I rushed to my quarters. I flung open the door to my study. It was dark inside, and all I could see were shadows. I looked at the wall behind my desk where the tapestry with the two-headed dragon hung. It was dark. I went to the wall for a closer look. The spirits were speaking again. With each step I took toward the tapestry, my heart beat faster and the spirits spoke louder. And then I saw that the tapestry was gone. The voices screamed, pleaded, and cried. They were the ghosts of the dead kings and queens of Korea. They were the voices of my mother and father and of my dead son. In the jumble of words, I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it wasn’t “One Korea” as it had been before. I shook my head to make them stop. I put my hand over my ears. Eventually one word rose above the rest. It was the word, “run.”
I ran out to my courtyard. The wind had come up, and it swirled inside the confines of the courtyard. On the horizon toward the center of Seoul, I saw the angry orange glow was now near. I heard footsteps behind me. I gasped and turned around. A shadow moved toward me. I took a step back. Then I saw the shadow was Kyung-jik dressed in the loose clothing of a sangmin commoner. He wore a dirty white peasant hat and a shirt closed at his chest. His pants were bound at his ankles.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
“Sheee,” he said, placing two fingers on his lips. “Please forgive me, Majesty, for not following proper protocol, but we must leave at once.” He held out dark-green clothes to me. “Take these. Put them on. Quickly!” I took the clothes from him and saw it was a sangmin woman’s scarf and robe made from coarse wool. I pulled off my hanbok and put them on. The robe was too large for me, so I started to cinch it in at the waist. “No,” Kyung-jik said. “Keep it loose. It will make you look larger.”
I did as he said and he inspected me carefully. “Your hair,” he said.
“Yes. I know what to do,” I replied. I pulled out the binyeo and pins that held my hair in the queen’s style and tossed them to the ground. I twisted my hair into a peasant’s braid and pinned it. I put on the scarf and looked at Kyung-jik.
“One more thing,” he said. He reached to the ground and scooped a finger of soil from between the flagstones. He stood and faced me. “Forgive me, Majesty, but your face . . . is too . . .”
“Do what you must,” I said.
He rubbed the soil into his hands and pressed his fingers and palms against my face. I closed my eyes. It was the first time he’d ever touched me. His hands were strong but gentle. He moved them over my forehead, on my cheeks and chin. The soil was gritty against my skin, but he didn’t hurt me. He took his hands away and I opened my eyes. He examined me again and said, “Follow me.”
We moved quickly through the palace shadows to a gate on the west side, where two guards stood. When they saw us, the guards drew their swords and said, “Halt!”
Kyung-jik positioned himself between the guards and me. “Let us through,” he said.
“Who are you?” one guard demanded.
Kyung-jik stepped forward and put his hand on the handle of his sword. “It is me, Kyung-jik, sergeant of the queen’s guard.”
The guards did not move, and I was afraid they didn’t recognize us. Or maybe they were part of the rebellion. I stepped around Kyung-jik. I pulled off my scarf and stood tall before the guards. “I am your queen,” I said, leveling eyes on them. “Now step aside and let us through.”
The guards hesitated a moment and then one said, “Yes, Majesty.” They stepped aside and bowed as Kyung-jik led me through the gate and out into the streets.
I put the scarf back over my head, and we started down the cobblestone street. The voices in my head were not as loud now, but I could still hear them begging me to run. I started at a fast pace but Kyung-jik said, “Slowly.” He did not address me as “Majesty.” “Bend forward,” he said. “Like me.” I saw that he slouched forward and, in his peasant clothing, no longer looked like my tall, handsome guard. I nodded and slouched forward, too. We maintained that posture as we walked to where the cobblestones changed to dirt streets.
“We have to make it to the river,” Kyung-jik whispered. He pointed the direction for us to go. Here and there people ran in the streets toward the orange glow in the sky. They were all dressed in rags. Their hair was greasy and their faces smudged with dirt. Some had rags for shoes.
