Ignacio, who believed that they had driven out the demon with holy water and prayer, was once more aware of the noble calling with which he had been entrusted. After the Mass, Choe Seongil ate lunch with the hacendado in his house. It was a sumptuous feast that seemed like a dream. Pork boiled in the Yucatán fashion, with black beans, cilantro, onions, and tomatoes, and sopa de lima, cooked with lime and onion, awaited him. He ate like a glutton. Gwon Yongjun, who sat next to him, relayed the hacendado’s words. “Mr. Choe. The hacendado thinks that he drove a spirit out of you.” Choe Seongil bobbed his head and expressed his thanks. “Now that you mention it, I was told that some old man had been sitting on my shoulders.” But these words, when translated, were embellished and conveyed as: “He says thank you for driving out Satan.” The hacendado urged Choe Seongil to join the army of Jesus and fight Satan with him. Choe Seongil agreed unconditionally.
Gwon Yongjun and Choe Seongil got into a carriage and left the house. From that day forward, Choe Seongil’s destiny was changed. He diligently wrote down the Latin prayers phonetically in Korean and memorized them, though he did not know what they meant. He diligently attended Mass. He gave those who didn’t want to go a hard time. “If we suffer because of you, you’ll be sorry. All you have to do is go and sit still. What’s so hard about that?” People began to avoid Choe Seongil, who was always muttering something, but he was not concerned.
One night, Choe Seongil went to the paja of Father Paul. “Mr. Bak, wake up.” Father Paul opened his eyes. Choe Seongil beckoned him outside. It was nearly a full moon. In the bright moonlight Choe Seongil took Father Paul’s cross out from his bosom. “Have you seen this before?” Father Paul glanced sidelong at Choe Seongil. “Look, I’m sorry. I was ignorant and always wondered what this was, but now I finally know. This is a cross, and it has something to do with the Catholicism the hacendado carries on about, so the joke is on me. Here, take it.”
He held out the cross so sincerely that Paul could not readily reach out his hand. “Can’t you take what is yours?” Choe Seongil put the cross in Paul’s hand. “I was hungry then, that’s all. But I always meant to give it back to you someday.” Choe Seongil sat on a stump and put a cigarette in his mouth. It did not light easily, and his flint sparked several times in the darkness. When he had taken a puff, he asked Father Paul, who stood there awkwardly, “So what are you, anyway? Are you just a Catholic, or . . .” Father Paul didn’t say a word. “Fine. Whatever may have happened in your past, help me out. In simple Korean, explain to me what on earth this Catholicism is, and what’s so great about it that the hacendado is so excited.”
“I can’t do that.” Father Paul shook his head. “I don’t know anything about it. And this cross isn’t mine.” Choe Seongil got up from the stump and drew close to Father Paul. “Let’s help each other out. It shouldn’t be that difficult. I gave you back your cross, didn’t I?” Father Paul spoke in a soft voice. “I knew about it on the ship. When you were sick with dysentery—” Choe Seongil grabbed Father Paul by the throat. “What? You mean you were fishing around the trousers of a fellow so sick he couldn’t move?” Father Paul could not breathe and gasped for air, and Choe Seongil had mercy on him and let go of his throat. “You seem to know just fine, telling that shaman fellow all about Catholicism. Show me a little kindness. If you don’t, I don’t know what happened that you would hide so, but I will go to the hacendado and tell him: Here is one of those Catholics you like so much!” Choe Seongil cackled and went inside the paja. Father Paul was disturbed by his words, which brought back memories of Korea’s suppression of Catholicism. Here it was the opposite: Catholics were rewarded. But he had no wish to be dragged before the hacendado to testify to his apostasy, and he did not want to feign a false faith like the thief. Father Paul tilted the cross in the moonlight. The sapphire encrusted in the center shone with an eerie blue light.
41
YI JINU’S SPANISH grew better day by day. It was good enough that, given a little more time, he would be able to act as an interpreter on his own. After all, the Spanish used in the henequen fields was simple, and if he happened to misinterpret something, no one would ever know.
