“Stop this! Are you a fool?”
She stopped, brought up short by her own words of a week ago. I believe she dimly began to recognize me.
“Go on, get her out of here,” the tuna said, finally realizing that jade Moon wasn’t faking. “I’ll only dock you each half a day.” I helped my friend up onto wobbly feet and supported her as we trod out of the cane field. It took twenty minutes to get back to our camp, with frequent drinks from my water bottle, but at last we reached my bungalow, where I had her lie down on our bed. I dabbed her face with water, both to cool her and to wipe away the crust of red dirt, and gave her as much to drink as she could swallow.
All this time she had not spoken a word. Now, as she drained a glass of water, she looked at me with embarrassment and said quietly, `Vianham- nida. ” There is no precise English equivalent of this word-it can express both gratitude and apology, as in “Thank you, I am sorry for the trouble I have caused you.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. It’s a hot day, it might have happened to any of us.”
“You probably think me a silly city girl unacquainted with hard work,” she said with a frown, “and you would be right. I know nothing of manual labor. My first day in the fields, I thought I was going to die. At the end of the day, I wanted to die. My body had never hurt so much in my life.” She added with chagrin, “That is what I tried to tell you, badly, when you came to work in the fields.”
I now recognized her characteristic frown for what it was: not a scowl of disdain for me, but a reflection of her own self-loathing.
“Then why do it?” I asked. “Does your husband make you?”
She shook her head. “My father is yangban, ” she said, “and spends his days in scholarly pursuits. His family inheritance was exhausted years ago. He applied for the civil service, but was turned down; and to take another kind of job would be beneath his dignity. So while he sits in his den and studies the Chinese classics, my mother works herself to the bone-raising vegetables to sell at market, taking in laundry, anything she can think of to support a family of five. I thought that if I married a rich man in Hawai’i …” Here her voice faltered. “… I could send back enough money that my mother would not have to work herself to death. She’s so small, so frail … and she works so very hard. I thought I could help, but-” She laughed ruefully. “The joke is on me. I came all the way to Hawai’i just to marry a pauper who spent every cent he had to bring me here! Hilarious, isn’t it?”
“So you work in the fields,” I said, “to send money to your family?”
“Yes, but I’m not strong enough, God help me. I am weak and spoiled, a terrible daughter! I wish I were dead!” She broke down again into sobs; I took her in my arms and held her as she let loose her shame and exhaustion. When she had cried herself out, I spoke up:
“Listen to me,” I told her. “You are no weaker than I am. You hate yourself no less than I have hated myself. You are not alone.
“You have endured much. You have suffered much. You will suffer more, and you will endure that as well. Is this not what it means to be Korean?”
I saw a shadow of her dignity return to her. She nodded slowly.
“Yes,” she said. “This is so.”
Then a small smile even tugged at her mouth. She reached up and playfully straightened my neckerchief.
“And are we not,” she added dryly, “so very fashionable?”
We both laughed, and I went to the kitchen to prepare her something to eat.
----
Saturday, twice a month, was payday, and no one was awaiting their wages more excitedly than I was. I stood in line at the manager’s office, and when it was my turn I proudly showed the paymaster my bango. “Number 3327,” he read from his ledger. “Worked eleven and one-half days at forty-six cents a day, for a total of five dollars and twenty-seven-”
“Wait-that cannot
She stopped, brought up short by her own words of a week ago. I believe she dimly began to recognize me.
“Go on, get her out of here,” the tuna said, finally realizing that jade Moon wasn’t faking. “I’ll only dock you each half a day.” I helped my friend up onto wobbly feet and supported her as we trod out of the cane field. It took twenty minutes to get back to our camp, with frequent drinks from my water bottle, but at last we reached my bungalow, where I had her lie down on our bed. I dabbed her face with water, both to cool her and to wipe away the crust of red dirt, and gave her as much to drink as she could swallow.
All this time she had not spoken a word. Now, as she drained a glass of water, she looked at me with embarrassment and said quietly, `Vianham- nida. ” There is no precise English equivalent of this word-it can express both gratitude and apology, as in “Thank you, I am sorry for the trouble I have caused you.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. It’s a hot day, it might have happened to any of us.”
“You probably think me a silly city girl unacquainted with hard work,” she said with a frown, “and you would be right. I know nothing of manual labor. My first day in the fields, I thought I was going to die. At the end of the day, I wanted to die. My body had never hurt so much in my life.” She added with chagrin, “That is what I tried to tell you, badly, when you came to work in the fields.”
I now recognized her characteristic frown for what it was: not a scowl of disdain for me, but a reflection of her own self-loathing.
“Then why do it?” I asked. “Does your husband make you?”
She shook her head. “My father is yangban, ” she said, “and spends his days in scholarly pursuits. His family inheritance was exhausted years ago. He applied for the civil service, but was turned down; and to take another kind of job would be beneath his dignity. So while he sits in his den and studies the Chinese classics, my mother works herself to the bone-raising vegetables to sell at market, taking in laundry, anything she can think of to support a family of five. I thought that if I married a rich man in Hawai’i …” Here her voice faltered. “… I could send back enough money that my mother would not have to work herself to death. She’s so small, so frail … and she works so very hard. I thought I could help, but-” She laughed ruefully. “The joke is on me. I came all the way to Hawai’i just to marry a pauper who spent every cent he had to bring me here! Hilarious, isn’t it?”
“So you work in the fields,” I said, “to send money to your family?”
“Yes, but I’m not strong enough, God help me. I am weak and spoiled, a terrible daughter! I wish I were dead!” She broke down again into sobs; I took her in my arms and held her as she let loose her shame and exhaustion. When she had cried herself out, I spoke up:
“Listen to me,” I told her. “You are no weaker than I am. You hate yourself no less than I have hated myself. You are not alone.
“You have endured much. You have suffered much. You will suffer more, and you will endure that as well. Is this not what it means to be Korean?”
I saw a shadow of her dignity return to her. She nodded slowly.
“Yes,” she said. “This is so.”
Then a small smile even tugged at her mouth. She reached up and playfully straightened my neckerchief.
“And are we not,” she added dryly, “so very fashionable?”
We both laughed, and I went to the kitchen to prepare her something to eat.
----
Saturday, twice a month, was payday, and no one was awaiting their wages more excitedly than I was. I stood in line at the manager’s office, and when it was my turn I proudly showed the paymaster my bango. “Number 3327,” he read from his ledger. “Worked eleven and one-half days at forty-six cents a day, for a total of five dollars and twenty-seven-”
“Wait-that cannot
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