We turned toward the Han River. As we made our way past dark houses and markets closed for the night, we came closer to the rioters. Their shouting was louder now, and I could make out what they were saying. “Burn down the palace!” and “Kill the queen!” The glow from their torches lit the sky only a few streets away. Kyung-jik and I came to a fork in the street. “This way,” he said, and we turned away from the rioters. I had to fight the urge to run.
A way along the road, there was another mob. They, too, were marching toward the palace, and they started to merge with the first mob, trapping Kyung-jik and me between them. I wanted to turn around, but Kyung-jik kept moving forward. Soon the rioters were all around us. “Kill the queen!” they shouted as they marched. “Burn down the palace!” They thrust their torches above their heads. They spit and cursed. Some gripped swords in their hands. Others had clubs.
One rioter bumped into me, knocking me to the ground. I looked at him. His clothes were nothing more than rags. His teeth were stained yellow. His face was gaunt and his eyes were full of rage. In his hand he held a short sword.
“Who are you?” the rioter asked, pointing his sword at me.
“She is my sister,” Kyung-jik said, stepping between us.
“She is pretty,” the rioter asked. “Are you yangban?”
“No,” Kyung-jik answered. “We work for Master Pak near the river. She is a cook and I am Master Pak’s stablemate. We are trying to get home.”
“Hmmm,” the rioter said. “You do not look like a stablemate and she doesn’t look like a cook. If you truly are, you should join us. We are taking the palace and throwing out the queen!”
“Sir,” Kyung-jik said, “I, too, wish the queen was not on the throne. But I cannot join your revolt. My sister and I must get home. Our master is waiting for us.”
The rioter nodded. “You had better get home quickly with your pretty sister,” he said. “There will be blood tonight.” The rioter turned away and fell in step with the rest of the mob. “Burn down the palace!” he shouted, thrusting his sword into the air. “Kill the queen!”
We moved through the mob with our heads low. We walked more quickly than before, and soon the rioters were behind us. Kyung-jik put a hand in front of me. “Slow,” he said. We slowed our pace, and before long the mob’s shouts and the light from their torches grew dim.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
Kyung-jik kept his eyes forward. “There are horses waiting for us. They will take us to the countryside where we can hide.”
“How long must I be there?”
“I do not know,” he said.
“Why do I have to pretend to be a cook?” I asked.
Kyung-jik stopped and made sure no one was near. He took my arm and made me face him. He looked at me directly, which he had never done before. “Listen to me,” he said. “The Taewŏn-gun and the Japanese are hunting you. If they find you, they will kill you. We must pretend to be commoners, and therefore you must act like one. I am sorry, Majesty,” he said, “but that is the way it must be.”
“So I am no longer the queen . . . ,” I said.
“For now, Majesty,” he said. “Also, I can no longer call you ‘Majesty,’ but I don’t know what to call you.”
I pointed for us to walk on. I let him go ahead of me, as a common woman should. “My mother’s name was Soo-bo,” I said. “That would be a good name for me.” Kyung-jik nodded.
“Soo-bo,” he said, and we made our way south to the Han River.
TWENTY-FOUR
Present day. Seoul, Korea
A loud banging outside jerks me out of the trance I’m in from Anna’s story. I hear people s
houting. Inside the room with its wooden columns and painted beams, people start to move. There’s a sudden draft, making the fireplace fire flicker. Someone runs up to Anna, who still sits on the throne in her red and yellow hanbok. She leans in as they whisper something to her. She nods and the messenger runs toward the shouting. Anna turns to me. Her painted face and extravagant hairdo still intimidate me. “It appears that we have visitors,” she says calmly.
“Visitors?” I ask.
“Your friends have found us,” Anna says.
Well, it’s about time the cavalry came to my rescue, but I’m not sure how I feel about it now. I’m relaxed here, and I have to admit that I’m engrossed in Anna’s story. And I really don’t want to face hours with the Seoul police, the CIA, and everyone at State who’ll want answers about my little ordeal here. Guess I have no choice, though. They’ve come to get me.
The pounding outside stops. I hear people arguing. They’re speaking English and the tone is distinctly military. Jesus, it’s the marines. These guys don’t screw around. If they think I’m in here—and clearly, they do—they won’t back down until they have me safe in the back of a Humvee speeding toward the nearest US base.
