There were people who cried.
The more he wrote, the closer he pulled her palm to his chest, as if he was determined to never let her go.
—Did you learn to play from your father?
The boy nodded. What had become of his father? Suh sighed deeply and wiped the face of the boy who pointed to a pond whenever he was asked where he lived. She held his nose and had him blow out of it to clear it. Then she guided him out of the jar and dried his chest, thighs, and calves, underneath his arms and between his fingers and toes.
A cool breeze blew in from the bamboo grove. The leaves whispered as they trembled. Suh gave the boy a new linen jacket. She had sewn it on order from the mother of Jikdong, a Sungkyunkwan scholar, and it hadn’t been collected yet. Banchon was crowded with onlookers whenever the King visited Sungkyunkwan to converse with the students. Jikdong was taller than Yeon, making the latter look as if he were wearing his older brother’s clothes. Suh had to fold back the sleeves and the hem of some old trousers to make them fit.
—Oh my, we do wear grand ceremonial robes to impress others, but this is too big.
The boy grinned.
—I’ll make you some new clothes later. I’ll even add an inner pocket for your bamboo flute.
Having known only neglect during his short life, Yeon simply stared at the floor in response to Suh’s kind words. Suh dried his still-damp hair. Jin, who had been in their room while Suh was bathing Yeon, opened the door.
—Look, look how handsome Sobaek is!
Jin’s gaze lingered on the freshly bathed and clothed Yeon and seemed to hold back a smile of surprise.
—Could you help me? Go pick some lettuce and perilla leaves from the garden. Some leeks, too. We’ll have dinner when the priest returns.
Jin, carrying the basket Suh had given her, went out to the vegetable patch with Yeon following her. Suh smiled as she saw the two children walking away together. White smoke rose from the chimneys of the Banchon houses, and lanterns were being lit. There was the occasional sound of dogs barking. A man wearing a formal gat hat walked by on the road visible from the vegetable patch. A horse and its rider plodded by. Sunset marks the women’s hour. A wife of the nobility class walked along the bank, wearing a silk dress and a long coat that was thrown about her head as a veil, her servant girl leading the way. When the night deepened, the female servants wedged letters into the doorframes of those whom they were in love with. Young ladies of the nobility, trapped all day in their compounds, had their nurses light the way with lanterns for walks by the fortress walls of the city.
The two children crouched down in the patch surrounded by an arborvitae-wood fence and picked lettuce leaves. Their hands bumped into each other’s as they gathered leeks. They looked up at the same time at geese flying over them in formation. The scent of dwenjang floated through the vegetable patch. Suh must have been preparing a dwenjang, fermented-soybean stew.
Yeon’s stomach growled at the scent. The shy boy held a hand to his stomach. Jin would have laughed if it had been any other day, but she only pretended not to have heard as she continued to pick perilla leaves in her corner of the patch.
Coming back from having met a member of the faith who kept a poultry farm in the western part of Banchon, Blanc stopped in his tracks when he saw the two children. The boy jumped up at the sight of the priest and ran to greet him. The scent of mung beans that lingered on Yeon’s body wafted ahead of him on the breeze. In the hug that followed, Yeon smiled at Blanc’s surprise at his washed and newly clothed appearance.
Suh, who usually had only Jin to accompany her at dinner, placed four sets of spoons and chopsticks on the low dining table for the first time in a long time. The only side dishes were garden vegetables gently stir-fried in green onions, some garlic and soy sauce, acorn jelly, and pickled leeks with dwenjang stew, but no food would taste bad in such an atmosphere of happy simplicity. A pot of rice, cooked with slices of turnip, took the central place of honor at the feast.
The large pot of rice made Blanc smile. When he first came to Korea, he was surprised by three things. One was how this small and isolated country had its own language and letters. Aside from the ideograms used mostly by the yangban class, the common people had use of their own unique alphabet. The second was the number of books. There seemed to be books under every modest thatched roof, and even the lowliest girl servants would copy books of stories by hand to share with each other. The third surprising thing was how much Koreans ate. His jaw would drop at how little children swiftly emptied large bowls of rice. Those without side dishes would simply pour water into a bowl filled with rice and fill up on that. The many kinds of rice—potato rice, bean rice, mixed rice, barley rice, sticky rice, bean-broth rice—made Blanc conclude that rice was responsible for the strong bodies of the Koreans. Of course, they could not always eat their fill. Perhaps that was why they ate so much whenever they had the chance.
