by An Na
For my mother and father
A Foreword to A Step from Heaven
The first time I read A Step from Heaven, it was not yet a novel. This book began for me as pages of a manuscript, submitted by a young writer who—to the great fortune of the university where I taught—had just entered into its MFA program. When I read those first pages, I said to my faculty, “I get to work with this one.” The writer was An Na. Hers was a voice I had not come across in children’s literature—thoughtful and gentle, thought-provoking and original. Spare and kind.
As A Step from Heaven took shape, again and again I was reminded that in the character of Young Ju, An Na was creating a girl who readers would long remember. Na’s writing style in this novel—a series of taut, eloquent vignettes—broke ground for young writers who did not yet even know their alphabet but who one day would grow up to read, copy, and aspire toward.
A Step from Heaven is a story about family—a family who loves deeply through troubling times. A family who fractures and puts itself back together. A family who is led by the voice of Young Ju, who like so many of us, both young and old, just wants the world to be all right.
I was not surprised when this novel went on to win just about every award a novel could win. Proud, yes. Surprised—not at all. An Na’s moving story is as timeless and relevant as it is lovely. Rereading A Step from Heaven all these years later reminded me of what I first fell in love with about this book: In Young Ju and her family, I see my own family, and the struggle it takes to leave one beloved world for another. But more than that, in A Step from Heaven, I see a story that resonates across time and remains as affecting and lively as it was the first time I held its beginnings in my hands.
Jacqueline Woodson
Sea Bubble
Just to the edge, Young Ju. Only your feet. Stay there.
Cold. Cold water. Oh. My toes are fish. Come here. Fast. Look.
What is it, Young Ju?
See my toes. See how they are swimming in the sea? Like fish.
Yes, they are little fat piggy fish.
Ahhh! Tickles.
Come on. Up. Keep your legs around me. Are you ready to go swim in the waves?
Hold me. Hold me.
I have you. Look over there, Young Ju. See how the waves dance. See? Hold on tight. We are going over there.
No. Stop. Deep water. Go back.
Shhh, Young Ju. Do not be afraid. You must learn how to be brave. See, I have you.
No. No. Go back.
Young Ju, can you be brave? Look, that is only a small wave. Do not worry. I will hold you tight the whole time. Can you try to be a brave girl for me?
I will try.
Good girl. Ready for the wave? Here it comes. Get ready. Up. And down. There, do you still want to go back?
Again. Do it again. Another one.
That is my courageous girl. Hold on to my neck, Young Ju. Here we go. Up. And down.
I am a sea bubble floating, floating in a dream. Bhop.
All This Weight
Apa is not happy.
Uhmma is not happy.
Halmoni, who is old and has a sleepy blanket face, says that a long time ago Apa was young like me and she could boss him around. But not anymore.
Now, Halmoni can only shake her head when Apa comes home late stinking like the insides of the bottles that get left on the street. Her lips pinch tight, then she hides with Uhmma and me. Because when Apa is too quiet with the squinty eye, it is better to hide until he falls asleep or else there will be breaking everywhere. Halmoni always says, That Apa of yours needs a good spanking. If only your Harabugi had not passed away.
But sometimes when Uhmma is tired of playing sleep, she stops hiding. I pull on her arm. Try to make her get back under the covers. Uhmma shakes away my hand. She slides back the rice paper doors. Her voice deep as night asks, Where were you?
I hide under the covers because the breaking is too loud, too strong. It can come inside my head even though my fingers are in my ears. It sits in my chest, hitting, hitting my heart until my eyes bleed water from the sea. Halmoni rocks me in her lap. Talks to Harabugi’s picture. She tells him, Do you see what is happening? How could you leave me with all this weight?
Only God Can
Pray, Halmoni says. Pray to God and everything will be better. Put your hands together tight like a closed book. Good. Then say what I taught you, Young Ju. Remember? Dear Father who art in heaven.
Halmoni, where is heaven?
Heaven is where your Harabugi is. He is with God in a place where there is only goodness and love.
Can I go there?
Someday. If you pray and love God. Do you love God?
Yes, I say, even though at church the picture of his face with the dark round money eyes makes me hide behind the bench. But I want to see heaven and Harabugi, so I try to love him.
