I stare at the pot. Stirring, I can do that. Carefully I touch the handle and when I feel it's not hot yet, I lift the lid. It's pretty heavy. I place it next to the oven and slowly stir in the gruel. It's not boiling yet. How long will it have to boil before it's ready? I hope Mrs. Ho comes back before I ruin it.

Because I do all the lifting and stirring with my right hand, I work slowly. Open the pot, stir, close the pot. Open the oven, fan, close the oven. After a while the water boils and I look around me. Does it need to boil long? Should I taste it or is that considered unhealthy? I press my lips together, open the pot again, this time with a cloth over the tapered handle, and stir. I take out a spoon full and watch the grains closely. They do resemble the granules that are part of my portion, but my microwave is hardly to compare with a real stove. Should I call?

I muster my bravery, close the lid and with the spoon in my left hand, I clumsily crawl towards the door. The moment I stick my head out, I see Gi-Kyong sitting on the porch. He's cleaning vegetables.

It's such an endearing sight, that for a moment I forget what I came to ask. He senses my presence and turns his head, so I quickly blurt: "Ehm... I thing the gruel is ready, but I'm not sure and your mom's not back yet and I know I probably shouldn't be asking you this, but I've never cooked before, not like this and I don't want to spoil it."

I bite my lip as he blinks a few times, but am grateful when he sets aside the basked he was working on and comes inside. Without hesitation, as if he's done it a thousand times, he checks the food and nods. Next he grabs the round tray on legs—that I come to realize, ís the table—sets it down and takes a pile of bowls from a woven basket. He hands the pile to me, takes one back and pours a large spoon full before he sets it on the table. He repeats it three times, covers the lid again and opens the oven door to lessen the fire. After that he sits down across from me, hands me a spoon and begins to eat.

I look at the door and then at the two other bowls. I'm about to ask if we shouldn't wait for his parents, when they come in. I wait for them to sit and begin their meal and then I dig in.

Because I missed last evening's supper, my stomach is so empty the first bite lands like a brick. It almost hurts. By the time I scrape the last crumbs from my bowl, it feels like I'm not even half full. I lick my lips and set down the bowl, still hungry, but grateful for everything I'm being offered. Before my hands are completely pulled away, Gi-Kyong takes my bowl and fills it again.

He gets a raised eyebrow from his mother and I feel my cheeks ignite. My hands touch his when I lift them to accept the second bowl. There is a slight jolt that threatens me to drop the precious food. His hands remain around the bowl an instant longer until he is certain I won't spill, then his fingers slide away from under mine.

He mumbles something about a near field to his father and together they get up, leaving me to finish my meal with a beating heart. This is not good. Not good at all.

---

Mrs. Ho doesn't comment on the little uncomfortable moment between me and her son. She allows me to empty the bowl, and then sets me to work with the same basket Gi-Kyong was holding before. I set it in my lap and try to remember what he did. When his mother sees me fumble, she shows me how it's done, clicking her tongue and muttering about young girls who know nothing. I smile to myself, secretly enjoying her motherly scolding.

The rest of the day I'm not allowed up, unless it's to use the outhouse, to which Mrs. Ho has taken over her son's role in helping me. She even holds up my skirts, so I can steady myself. The pain in my foot lessens and there's no more to see than a little swelling. I'm very relieved, because that means I haven't sprained it. The nasty effects of a bad twist will heal in a few days.

Every night Gi-Kyong sleeps near the door and when I wake up early in the morning, he helps me to do my thing. Afterwards we sit together on the porch, watching the sun come up.

He doesn't say much, although I feel the hostility is gone. I wonder if he sold my hair already. I have to admit I'm a little bit afraid what will happen if powerful people come to find the source of the blond curls.

In between the moments of comfortable silence, he asks me questions, mostly about my home. I tell him, in over simplified terms, how there are buildings full of rooms. Hundreds of tiny houses, all stacked on top of each other. I don't think he believes me.

In turn I ask him about life here, about where the food comes from, what kind of work he and his father do. He tells me his father is a farmer. About himself he reveals nothing. It's hard for me to picture him being a farmer, especially because of the color of his clothes; or lack thereof. They grow their own vegetables and herbs and trade the surplus for grains and rice.

I like the sound of his voice. In the early morning, when the rest of the world is still asleep, he speaks softly and the timbre resonates inside me. I hope I will dream about that voice for the rest of my life.

By the end of the third day I am confident I can walk on my own. The wounds in my shoulder heal nicely, the poultice that is reapplied nearly every day keeps them from getting infected. I'm forbidden to lift things or sweep the floor, but am allowed to help with the cooking. Mrs. Ho is an excellent teacher and almost everything goes into the iron gamasot.