“You’re screwed,” I say to Anna. “Sorry. Guess the rest of your story will have to wait.”
She smiles at me as if she knows something I don’t. “We shall see, Mr. Simon,” she says.
I shake my head. “Anna, don’t fight these guys. They train for this sort of thing. It’s what they live for. People could get hurt.”
“A few people hurt is better than millions dead,” she says. “Anyway, I assure you that everyone here—and outside—is more than willing to make that sacrifice.”
“Outside?”
The voices at the door get louder. Words I can’t quite make out are angry and threatening. Sounds like demands, ultimatums. This isn’t good. The guards standing behind me aren’t moving. I wonder what they’ll do with me if all hell breaks loose. Best to stay put, try to stay calm. If the marines break in, hit the floor, don’t move. The arguing stops. Guess the jarheads have decided to stop talking. I look at Anna. She hasn’t taken her eyes off me. She wears an almost arrogant smile, and I wonder if this junior state department aide knows what’s about to come raining down on her pretty little head. Probably not. I almost feel sorry for her.
I hear something from beyond where the arguing was. I crane my neck to listen. It’s faint, like it’s coming from blocks away. It’s chanting. Hundreds of people, maybe thousands. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but it sounds like it’s in Korean. It doesn’t sound angry or agitated. Just chanting. Two words, over and over again. It’s coming from all sides. It grows louder and louder.
Anna continues to stare at me with her smile. But now I see that it isn’t as arrogant as I thought it was before. Her eyes say it. It’s conviction. Passionate, burning, desperate conviction. I can feel her flame. It’s almost erotic.
I see Anna mouth words as she stares at me. I realize that she’s chanting in unison with the crowd outside. I can’t quite make out what she’s saying. I watch Anna more closely and listen to the crowd. Then I hear it. “Han hangug! Han hangug!” I search my Korean for a translation. When it comes to me, I’m stunned. “One Korea!” the crowd chants. “One Korea!”
My God, they’re her people. It sounds like thousands of them chanting the words that Anna’s story is about. Good move, Anna. Check and mate. Who are you, anyway? You send the comb with the two-headed dragon to the president of the United States to get our attention; you kidnap me to listen to your story as you sit there on a throne dressed like a queen; you mobilize a huge crowd to keep the US Marine Corps Special Ops from rescuing me. You’re not just some junior embassy aide. So who the hell are you?
I look behind Anna at the tapestry with the two-headed dragon. I remember the part in her story about Minister Kim saying that each time the tapestry appears, a great leader rises. Damn, is it possible? Anna? I close my eyes and shake my head. The fog in my brain reminds me that I haven’t slept for nearly two days. All this drama must be getting to me, playing with my head. Queens and death threats and armies with nuclear warheads and angry mobs and the damn Japanese, Russians, and Chinese, and now I just want to talk to Jin-ee about passion.
I open my eyes. Anna is coming down the dais steps toward me. She stops and faces me. She puts her hands at her waist, left over right. She folds her legs underneath her so that her chima flows out all around her. She puts her hands on the floor in front of her and bends to place her head on them. She stays like that for several seconds. Then she sits up and looks at my feet. This close, she’s even more striking than when she was on the throne. Sitting on the floor, she looks innocent, like a young girl dressed up in a queen’s costume. It’s as if the queen on the throne minutes earlier is gone, replaced by a young woman. She looks vulnerable, almost needy.
“The rest of my story is the most important part,” she says. “It’s about”—she looks at me—“the people.”
“The people?”
“Isn’t that why you are here, Mr. Simon?” she whispers. She sighs and looks down again. “When Queen Min was a young queen, she didn’t know her people. She lived a privileged life inside the palace and only saw her subjects through the curtains of her palanquin. She didn’t know them, Mr. Simon. She didn’t know them, yet she was trying to build a nation for them. The spirit of One Korea is the spirit of all Koreans, not just the kings and queens. Not just the yangban or one clan. It is of all people. And she didn’t know them.”
Anna’s eyes turn to me. “You don’t know them, either, Mr. Simon. Yet you will help make decisions that will affect them far more than the people of the United States. And you don’t know them. I beg you, please, listen to the rest of my story.”
