She said, “She is pretty like a bird but thin like one, too. A little more eating will help with that.” She sat at the Chinese table again and my uncle sat with her. She took out a fan and fanned herself. As I stayed bowed before them, I could feel Lady Min inspecting me from her cushion. “What is her sign?” she asked.
My aunt spoke up. “She was born in the year of the pig, Your Excellency.”
“Ah,” Lady Min said. “Is she ambitious like a pig?”
“She does not seem to be, Your Excellency,” my aunt replied. “In fact, she doesn’t seem to be . . . much of anything.”
“Hmmm,” Lady Min said. “Well.” There was a long silence as Lady Min continued to study me. I hoped she would say I was too skinny to be the queen or that someone born in the year of the boar would be a bad match for the king. Instead she said, “I think this one might please my son. I will propose to my husband that she be a candidate. The Taewŏn-gun is the leader of the Yi clan and is not inclined to let a Min on the throne. But this Min is an orphan with no father. I believe my husband will look favorably upon her. And perhaps my son will approve of her, too.”
“That is good, Your Excellency,” my uncle said. “It is good for our clan.”
“Yes,” Lady Min replied, “but we must be careful. My husband is clever. If he thinks we are putting this one forward to someday challenge the House of Yi, he will reject her.”
“Yes, Your Excellency,” my uncle said.
“She must be prepared,” Lady Min continued. “I have brought a tutor who will train her. His name is Mister Euno.” The short man from the second palanquin bowed behind Lady Min. “Mister Euno has trained geishas in Japan, and he will be able to train this girl so she will please the king. Be sure she gets plenty to eat—goat’s milk to make her bones strong and duck fat to fill her out. I will arrange the meeting with my husband and son. She must be ready in fifteen days. Mister Euno will know what to do.”
“Yes, Your Excellency,” my uncle said.
Lady Min closed her fan and presented her hand again. She and my uncle rose from their cushions. She stood in front of me. “Listen to me, Ja-young,” she said, tapping my head with her fan. “I am giving you a chance to be my son’s wife, the new queen of Korea. My son has rejected everyone he has seen, but he might like you. Mister Euno will teach you how to impress him. You will do everything he asks of you.”
“Yes, Your Excellency,” I said.
“And if my son chooses you, you must always remember that you are a Min and that we are the ones who made you the queen. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Your Excellency,” I said.
She nodded. “Good. Your training will begin immediately.”
She turned for the door and someone opened it. My aunt and uncle bowed as she walked outside to her palanquin. A guard helped her in, and the porters lifted the palanquin in perfect unison. They turned as one and marched back to Gyeongbok Palace.
My uncle clapped his hands and his eyes sparkled. “This is an extraordinary thing! It has been a hundred years since a Min sat on the throne. And now we only need Ja-young to impress the king and we will have it again!” He took me by the shoulders. “Ja-young, you must learn the lessons Mister Euno has for you. Learn them well and you can be the queen.” He smiled at me and nodded.
I shook my head. “Please, Uncle, do not make me do this,” I begged.
My uncle’s smile dropped and he gave me a harsh look. “Listen, Ja-young. I brought you into my house when you had nowhere to go. I have given you a place to sleep and food from my storehouse. For four years, we have never asked anything from you. You’ve been treated kindly here and now you must do this. It is your duty to our clan and to your father and your mother.”
I lowered my head. He was right. They had treated me well—or, at least, they had not mistreated me. Without them, I would have been an eleven-year-old girl alone on the streets, and there’s no telling what would have become of me. It was also true that I had a duty to honor my father and mother. My father had often told me that I should be proud of my clan and that I must always honor my ancestors as the writings of Confucius taught. And I had made the promise to my mother that I would speak for the spirit of Korea, although I did not know how.
“I am sorry, sir,” I said. “I will do what you say.”
My uncle nodded and put a hand on my shoulder. “Good,” he said. “And now, you must prepare yourself to impress the king.”
