Where Drowned Things Live by Susan Thistlethwaite

Author:Susan Thistlethwaite [Thistlethwaite, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781532613647
Publisher: Wipf and Stock Publishers
Published: 2017-03-27T07:00:00+00:00

11

From birth to death Asian women have to fight against “death wishes” from male-dominated society.

Chung Hyun Kyung, Struggle to Be the Sun Again: Introducing Asian Women’s Theology

I was awake half the night, first because of the about-face I’d been forced to make about Edwin Porterman, and then because of Tom. Since I couldn’t sleep, I got up and looked through the Korean feminist book that Ah-seong had underlined so heavily. Big mistake. It didn’t exactly help me sleep either. Even though I couldn’t read the marginal notes, I could look at what she’d underlined. And what she’d underlined had really kept me awake.

Finally it was morning. I drank a cup of coffee while the boys ate their cereal and then glanced at the clock. I wanted to get over to the Korean Students Christian Association breakfast meeting. When Carol took them upstairs to begin the laborious process of getting them dressed, I headed to the cafeteria where the group met.

I grabbed another coffee and a donut there and with my arm still in the sling had to elbow my way into the private dining room where they met. I spilled about a third of my coffee on the floor. Not the most impressive entrance.

I put the remaining coffee and the donut down at an empty place at the conference table centered in the room and shrugged off the backpack I’d taken to wearing instead of carrying a briefcase. I put the backpack on the floor and took my napkins over to wipe up the spill I’d made on the floor. The room had fallen completely silent at my entrance and nobody offered to help me clean up the spill. They just watched.

I stood up from my cleaning and looked back at them. Dr. Andrew Lee, at the head of the table, had risen when I’d entered and he had a deep frown on his face. Four young women kept their eyes down, and seven men, including Myung Ha, looked directly at me. Some of the eyes (the ones I could see) looked hostile. The others were perhaps fearful or cautious. Open bibles lay in front of each person.

I tossed the wet napkins into the trashcan by the door and headed to the place where I’d left what remained of my coffee. But Andrew Lee didn’t seem to want me to sit down and just join the group.

“What do you want, Professor Ginelli?” His voice was cold.

“I read in the student newspaper that ‘all are invited’ to your breakfast bible studies. Did I misunderstand?”

I struggled for an even tone of voice and I don’t believe I succeeded.

Lee made a curt gesture with his right hand, symbolically cutting through my words. Louder than any shout could have been, it said ‘cut the sarcasm.’

When I’d met Lee before, he had been friendly in a reserved sort of way, and he had always been very polite. His compact body, dressed immaculately in coat and tie as always, was now literally shaking with tension. Behind his glasses, his eyes were narrowed.

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