She straightens her back. “But I’ll tell you what.” She points toward the door with her chin. “Outside, they want to take you away. They want to take you back to where they can tell you what they think you should put in your report to the president. So if you want to leave rather than hear the rest of my story, I won’t stop you. It’s an important decision, Mr. Simon. Important for this country, but it is important for you, too, I think.”
Two hours earlier, I would have bolted for the door. Now, I’m not so sure. I look at Anna and all I see is Jin-ee. Intelligent, tender, poignant . . . beautiful. Back then I was so in love with Jin-ee that I thought I’d break. But it wasn’t just her. It was all the possibilities. For me, for her, for us . . . for the world.
Looking at Anna now, I realize that my slide into the problems with Jin-ee began here at the embassy when I was about Anna’s age. Jin-ee wanted to take a few years off, live among the rice farmers and fishermen, learn to make silk and celadon pots. She wanted to go to North Korea to see what was happening there. “Let’s do it,” she pleaded.
I considered it. I really did. Jin-ee’s enthusiasm was intoxicating. But I had just gotten a promotion with a healthy raise. More responsibility, money. More status. So I said no and stayed buried in my work at the embassy. Jin-ee never pressed me on it again—at least not that I’d heard.
Now, Anna’s story has sparked the fire in me that I had before, the fire that I found out a few days ago Jin-ee never lost. I want to know more about this country and these people. I want to hear the rest of Anna’s story.
I point at the door. “What should I say to hold off the jarheads?” I ask.
Anna looks pleased. “Tell them you need another hour.”
“I doubt if they’ll listen. They’re marines, after all.”
“Trust me. It’s an impressive crowd outside. They don’t want a situation.”
I nod and one of the guys behind me leads me up a few stairs to a door. I stick my head through, and there outside in the daylight are a dozen Korean men standing in the tae kwon do ready stance facing a handful of US Marines who are pointing M16 rifles. The chanting from behind the marines is loud. “Han hangug! Han hangug!” When my eyes adjus
t to the light, I look for the marine in charge and spot a stiff-jawed lieutenant. From behind the Koreans, I shout to him that I’m fine and that I’m here by my own choice. In a voice that would intimidate a prizefighter, he orders me to come with him. In my gut, I feel the defiance I had twenty-five years earlier when Jin-ee and I faced the police on the Michigan campus and tried to stop them from tearing down the old student union. It’s exhilarating to feel that passion again. “No, lieutenant,” I say, wishing I could tell him to go to hell instead. “I’ll take full responsibility. Please back off. I’ll be out in an hour.”
The lieutenant puffs out his chest. He again orders me to come with him as if I’m a recruit on the first day of boot camp. “Go to hell,” I say, and slip back inside.
When I return to my chair in the big room, Anna has assumed her position on the throne. In her spectacular regalia, she looks like a terrible, powerful queen again. I sit and cross my legs.
“The people,” I say to her.
She smiles back at me. “Yes, the people,” she says. “The true spirit of One Korea.”
TWENTY-FIVE
1882. South central Korea
Kyung-jik pulled his horse to a stop on a rise in the road a mile or so from a small village nestled in a shallow valley. My horse, used to following Kyung-jik’s horse, stopped without me pulling on the reins. The horse’s hooves were still wrapped in rags that silenced them when we were on the cobblestones of Seoul. It wasn’t yet light, but through the early morning fog I could see we were in the low hills between the mountains and sea. Among the hills I could make out geometrically shaped rice paddies, and in the flats, green pastures with cattle and sheep. The village houses, maybe thirty in all, were scattered throughout the valley. They were small and low and had grass roofs.
Kyung-jik had chosen his most loyal guard to escort us. The man had met us with horses at the Han River and hadn’t said a word all night as we rode through a soft rain along a quiet country road south of Seoul. From behind me, the guard rode up to Kyung-jik, and together they studied a house on the village edge. The house was not large, but it was half again as large as the others nearby. It was the only one with a tile roof. Next to the house was a long wooden building with a brick chimney at one end.
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