SIX
Mister Euno stepped forward. He held his top hat along his leg. He was short like most Japanese, but not thin. He looked to be about the same age as my uncle. His hair was pulled into a short chonmage topknot. “We must begin at once,” he said with a slight Japanese accent. “First, we will work on her posture. I assume you have a courtyard we can use?”
“Yes,” my uncle said, “through those doors.” He pointed to the back of the main room.
“Excellent. Put her in plain clothes and bring her there.”
My aunt and Eun-ji took me to the kitchen where I stepped out of my hanbok and into my day clothes. My aunt took my arm and led me to the courtyard.
Mister Euno stood in the courtyard waiting for me. His hat was on the wooden step that ran the entire length of the courtyard. He held a bamboo switch. “Stand here, girl,” he said pointing his switch to a spot just in front of him. My aunt let go of my arm, and I went to the place Mister Euno pointed to.
The courtyard was surrounded on three sides by the sleeping quarters, the main room, and my uncle’s study. The house’s roof with its blue-green tiles hung far out over the steps, making the space underneath like a long porch. Here and there along the courtyard’s edges were large pots planted with herbs and small trees. Stone tiles covered the ground. The courtyard’s open side faced an orchard where the plum blossoms were ready to open.
“Bring several pots of all sizes,” Mister Euno said to my aunt. “And then leave us be. We are not to be interrupted. The first lesson will last the rest of the day.”
My aunt left, and I stood in front of Mister Euno as two housemaids brought pots from the kitchen and storerooms. They placed them on the step and then left me alone with Mister Euno.
“You have poor posture,” Mister Euno said, eyeing me. His long mustache jumped like a cricket with every word he spoke. “We must make you straight. Cross your hands at your waist, left over right, and pull your shoulders back and down.”
I did as he said, and he shook his head making his topknot dance. “No,” he said. With his bamboo switch, he pushed my shoulders down, one and then the other. But as they went down, they moved forward. He poked his switch into each shoulder to push them back. And when they went back, they went up again. He struck the top of my shoulder with his switch. The blow shot spikes of pain into my chest. I winced and stepped away.
“Why do you hit me?” I cried.
“It is for your own good. You heard Lady Min. You must do as I say without complaining. Now your shoulders. Both down and back at the same time.” He pointed his switch to the spot in front of him. “Stand here. Do it again.”
This time, I pressed my shoulders back and down. It strained my back, but I held the pose anyway.
“Not so far back,” Mister Euno said, “and a little more down.” I adjusted my shoulders as he said, “That is correct. Now raise your chin level with the ground. Keep your buttocks pulled forward and your hands crossed at your waist.” I did, and he said, “Good. Now stand like that until I say you can stop.”
The position was uncomfortable and hard to hold. It was as if someone had a knee in my back and was pulling on my shoulders. But I didn’t want Mister Euno to hit me again with his switch, so I stood perfectly still while he sat next to his top hat on the step with his legs tucked underneath him. From his waistcoat pocket, he took out a pipe, tobacco, and a sulfur match. With his thumb, he packed the tobacco into the pipe and lit it. As he puffed, the blue smoke rose high into the air and over the roof. It smelled sweet, like burnt
plums.
I stood in that position for ten minutes, and then for twenty. The muscles in my shoulders and back grew more and more fatigued until they screamed in pain. It was hard to breathe. In spite of the morning’s pleasantness, I was sweating. I desperately wanted to release my muscles to make the pain go away, but I continued to hold it. All the while, Mister Euno watched and said nothing. He finished smoking his pipe, tapped it against the step to remove the ash, and put it back into his pocket.
After forty minutes, the pain was unbearable. I slumped forward. Mister Euno jumped from the step and came to me. He hit my shoulders with his switch. I cried out and fell on my knees. He stood over me.
“Do it again,” he said.
“I can’t,” I said. “It hurts too much. I won’t.”
He raised his switch and brought it down hard on my back. The blow hit me like a strip of fire and made my stomach clench so hard I thought I would vomit.
“It hurts because you are weak,” he said, pointing his switch at me. “If you are to impress the king, you must learn to be strong. Now stand and do it again.”
