My Songbird's Dream

37. In the moon

Early March, 1945
Occupied Seoul

The early morning sun cast a warm glow through the kitchen's northern window, its gentle rays dancing across the worn wooden table where Madame Nam sat engrossed in her paperwork.

The aroma of freshly brewed oolong tea wafted from the delicate porcelain cup at her elbow, the steam curling in lazy tendrils that caught the light. In the peaceful stillness of daybreak, the only sound was the soft rustle of turning pages as Madame Nam methodically reviewed the documents before her. Her elegant fingers deftly flipped through the stack, pausing occasionally to smooth out a crease or make a small notation in the margin.

As the minutes ticked by in unbroken silence, the silence was gently interrupted by the creak of the kitchen door. Mi-sook, entered the room with a basket of fresh vegetables balanced on her hip and a string of dried fish slung over her shoulder. As the elderly woman moved into calmly Madame Nam glanced up briefly, acknowledging her mother's presence with a slight nod before returning her attention to the papers spread out before her.

Mi-sook set about her morning tasks, laying out the vegetables and fish on the counter in preparation for the day's meals. " I think Daniel will like this..." she stated to herself.

The two women worked in comfortable silence, the only sounds the gentle thud of Mi-sook's knife against the cutting board and the occasional clink of Madame Nam's teacup as she paused to take a sip. The golden sunlight slowly crept across the kitchen floor, warming the already cozy space and casting a soft glow on the domestic scene.

Despite the peacefulness of the moment, there was a dance of unspoken tension between the two women. Mi-sook's eyes occasionally darted towards her daughter, a flicker of concern crossing her weathered features before she quickly returned her focus to her task.

Madame Nam, for her part, seemed determined to ignore her mother's furtive glances. She kept her gaze firmly on the documents before her, her lips pressed together in a thin line as she tried to concentrate on the words swimming before her eyes.

As the morning wore on, the aroma of simmering broth and sautéing vegetables began to fill the kitchen, mingling with the scent of the tea. The sunlight grew stronger, casting sharp shadows across the table and illuminating the fine lines of worry etched into Madame Nam's brow.

Still, neither woman broke the silence, each lost in her own thoughts as they went about their respective tasks.

Setting the sheaf of papers down with unintended calm, Madame Nam's lips thinned into a tight line. Her brown eyes danced with warning as she lifted the delicate teacup to her lips.

"Please don't." Madame Nam's usually melodic voice emerged clipped, each syllable sharp as the knife's edge. She took a measured sip of the aromatic amber liquid, peering at Mi-sook over the gilded rim. "I can sense whatever gentle reproach dances unspoken on the tip of your tongue. Regarding my feelings towards Ji-tae's mother."

She brought the cup to her lips, inhaling the fragrant aroma of the oolong before taking another measured sip. The warm liquid seemed to do little to soothe the suffocation that had settled in her shoulders, from the weight of her mother's gaze.

"I've no wish to hear it voiced aloud," Madame Nam continued, her eyes holding Mi-sook's over the rim of the teacup now being used to hide her faltering composure. "No desire to listen to the well-intentioned platitudes or the gentle admonishments to let go of my bitterness."

She set the cup down with a soft clink, the sound found itself echoing in the voiceless of the room. Mi-sook's weathered hands, stilled over the vegetables she had been preparing, her fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around the knife handle.