2
Envelopes
No one had expected Mido’s teacher to make a home visit.
The living room was furnished with five gray metal folding chairs and two laminate conference tables, one serving as the children’s desk and the other as the dining table.
The rental apartment still lacked rugs, paintings, and books.
It took no time at all for Helen to sweep the bare floors each morning.
For the time being, the children slept in sleeping bags, and Helen and John on bedding from Helen’s older sister, Sonya.
Except for clothing and toiletries, Sonya had loaned them everything, as she had done years before.
There was no reason to buy expensive mattresses or pots and pans when their own household things would arrive in two months.
It was like camping, Helen told her family, and the children had not complained.
Helen was filling out the application papers for a part-time sales position at the Lotte duty-free store.
It was a job that would enable her to get home in time to prepare dinner and help the children with their homework.
Helen didn’t care much for luxury handbags or expensive face creams; however, having sold enough products in so many places to all different kinds of customers, she had learned to appreciate better-made goods, and understood the value of an expensive and rare gift.
Here in Seoul, as a Korean citizen with strong English-language skills, she could work at the nicest places.
If she could get thirty or forty hours a week with commissions, she would be able to send the children to a good hagwon and save.
The buzzer sounded, and when Helen answered the intercom, to her surprise, it was Mr. Na. Helen put away her application forms in a blue pocket folder.
The teacher bowed as he entered the apartment and removed his black leather shoes, resoled again, not too long ago. Mr. Na had brush-polished and buffed his penny loafers to a high sheen. He prided himself on his neat appearance.
He was a few years younger than Helen and several inches taller than John.
No visible gray hairs. Mr. Na’s clear complexion was tanned from morning runs.
He was trim, with white teeth that evidenced his distaste for cigarettes and coffee.
He wore a gold wedding ring and an affordable Japanese watch, a gray woolen sweater vest over a crisp dress shirt and necktie, and dark slacks.
There was no sofa, so Mr. Na sat down on one of the folding chairs at the children’s table and placed his briefcase on the empty seat between him and Helen.
He was disappointed by the drab building and the room without proper furnishings.
He’d hoped that Mido’s family had more means.
No servant had opened the door or offered tea.
A commemorative mug from a large downtown church, half full of cold milky coffee, rested by a blue folder.
The mother was in her house clothes, a white cotton T-shirt and a pair of boys’ navy jogging pants. She sat down across the table from him.
Mr. Na cleared his throat. “Thank you for seeing me today. I wanted to stop by and say hello. I was told that you had just arrived from Australia. I understand that your daughter was never educated here.”
“Well, Mido went to kindergarten and first grade in Seoul, but my husband’s work took us overseas again. I’ve tried to keep up the children’s Korean through books and cassette tapes. Mido is the youngest. She has a brother at your school and the oldest goes to the high school across town.”
The teacher knew the school. His cousin had been turned down for a job there.
“In Sydney, the children went to a Korean-language school at the church on Saturdays, but I’m not sure how much they learned. I was working.” Her voice trailed off. Helen didn’t know what he thought of mothers like her. Nervous, she was talking too much.
Having lived abroad, she didn’t always know what to say when she returned home.
Things were constantly changing, especially language and schooling, and often, even strangers had an opinion about her parenting.
Natives would correct her when she made a mistake and smile like they’d won something, as if to say, You might have lived somewhere else but you’re not so special, and Helen didn’t know how to make the Koreans who had stayed put feel better.
Some of them felt left behind and disadvantaged by those who had lived elsewhere, when in reality, Helen felt lost herself.
“This is a nice apartment,” he said. “How many bedrooms do you have?”
“Three. It isn’t very big,” she replied. “We are still waiting for our furniture.” The apartment felt even shabbier in his presence. “May I get you something to drink? We have coffee.”
“I don’t drink coffee.”
Helen tried to remember if there was any tea in the nearly empty pantry.
“I live about two hours from here,” he volunteered. “I take the train almost four hours a day round-trip for my job. It must be wonderful to live so close to the school.”