The four people under the light of the candle lamp seemed like a family.
“Give us this day our daily bread . . .” Blanc’s blessing before they lifted their spoons was the first time Jin had heard a prayer. “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us . . .” Jin’s eyes widened, and she childishly mimicked Blanc’s pose.
Blanc, still unused to chopsticks, made Jin giggle whenever he dropped a slippery piece of acorn jelly. Of the four, it was Yeon who ate the fastest, having suffered from the most hunger. Suh piled his bowl with more rice. Where does he put all of it in that scrawny body of his? Blanc wondered as he began to speak.
—After we sign a trade agreement with Korea, I hope to establish an orphanage here. It’s surprising that Korea has no such institutions.
Suh gently pulled back Jin’s bowl, which was on the verge of falling off the table, and turned to Blanc.
—I’ve seen so many children who have lost their parents wandering this land. We need a place that will take children in off the streets. I don’t understand why a people who are as caring as ours could be so unfeeling toward orphans. No one thinks of adoption.
Suh, as the daughter of a successful interpreter official, rode out on a palanquin on her wedding day, a privilege reserved only for daughters of the nobility. She could speak the language of the Qing and enjoyed reading their books thanks to her father’s influence, but her inability to have children was her undoing. She had forsaken books since coming into Banchon to become a seamstress. Her face darkened. It would be impossible to explain to this foreign priest the importance Koreans placed on bloodlines. It was a mentality that did not spring overnight but was built over centuries. Suh gazed at Yeon, who was busy emptying his bowl, a few grains of rice stuck around his mouth.
Sitting at this simple Korean dinner, Blanc thought about Japan, where he had briefly dropped by before entering Korea.
It had been a world away from the Japan he had known only three years earlier, enough for him to doubt his own senses. He privately wished that a people’s clothing wouldn’t change despite reforms in their lifestyles. The clothing of East Asia, so different from that of the West, was particularly charming as it reflected the character of its people. There was a variety of shapes and colors, each beautiful. Yet the modernized Japanese on the streets had cut their hair short and used pomade. Convenience was a virtue that conquered all else, and it was becoming difficult to spot people wearing traditional clothes. Men walked about in suits and leather shoes, and even before the telegraph caught on, the telephone was already making headway in spreading news far and wide. A steam train ran in Yokohama.
Blanc wondered what Korea thought of these changes in their southern neighbor.
—In France, there is an order of nuns called the St. Paul Sisters of Chartres. They have branches throughout the world and provide education and nursing along with their religious work. If they could only come to Korea . . . they could help Yeon and others like him. They are already in Japan.
Suh could only answer, “Yes,” and listen to th
e priest’s words. She was not a follower of the Catholic faith. She knew, vaguely, that Banchon had its share of Catholics, some of whom were Confucian scholars. There were also giseng women artisans, certain officials, and that man who did errands for the butcher by Supo Bridge. Hearing there were also believers at court made Suh think the religion truly embraced rich and poor. She heard that during mass the congregants mingled instead of sitting according to social rank.
Suh was ashamed that it took a blue-eyed foreigner to worry over the wandering beggar children who had lost their parents to disease and war, most of whom weren’t even from Catholic families.
—Father Blanc . . .
Blanc looked at Suh.
—That child, Sobaek . . . I mean, Yeon. Why don’t you leave him here with us? We aren’t well off, but I shall try to keep him clothed and fed.
A brief silence flowed between Suh and Blanc.
—But are you aware, madam? The child cannot speak.
He went on to say that Yeon’s silence was perhaps not because he could not speak, but because he wouldn’t.
—I am aware.
—How surprising. It took me four days to realize it. At first, I thought he wouldn’t speak to me because I was a foreigner. I didn’t tell you, because I thought you might not notice before we left . . .
