He did not know whether his son heard him. He thought he had not, for he felt the child’s hand on the back of his neck.
“What now?” Il-han inquired, and pulled the young hand away from his neck.
“The bone,” his son said, his great eyes staring and dark. “They must have used a saw to cut the bone.”
At this Il-han pushed the child’s hand aside and went away. But in the night he woke suddenly and fully heard in the distance the sound of the night watchman in the street, on guard against fires. Among the huts of the poor a fire burning in the middle of a room could set a thatched roof ablaze, and even in the houses of the rich a faulty flue or rubbish thrown out by a careless servant could destroy the city. All night the fire guard walked the streets, striking his two bamboo sticks together so that folk, waking, would know that he was watching over their safety. Il-han listened to the man come nearer, until the clack-clack was loud and clear and then it faded again into the distance. It was not this sound that had waked him, for he slept through it every night of his life. No, he was waked by a deep worry inside his mind and his heart, a worry he had set aside in the day, and which now rose up in the darkness of the night. From this time on, he swore to himself, he would spend some part of every day with his elder son. For he could not forget the hand feeling the bone in his neck, the small cold hand.
… The younger son was another creature. This child could not bear to crush a fly or pull a cat’s tail.
It was Il-han’s habit that, until a child was free of his nurse, he took no great notice. Indeed the first notice he gave to this second son, beyond the worry of his shortened ear, was on his first birthday, one of the three highest days in a man’s life, the second being his wedding day and the third his sixtieth birthday. True, he could never forget that this baby son had looked as pretty as a girl on that day. For Sunia had ordered her women to make special garments for him, light blue silk trousers, a peach-pink short coat, the sleeves striped in red, blue and green, a blue vest buttoned with jade buttons, and on his head the pointed cap on the sides of which were the Chinese’s letters for long life and prosperity. Il-han had noticed that Sunia had cut the sides of this hat long to cover the child’s ears. She could not forget, and in her persistent grieving that her child was not perfect, he recalled again that he had heard of foreign doctors who could mend such faults. He had not reminded her, however, for he wished not to add a sadness to the bright day. Guests had come bearing presents for the child and feasts were prepared for all, the best for the relatives and guests and lesser dishes for the servants they brought with them, as well as for his own. What he remembered now was his small son seated on the warm floor, while before him Sunia placed the objects for his choice, a sword, short and square-bladed, a book, a writing brush, a lute, and other such things. The child had looked at them for a while, seeming even at so young an age to know what they meant. Then he had put out his hand and grasped the handle of the sword, but he could not lift it and he cried and again he had tried to lift the sword and each time he failed and cried again. Sunia had coaxed the child with other objects, but he refused and hid his face in her bosom, sobbing.
This younger son, Il-han now observed anew. The child was delicately shaped, the bones fine and the flesh soft. From which ancestor the elder child had drawn his square shoulders and unusual height none knew, but the second child looked like Il-han’s father. He had the same large poetic eyes, and fine brows and high forehead. There were times when Sunia said she believed that the old man’s spirit after he died had entered into the child, so quiet and staid were the child’s movements, and yet graceful. He liked to play with small animals, with birds, butterflies and goldfish. Especially he loved lighted lanterns and flying kites and music. Sunia could play the Black Crane harp, so-called because in the time of Koguryo a musician had made a new instrument from the ancient Chinese harp, and while he played a hundred melodies upon it, a black crane had come down from the sky and danced. This harp could persuade Il-han’s second son to come out of any melancholy or fit of weeping if he fell down or were ill.
These were the qualities that Il-han observed in his second son but the child was still too young to reveal his individual mind and soul. Nevertheless, when he sat with this child on his lap and if the child followed him into the garden and clung to his forefinger, Il-han always saw the deformity of his ear and he determined that one day he would ask a foreign physician to mend it. He examined this ear carefully himself, and he concluded that the necessary flesh and skin of the lobe were all there, but that it had been crushed, perhaps by some position the child had taken inside the mother’s womb. His son’s folded ear lobe now became a reason for Il-han that he should bestir himself when the period of mourning was over and acquaint himself with men of the West, through whom he might find one to be a surgeon.
Yet before he could fulfill this purpose, Il-han received a courier from the King’s palace, commanding his presence. Since the period of mourning was over on that very day, Il-han could not refuse. He put on his court robes and went to the palace and was there received by the King.
“Do not stand on the ceremonies,” the King said when Il-han prepared obeisance. “You are to ready yourself to go on a mission to the United States.”
Il-han was already kneeling before the King, his head bowed on his hands, and when he heard these words over his head he could not move. He, go across the wild seas to a country that for him was no more than a few words he had heard spoken! His mouth went dry.
“Majesty,” he mumbled, “when must this be?”
“If we are to make a treaty with the Americans,” the King said, “then I must know what their country is and what the people are. I have appointed three young men on this mission, but you are to accompany them and see that they behave well and that they observe everything. You may stand.”
Il-han rose to his feet and stood with folded arms and bowed head. “Majesty, is this to be done in haste?”
