The Living Reed: A Novel of Korea

by Pearl S. Buck

  Il-han watched the game while he listened to his servant. “I have been waiting for some other nation to see it,” he now said. He clapped his hands as he spoke, for his son had struck the target in the middle. Then he went on speaking. “Yet there may be a benefit for us in the rising jealousy between the nations. None will want to see Japan grow too powerful.”

  “Ah ha,” the servant said, “you have hit the target, too!” He came closer and made his voice low. “The Russian Czar today warned the Japanese Emperor through his envoy here that the territories newly seized from China must be restored.”

  “Will it be so?” Il-han inquired.

  “Is Japan strong enough to fight Russia?” the servant asked. “Some day yes, but not yet. That is what I hear said in the streets and in the shops. Japan must yield now but she will hate China the more, and this war will go on. As for Russia—perhaps war in another ten years.”

  He waited for his master to speak. Instead Il-han cried out in sudden pain. His son, misjudging distance, had let fly a hard green fruit and it struck Il-han just below the left eye.

  Il-han pressed his hand to his eye and the boy was overcome with remorse and burst into tears. Sunia came running at the sound of sobbing, and Il-han hastened to explain that he was not blind, that it was a small matter, an accident, but between comforting the child and reassuring his wife he did not say what he had been ready to say. When the hubbub was over, his servant was gone and then he was glad he had not said what troubled him so deeply. He knew now that the Queen was doomed.

  Two days before the mid-autumn festival, in the tenth month of that solar year, Il-han’s spies reported that it was common talk in the streets that the guards in the Queen’s palace were being replaced. Outwardly all was as usual, they told him, but those within who were old servants of the Queen said that arms and accouterments were being taken from the palace on the pretense that they were needed elsewhere, and useless weapons were put in their place. The King’s palace was also thus weakened and this at a time when he needed the best defenses. On the afternoon of the seventh day of the festival, one of Il-han’s spies observed that even the gates and doors of the Queen’s palace seemed to be open and unguarded, and he returned with the news.

  “Did you speak to anyone of this?” Il-han demanded.

  “How could I speak?” the man replied. “It was seen, but no one cried danger.”

  “Saddle my horse,” Il-han commanded, and dismissed the man. He would go himself to inquire into what was taking place. Then he considered. Should he tell Sunia or should he not? Not, he decided. Quietly as a thief he went to his own rooms and changed his clothes to old garments Sunia had put aside for the poor. He clung by habit to certain garments and it was his demand that she should always let him see what she gave away so that he could reclaim what he would not part with. In the midst of this changing he heard her flying feet and the door slid back.

  “So—you think to steal out of the house!” she cried. “And why do you drag forth those rags which are only fit for beggars?”

  He looked at her, half rueful, half smiling. “How is it you smell out my least coming and going? What if I only put on old clothes to go into the garden and—plant a tree—or—”

  “Make no games with me,” she said, coming full into the room. “You never plant trees. Why should you plant one now?”

  He saw that deceit was impossible and he gave way. “Sunia, the Queen is in danger.”

  She advanced on him. “Is she your concern forever?”

  “She is our concern,” he pleaded. “She is the concern of every Korean.”

  The red flew into her cheeks and the fire into her dark eyes. “And why do you think only you can save her?” she cried.

  “At least I can see for myself—”

  “See her for yourself, you mean!”

  “Sunia!”

  “Dare to call my name!” she cried. “I am no Queen—and if you care more for her than you do for us who are your family—you have two sons, if you care nothing for a wife, and are they to lose their lives because you hanker for a Queen? They will be caught and killed, but that does not matter, I suppose, although you will have no more sons from me—but you care nothing for that, either, I suppose!”

  She was beside herself and he in turn grew angry. He let her rail and in cold silence he drew on the old clothes and tied a wretched hat on his head and pulled it low on his face.

  She ran to the doorway as he came and stood there to prevent him. He lifted her as though she were a child and set her aside and went on his way, looking neither to the right nor to the left.

