SOON THE BELLS RANG for supper. June lined up with the others. The children were orderly-they were always quietest on the line-and she took her bowls of soup and rice and sat alone at the far end of the mess hall. So-Hyun and Min ambled over just as they had the last few days, knowing she would only pick at her meal. But she didn’t acknowledge them when they sat beside her, and when So-Hyun reached out to take her bowl of rice, June grabbed her wrist and held it, with increasing pressure, until the girl began to whimper.
“What’s wrong with you?” So-Hyun cried, finally able to pull back her hand. She rubbed at her wrist. “Are you crazy or something?”
June made no answer. So-Hyun scooted down on the bench, continuing to complain, while Min had already picked up his bowls and left. He was no longer even in the mess hall. June thought she ought to go find him. It was then that she noticed one of the aunties leaving the mess hall with a tray of food. She caught up with the woman just as she was nearing the cottage. “Dear auntie,” she said, “let me take it to Mrs. Tanner.”
“What are you doing out here? If you’re done with your dinner, then it’s time to get ready for bed.”
“I’ll wait and bring the dishes back for you when she’s done. That way you don’t have to make another trip.”
“I do have some radishes salting.” The woman sighed, weary from the long day. “I should get them seasoned before I go home. Okay, then, but just bring it to her and wait outside. And don’t bother her! If I hear anything different I’ll strap you, you hear me?”
June agreed and took the tray. When she knocked on the door she could hear Sylvie say in Korean, You may come in. June let herself inside just as Hector was coming out of the back room, some balled-up bandages in his hands. He walked out without saying anything to her. In the bedroom, Sylvie was sitting up in bed in a robe, reading by the lamplight, her knee newly wrapped and propped on a pillow. She seemed startled when she saw it was June but then warmly smiled, putting down her book. “You’re nice to bring me supper.”
“Does your leg still hurt?” June asked.
“I’ll be all right,” Sylvie answered.
June nodded. “Would you like to eat now?”
Sylvie said yes and took the tray from her, setting it on her lap. She removed the newspaper covering the porcelain bowls of soup and rice and prepared vegetables. The aunties had prepared some extra dishes for her.
“My goodness,” she said. “It’s so much food. I’m not terribly hungry, to tell you the truth. Have you eaten, sweetie?”
June said she had.
“But I just heard the bells a few minutes ago. Did you even have a chance to finish your own meal? Why don’t you share this with me? You use the spoon and I’ll use the chopsticks. Sit up here with me, it’ll be easier.”
Sylvie shifted to make room for her, June sitting cross-legged with the tray on her lap. She didn’t want to eat but Sylvie kept saying she should, patting her shoulders, and before she realized it, before she could stop herself, she had already begun, eating half the bowl of rice and all the radish kimchee. It was like breathing after holding one’s breath for too long, the inhalations at first quick and deep but then settling right back into an automatic rhythm, her body in command, cribbing her sight with opaque blinders, the dull glow of the bowls the only halos before her. Sylvie was saying to keep on, and very quickly June finished the vegetables, the fritters, the last spoonfuls of rice, and by the end she had lifted the soup bowl to her lips and drunk it down, the hot, rich broth scalding her tongue. But when she was done she felt immediately ashamed, the barely chewed morsels lodged in her gut as if she’d swallowed fistfuls of coal. She slipped off the bed to take the tray and leave, but Sylvie grasped her arm. “You don’t have to go…”
“Please forgive me!” June said. “I ate all your dinner! I will bring you more!”
“Oh, sweetie,” Sylvie said, now trying to hug her. “I didn’t need any of it. Not a bit.”
“I have to go,” June gasped, and then pulled herself away, just quickly enough to open the back door and retch onto the ground. It smelled almost good, simply like food, but she coughed up some more. Sylvie was now holding her shoulders as she stroked her back, the hollow feeling in June’s belly strangely confirming to her that this was the state in which she felt most honed, elemental, most purely alive.
“Are you feverish?” Sylvie asked her. “Are you feeling sick, otherwise?”
“No, no,” June said. “I should not eat your dinner. I am sorry.”
“Please don’t apologize for that,” Sylvie said. “Never for that.” They stepped back inside, Sylvie limping but bracing June as if she were the one who needed help walking. She pulled up a stool for herself and had June sit on the edge of the bed. She clasped June’s hands. “I’m glad you came here tonight. We haven’t talked very much of late, have we?”
“No.”
“I’ve missed spending time together.”
June didn’t answer, for she realized she had not come here to speak but rather to hear what Sylvie would say to her, to hear her utter what she of course knew was the truth. Yet all at once June found herself beset by a great flowing rush of tears. She did not feel sad or afraid and yet here she was with her face awash, her eyes burning, its salty run trickling into her mouth.
“Please don’t cry,” Sylvie said, gently wiping June’s face with her hands. “Please, sweetie. You’re going to break my heart.”
June steeled herself, rubbing her eyes. She was not going to falter. She was not going cede to childish need, to weakness. “I am sorry, Mrs. Tanner,” she said, in her clearest voice. “I am fine.”
Sylvie said, “Of course you are. May I tell you something? These months that Reverend Tanner and I have been here, they’ve been the most joyous times in my life. The reason is being with all of you children. There’s nothing else that has given me more happiness, and I’m sure nothing ever will. But above all, most precious to me has been our friendship.”
“What about Hector?” June said, unable to help herself.
Sylvie bowed her head. She looked at June and said, “I’ve done many regrettable things, here as in the rest of my life. I don’t know if I’ll be forgiven. Perhaps you can someday forgive me, but I will not ask you for that. I deserve nothing of the kind. I simply hope you know something about yourself. Early on, I didn’t know if I was being unfair to the other children by spending more time with you. My husband certainly thought I should have gone about things differently. But you have always lifted me up. And I see now how much you’ve grown and changed, in such a short time. I’ve been watching you the last weeks. You’ve been so thoughtful, and kind, and wonderfully willing to help some of the younger girls, and I notice how you’ve now taken Min under your wing. When we were playing the game earlier today, I was so pleased that you wouldn’t let Byong-Ok provoke you. You don’t even seem to have your famous temper anymore! You’ve become the girl I always believed you were. And I know only a small bit of that is because of me. It’s more because of this place, and everyone’s hard work and care, but most of all, it’s because of you. No matter what you do or where you go in this world, your undying spirit will see you through. You have a singular perfection, that way. Nothing will ever halt you. But you should know something else, too. You have a great and passionate heart, June, one as capacious as you are strong. Soon, I know, and forever, it’ll be full of love’s riches.”