I slowly rose to my feet. I did not want Mister Euno to hit me again, so I clasped my hands at my waist and pulled my shoulders, chin, and buttocks into position. Mister Euno adjusted my shoulders with his switch until they were exactly to his liking. He went back to the step and sat.
This time, after a half hour, the pain grew to a dull ache. As I held the pose, the day grew warm. Mister Euno removed his jacket, exposing a white shirt with buttons in front. He smoked three bowls of tobacco, and the sweet aroma filled the courtyard. He fanned himself with his hat. After forty-five minutes, I could no longer feel anything and I was afraid I might faint, but I gritted my teeth and forced myself to hold his pose. Finally, after an hour, he said, “Good. Now you may sit.” I almost collapsed to the ground. He went to the water barrel and brought me a cup of water. I drank it in big gulps.
He said, “Rest for five minutes, and then you will do it again. Only this time, you will do it with a pot on your head. For each pot that falls, you will get a beating.”
That day I broke three pots.
For the next several days, I worked on my posture standing in the courtyard with a pot on my head while Mister Euno smoked his pipe and watched for my slightest mistake. On the third day, he added a pot to each shoulder. He made me walk that way and lower myself into a chair all while keeping my shoulders properly positioned and a pot balanced on my head. Each time a pot fell, he beat me with his switch. By the fourth day, there was a pile of broken pots in the courtyard and I was so stiff and sore I could barely move. By then the plum blossoms had opened, filling the air with their scent. The new bamboo had turned from white to green, and the housemaids had made the season’s first harvest. The bamboo plants they let grow to send off new shoots for the next harvest were over two feet tall. Normally, I would have enjoyed watching them grow—so fast that on warm days you could almost hear them stretch toward the sun. But I could not. Every day Mister Euno rose when it was still dark, came to my room, and poked me with his switch to wake me. We worked from sunrise to sunset on my posture, on how to sit like a proper queen, and on how to walk so that my body glided as if being propelled by some unseen force.
Those days, no one from the house said a word to me. The servants avoided me—I could tell my aunt had told them not to talk to me—and so did Mr. Yang and Eun-ji. They put out food for me at day’s end—cups of goat milk and plates of fatty meats like Lady Min told them to. I was always very hungry and ate everything they gave me, but I never had enough to make my hunger go away. After I ate, I would go to my room, aching from the day’s work and Mister Euno’s beatings, and try to sleep. He would go to sleep in my uncle’s study.
At the end of the sixth day, my uncle came into the courtyard. “How is she doing?” he asked.
“She is hopeless,” Mister Euno said, shaking his head. “I do not think she will be ready for the king.”
“Perhaps if you let her rest, she will do better,” my uncle said.
“She will get no rest,” Mister Euno replied with a shake of his head. “She has too much to learn.”
My uncle looked at me for a moment, and I could see in his soft eyes that he was concerned about me. I wanted to speak out, tell him I couldn’t take any more of Mister Euno’s lessons. But I didn’t say anything and my uncle went back inside the house.
That night after a particularly difficult lesson, I didn’t sleep at all. Lying on my mat, I tried to find a position to ease the aches in my body. I couldn’t lie on my back because it was sore from Mister Euno’s beatings. When I tried my side, my ribs felt like they were poking right through my chest. When I rolled onto my stomach, I couldn’t breathe. So I sat instead of lying and I didn’t sleep, though I was terribly tired.
As I sat on my mat, I thought about what they were forcing me to do. I had endured Mister Euno’s cruelty for six days, and there were eight more to go. I couldn’t see how I could possibly make it another eight days. I believed I would die first. I wanted it to end. I wanted to go back home where I could read with my father and go to the river with my mother. But my mother and father were gone and I was alone. And so I cried. I cried into my hands so no one would hear. I had never known pain like this. I’d never had to suffer. I had never been beaten, insulted, or made to feel worthless. And I had never been afraid of what would become of me. I cried and I cried until I could not cry anymore, but my sorrow did not ease.
