Waxing Moon

by H. S. Kim

  Mrs. Wang disliked the supercilious maids as much as subservient ones. “That’s not a good enough reason for terminating your pregnancy,” she replied.

  Mirae pursed her lips determinedly and then said defiantly, “Well, Mrs. Wang. Let me then tell you the truth. This is going to be the worst reason you’ve ever heard. But I don’t care what anyone says about it. I don’t want to have a baby. That’s all there is to it. I don’t care whether Mistress Yee would kick me out of her house or not. I just cannot imagine myself breastfeeding a baby. I know I will kill the baby.” Mirae’s shoulders quivered and she bowed her head. “I never wanted to be born. Never,” she whispered almost inaudibly.

  A black crow cawed at that moment, crossing the sky above Mrs. Wang’s thatched roof, splashing its silver-gray shit directly in her yard.

  Mrs. Wang suppressed her habit of laying down her principles regarding this matter.

  “Your calamity is beyond my ability. What you need to do is see an herbalist or an acupuncturist. Go to the market and see Mr. Jo behind the fabric store. He might have an answer for you,” Mrs. Wang said, surveying Mirae’s face.

  Mirae looked up distrustfully and asked, “What can he do?”

  “Many things,” Mrs. Wang said and chuckled. “He can concoct a brew that will erase the growth. It takes a while to bring about the result: one cycle of the moon at least. Tell him you talked with me already,” Mrs. Wang advised her.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Wang. I will not forget your kindness,” Mirae said, tears spilling from her large eyes.

  In her younger days, Mrs. Wang would interrogate the girl about the man, urge her to go and talk it over with the pig, and so on. But her experience had taught her not to waste her breath.

  Mirae got up, bowed politely, and awkwardly thanked her again before she put her shoes on.

  “By the way, he might have some remedy for your skin too,” Mrs. Wang said. “Not that you need to correct it, but if you still feel depressed about it, I’d ask.”

  Struck by the power of new hope, Mirae momentarily forgot all about her pregnancy. If only she could look the way she had used to look! She would do almost anything, she thought. “Is it true?” Mirae asked half doubtfully. “I heard that chicken pox scars can’t be cured.”

  “Those aren’t chicken pox scars,” said Mrs. Wang simply.

  “What was it then?” Mirae asked.

  “No idea. Go and ask yourself,” Mrs. Wang replied. “You will have more trouble when your scars go away. Nothing comes without a price. Just keep in mind that you will not be Mistress Yee even if you serve her a hundred years.”

  “I don’t want to be Mistress Yee. She is the nastiest woman I know,” Mirae said fearlessly.

  “You need to watch your mouth and stay out of trouble. Now go. I can’t idle away all day,” Mrs. Wang said.

  “May I take another sweet potato?”

  “Take the little one.”

  Mirae took a medium-sized one and got up. She walked down the hill, feeling much lighter than just an hour before.

  After Mirae left, Mrs. Wang mixed rice flour in water and simmered it to make glue for pasting new wallpaper. She skewered persimmons with strips of bamboo and hung them to dry in the sun. She pulled out her old coat and examined it to see if she could wear it for another year.

  20

  The rice field, luscious and green all summer, was turning frigid gray and austere. Even the wild animals had disappeared. In good years, it was a peaceful period for farmers. But in bad years, as this year was due to the drought, it was a restless period for them even though there wasn’t much else to do besides making straw shoes and straw sacks, working as roofers, or hanging out around Mr. O’s mansion to pick up odd jobs.

  One day early in the morning, when a farmer named Jaegon was on his way to the open marketplace to sell thimbles and knickknacks, he ran into a dog, brownish white and scrawny, by the rice field. What attracted his attention was the thing it was carrying in its mouth. The lump was bloody and, to his surprise, it appeared to be a human fetus. He tried to stop the dog to have a closer look, but it walked in circles around him, distrustfully. He didn’t want to investigate the matter further, for his mind was rushing to the market. He wanted to be the first one to occupy an opportune spot. So he hurried off to his destination, looking back at intervals until the dog was no longer in sight.

  Later that afternoon as the merchants were discussing the meaning of life, Mrs. Wang stopped to buy a thimble. She wanted to stuff her blanket with the new cotton. She was wondering what was being talked about so intensely.