Helen looked down, embarrassed by what she’d said. He must have thought she was boasting. A teacher had never visited her home before.
“Let me get you some tea. I have some delicious biscuits from Australia.” Helen went to the kitchen and found cold barley tea in the refrigerator.
The open kitchen faced out to the living room, and in his sight, Helen put together a tray: two glasses of barley tea and sweets she’d been saving for her husband. She laid out the offerings in front of the teacher.
“Is Mido doing okay?” she asked, thinking it was better to be direct in these situations.
His mouth twisted a bit to the left like he was thinking.
“Her math skills are behind the other children’s. I can help her with extra lessons in the morning or after school.”
“How very kind of you. Thank you so much.”
“I do this for my students, although it is not easy for me. My commute is rather long. I eat most of my meals in the classroom, and I get home late. I almost never see my own children during the week. Only on Sundays.”
Helen touched her forehead, and her right hand hid the worry in her eyes for a moment.
“A teacher’s work is so difficult. How old are your children?” she asked.
“I have two. One is studying for her high school entrance exams now. She’s a hard worker. Like your daughter, she is quiet. The younger one, the boy, is a year behind her. He, too, studies a great deal. It’s his dream to go to America and attend a great university there.”
“That would be wonderful,” she said, having heard some version of this from nearly everyone she knew. The top schools were too competitive in Korea, with never enough spots.
“The cost would be impossible, however. I have to take care of my family and make sure they have a bright future, but it’s tough.
My parents worked on a farm. I’m a luckless country boy, but I studied and became a middle school teacher.
I am honored to be a member of a noble profession, but it’s not possible to take care of your family on a teacher’s salary alone.
My children have to eat, go to hagwon, and I’m the eldest son.
There are also my aging parents to consider. ”
He coughed to clear his throat and glanced at the mother’s troubled expression.
“Do you think Mido will need a great deal of extra instruction? I don’t want to make work for you. I mean, my husband can help her, perhaps. He’s not bad at math.”
The teacher frowned, too polite to contradict her. If the child’s father knew math well, then why did his daughter fall short on such basic problems, which her classmates could readily solve?
“Mido will need help with her Korean subjects also. Her language has suffered, which is understandable. If she wants to go to high school and college here, she has a lot of work ahead of her. I can do my part while she’s in my class. But your child is trailing far behind the others.”
Helen felt sick inside. For a second, she thought he was smiling.
Mr. Na tasted a biscuit. He’d never had a lemon sandwich cookie before, and it was delicious.
Having made his point, he waited for the information to sink in.
He checked the view from the window and saw the tops of older ginkgo trees and the rows of newer apartment buildings sprouting from the sidewalk.
The broad pane of glass had been cleaned only the day before, and it sparkled, reflecting the crisp March-afternoon sun.
He thought it would be wonderful to live in such a spacious apartment, one filled with natural light, where his daughter and son could each have a room.
This woman had complained about the size of the apartment, and her ingratitude enraged him.
The teacher undid the latches of his battered leather briefcase, raised the flap, and kept it open.
“May I use your restroom? I’d like to wash my hands.” He glanced at the briefcase, then met her eyes.
Helen pursed her lips, got up, and pointed in the direction of the bathroom the children shared, which she had just cleaned that morning.
While he was out of the room, Helen took the remaining won notes from the manila envelope in Mido’s notebook and counted them.
It was not nearly enough, so she took the rest from Bo’s and DH’s stashes and put the cash in one of the new envelopes she kept in her folder.
In her elegant hand, Helen wrote: “Thank you, Na Teacher, for all your fine and valuable work. With profound gratitude for your sacrifices. Cho Hejin (Mido-umma).”
The toilet flushed, then the faucet ran. He would use the bar of soap, then dry his hands on a towel hanging off a nail. Helen tucked the envelope in his open briefcase, leaving a sharp white corner visible so it wouldn’t be missed when he returned, and it wasn’t.