Is heaven around here? Can we go there tomorrow? I ask.
No, no. Heaven is in the sky and far away. Now pray while I read the Good Book.
I close my eyes and put my hands together tight. I move my lips the way I see Halmoni do, but without the sounds. God must have very strong ears to hear the words.
Dear Father in heaven.
This is all I remember, so I open my eyes. Halmoni is rocking and reading her Good Book with all the stories about how God came down to be with us. Only when he got here, he said his name was Jesus. I wonder, why did he make up a new name? I wish I could make up a new name, but Halmoni says, Do not be foolish.
I look at Harabugi’s picture on the table with the candles all around. He has sleepy eyes like cats in the sun. They are nice eyes. My Harabugi. Apa has the same eyes. Also the same black hair sticking up straight in the front and flat in the back. I close my eyes and put my hands together tight.
Harabugi, I say with my lips moving but without the sound, if you are in heaven with God maybe you can hear me too. Halmoni says Apa needs a good spanking and there is nobody here to give him one. Could you send God down so he can be Jesus again and give Apa his spanking? Then Apa will be nice all the time. Like when he brought home Mi Shi and Uhmma said, We cannot keep that dog. And Apa said, But she is only a baby doggy. Then he made the baby-doggy face. And Uhmma laughed and pushed Apa on the shoulder. She said, That dog looks just like you. No wonder it followed you home. Then Mi Shi got to stay and be my friend. I like it when Apa is nice and Uhmma makes her squeaky-shoes laugh. Amen.
When I open my eyes Halmoni is looking at me sneaky peek.
That was a long prayer, she says and turns a page. What did you pray about?
That God would come down and give Apa a spanking, I tell her.
Halmoni holds her Good Book tight with both hands. She whispers, He is the only one who can.
Mi Gook
Mi Gook. This is a magic word. It can make Uhmma and Apa stop fighting like some important person is knocking on the door. Dirty brown boxes all tied up, with big black letters in the middle and little pictures all in the corner. They come from Mi Gook. Uhmma says they are from my Gomo. She is older than Apa. His big Uhn-nee. Inside the boxes there are funny toys for me. Like the one that plays tinkle-tinkle music and the scary man with rainbow paint on his face and hair jumping out.
Apa says that in Mi Gook everyone can make lots of money even if they did not go to an important school in the city. Uhmma says all the uhmmas in Mi Gook are pretty like dolls. And they live in big houses. Much bigger than the rich fish factory man’s house in the village. Even Ju Mi, my friend who is one year older and likes to boss me around, says she would like to go to Mi Gook.
Then one day Apa gets a letter that makes him hug Uhmma so tight her eyes cry. Now every time Apa says Mi Gook, he smiles so big I think maybe he is a doggy like Mi Shi. When we are e
ating our dinner, Apa and Uhmma can only say Mi Gook all the time. No more mean eyes over the rice bowl, and my stomach keeps the rice inside like a good stomach is supposed to do. I hope they will talk about Mi Gook forever and ever.
Mi Gook is the best word. Even better than sea or candy. But then when I go to Ju Mi’s house to play with my new ball from Gomo, Ju Mi pushes me away.
She says, You are moving to Mi Gook and I feel so sorry for you because you have to leave everything behind.
I bounce my ball and think Ju Mi is talking, talking like she always does. Ju Mi takes the ball away and yells, Did you hear me? You are moving.
What? I yell at her and try to get my ball back.
Stupid. You are moving to Mi Gook.
No, I am not, I say, even though I do not know what moving means.
Stupid baby, she says. You do not even know you are moving away. Your uhmma told my uhmma today. I am happy you are moving so I do not have to play with a baby all the time.
I do not understand why Ju Mi says she is happy when her smile is sticking on her face upside down. I run away to find Uhmma.
Uhmma is outside in the yard squeezing laundry. I pull on her arm and say, Uhmma, Ju Mi says we are moving to Mi Gook.
Sit down, Uhmma says and sits back on her feet, butt close to the ground, knees sticking up to the sky.
I sit back on my legs next to her.
Young Ju, Uhmma says, you know we will be moving to Mi Gook soon.
