2 #2
Every night, John went to bed at ten o’clock. His work exhausted him, and to focus the next day, he had to sleep at least seven and a half hours. In the morning, John rose at six. As ever, he remained calm and methodical in his outlook. At work and church, everyone admired his evenness.
John lay on the floor beneath the thick coverlet in his blue pajamas, his head resting on one of his sister-in-law’s pillows.
The children were still doing their homework in the living room, and Helen was not ready for bed, but she wanted to talk to him alone.
She shut the door, then sat cross-legged beside him.
Careful to whisper, she told her husband about Mr. Na’s visit.
“What else could you have done? Teachers have to eat, too, so they do these shameful things,” John said with his eyes closed.
Korea was still comparatively poor and had a growing middle class, but the government had never funded its schools well.
They knew that. Even when John was a boy, parents had to hand over these envelopes; the parent-teacher associations had to raise money for building repairs, classroom renovations, mimeograph machines, musical instruments, and audiovisual equipment; and teachers had to charge parents for every little thing.
His worst memories were of having to ask his mother, who had labored in a factory, for money to buy sheets of special paper that his principal bullied the students to purchase, to cover fees for fuel costs for the school furnace, and to pay special charges from coaches for sports events.
Money. Always, they had needed more money.
During her brief life, his mother, a young widow who had managed to graduate from middle school, had worked at a garment factory, accepting as many shifts as possible to support her younger siblings and parents, then later her own boys.
There was rarely anything left over from her wages after the bills were paid.
Even now, John could recall the anguish on her small brown face when there wasn’t enough money for tuition, uniforms, and fees for both John and his brother.
His older brother, who had never liked school, had dropped out against their mother’s wishes and worked first at the garment factory where their mother worked, then later as a truck driver, when he began to earn a solid income.
John’s mother died from what had started out as a tooth infection, and not long after, John’s older brother died during his military service in unexplained circumstances, which his friends attributed to a superior’s cruelty.
John met Helen soon after, during his university days: She was his only remaining family.
Helen sat on the floor, hugging her legs, and even though she said nothing else, John knew his wife was worried about the children and money.
“Maybe I could get another job,” he said, opening his eyes. “Put on a cap and drive a taxi on the weekends.” He sounded serious.
“No, no. You’re forty-five years old and a manager at a good company. How can you get a second job?” Helen shook her head. “That would look bad. I should be able to get this job at Lotte.” She smoothed the coverlet over his shoulders. “Everything will be okay. The Lord provides.”
“My wife. You could have married the son of a wealthy family but, like a dope, you married a poor math student.”
“And you could have married a rich girl instead of the second daughter of two foolish cardplayers.”
John opened his eyes, and they laughed. This was their joke—the comedy of their love. Each had failed to marry up in the world when there had been a chance.
“I put my life and our children into your capable hands,” John said, closing his eyes again. Sleep pulled him in, and he struggled to stay awake for her.
Helen felt sorry. John was doing everything possible to support their family, and it felt unfair that a hardworking man like this could not sleep in peace. She shouldn’t have mentioned Mr. Na’s visit. Helen prayed silently over her husband’s resting head: Lord, protect my good husband’s rest.
Overseas, the expenses had been easier. The company subsidized housing and the children’s tuition, and the teachers didn’t expect extra payments.
For Christmas, Helen had given teachers in Paramus and Sydney flowering bulbs she’d potted herself; sometimes a box of Belgian chocolates or a bottle of cognac.
Certain schools would allow families to chip in a nominal sum to make up a small year-end cash gift.
Helen was competent at making calls and chasing down payments so a teacher could have something extra for her Christmas budget.
In the living room, the boys sat at the table doing their homework. Bo was focused on a Korean history assignment, and DH was finishing his math problems. Mido lay on the floor filling out a science worksheet. They wouldn’t go to bed until one, at least, and Helen would stay up with them.
“Who wants night ramyeon?” she asked, and the boys cheered loudly. Helen shushed them, her index finger across her lips. She pointed to the closed bedroom door.
“Appa’s sleeping. He’s had a long day.”
The children had eaten dinner earlier, but they were always hungry when studying.
In the kitchen, Helen filled the aluminum pot with water and set it on the stove to boil.
When she was growing up, her parents would be at the neighbors’ playing cards in the evenings, and her sister, Sonya, had been the one to fix her and their little brother noodles when they were all studying.
Helen rummaged in the refrigerator to find three eggs to round out their meal.