  “Oh, a horrible thing I saw this morning,” Jaegon began. He told her about the bloody fetus and how he regretted not having pursued the case further.

  “A lot of things look like a fetus,” Mrs. Wang commented. “Especially at dawn. It could have been a dead chipmunk,” she suggested, raising her eyebrows.

  “Oh no, Mrs. Wang, it wasn’t a chipmunk for sure. I saw it with my own eyes,” Jaegon retorted.

  “Do you have a large needle for sewing blankets?” Mrs. Wang said, diverting his attention.

  “Sure I do,” Jaegon replied quickly and opened his box to show Mrs. Wang needles of all sizes.

  “That one looks just right,” Mrs. Wang said and pointed to the thickest one in the box.

  “Ah, that’s for sewing up knitted stuff. The next one down is what you want,” he said confidently.

  “Give that to me then,” Mrs. Wang said, and paid for the thimble and the needle.

  “What else?” he asked, widening his eyes and shoving the money into his sack.

  “That will do for now.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Wang,” he said, smiling broadly. “Have you eaten?” he asked out of politeness, even though he had nothing left to offer.

  “Oh, I have. But what have you got? I can always eat more,” Mrs. Wang said and chuckled good-humoredly.

  At that moment, someone from a distance was calling Mrs. Wang desperately. Jaegon and the other peddlers looked in the direction of the high-pitched voice, but Mrs. Wang packed her needle and her thimble carefully into her sleeve without looking around. She was used to this sort of urgent voice wanting her attention immediately, and most of the time it was a false alarm.

  Soonyi from Mr. O’s household wanted Mrs. Wang. Stopping behind her, Soonyi panted loudly, with her cheeks rosy and forehead beaded with perspiration. “Mrs. Wang, my lady needs you. Mr. O sent me to fetch you right away. The wagon is waiting at the entrance of the market. Please come with me quickly or else,” Soonyi said without breathing until Mrs. Wang interrupted.

  “Or else what?” Mrs. Wang asked, stepping away from the crowd leisurely.

  Soonyi rattled on excitedly. “Mrs. Wang, my lady is in such pain. She can’t even speak.”

  Mrs. Wang walked on toward the entrance of the market, counting how many days had passed since her most recent visit with Mistress Yee and recalling her due date. It was early, and yet this little monkey was making a scene in the marketplace as if Mrs. Wang lived only to be summoned from wherever she was and whatever she was doing. Mrs. Wang had planned to have a drink at the pub, but now it looked as though she wasn’t going to.

  Twin midgets were performing circus tricks at the entrance of the market. One was standing on the soles of the other, who was lying on her back, holding a bowl of water on a stick clenched between her teeth. The one on the top was bending down carefully to drink the water from the bowl through a straw. Mesmerized by the breathtaking sight, Soonyi halted and dropped her jaw.

  “Well, should we stay and have some fun?” Mrs. Wang asked, chewing on a dried squid leg.

  Soonyi collected herself and led the way to the wagon, where Bok was taking a nap, leaning against one of the wheels.

  Soonyi hit him on the head. He got up and bowed
toward the wagon. Mrs. Wang was behind him. She offered him a dried persimmon. He bowed again and took it at once.

  “Never eat dried fruit in a hurry. Or rice cake. You will choke on it, and there is no remedy for choking,” Mrs. Wang said, getting on the wagon with the help of the errand boy, whose cheeks were bulging with the persimmon he was about to swallow. He nodded solemnly.

  Soonyi pulled his ear. “What a piglet you are! You just had lunch.”

  “Big Sister, I am a growing boy,” he grumbled.

  “Here, children. I’ve got some dried squid.” Mrs. Wang shared her squid with them, anticipating that there would be lots of food soon at Mr. O’s. She also thought that her visit would last a while.

  The mule-drawn wagon began to rattle on the stony road, and Mrs. Wang wondered if she had fed her chickens that morning, if she had closed her gate properly, and if she had hung laundry out.

  The sun felt good, even though the air was chilly. Mrs. Wang closed her eyes, leaning against the haystack, and Soonyi kept talking about the recent incidents and affairs in the grand house of Mr. O. Mrs. Wang was the last person to mind good gossip.