“In some haste,” the King replied, “for it is our wish to move quickly. We ratify the treaty with the United States at once, and before you and these others leave our country. I hear that the old Empress in Peking is displeased with Li Hung-chang, and declares that all treaties must still be made through China. But we must deal directly now with the Americans and establish our right as a sovereign nation so to do.”
“Whom then do you send, Majesty?” Il-han next inquired.
“First,” the King replied, “I have appointed my brother-in-law, Prince Min Yong-ik, Heir Apparent to the throne.”
This prince Il-han knew very well. He was by adoption a nephew to the Queen, and was her ally. In the revolt the Regent had ordered him killed, but he had escaped his murderers by putting on the robes of a Buddhist monk and hiding himself in the mountains.
The King proceeded. “The second is Hong Yong-sik, the son of our Prime Minister. I send him because he has already been ambassador to Japan, and he is not ignorant of other countries than our own. The third is one whom I keep constantly near my person, for I trust him. He is So Kwang-pom.”
This young man Il-han also knew. His family was an ancient one, whose members through centuries had been known as wise and just. In this generation So Kwang-pom believed zealously that Korea should be independent of China, and he had headed a party of other men who so believed. He had even once gone secretly to Japan and had returned to tell the King fearlessly how Japan was changing into new ways, and was making new weapons, and dreaming even of making war upon China. The young man was a baron, and by inheritance, and this gave him the right to have access to the King.
All three men were young, about thirty years of age, but this third one was the most modern and bold, while Min Yong-ik was the leader of the Min and the favorite of the Queen.
“Besides yourself,” the King was saying, “I have chosen two others, Chai Kyung-soh, who is skilled in military affairs, and Yu Kil-chun, who has also lived long in Japan.”
Il-han bowed his head.
“How can I refuse the royal command?”
The King accepted this decision and with a brief nod, he strode from the room. Il-han could only return to his house, his mind in a daze that the King had moved ahead of his advice and with such speed.
On a certain day in late spring of that same year, sixteen days after the King had told him that he must go abroad, Il-han was again on his way to the palace by command. He wore his court robes, on his breast the square of silver brocade embroidered with three cranes to signify his high rank. The day was fine and he had commanded the front curtain of his palanquin to be raised so that he could enjoy the mild air and the light of the sun. The occasion of the royal summons was the ratification of the treaty with the United States, a solemn ceremony. True, ratification had been long delayed, but preparation had begun even before the revolt of the Regent and all the sad events that had taken place until he was safely exiled. The important first steps were taken when Shufeldt, an American officer whose rank was Commodore, had negotiated the treaty under the approval of the Chinese statesman Li Hung-chang who, wishing at that time to remain in his own country, had sent his representative, Yuan Shih-k’ai, to live in Seoul and uphold China as suzerain over Korea, and this although the treaty asserted that Korea was a sovereign nation and needed no conference with Chinese before it was ratified. Thus far affairs had proceeded until the Regent routed the Queen from the palace and disturbed the nation. Now that the King was again in power he commanded ratification on this day.
For Il-han the day was the beginning of his long journey abroad. He had not yet told Sunia, knowing that her woman’s heart would immediately set up a clamor concerning his health, the strange foods he must eat, the foreign waters he must drink, the wild winds he must breathe, all different from those in his native land. Yet today, after the treaty had been ratified, he would have to tell her, for there could be no delay in the journey.
Two hours after noon, then, on this nineteenth day of the fifth month of the solar year of 1883, and the sixth month of the lunar year, Il-han stood in the great hall of the Royal Office of Foreign Affairs. With him were Min Yong-wok, president of this office, and the chiefs of the four royal Departments, each with his retinue. Il-han was present at the King’s command as special representative.
The day was mild with approaching summer, the wall screens were drawn, and the gardens lay in full view in the clear sunlight. At the appointed hour all were ready and ten Americans entered the hall. Il-han had never seen them close and he could not forbear staring at them. They were all tall men and they wore naval uniforms of red and gold jackets over black trousers. One man wore gold wings on his shoulders, the sign of highest rank. The ten came forward and the court crier announced in a loud voice the name of the leader.
“General Lucius H. Foote, Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary of the United States of America to the Kingdom of Korea!”
The name Foote, translated, astonished the Koreans, and for a moment Il-han himself was confounded. Was this a mischievous trick of the announcer, a design to embarrass the foreigners? Foot? Could a man of high rank be so absurdly named? He caught the eye of Min Yong-wok, and they exchanged a questioning look. But no, the Americans were not angry, since they understood no Korean, and they presented the treaty in English to President Min, and the president presented, in return, the Korean copy. The ratified treaties were exchanged between the two men and thus a bridge was raised between two countries on opposite sides of the seas. The ceremony took no more than a few moments. The Americans then withdrew and Il-han returned to his house, marveling that in so short a time two nations could enter into friendship, their millions of people tied together by a piece of paper and written words.
“I shall die while you are away,” Sunia said.
“You will not,” Il-han said.
It was the middle of the night. They were in their own room and the house was silent about them. Outside in the garden pools the young frogs piped their early song of love and summer. He had told Sunia that he was going to America at the King’s command. She had listened without a word, and now she said simply that she would die.
