Free This Burns My Heart by Samuel Park Page B

understand? she wondered. Or would he judge her?
    Instead, Soo-Ja kept her eyes averted and dipped her brush into the inkstone. She was about to make her first stroke when Yul surprised her by moving his body closer to hers. She thought he would try to take the brush away from her hands. Instead, in a gesture that startled her, Yul took her right hand into his, holding the brush with her.
    “What are you doing?” she asked, looking at the way his hand made a shell on top of her own.
    “Teach me. I’ll follow your lead,” said Yul.
    Soo-Ja hesitated. “I didn’t know you drew.”
    “I don’t. But I’ve always wanted to try.”
    Soo-Ja nodded. This would be better than talking about Min. Soo-Ja made their hands trade places and had his fingers hold the brush. She then placed her hand over his. Slowly, they began to draw their first stroke together, starting from the base, and forming a thin, black arc. They crossed the arc with their second stroke, again from the base.
    Soo-Ja gripped Yul’s hand tighter and noticed he’d kept his arm loose, so she could guide him freely. She continued, drawing black leaves—six or seven of them—crisscrossing each other. For some of the strokes, Soo-Ja had them lift the brush for a second before continuing the stroke, creating an inch or so of white space right in the middle of a leaf. It looked like someone had erased that part of the orchid, splitting it in half.
    “I know I should have come earlier. I debated seeing you, but I wasn’t sure it would be appropriate,” said Yul as they drew.
    “You saved my life that night. I wouldn’t have known about the gunfire if you hadn’t warned me,” said Soo-Ja.
    “But you also wouldn’t have been there to begin with if you hadn’t met me.”
    “I am
very
glad I was there, Yul,” said Soo-Ja firmly. “Don’t ever worry about that.”
    “Maybe if I’d come to see you, you could have avoided this engagement.”
    Soo-Ja quickly reached for another blank piece of paper, eager to change the subject. “Do you want to do the chrysanthemums next? You see how in the painting of orchids, we emphasized the leaves? For the chrysanthemums, we have to do the opposite and highlight the flowers. And the flowers are trickier to draw. The petals at the heart have to be drawn with a darker ink than the petals at the edges.”
    Soo-Ja and Yul—their hands still moving together—painted the flowers; their petals grew diagonally upward, creating the illusion that they kept moving beyond the frame of the long, rectangular sheet of paper.
    “What do you think a gentleman can learn from a chrysanthemum?” asked Yul.
    “Well, the chrysanthemum blooms even in the winds, rains, and snow of late autumn and early winter. It follows its nature and is not afraid of danger or death. I might venture that those are the values that a gentleman should have: courage, loyalty, and commitment to ideals.”
    As their hands moved together, Soo-Ja felt enveloped by Yul’s warmth. After a while, she started to let go, letting him fill in a dark leaf by himself; then she’d guide his hand along again, to create distance between the stems. Each time she held his hand felt like the first time—letting go of it for a few seconds only made her long for it more.
    “Now, I’d like to draw something for you,” said Soo-Ja. “For you to take home.”
    Soo-Ja smiled at Yul as he sat back and watched her. She began to mix the ink in the inkstone. Then, Soo-Ja drew a gnarled branch, going in four directions—one to the right, one to the left, one moving into the background, one coming forward. She occasionally lifted her brush in the air in the middle of a stroke, once again creating “breaks” in the branches, white space that would be left empty, and “filled” in by the mind of the person looking at the painting. Then, she mixed some water in the inkstone to get a lighter shade for the delicate round flowers, and she sprinkled them on top of the