9.Heartbeat of the City

                                    

                                          

Park Ji-tae 
July 1941

I strode through the front gates still caught in the sparkling web of repartee and provocative smiles exchanged earlier with Etta. 
Lost in vivid replay, I scarcely noticed Mother materializing to gently relieve me of my suit jacket in the marble foyer.
"You're looking rather disheveled and peaky, my son..." she stated, critically examining my loosened collar and mussed hair. "I take it amidst your carousing you haven't bothered eating properly?"
I blinked, struggling back to full presence under that familiar disapproval. Attempting diversion, I gestured vaguely at my coat. "No time for much between club matters, I fear. Shall I just take this upstairs to hang...?"  
But Mother pinned me there against the intricate rug, hawk-eyed. "Don't try changing the subject, young man..." Her sharp tone brooked no resistance. Palms suddenly bracketing my face, she scrutinized me closer. "What mischief has you so absentminded at this hour? Don't tell me it was another careless dice game or--"
I gently detached her grip, chuckling. "Come now, Eomeoni! I was simply reviewing new talents for my flagship lounge." I proffered the perfumed card discreetly secured from Etta's vanity, its gilded edges and feminine script seeming to mollify Mother slightly.
She accepted it with delicate suspicion. "Entertaining some aspiring lounge girl this late?" One elegantly groomed brow lifted critically. "Surely that excavation requires less dramatic methods than skirting curfew..." 
I barely smothered an irreverent snort, recognizing this practical tactician would never appreciate romance's inspired madness. Clasping her shoulders warmly instead, I offered sincerely:  
"Perhaps, but then where would the delicious mystery lie in such straightforward arrangements?" With a smile, I headed upstairs, calling back: "Sometimes the adventure shapes the artist profoundly too, don't you agree?"
Mother's skeptical hmph trailed up the stairs after me. But I hardly cared, already envisioning the bewitching performer with sky-high ambitions who still held sweet dominion over my racing thoughts and skin.
Early dawn's rays filtered in through floor-to-ceiling windows as I descended for morning meal ritual. My mother was already scrutinizing household ledgers at the head of the long ebony table. But she set her fountain pen down to glance up as I entered, expression unreadable. 
Taking my seat to her left, I lifted the delicate bone china to sip fragrant tea, expecting comfortable silence. Only the tick of the heirloom clock and faint scratch of pen on parchment filled the sunlit air for several minutes. Then Mother set aside her accounting abruptly. 
"I'm rather on the fence about that Japanese girl your brother aims to take as his bride..." she pronounced, watching my reaction closely. "Something about the silk flower simply rubs me wrong for reasons I cannot define..."
I set the teacup down. As I regarded my mother with surprise as she awaited my take. "You'll have to refresh my memory on the young lady in question," I redirected evenly. "Was she the banker's magnate's only daughter...Miyoko Sato I believe?"
Mother gave an irritable nod. "The very one - all cosmetic elegance wrapping cunning thorns..." she muttered under her breath. Looking to me expectantly, she pressed on: "Well? You met her too. What impression did she etch under that polished front?"