  21

  Nani received Mrs. Wang, looking grim. She lacked her usual childish lightness. Her voice low and hoarse, she said, “Oh, Mrs. Wang, so kind of you to come promptly. Our lady is waiting for you.”

  “Give me some water,” Mrs. Wang demanded.

  “Surely. Please follow me,” Nani said and walked on.

  Mrs. Wang, following behind, could see that Nani’s figure had fully matured.

  “Soonyi, stay in the kitchen. Keep an eye on the fire in the oven. When the water boils, reduce the heat and add the chopped onions in the bowl. Mistress Yee wants beef stew for dinner. So beef stew it is, until she changes her mind,” Nani whispered the last sentence in a strained voice.

  “How old are you?” Mrs. Wang asked Nani.

  “Too old for marriage, too young for the grave. I just don’t know what to do with my life, Mrs. Wang,” she replied with a sigh.

  Mrs. Wang narrowed her eyes at the maid. She herself had said so once a long time before.

  Mr. O was lingering outside his wife’s chamber, looking lost and impatient. As soon as he saw Mrs. Wang, he visibly relaxed. Skipping any formalities, he said, “What a relief to see you, Mrs. Wang. Please, hurry in.”

  Nani arranged Mrs. Wang’s shoes and quickly stepped ahead of her in the anteroom and announced Mrs. Wang’s arrival, but only low groans came from inside.

  Then Mirae answered from inside, “Please come in.”

  Nani opened the door before Mirae finished her sentence.

  Stepping into the room, Mrs. Wang looked in the ceramic chamber pot with a lovely blue magnolia blossom design. Frowning slightly, she sniffed the urine. Mistress Yee was lying with her legs raised on several pillows and her eyes half closed. Mrs. Wang sat and asked Nani when Mistress Yee had most recently eaten and urinated.

  “She has no appetite, Mrs. Wang,” Nani said.

  Mistress Yee opened her eyes, threw a bronze bowl in her maid’s direction, and barked, “That wasn’t the question! Why do I have to put up with a pack of stupid maids?”

  Mrs. Wang advised her, “You need to calm down. The color of your urine indicates you are not well.”

  “I want the baby out! I have a small frame. There is too much pressure on my hip. I can no longer sit or walk. What am I to do?”

  “Let me have your hand, please.” Mrs. Wang put her hand out.

  Taking Mistress Yee’s petite hand, Mrs. Wang closed her eyes and held her breath. After a moment, she released her hand with a deep breath.

  “Please undress.”

  “We did that the last time you were here. Why do you need to do that again? The baby isn’t coming out now, is it? I am so frightened. How in the world will a baby pass through me? I will die before that happens!” Mistress Yee complained in a high and fragile voice.

  Mrs. Wang didn’t respond. She just motioned for the maids to help their mistress undress. Mirae was lost in thought. Mrs. Wang snapped her fingers right next to Mirae’s ear. She jerked.

  “What is the matter with you, Mirae?” Mistress Yee scowled.

  Mrs. Wang could see that the maid was unwell. She seemed extremely fatigued.

  “I think that you might be coming down with something. You’d better leave your mistress at once so that she doesn’t catch anything,” Mrs. Wang said firmly.

  “Oh, heavens! Is that chicken pox again?” Mistress Yee shrieked.

  “No, I don’t believe anyone can have chicken pox twice in a lifetime,” Mrs. Wang reassured her.

  “Don’t get near me if you are sick. This is a bad omen. And it also means you don’t care what happens to me! I will have a word with you later.” Mistress Yee narrowed her eyes.

  Mirae got up and bowed, looking bleary-eyed and chalk-pale like a ghost.

  “She looks bad,” Mrs. Wang pointed out to Nani.

  Mrs. Wang examined Mistress Yee with dexterous hands. There was nothing so exquisitely created in the entire world as this woman’s vagina, she decided, just as she had each time she had examined Mistress Yee. Her charcoal hair against her porcelain skin was a work of art, like the calligraphy by virtuoso Han, known for his dynamic strokes and even tone. Of course, she would not reveal her thoughts to anyone; nevertheless, she thought it unfair that she was the only one besides Mr. O to have the privilege of viewing Mistress Yee’s private parts.

  Mistress Yee’s belly was moving up and down, and Mrs. Wang gently massaged her, asking the usual but necessary questions.