She did not answer his denial. There beside him she lay, her hands locked under her head. He looked down into her face, pale in the moonlight.
“You will not have time to die,” he went on. “While I am gone, you must take my place with the Queen. You must visit her, hear her complaints, advise her, watch over her, consider her.”
“I will not,” Sunia said.
“You will, for I command you to do it,” Il-han replied. “Moreover, you are to become acquainted with the wife of the new American ambassador. You are to know her, you are to present her to the Queen as your friend.”
“I do not know even her name,” Sunia said, not moving.
“She is Madame Foote,” Il-han said.
Sunia heard this and suddenly she laughed. “You are making jokes! Foot? No—no—”
He let her laugh, glad of the change in her mood, and she sat up and wound her long hair around her head. “How can I call her Madame Foot? I shall laugh every time I see her. The female Foot! How did the man Foot look?”
“Like any man,” Il-han said, “except that he had a short red beard and red hair and red eyebrows over blue eyes.”
He was glad that Sunia was diverted, and he went on to describe the Americans, their height, their high noses, their great hands and long feet, their trousered legs and clipped hair.
“Were they savage?” Sunia asked.
“No,” Il-han said, “only strange. But they understand courtesy and they seem civilized in their own fashion.”
In such ways he led her to accept the matter of his crossing the sea and entering into foreign countries. It was no easy task, nevertheless, and all through the summer months, while preparation was made, she busy with his garments both for heat and cold, with sundry packets of dried foods and ginseng roots and other medicinal herbs, there came dark hours in the night when she clung to him, weeping. She insisted that at least his coffin must be chosen before he went, lest he die while he was abroad and his body be sent home with no place to rest. So to humor her he chose a good coffin of pinewood, and had it placed in the gatehouse, while he laughed at her and told her he would come back healthy and fat and far from dead.
The day of departure drew near, in spite of everything, and Il-han made his last visit to the palace, appearing before the Queen and then the King. To the Queen he commended his wife Sunia.
“Let my humble one take my place, Majesty,” he said. “Accept her service, and let her do your bidding. Tell her what you would tell me, for she is loyal and has a faithful heart. I have only one request to make for myself, before I leave.”
“I shall not promise to grant it,” the Queen said. She was in no good mood on this last day, for she did not favor friendship with the Americans and had mightily opposed the journey.
Il-han ignored her petulance. He proceeded as though she had not spoken.
“I ask, Majesty, that you invite the wife of the American ambassador to visit you here in your palace.”
At this the Queen rose up from her throne. “What,” she cried. “I? You forget yourself!”
“The time will come when it must be done, Majesty,” he said with patience. “Better that you act now with grace and of your own accord than later by compulsion.”
She walked back and forth twice and thrice, her full skirts flowing behind her. On the fourth time she drew near to the end door of the audience hall which led into her own private rooms. There, without looking back at him, or pausing to speak one word, she disappeared.
For a long time he waited and she did not return. Then a palace woman came out and bowed to him and folded her hands at her waist and spoke like a parrot.
“Her Majesty bids you farewell and wishes you a safe journey.”
She bowed again and turning went back from whence she had come. Il-han left the palace then, amazed that in his breast he felt a strange
sore pain of an unexpected wound struck by one he loved. He hid it deep inside himself, and refused to allow himself to examine his own heart. He had no time, he told himself, to fret about a woman’s ways, queen though she was. He bore the monstrous burden of his people and carrying this burden always with him, he bade his household farewell, accepting the anxious hopes for his safe return. The last moments he spent alone with Sunia and their sons and to comfort her he stood before the ancestral tablets and together they lit incense and she prayed, her voice a yearning whisper.
“Guard him all the way,” she besought those dead. “Keep him safe in health and bring him home again living and with success.”
The second son, whom Il-han held in his arms, began suddenly to cry, but the elder stood as stiff as any soldier and said nothing. There was no time left for child or wife. Il-han held Sunia to him for a long instant and tore himself away. He stepped into his palanquin while a crowd stood by to watch and cry farewell. Then he felt himself lifted from the ground and borne swiftly on his way.
On the fifteenth day of the ninth month of that solar year, Il-han and his fellow compatriots arrived at the capital city of the United States. During the long sea journey he had studied the language of these new people, the only one so to learn, for the others saw no need to know a language they would never use. But he, with the help of a young Catholic interpreter, shaped his lips to the unusual syllables, and when he reached Washington, a city named for the first President of these people, he was able to read signs and the large print of newspapers and even to understand a few words spoken.
Already Il-han knew that his own people had much to learn from the Americans. Even the ship in which they traveled had been dazzling in marvels and he had made friends with the captain, a bearded man whose life had been upon the seas. With this man he had climbed upon the bridge and watched the turning of the wheel that steered the ship, and he descended into the bowels of the ship and saw the great furnaces where naked men threw coal into the monstrous maws to make steam that drove the ship with power. The train in which they had crossed the continent had provided further marvels, the engine powered by the same steam, and at such speed that even he was dizzied, though not vomiting as his fellows did. Five days they sped across mountain and plain, and he was overwhelmed by the vastness of the country, and astonished at the fewness of its people.
The Living Reed: A Novel of Korea Page 17