Gwon Yongjun sat next to Yi Jinu in the shade of a tree and lightly prodded him. “Have you talked to your sister?” Yi Jinu mumbled, “Well, I . . .” Gwon Yongjun erupted: “How long has it been since I asked you about that, and now I hear that you are roasting quail these days! You are of no use to me. You always take what you need and yet can’t even grant that little request. This is why they say never to work with aristocrats. They gulp down what they like and then wash their mouths clean.” Gwon Yongjun did not give Yi Jinu a chance to defend himself, but shot up and walked away. Yi Jinu grew anxious. He went home and sat down next to his sister. Yi Yeonsu stopped her sewing and looked at her brother’s face. “What is it?” Her younger brother, who had once been such a child, now carried himself like a proper man after only a few months of work in the fields.
He said that he had a request. When Yeonsu asked what it was, he hesitated and could not bear to bring it up. But he had come this far, and it was the same as going all the way. Yeonsu kept urging him on. “What is it?” Yi Jinu hesitated, and then finally opened his mouth. “The interpreter . . . Mr. Gwon.” Yeonsu nodded, but her face had hardened. “He keeps bothering me because he wants to meet you.” Yeonsu turned her gaze back to her sewing. “So you learn Spanish from him and he keeps asking you about this?” Yi Jinu licked his lips and nodded. “Can’t you meet him just once? All you have to do is go and tell him you don’t want to come again. He may be low in status, but he seems to be a decent person.” Yeonsu twisted the sides of her mouth into a smile. “What is status here?” The young man edged closer. “That’s right. That’s right, isn’t it?” Yi Yeonsu looked straight into her brother’s eyes and spoke resolutely. “Don’t ever mention this to me again. If you do, I will be very angry. It is not because he is low in status. I just can’t do it.”
“But he has a lot of money!” Jinu spit out sullenly. “He not only speaks English well, he speaks Spanish well, too, and he won’t starve no matter what he does. Do you think we will be able to go back? In the end we will die here. Four years from now, when our contracts with the hacienda end, you will be twenty, so you’ll have to find someone to marry here anyway, won’t you?” With every word that her brother spit out, Yeonsu’s heart stung as if it were being stuck with needles. She knew better than anyone that her dream of studying, getting a job, and going out into the world to realize her dreams like a man was already gone. The henequen haciendas of the Yucatán were a far cry from such dreams. She would have to live with a man here. She would have to wake at half past three in the morning, prepare clothing and food for her man going out to the fields, feed her children, then go out to the fields herself and cut the henequen leaves, tie them up, and pile them in the storehouse, then go back to their barracks, prepare dinner, do the laundry, clean the house, and go to bed. She did not want to live like that. Once more, she thought ardently of Ijeong. Where is he? Perhaps he has met another woman. At Yazche hacienda, some of the men were already living with Mayan women, and some had taken concubines. The single men snooped around the Mayan dwellings at night. If a man caught a woman’s eye, he would begin living with her right away. Perhaps Ijeong, too, had already . . . ? She took out the calendar she had made and looked at it. Three months had passed. It would be impossible to ever see him again, wouldn’t it? Even if they were to meet, they would not be able to come together, to madly entwine their bodies. The desire that welled up suddenly shook her body. This is hell. A horrible man drools over me, my brother would sell his own sister to him, and I cannot see my beloved. Father is a walking corpse and Mother has stopped speaking. I cannot live like this. Maybe I should just flee into Gwon Yongjun’s arms. No one would say anything now. Not Father or Mother. They might even think to themselves that it would be better that way. That was such a horrible thought that Yeonsu bit down hard on her lip.
Just then, a clamor came from the entrance of Yazche hacienda, and the Koreans rushed in that direction. Jinu, who had been sitting dejectedly, left the house as well and headed toward the noise. What was it now? The clamor slowly grew closer. It was not the sound of people getting angry or fighting; it was the sound of voices buoyed by gladness. Out of curiosity, Yeonsu opened the door a crack and looked out. Two men were walking toward her, surrounded by others. As those in love often do, Yeonsu overestimated the significance of this amazing good fortune, this meeting that she would savor for the rest of her life. There was nothing else to call this but destiny. He had come. Except for a slight limp, he looked healthy. Where was he coming from? Why was he coming? Was he coming to stay, or was he going to leave her again? There were many things she wanted to ask him, but she could not bear to go outside, so she simply watched him walk toward her from within the dark house.