Jin’s face was sad as she stared at Yeon.
—He knows how to write. I think he was born that way, which is why he was taught his letters at such an early age.
Suh did not add, His father who taught him the flute probably taught him to read.
—Leave him with us.
—But he must have his own thoughts on the matter.
Blanc turned to Yeon. The child backed away from the table. The lamplight threw shadows across his face.
—That child thinks he owes you his life. He won’t wish to part with you.
Suh spoke to Yeon.
—Stay with us just until Father Blanc gets settled. He doesn’t have a home right now . . .
Jin stood up and approached Yeon.
Her delicate nature brought to mind a deer that would cry together with a child who was lost in the forest.
—Live here with us. We can go to the forest together . . . There are deer in the forest across the bridge.
Yeon hung his head. Jin thrust her face underneath Yeon’s, determined to get an answer. How lonely the little one must have been all this time. Suh watched in silence at this change in Jin, so different from when she had first asked the girl if it would be all right if Yeon stayed with them. When Yeon didn’t answer, Jin pulled his hand toward her and wrote on his palm with her finger.
Live here with us.
Suh, who had been watching them, spoke up.
—A person could get sick living all alone. Wouldn’t you like to be with someone?
Yeon went up to Blanc and spread his palm. Jin took in the contrast of Yeon’s bony hand on Blanc’s hairy arm.
Where would you go, Father?
—Wherever I am, the Lord and I shall be near you.
Will you come to see me?
—Bien sûr!
“Bien sûr.” Jin imitated Blanc’s French. The other three people burst out laughing, lifting the serious mood. Only then was the boy reassured. He nodded.
—Good thinking. You can always go back to Father Blanc once he is settled. Look, our dinner will get cold. Let’s eat.
The four rallied around the food again. They were more comfortable than four strangers would usually be at their first meal together. As Blanc dipped his spoon into the dwenjang stew, it clanged against Jin’s spoon. The other thing that had surprised Blanc aside from the amount of rice Koreans ate was how they casually shared from one pot of stew. But he got used to it, and the food did seem tastier when shared.
—What is the girl’s name?
—We call her Baby.
—She has no name?
—It just happened that way. At court, they call her the Dowager Consort’s baby companion . . . I suppose we ought to give her a proper name.
Yeon moved aside his rice bowl and wrote the Hangul letters for eunbangwul—silver bell—on the space where it had been.
—Silverbell!
Suh and Blanc said out loud together.
—She must seem as pretty as a silver bell flower to him. All right, why don’t we call you Silverbell from now on?
As Suh said this, the thought that Yeon wouldn’t be able to call her that himself made her sad.
—How clever she is at mimicking French.
—She learns quickly. Once, she watched a court dancer perform, and danced the steps herself as perfectly as you please from memory, right there in that courtyard. People gathered to watch. Teach her something once and she never forgets it. She learned how to read at the dowager consort’s court, she can read and write anything. Her handiwork is excellent. She would look over my shoulder as I worked, and now she can embroider so prettily . . . my father was an interpreter, so I learned some Chinese from him. I taught it to her and she picked it up immediately. A Chinese student who stayed here some time ago conversed with her in his language. She’s terribly clever. I don’t know what to do with her now.
Blanc was about to take a sip of the hot rice water Suh had poured into his bowl when he put it down.
—Shall we try teaching her French?
—French?
Suh looked at Jin, and then Blanc. What use would a Korean girl find in French? As if he’d read her mind, Blanc spoke again.
—Korea is changing rapidly. It’s a unique skill that may be useful someday. Since the only thing I can do better than any Korean is to speak French, I might as well share that with her.
Feelings of love naturally lead to a desire to teach the beloved something, anything that would aid the beloved in their hour of need.
—She seems like a clever child. I say that I will teach her French, but in truth, I will end up learning Korean from her.
Blanc continued in this modest vein, adding that he happened to have copied by hand a French-Korean dictionary written by Father Feron of France, which would serve as a textbook.
—You copied an entire dictionary?
—Yes, from the handwritten original written by Father Feron himself. That is how I learned my Korean.