  … It was late when he arrived at the city gate, but it stood open and unguarded, as though prepared for those who must flee. He passed through, none noticing, and guided his horse to the northern part of the city, where the Queen’s palace stood at the far end of the approach to the royal palaces. This approach was a fine road three hundred feet wide and one third of a mile in length. On both sides stood the ministries of State, some of which he saw were newly built. And new, too, were barracks where Japanese soldiers came and went, marching and countermarching. The palaces were surrounded by a wall twelve feet high and the gates were, as the man said, open and unguarded. Il-han descended and tied his horse to a bent tree. He then went through the entrance which was in the western wall and came to the small lake and the foreign house belonging to the King and where he sometimes stayed. The palace where the King lived usually was close by and the Queen’s palace was to the east but adjoining. To the left were the quarters where lived the Royal Guard. This afternoon Il-han saw no guards, but the sun was very hot, and it was possible that some were sleeping inside the palaces. Beyond all these was a pine grove covering some five acres of land.

  Into this pine grove Il-han now went, and he sat on a rock behind a large leaning pine and waited. If nothing took place, he would return home again without making himself known, but if there was a misfortune he would be there to save the Queen if he could. The King he knew would not be killed for then the succession would be endangered, and the country thrown into swift revolution. Throughout the night he sat listening and waiting while the darkness deepened and the night creatures came out to creep and call. He heard, or so he thought, the sound of marching and countermarching, but remembering the Japanese guards, he supposed that this was part of their duty.

  The black hours were passing, he guessed that day was not too far away and he was considering whether he should not return again to his horse and reach home before too many people were about the streets when a shout reached his ears. Then he heard screams and cries, and listening with ear to the windward, he knew instantly that the palace was under attack. He ran out into the darkness with all speed but he caught his foot on a root and fell. He got himself up again, although he had wrenched his hip, and he hobbled on. Now the Royal Guards were awake and shouting as they ran toward the palace. He was carried along with them, still hidden by the darkness when they paused, bewildered and inquiring, only to hear that there was no attack, and that what had been shouted was no more than the marching cries of the Japanese near the western wall.

  At this the guards went back again to their barracks. Il-han, however, did not return to the pine grove. Instead he hid behind a shrine set in a rock garden. He had not long to wait, for the outcry had roused the Colonel of the Royal Guard, who, distrusting the commotion among the Japanese soldiers, was already on his way to the Ministry of War. When he reached the main entrance to the palace grounds he was surrounded by the Japanese soldiers, and Il-han, looking out from behind the rock, saw in the flare of torches that all he had feared was about to happen. Eight shots rang out and the Colonel fell, whereupon the soldiers drew out their swords and cut the dead man to pieces and threw those pieces into the small lake nearby.

  Now indeed Il-han knew that he must find the Queen and quickly, if he was to save her. He came out from his hiding place and, much hampered by his wrenched hip, he hobbled toward the gate which led t
o her palace. Alas, he could make no speed. The Japanese soldiers were pushing forward in a shouting, bellowing, roaring mass, their bayonets pointed ahead of them as they met the fleeing hordes of palace servants. The Royal Guards were once more aroused and they let fly their bullets helter-skelter and killed some seven or eight of the soldiers before they were swept into the mass of others advancing and so cut down. Meanwhile the soldiers pressed on into the Queen’s palace, followed by beggars and local ruffians bent on loot. Among these Il-han could hide and he burrowed his way among them, trying by every means to reach the Queen first, though what he could do now to save her he did not know.

  The mob filled the palace, and the rough soldiers seized every woman by the hair as soon as they saw her, demanding to know whether she was the Queen. Whatever the women said, the soldiers beheaded them and threw the heads aside or tossed them from a window. Still further the mob went until they reached the very last room, and now Il-han, pressed among them, heard two shots. Then he heard a low scream and he knew it was the Queen who screamed. The scream ended in a long moaning sigh. He bent his head and bit his lips until he tasted his own blood, but he could do nothing. She was dead.

  The crowd stopped, men looked at one another, and then one by one they went away, the looters to loot and those who had committed the deed to escape so that none was known to be guilty. When all were gone and only Il-han was left, he went into the room where the Queen lay alone and he looked down into the lovely face he knew so well, still the same lovely face though aged now with the years during which he had not once seen her. He crouched down beside her and took her hand, still warm. Blood flowed from her left breast and from her smooth neck and he lifted the edge of her wide silk skirt and held it to the wounds. The silk was crimson and it did not show the stain except that the stuff turned a deeper crimson.

  So he sat in the empty palace until sunrise and he sat on into the morning until at about the ninth hour a gardener came to the door, barefoot, so that Il-han did not hear his footsteps. He peered in and saw Il-han, whom he did not know, so long had Il-han been absent from the palace.