Mr. Ho doesn't speak to me directly. I don't know if it's courtesy or if he's somehow afraid of me. Sometimes he looks my way, but when I make eye contact he quickly averts his face. He does instruct his son to take me to the field on the morning of the fifth day. I understand he has to go into town for business and it's possible some friends travel back with him. Keeping me somewhere no one can see me is for my own safety. I'm touched by his kindness.

---

We're given a bag full of food and water to last us the day and we depart together. When we reach a sandy road, our paths divert. Gi-Kyong and I continue through the trees and his father takes the path. The going is slow, my foot still hurts a little bit, but not so much anymore and I can walk without aid. We stop at several intervals. Gi-Kyong says it's to gather herbs, but I'm guessing it's for my benefit. We don't have very far to go, but he makes us pause about every few minutes.

Underneath the dark straw hat he's wearing, I can see him throwing incidental glances my way and each time he does, my cheeks heat up. Is it simply curiosity? It must be.

My hair is hidden in the head shawl and I'm also wearing a straw hat against the sun that promises to be scorching today.

I asked Mrs. Ho to cut my hair so that it looks even, at least. Her eyes became watery when she gently touched the curls next to my ear. Next thing she did was march out the door, to return a few minutes later holding Gi-Kyong's sharp knife. Gi-Kyong himself followed her and slumped down in the door opening rubbing the back of his head. I covered my mouth to hide a grin, did his mother slap him?

It feels good to be outside again. I'm guessing it's late spring, because I see lots of flowers, but also quite a few buds. The grass is light green and wavy and the low sun rays project playful speckles all around us and when we reach the top of a hill I stand still and fill my lungs.

"This land is truly amazing", I sigh and smile so wide I feel my muscles ache. Gi-Kyong lifts an eyebrow and I laugh. In front of us is a plowed field, enclosed by low walls and irrigated by a stream that cuts right trough it.

When we reach the gate and Gi-Kyong unlocks it, I am met with rich dark soil, filled with row after row of emerging greens. After days of preparing and cooking food, I can recognize a few. The straight and pointy green unions, red flowering lettuce and chives. There's a whole lot more that I don't know yet and I'm eager to learn. We have the whole day.

Gi-Kyong finds a place for me to rest in the shade and he hands me the ceramic water bottle. I take a sip and lean back against the cool brick wall. While I wait for my foot to stop throbbing, I watch Gi-Kyong as he busies himself by pulling weeds, clearing clogged drains and harvesting enough vegetables to last us for days.

Suddenly my eyes are drawn to movement by the far end wall. Gi-Kyong sees it too, because his head shoots up. He glances my way, then darts in the direction of the newcomers. I can't hear what they say, but the manners are friendly. Neighbors perhaps? After a few more bows they walk on. Would they wonder about me, or didn't they see me in the shade? What did he tell them about the woman in his parents garden. Maybe they thought it was his mother. From that distance we could appear the same.

When I am confident my foot can handle the action, I get up and shuffle to where Gi-Kyong is working. His back is turned to me and through the tightly stretched fabric of his black hanbok I see his muscles moving. He hears me coming and straightens.

In an effort to ignore my beating heart, I point at the first random green I see and ask: "Can you show me what to do?"

A frown crosses his face and when I see he's about to protest, I narrow my eyes and fold my arms in front of my chest. "I want to help, I'm not going to sit here all day watching you work, while I do nothing. I might enjoy the view, but I don't want to be completely useless."

His eyebrows rise and I bite my lip when a small smirk turns up one corner of his mouth. I should not have said those last words. To cool down I squat and touch the earth. The plants beside me are not yet fully grown. I can mostly tell which are the vegetables and which the weeds, but I'm not one hundred percent sure. The ones who are in a neat row should be eatable, but sometimes there is a different shaped leave in the same row.

I inhale when Gi-Kyong squats down beside me. His fingers are close to mine when he points and says: "These are green peppers and these", he points to another, which is, in my eyes, exactly the same, "are not." He pulls at the weed and tosses it in a corner. I think it might be better if I focus on clearing the irrigation canals.

A soft grinning reaches my ears and when I look up, I can see he guessed my thoughts. "Well", I defend myself, "I've never had to do gardening before, so you can't blame me."

All of a sudden, his head shoots up, but before I have time to look behind me, he pulls me against his shoulder. My hat is shoved back and my heart is beating a thousand miles per hour. What is he doing? I can feel his chin against my brow, it's slightly course, I hadn't realized he was shaving to appear so smooth. Two hands on my back hold me steady, but before I can make any noise, a voice calls out from a distance.