It is unknowable whether a unique talent will prove to be a strength or a stumbling block in one’s life. The only way to find out is to live.
If only she were a boy, thought Suh as she stroked Jin’s hair, who looked at Blanc with wide, happy eyes at the prospect of learning French from him. Suh had known for a while that Jin’s ability to absorb words and writing was extraordinary. If Jin were a boy, she would have been praised for enjoying books and for being able to write and speak so well.
She sighed.
What kind of life could such a clever Korean girl look forward to? She was even good at drawing and dancing. Suh, who had hardly been a noble lady in her youth, had often felt harshly judged for her fondness for reading. Her father used to exclaim, “Why does a common girl need all these books?” But he nonetheless enjoyed finding books to bring home for her. Suh had liked to read before she was wed and reading through the night was a source of consolation during the years of childlessness. But her in-laws found her joy of reading unacceptable. Even when she would read in the brief recesses of time that came after finishing her housework, they resented her for having a book in her hands instead of concentrating on having a child. Her husband was indifferent and did not come to her defense.
As the years passed, she could no longer silently endure the indignities visited upon her for their childlessness. With all the accusatory stares and point-blank insults, she was getting swept up in a dangerously explosive feeling that became more intense with time. In the end, she left that house. What had made her rebellion possible were the books.
Suh’s face darkened at the thought that learning would someday bring Jin as much hardship as it had to her.
Blanc retu
rned to his room after dinner. With the lamp glowing between them, Blanc had Jin repeat the French words for I, you, he, and she. Yeon sat beside her, and Suh did the dishes as she listened to Jin repeat the words. Jin had been dutifully following Blanc’s instructions when she suddenly asked what the French word for flower was.
—La fleur.
Jin used her tongue, the roof of her mouth, and the insides of her nose and throat, parts she had never used for speech before in her life, to say, “La fleur.”
Once she had stacked the dishes to drain, Suh cracked open the guest room door to glimpse inside.
It is not only a great joy to teach a child. It is also joyful to watch a child learn, a feeling akin to seeing lilies planted the year before sprouting from the earth.
This is how Suh felt, watching Jin’s eyes sparkle in the lamplight as the little one repeated the foreign sounds Blanc taught her. Suh was moved. She shouldn’t stop at just memorizing. She was worried that learning might hurt the child, but a new desire had already sprung in her heart. Since she’s so keen on learning, she thought, it would be good if we discovered what her talents were and helped her realize them. Blanc turned to Suh, who sat on the porch outside the sliding door, and said, “Look how good she is!” He grinned widely. When Blanc taught Jin the word for we, or nous, Jin gave Suh, Yeon, and Blanc each a look and said “nous,” as if pulling them together into one word. To those who truly feel music, a song can give them a look of solitude, even when they are sitting with many others. This is because music is not of the outer body but the inner soul. Jin’s face grew flushed in her efforts to roll her tongue and pronounce the words properly, but Yeon was listening to the sounds coming from Jin’s rounded mouth, his head tilted. He seemed as if he were all alone.
Suh quietly closed the door. She heard Blanc say that Jin must not keep her language inside of her but practice out loud as much as possible.
Jin, who had learned strange new words long into the night, overslept the next morning.
She was reluctant to rise despite Suh’s reminder that she needed to be ready before the lady attendant came for her from the palace. She thought of the faces of Yeon and Blanc, which made her blush. Leaving her bedding, she quietly slid open the door and looked out into the courtyard. Yeon was out there sweeping it, every so often hiking up his oversized linen trousers. Blanc was mending the old arborvitae fence. Yeon finished sweeping, tapped the dust off the broom, and leaned it against the fence. Jin quickly went back to her room before she caught his eye. When she peeked out again, Yeon was walking toward the well. He must have wanted to wash his hands and face. Jin closed the door, a smile playing on her lips. The courtyard was usually empty at dawn, but this morning there was someone sweeping it and another someone mending the fence. It felt like any other house where parents were raising their children. She felt wonderful, and smiled as she folded her bedding, the French words she had learned the night before fluttering like butterflies in her mind.
The Court Dancer Page 5