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She might have had more to say, but Yujun starts the ceremony and Park Kyungsook snaps her mouth shut. After the two candles at the uppermost corner are lit, Yujun places a shallow brass bowl next to an incense burner. He kneels before the altar and Kyungsook hands him a cup of rice wine, which he pours in three equal measures into the sand of the incense burner. Kyungsook takes the empty cup and places it on the table before stepping back. Yujun pushes to his feet and then returns to the floor, and behind him, the men line up from oldest to youngest. They all bow to the altar in remembrance of the ancestors. This is not a slight nod or even the ninety-degrees-at-the-waist bow. It’s a full on-your-knees, forehead-to-the-floor bow. It doesn’t escape my notice that Choi Juwon is quite far back from the table. None of the women are bowing either. We are all standing with the girl children in the dining room observing this ritual.
Once the men are done bowing, Kyungsook leads the women. All of them flock into place, but when I step forward Wansu stops me with a hand on my wrist. Her fingers slide down and clasp mine tight. Her fingers are cold and she pulls me down to the floor, in the dining room, not even in the same room as the others, as if the ancestral spirits will rage if we cross some invisible line. Has she done this by herself all these years? Knelt in solitude away from the rest of the family? Anger swells in my chest. She’s run the company for nearly a decade, expanded it, brought wealth to this family, and she doesn’t even get to kneel in the same damned room?
When we’re all done bowing, Yujun kneels again and pours more wine for the ancestors. After doing this three times, he distributes the chopsticks to various dishes, the fish, the soup, the hanwoo, and then a final set into the center of a bowl of rice and bows one more time before rising.
Kyungsook marches out the door, leaving Yujun inside. We all file out behind her. The men stand facing the west and the women the east. Again, Wansu and I are last. Wind blows our skirts against our legs and the dark sky threatens to rain. She hasn’t released my hand. I wouldn’t allow her to.
“The ancestors are coming to eat,” she tells me. “Yujun will appear and cough three times to let us know that it is time to return.”
It doesn’t take long. I guess the ancestors were hungry. We return to the house and Yujun spoons rice and soup from the bowls to mimic the ancestors eating. We bow twice more, with the men going first, the women following, and Wansu and I last, outside the main room. This whole process is followed ten more times.
I’m exhausted by the time they burn the pieces of paper, on which are written the names of the dead we are honoring. All this rising and bowing is hard on my body but also my heart. Each time we leave and enter the house with Wansu at the very end, I think of all the times she did not have anyone by her side. Wansu is lonely, I hear Ellen saying.
Ellen has no idea. Or maybe she does. Maybe everyone knows how awful it is to be Wansu except for me. The kids are ushered into a different room, where they can take off their hanboks and eat their meal.
Yujun brings me a small plate of glass noodles and mixed vegetables—japchae—and a glass of wine for Wansu. She finally releases my hand. I finally allow it.
“You did well,” he tells me. He also looks worn-out.
“You did well, too.” I want to hug him. I want to hug Wansu, too, even though we have never embraced. I’ve always thought she didn’t want that kind of contact, but maybe she doesn’t know how to ask for it; maybe she doesn’t think she deserves to ask for it.
“What would you like from the table? I’ll fetch you a plate,” he offers.
“No.” The sharp negative rings out in the large space. Park Kyungsook glares at me from her position at the head of the table. She’s sitting in the chair Wansu usually occupies. “She should not eat the food of the ancestors.” She waves her hand at Mrs. Ji. “Surely you have food in that kitchen of yours that you will be eating. Staff food. That’s what this girl should be served. Yujun, come and attend to me.”
Yujun doesn’t move.
“Your father would not approve,” Kyungsook declares.
“He would. He did, in fact. He knew of Hara’s existence before we married and he gave me money to find her. He would approve of her if he knew,” Wansu replies, her tone cold and hard.
