’s family or meet her friends. Even though their conversations had become more relaxed, especially after their mother’s death, they never talked long. Her sister took a sip of coffee and said her two younger sons in college have to serve in the military very soon. “I’m working on getting them to serve with the American troops. It’s known to be much more humane. And they can learn to speak English.”
Sonju thought about the cook’s son who struggled in high school without the benefit of private tutors like her sister’s boys, and he completed his military duty in the regular Army.
Sonju asked without thinking, “So, what does it take to get those coveted posts for your sons? Bribe someone?” Her sister stirred her coffee with a spoon. Sonju didn’t mean to be cynical about her overly privileged sister. Perhaps she did, because she made the situation even worse by saying, “I was thinking about all those young men in regular Army who don’t have connections or money to bribe, not about bribery being illegal.” She winced at her own words. She watched her sister drink coffee quietly with her eyes down. She decided to try another option. “I’m getting married in May.”
Her sister’s eyes opened wide with a big smile. She put down the cup. “Who is he?”
“Assemblyman Kim Yungsik. I have known him for many years.”
There was a spark in her sister’s eyes. “I have voted for him! And now he’ll be my brother-in-law! I’m so happy for you.”
A few days later, her brother called. “Sister, how are you? It’s been a long time since I saw you. You should come and meet my wife and children.”
A sickening feeling shot up all the way to Sonju’s head and then settled down in her stomach. She shut her eyes and pulled her brows tight. She needed a moment of stillness.
“Sister, Sister? Are you there?”
“… Yes. You have children.”
“Four. They are anxious to meet you.”
“As you said, much time has passed. I’m content with the way things are. Let that be.” She hung up before he said another word.
It wouldn’t be just her brother. There would be many—those who used to know her and others who would know her—they would see her as a path to the assemblyman. Would she come to regret her decision to marry him? The image of him, his surprising innocence for a worldly man in his fifties, his willingness to love a woman with all he had to give—Could she give him up? She had been the happiest when she loved without holding back, and she loved this man. Was she strong enough not to lose herself as an assemblyman’s wife? Could she withstand the public’s criticism of her past? Because during her days with Kungu, she cowered in fear of criticism. And during her days at The Hall, she hid herself from others.
After much thought, she realized she didn’t have to give him up. It was her life. The power not to let others dictate her life was always hers. At that moment of clarity, she felt a sudden surge of happiness and vigor. Forgetting thirst and hunger and hardly moving away from the table, she wrote until she finished an essay. She titled it Six Letters to a Daughter and sent it to all five newspapers. Two weeks later, one company contacted her and asked her if she would change the title to Letters to a Daughter. If the readers’ responses were strong, it could turn into a series. Sonju immediately called Lady Cho to share the news. Imbedded in the subsequent Letters were many of the same ideas in her rejected essays.
She hummed. Sometimes while dusting the furniture or washing the dishes, she hummed “best roads and bridges, roads and bridges” over and over, picturing Jinju clapping her hands and reciting, “best roads and bridges, roads and bridges.”
A whiff of April air blew in through the open door of her living room that faced the side garden. Sonju was listening to the flock of birds in loud arguments outside and didn’t hear the first knock on the front door.
“It’s me.” Misu called out.
Sonju stiffened for a moment. She would be nice, she told herself, and ran to the door. “Misu! What a surprise! I haven’t seen you in such a long time. Come in.”
Misu sat on the couch. “I saw your sister the other day. She told me your mother had passed away. I heard about your daughter too. I am sorry that you had to suffer so much.”
Sonju smiled. “Who would I have become without having suffered? I don’t remember ever having wanted an easy life.” She pointed to a pitcher of barley tea on the table. “Tea?”
Misu nodded without taking her eyes off of Sonju. “I read your essays in the paper. Sometimes I think about the three of us in that church garden and what you and Kungu had talked about.”
“Me too.”
Sonju missed Kungu and all that he had stood for. She told him Misu had come to visit. She told him she was fine with all the choices she had made in her life. Some were good, some were bad, and many were misguided. That was simply how she did her living, she told him.
Sonju put her hair up, put on a cream-colored wool suit, and went to a national museum in Kyungbok Palace. Walking towards her, Assemblyman Kim gave her a nod.
It was their very first time alone together in public. She walked by his side, not three steps behind him. She wasn’t his shadow. A few people recognized him and stared at them, which caused her to say to herself, Let them talk, what are they to me? They are not important in my life. After all, she wasn’t born to be approved of by others.
He turned and looked at her after they walked beyond the ogling people and asked, “How are you doing with people’s stares?”
“I’m fine. I have words lovingly given to keep me steady.”
He smiled. “We will be in public places more. I am looking forward to presenting myself to people as the husband of an essayist. By the way, my sons said they couldn’t wait to see us married. My daughter may take more time.”
“We have the rest of our lives.”