I wiped my tears away with the back of my sleeve. It was dark outside. I sat quietly and listened. The wind promised rain. I winced as I pushed myself up and slipped on my zori. I put on my robe. I went to the door and slowly slid it open. I stepped out into the servant’s hallway, then to the garden along the house. The night air was heavy and cool. The wind came in gusts. I crept along the house to the front and then to the gate. I carefully lifted the latch and stepped out into the street.
And then I ran. My body was sore and stiff, but I pushed myself to run away from Mister Euno and his cruel lessons, away from ever being the queen. As I ran through the dark streets of Seoul, past houses, stables, and gardens, I started to hear voices in my head. There were only a few and they spoke in a whisper. I kept running to where the streets angled down to the Han River. My lungs burned and my legs protested. The voices were louder now, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I shook my head to make them stop, but the farther I ran, the louder they grew. I stopped running and put my hands over my ears. I looked up and there was the black open expanse of the Han River a half mile across. I smelled its dampness and the coolness rising from it. It started to rain, first in big drops here and there, then in loud splashes. Soon, it was raining hard. The rain’s splatters clashed with the voices in my head. I was scared and confused. I scrambled to a place away from the street and crawled under bushes. I pulled my knees in tight and put my hands over my ears. Eventually the voices faded away and the rain turned into a gentle patter. The cool rain soothed my skin. I didn’t feel the soreness in my body. I crossed my arms over my chest and closed my eyes. Soon I was asleep.
Someone was dripping water on my face. A drop on my cheek, another on my nose. I twitched my nose to flick the water away, but then another drop hit me. I forced open my eyes and thought I was dreaming. It was daylight and the rain had stopped. Gray clouds were giving way to a light-blue sky. I looked up and saw hundreds of sparkling droplets like glass beads on the bush I was under. I was wet and shivering from the cold. I couldn’t feel my legs. With effort, I stretched them out, and the pain of six days of torture shot back into me. I groaned and shut my eyes, wishing that the peace of sleep would come again.
The voices in my head were gone, but now I heard movement on the street and boots splashing in mud. The splashes grew louder, and soon the boots were next to me. I opened my eyes and there, looking down at me, was a man. In my fog of weariness and pain, I thought it was my father coming to take me home. But as my eyes adjuste
d and my mind cleared, I saw that it was my uncle.
I was afraid he was going to scold me for running away. Instead, he reached out a hand and helped me stand up. “Come,” he said. “I know a place nearby where we can get you dry.” He took off his overcoat and put it around my shoulders. He took my arm and helped me walk up the street. We turned into a house. A short, elderly man with a long white beard greeted us. He bowed low to my uncle.
“Bori cha and rice cakes,” my uncle ordered. “And stoke the fire.” The man bowed again and went inside the house.
We followed him. The house was that of a merchant, a chungin man. It was small, modest and filled from floor to ceiling with books. I had never seen so many books. It was like all the books in the world were there in this one man’s house. My uncle helped me onto a cushion. He opened the latticed windows to a view of the city down to the Han River. Sunlight poured in. I recognized the places on the river where I used to watch the cranes with my mother. I could feel heat rising from the home’s ondol under-floor heating system. Still wrapped in my uncle’s coat, I no longer shivered.
My uncle took off his wide-brimmed hat and sat on a cushion next to me. He was my father’s older brother and had the same long chin and soft, wide-set eyes. I had never noticed before how much he looked like my father.
The old man brought in bori cha and sweet rice cakes and set them in front of us. He left, bowing again. “I do business with this man,” my uncle said. “His name is Chuk-so Pak. He is a book merchant and I am one of his best customers. He can get any book anyone might want. Drink some tea. It will warm you and ease your pain.”
He poured my tea, which surprised me. As my elder and as a man, he should not have poured tea for me. But for some reason, it was right that he did. I took the cup from him and drank. Immediately, the strong tea began to soothe my aches and clear the fog in my head.
The Dragon Queen Page 5
