Charles appeared shocked, almost as if he didn’t recognize them. He was wearing a blue sweater, gray sweatpants, and no socks. His face and neck were spotted with red blisters. The living room behind him, however, was filled with the brilliant sunlight of the early Sunday afternoon. He invited them in, shaking his head.
“There was no need for you to come all this way.” Charles spoke to them in Korean. He felt embarrassed to be seen like this. He tried not to look at Leah.
The door shut behind him. The piano and the stereo that the insurance broker had mentioned the day Charles had first started the job were beside the Palladian windows facing the street. The tall windows were unshaded and looked grimy. Since the broker’s visit, Douglas’s father had come to New York and bought him two Le Corbusier sofas and a Noguchi coffee table now piled high with books and sheet music. Dustballs collected in the living room corners like miniature tumbleweeds.
“I brought the soloist. Maybe Deaconess Cho will sing for you. That might make you well,” Douglas said with a straight face.
The elder couldn’t be serious, Leah thought.
Charles glanced at Douglas, then Leah. “The doctor is undoubtedly right. Do you think you can give us a song?” He smiled at her.
Leah flushed from her neck to her forehead. Without removing her shoes, she rushed to the nearest chair and sat down to pray. Even in his condition, the choir director was handsome to her, and she felt guilty. Douglas smiled genially at Charles, then went to sit on the sofa. Silently, he gave thanks that he was able to serve God in this capacity, also for their safe arrival.
When Leah finished her prayers, she opened her eyes.
“May I put the food in the kitchen?” she asked.
Charles hesitated, knowing the condition it was in. But there was nothing he could do but comply. He pointed in the direction of the kitchen.
Leah picked up the food she’d brought and followed him. The kitchen smelled of cigarettes and tuna fish. The sink was full of dishes and frying pans and the counter littered with empty Vienna sausage tins and opened cereal boxes. It was a kitchen that was used every day but hadn’t been properly cleaned in what might have been weeks, perhaps months. The space was enormous, however, nearly the size of her apartment minus a bedroom. The old cabinets had been painted so many times over, they looked as if there were a layer of cake frosting over them. Leah admired the expanse of the old marble counters. It would be easy to put up a dozen bottles of kimchi in a kitchen this size, she thought. The fact that the kitchen was dirty and cluttered didn’t bother her—in fact, the amount of work needing to be done made her feel better, and oddly, standing there, she felt comfortable. Leah rested her package on the kitchen table and removed her coat, laying it over a chair. She started to drop the empty sausage cans and bottles on the counter into the waste bin.
The men didn’t know what to say as she began to clean. It didn’t seem possible to stop her, and even Douglas, who was in a better position to relieve her from this, knew better than to keep her from it. The work had to be done—that was clear enough—and growing up in Korea, men like them had had women to do it. For both of them, it had been some time since a Korean woman had been in either of their kitchens in this kind of intimate way, and in their wonder and surprise at being cared for by someone else’s wife and mother, who reminded them of other women in their past lives, Douglas and Charles found that they could hardly say anything, hoping not to diminish the moment. For this was love, wasn’t it? To have someone clean up after you, to think about you when you were sick, to not walk away when there was nothing to be gained for the labor required. Yet the task was also enormous; it would take a person all day to clean up this kitchen. Douglas thought he should try to help her. He took off his coat and put it over hers.
Charles spoke up finally.
“Deaconess Cho,” he said quietly.
Leah was now running the water in the sink, her arms deep in the dishes. She did not answer.
“Leah,” Charles said. Douglas was taken aback to hear someone call the deaconess by her American name.
“Leah,” Charles said again, “you don’t need to do this.”
Leah turned around.
“I should be offering you tea or something. I’m sorry about the mess.”
“No. You should be resting,” Douglas said firmly. He’d had no idea what to expect upon visiting the bachelor choir director. He himself was a widower, but his life looked very different from this man’s. Douglas was a tidy man who’d hardly tolerate such disorder. His housekeeper, Mrs. Jonas, had taken care of him and Ella proficiently for over twenty years, and when she retired, she had trained Cecilia to take over her work. “I will help Deaconess Cho clean up before we go. Why don’t you lie down?”