No, I say. What is moving?
Your Apa and I have been talking about Mi Gook at dinner for days now.
Yes, Uhmma. But you never told me about moving. Does it mean we are going to see Gomo like when we went to see your uhmma and apa?
No. Moving is not like when we went to visit your Eh-Halmoni and Eh-Harabugi. Moving means we will live in Mi Gook forever.
Forever?
Yes.
Where is Mi Gook? Can I still come back to see Ju Mi?
Uhmma pets my hair. No, Young Ju. Mi Gook is far across the sea. We will have to take an airplane that flies in the sky to get there. I do not think you will be able to see Ju Mi for a long time. Uhmma stands up slowly. Aigoo, she says as she always does when her legs hurt from sitting too long.
I keep sitting. I am thinking if I do not see Ju Mi every day then she will find a new friend. Someone who is not a baby. Maybe that new girl with brown pebble teeth. And what about my house? Who will take care of my small house that sits like a hen on her nest? Thinking about leaving Ju Mi and my house by the sea makes my heart hurt. Like someone is poking it with a stick. Ahya.
But then my eyes find the sky. Think about flying up, up, up. Now I know where we are going. I want to run around, wag my tail like Mi Shi. God is in the sky. Mi Gook must be in heaven and I have always wanted to go to heaven. It is just like the Good Book says. All people who love God will go to heaven someday. I love you, God, I whisper. In heaven you have to wear your Sunday dress every day so you can look pretty for God. Ju Mi must be mad because she wants to be me. Ju Mi likes to look pretty all the time and her uhmma lets her dress up only for church.
Uhmma hangs up the wet clothes. She sings soft and tickly as seagull feathers. My eyes are so wide I think maybe they will fall out. Uhmma never sings. Not even in church. She says singing takes too much heart and her heart is too heavy to give to God.
What are you singing, Uhmma?
Ah-me-ri-ka.
What is that?
Mi Gook.
This is a magic word.
Hair
Today Uhmma says I can wear my best dress. It has buttons shiny as the sun. Even though it has a small hole in the elbow from when Ju Mi pushed me down, Uhmma says, Wear it anyway because that is the only nice dress you have and try not to raise your arm too high.
I wait outside for Uhmma and pretend I do not see Mi Shi wagging her tail. I cannot get dirty. Uhmma said so. Then Mi Shi rolls on her back.
See my stomach, she barks.
Maybe just one pet, I say.
Mi Shi licks my hand.
Uhmma slides back the door. Why are you playing with Mi Shi when I told you not to get dirty? she says. Come on. We are going to be late.
Uhmma is wearing her fancy going-out dress. Her long hair plays in the wind. Almost all the time Uhmma twists her hair tight as wet laundry and sticks it on top of her head like on the Buddha statues in the park. But today is not a workday. Today we are going to an important place to make me pretty for Mi Gook.
I do not like to be pretty. Pretty means you cannot play in your nice clothes and Uhmma grabs your hair with a wet comb until your eyes are pulled shut and then she ties it all up with a bow and says, You look very pretty. Uhmma says that sometimes I have to look pretty so everyone will see what a nice girl I can be.
Uhmma pulls my hand and I walk fast so she will not get mad and thump my head like a ripe watermelon. I watch Uhmma’s shoes talk to the road.
Dok dok dok.
Shiny, nighttime-sky shoes.
Dok dok dok.
I can walk on my tiptoes too.
Dok dok curls.
Curls? Uhmma, what did you say? I ask.
Aigoo, Young Ju! I told you to listen to me closely. You are always dreaming when you should be listening. An ahjimma will curl your hair so you will look just like a real Mi Gook girl.
Curls? What are they? I ask. Show me, Uhmma.
Curls, Uhmma says. Like this. She points in the air and goes round and round. She looks in my eyes. She says, Think about the waves in the sea.
I nod.
Remember how the water rises up as if it is looking for the land and then it falls back around to join the sea when it comes close to the beach? That is a circle. Those are curls.
Uhmma, there will be curls in my hair? I ask and hold up some of my hair.
Yes. Is that not exciting? Gomo says lots of Mi Gook people have curly hair. Gomo even has curly hair now.