From the moment he had entered Yazche hacienda, Ijeong had been thinking of Yeonsu as well, hoping she might be here. When he was handed over to the overseer and unshackled, and a crowd of Koreans pressed close to him on all sides, his longing became even stronger. Yazche was a larger hacienda than he had imagined. He and Dolseok were greeted warmly. The residents asked for news of the hacienda where Ijeong had been, and of their friends and relatives who might still be there. Ijeong saw among the adults a boy watching him and pretending to be dignified. It was Yeonsu’s younger brother, Jinu. With this he knew for certain that she was at Yazche. Ijeong quickened his steps. The Koreans followed close behind Ijeong and Dolseok and asked endless questions about the situation at the other haciendas, the price of food, wages, mistreatment, the overseers, the foremen, the interpreter. Ijeong replied abstractedly and walked toward the house where he would be staying. His legs, which had been shackled for a long time, ached, but he soon forgot the pain.
Yet no matter how much he searched, she was not to be found. A few women were coming out to draw water or hang their laundry, but Yeonsu was not there. When he passed by a certain house his heart pounded fiercely in his chest. He did not know exactly why, but he looked into the dark house. From inside, a covered face peered out at him and then hid. The excitement rose in his chest until he thought he would go wild, but he passed by that house and went into the house where he would live. Though he had not clearly seen her face, he knew for certain that it was her. He felt her unique energy, a power that infused everything around her with a mysterious mood.
When they reached their house, Ijeong and Dolseok lay down on the rough floor. The people who had followed them continued to ask them questions. One of them was Jinu. “What hacienda did you come from?” “Chunchucmil.” “Is there an interpreter there?” “Of course there isn’t.” “How do you work without an interpreter?” Ijeong looked at Jinu, who was a few years younger than him, and flashed him a smile. “Do you speak when driving cattle or horses? Everyone understands.” Jinu’s eyes sparkled as he listened to Ijeong speak. “How are the people at Chunchucmil?” Dolseok rubbed his eyes and spoke. “Already three have died. One stabbed, one by the whip, and one suicide. Has anyone died here yet?” They all shook their heads. Dolseok’s words were a comfort to the people of Yazche hacienda. At least everyone here is still alive.
In spite of their fatigue, Yeonsu and Ijeong tossed and turned all night. The past three months had been too long a parting for hot-blooded young people.
42
“FIND ME A BRUSH and some paper.” Early one morning when the others were going out to work, Yi Jongdo opened his mouth for the first time in what seemed like weeks as he lay in his bed. Lady Yun, who was busy preparing to leave for the fields, at first pretended not to hear him. Yi Jongdo said again, “Find me a brush and some paper.” Lady Yun replied curtly, “And what are you going to do with them?” Yi Jongdo did not reply. Instead, his son said, “I don’t think there are any brushes, but I will see if I can find something similar.” Yi Jinu put on his leggings and gloves and went outside. The weather had grown a little cooler since May, when they had first arrived. Lady Yun gently grasped her son’s shoulder as he went out. “Don’t go to too much trouble.”
On his way back, Jinu asked Gwon Yongjun to find a brush and some paper, but the interpreter didn’t seem interested in listening to him. With no other choice, Jinu went to the store and asked if he could buy some paper and a writing instrument. Unexpectedly, they readily gave him the notebook, pen, and ink that they used and told him that they would take the price out of his pay.
Yi Jongdo tore the notebook paper a few times with the unfamiliar pen as he diligently began to write something. He rose in the morning and washed his face with the water that Lady Yun had drawn, then sat down before a discarded wooden box and slowly wrote one character after another. He devoted his entire day to the effort. At times he stared into space as if trying to jog his memory, and at others he took deep breaths as if emotions were welling up inside him. At lunchtime, Lady Yun offered him a tortilla, but he refused and wrote with glittering eyes.