  Mistress Yee giggled and said, “You are tickling me.”

  “Turn to your side, please,” Mrs. Wang requested.

  “Oh, gods, Mrs. Wang, you know how hard it is for me to move,” Mistress Yee complained.

  Nani, perched in the corner, came over to aid her mistress. Mrs. Wang rubbed Mistress Yee’s side warily.

  “That hurts.” Mistress Yee winced.

  Ignoring her complaint, Mrs. Wang kept massaging her belly carefully.

  “I had a shooting pain in my lower abdomen the other day. Mr. O’s been preoccupied with the politics recently, and he doesn’t realize my due date is approaching. Please tell him he will have to pay attention to me every second from now on.”

  Mrs. Wang said, “You must rest but move about a little. Energy begets energy. Take plenty of fluid.” There was a tinge of gloom in her voice. Mrs. Wang moved toward the door.

  “Mr. O won’t let you leave the house,” Mistress Yee said, while Nani dressed her mistress promptly. “Nani, show Mrs. Wang where she will stay.”

  “Yes, Mistress Yee,” Nani said quickly and led Mrs. Wang out.

  Standing in the yard, Mrs. Wang said, “I need to see Mr. O right away.”

  Nani’s face was a question mark.

  “No,” Mrs. Wang corrected herself.

  “What is the matter, Mrs. Wang?” Nani asked.

  “Let me write a letter to Dr. Choi. No. Go quickly and tell Dr. Choi to come as soon as possible,” Mrs. Wang said.

  “What’s the matter, Mrs. Wang? Is there something wrong with Mistress Yee?” Nani asked with a grave curiosity.

  “Go quickly. No. Get the boy. Your boy. What’s his name? Send him to fetch Dr. Choi,” Mrs. Wang said.

  “Mrs. Wang, Min is not here.” Nani dropped her head and explained that he had disappeared again. The first time he had disappeared, the maids and servants had kept it secret, but now he’d been gone more than three days. Mr. O had found out this morning, when he was looking for him to go fetch Mrs. Wang. Soonyi had slipped and complained that Min had not been seen for many days.

  “Many days!” repeated Nani, tears swelling in her eyes. “This is the third day. But Soonyi said ‘many da
ys.’ Mr. O was furious. I am sure that Mr. O will have his legs maimed when he returns.”

  “You need to go fetch Dr. Choi. Get someone who can run fast, or you go if you can afford to be absent for a while,” Mrs. Wang said.

  “Yes, Mrs. Wang. I will get Bok. He moves as speedily as a mouse,” Nani said, and rushed to the backyard, where Bok was probably trimming the branches of the fruit trees and sweeping.

  Mrs. Wang sat by the well near the maids’ quarters and pondered the news of Min with renewed interest. He was a good-looking young man, she remembered. His eyes were lively and he carried himself seriously, in spite of his lowly state. A servant with a disability was like a chipped bowl, a disposable item, but he didn’t behave like one.

  Feeling wretched, she paced back and forth, and then around the well. If she could, she would have liked to have a sudden attack of stomachache so that she could go home and leave everything up to Dr. Choi. The baby inside Mistress Yee didn’t seem to be active. This was the last news she wanted to break to the would-be parents. The poor would blame fate, the wealthy the doctor or the midwife or the pregnant woman or all of the above.

  From inside the maids’ quarters, Mirae called her through a slit in the door. “Would you like to come in and have a seat?” she asked in a feeble voice.

  Mrs. Wang went inside. She wanted to lie down for a short while before the doctor arrived.

  “You need some red ginseng to recover,” Mrs. Wang said, surveying Mirae whose eyes were encircled with dark rings.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Wang, for saving me earlier. I could not sit there any longer with Mistress Yee. When I see a pregnant woman, I feel like throwing up. I don’t know why,” Mirae confessed, looking miserable.

  “Simmer a few roots of red ginseng and a handful of dates overnight in a clay pot. Drink the brew several times a day for a while. You will feel better. You should also eat some pork,” Mrs. Wang suggested.

  “I can’t get hold of regular ginseng, let alone red ginseng. You know that, Mrs. Wang. I am a maid. Everything good goes to Mistress Yee first. My mistress doesn’t care what happens to me anymore,” Mirae said, hopelessly. She produced a cushion for Mrs. Wang.