Uhmma, are you going to have curls? I ask.
Uhmma laughs at my question. Today she does not bite her lip and open her nose holes big as fish mouths and say, Too many questions. Enough.
Uhmma picks me up, holds me tight. I am too old to change, she says.
I play with Uhmma’s long black hair. Wrap it around my fingers.
But listen now, Young Ju.
I play with Uhmma’s hair and think, Someday I will have hair that is stronger than rope.
In Mi Gook, you can grow up to be anything you want.
I will have hair that can play in the wind light as a kite. And feel softer than my first-birthday silk jacket.
You, little one, are my hope.
I hold Uhmma’s hair and shut my eyes tight. Pray real fast like I do at night. Please, God, heavenly Father, please do not give me curly hair.
Uhmma pinches my nose and laughs, Why is your face wrinkled up like an old halmoni?
Outside the important place that will make me pretty, Uhmma fixes the bow in my hair. She tucks my hair behind my ears. Good, she says and then opens the door. We step inside. My nose wrinkles iee! This cannot be the special place. There are ugly smells inside. Worse than Halmoni boiling clothes in soapy water. Uhmma sees my nose and gives me the squinty eye. I push my nose back down.
An ahjimma comes out from behind a curtain and greets Uhmma in a loud voice. When she bends over to bow I see her picking food out of her teeth with her tongue. Uhmma bows and then pushes me forward so I can show her my good manners. I try not to wrinkle my nose at the ahjimma when I say, Ahn-young-ha-say-yo, and give her a deep bow. The ahjimma pats my head and says I am a good girl for walking such a long way.
We are here for the curly-hair treatment, Uhmma says.
Yes. Your husband said you would be stopping in. Please sit down. I will get my equipment.
When the ahjimma goes behind the curtain, I pull Uhmma’s hand. I like my straight hair, I tell her. I am too old to change. I do not want to be a Mi Gook girl. Let us go before the ahjimma comes back.
Uhmma bites her bottom lip and her nose holes open big. Young Ju, why are you talking such nonsense? Uhmma says. We are going to Mi Gook so you can have the very best education. So someday you will be better than a fisherman’s wife. Uhmma holds out her hands. Look at my rough hands. Do you think I always had hands like these? Do you want to end up like this? Uhmma touches my cheek with her cat-tongue fingers and says, Your Apa thought you were too young to have such an expensive hairstyle, but I told him you were old enough now. You can understand how important it is to look like a real Mi Gook girl. Young Ju, are you a big girl who understands?
No, I cry. No curly hair.
Uhmma grabs my shoulders. What is wrong with you? Be quiet. Here comes the ahjimma.
I do not want curly hair, I say. No. No. No.
Uhmma raises her hand. Open. Flat as a paddle. Young Ju, Uhmma growls.
No, Uhmma.
Young Ju.
I hold my breath.
Uhmma keeps her hand in the air. Young Ju, are you going to be a good girl?
I swallow. Yes.
Uhmma pats her cheek the way she does when she is worried and tells the ahjimma, I am so embarrassed. Please accept my apology for my spoiled daughter.
No need to apologize, the ahjimma says. Children can be very difficult these days. Young Ju, come sit over here.
I stare at the floor and walk over to the red chair. I sit down. The ahjimma pulls out my bow. My hair falls around my face. It tickles my cheeks. I close my eyes.
Making curly hair takes a long time. The ahjimma and Uhmma talk about Mi Gook the whole time. Comb some hair. Mi Gook. Pull. Twist. Mi Gook. Pour on stinky laundry water. Mi Gook. My stomach wants to push out all the morning rice.
The ahjimma washes my hair and dries it with a towel. She pokes her fingers all over my head. There, she says. Stand up now. You can open your eyes. We are done. Your hair looks very pretty.
I stand up, but I do not open my eyes. I am afraid. My hair is tickling my ears now. Not my cheeks.
Young Ju, come here, Uhmma says.
I tell my feet to go, but they are stuck to the floor. I open my eyes and make my feet run to Uhmma’s leg. I hide my face in Uhmma’s dress. Smells good. Like when Apa took us to see mountain trees smaller than me. Uhmma’s hands touch my hair.