In the evening, people began to gather at Yi Jongdo’s house. The rumor must have spread that he had spent all day writing something. No one dared to speak to him, but many of them peeked into the house and murmured. Jinu made his way past them and went inside. Yeonsu couldn’t budge within the prison of gazes. When the chattering outside grew louder, Yi Jongdo opened the door and looked out. The eyes of those who could not write pleaded with him: You are writing a letter, aren’t you? We won’t get in your way, so please write the letter. We will just wait. Let His Majesty and the government know what has really happened to us. We don’t need money or fields, so ask them to please take us back. And when you have finished writing that letter, when you have written a letter to your kinfolk, to your flesh and blood, please write letters for us as well. Tell our brothers, our families, that all is not well, but we are fine. This is what their eyes said to him. It was a shock to Yi Jongdo. As a member of the royal family and a literati in Seoul, he had not once seen such pathetic gazes directed toward him. They stepped back and bowed their heads when he walked by, but they did not hide their hostility and scorn. Aristocrats were filthy and disgraceful creatures to be avoided. In a way, an aristocrat was like a brigand to them. It was best to live without meeting one.
Yi Jongdo spoke. “I am writing a letter to His Majesty. I have seen with my own two eyes the blood and tears you have shed in this land, so I know them well. Here in Mexico there must be a postal system. If someone goes as far as Mérida and sends this, within a month His Majesty will conceive a plan. Even dogs and pigs are treated better than this.” At Yi Jongdo’s words, the pain of the past three months—no, counting from the day they boarded the ship, it was closer to half a year—came to mind, and the eyes of some were growing red. One of them dug around in his pocket, took out a coin, and awkwardly gave it to Jinu, who stood at Yi Jongdo’s side. “You are doing this for us, so please do not refuse this.” At that, everyone began taking out money. Some people went home and brought back rice. Jinu politely declined them all. Yi Jongdo went back inside and sat down before the wooden box. For the first time he felt that his having learned to write had been worthwhile. From his youth, he had never once felt the simple pleasure of reading or writing. It was always merely a duty. Now it was different. Countless phrases that he had completely forgotten poured into his head like a column of ants.
“Father, did you not say that if we returned we would be dragged off to Japan and die a miserable death?” Yi Jongdo answered boldly, “It can’t be any worse than this. Surely they won’t make you work so that your palms are split like the teeth of a saw. I was wrong.”
When the people who had been gathered around went back to their homes, Yeonsu left the house with a water jar and walked slowly in the direction where Ijeong had gone the day before. She glanced furtively about her but could not see him. Outside the hacienda’s boundary and toward the cenote was a thick tangle of bushes. Yeonsu headed for the well. She was about halfway there. Ther
e was no sign of anyone in the brilliant moonlight. It was too late; had she come in vain? As Yeonsu was regretting her decision, someone approached her from behind and grabbed her jar. It was Ijeong. The two of them went wordlessly into the bushes. Ijeong set the jar down gently and held Yeonsu from behind. “I thought it would be four years before I would see you.” Ijeong squeezed her harder. Yeonsu gasped. “I know, I thought so too, I thought so too. But it’s OK, since you’re here. No, I hate you. Why did you wait so long?” They kissed. Ijeong lifted Yeonsu’s skirt and jacket and threw himself at her. The branches of the bushes scratched their arms and legs. “I don’t believe it. It’s like a dream. Three months. I’m sorry—who would have thought that I would see your body after only three months?”
After their passions had passed, Yeonsu and Ijeong lay side by side and looked at the moon. Ants crawled over their thighs and stomachs, but their dulled flesh could not feel them. “Father is writing a letter to His Majesty.” Ijeong plucked grass and tore it apart. “I heard. Do you think we’ll be going back, then?” Yeonsu sighed and rested her head on Ijeong’s chest. “I don’t want to. It is horrible here, but Korea is even worse.” Ijeong ran his hand through her hair. “Shall we run away?” Yeonsu put a hand on the ground, raised herself, and looked down at Ijeong. “Really? But we don’t know the language. Where will we go, how will we live?” Ijeong held her. “Wait a little while. I learned Japanese on the ship, so the language here won’t be too difficult. Once I learn Spanish I am going to run far away. I will not be trapped here for the whole four years. They say that if you head north you can go to the United States. I met a ginseng merchant, and he said that the United States and Mexico are as different as heaven and earth. Let’s go together. I’ll work and you will go to school.” She pushed her thumb into her lover’s lips. “Ah, it would be so nice, even if it were only a dream.” But then her face grew dark. “What if we all go back to Korea because of Father’s letter?” Ijeong squeezed her nipple. “Then we’ll really run away. It takes a few months for letters to come and go, and by that time we will be ready.”
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