  “Who are you, brother?” he asked.

  “I am her servant,” Il-han said.

  The man came near and stared down into the pale face of the dead Queen. “She liked white lotus flowers,” he said at last, “and now her face is as white as any lotus flower. What shall we do with her, brother?”

  “Have you a cart?” Il-han asked.

  “I have an oxcart,” the man said.

  “Bring it to the nearest door and help me lift her into it,” Il-han said.

  The man went away and in a short time came back again and they lifted the Queen, so slender that her weight was nothing for the two men, and they carried her to the cart and laid her there and the man covered her with the straw that filled the cart. Then he climbed up and the ox drew the cart away while Il-han followed far behind and slowly, for his hip was swollen and tears ran down his face for pain. Yet even this was not enough. Before the cart had reached the gate the dead Queen was discovered by soldiers and ragamuffins and they dragged her body out from under the straw and hacked it to pieces with swords and knives and piled the straw about the pieces and set all afire.

  It was time for Il-han’s heart to break. He covered his face with his hat and hobbled away from that fire and into the street. His horse was gone, but the oxcart was there and he climbed into it, and bade the man take him home.

  … Of that beautiful queen all that was left, he heard afterward, was the little finger of her right hand. This escaped the flames and was found by the man when he went back next day at Il-han’s command to see what bones were there, so that he might bring them together and give them honor. No bones were there, for dogs had wandered freely throughout the palace, but under a stone lay the little finger. The man took it up tenderly and wrapped it in a lotus leaf he had plucked from the lake. Then he took it to the King’s palace and demanded entrance and was received.

  “I went into the King’s palace,” he told Il-han when all was done, for Il-han had said he would pay him well if he came to his grass roof with the whole story. “I went into the audience hall and the King sat on his throne surrounded by his ministers, and the old Prince-Parent sat there again at his right hand. The King listened to what I told him and he covered his eyes with his hand and he would not receive the lotus leaf from me. But he bade a minister take it and embalm it in a golden box and he said the Queen must be given a great funeral and a tomb must be built.”

  Sunia was there while all this was told, and when the man was gone she took Il-han’s hand and held it and said not a word, but only sat beside him in silence, her warm hand clasping his.

  So they sat until at last Il-han gave a great sigh and he turned to her and said, “My wife—my wife of great heart.”

  Then he put her hand away and returned to his books.

  … Two years passed before the astrologers could fix upon the place for the Queen’s tomb and then they fixed upon a stretch of land a few miles beyond the city wall. A thousand acres were here sequestered by the King and all houses were removed, for the tract held villages as well as mountains, hills, brooks and fields. Thousands upon thousands of young trees were planted upon the King’s command and fortunes spent in making a beautiful garden such as the Queen loved when she was alive. Her tomb was built upon the highest spot, a tomb of marble, encircled by a carved balustrade of marble. Before the tomb was a great table of white marble polished to shine like glass, and this was for making sacrifices to the spirit of the Queen. Beside the table stone lanterns miraculously carved were set into rock, and marble figures stood in graceful reverence.

  When all was finished to his content, the King announced the day for the funeral, a fine fair day, and people came from far and near. In spite of all her whims and ways, the people had loved their Queen for her beauty, for her merriment, for her courage and her brilliant mind and even for her stubborn will. For them, now that she was dead, she remained as a symbol of what their country once had been and could no more be. Already the victorious conquerors were at work to stamp out the ancient ways, the language and traditions of the Koreans.

  Il-han stood far off and alone, and he watched the splendid scene. With the Queen gone, could his nation survive? He asked the question and could make no answer. His heart lay dead within him. He could not feel its beat. The Queen whom he had reverenced, the woman whom he had—had he loved her? He did not know. Perhaps Sunia knew better than he, but if she did, he would not ask her. Let the secret lie within the tomb of all that was ended and could not live again. He had no faith in resurrection.

  Part II

  II

  THE YEAR WAS 4243 after Tangun of Korea and 1910 after Jesus of Judea. The season was near the end of winter, the day was the tenth of the first moon month, the hour was midnight.

  Il-han woke sharply and by habit now well established. He rose, taking care to be quiet so that Sunia would not wake as he crept from beneath his quilt. The ondul floor was cold. Fuel was too scarce to bank fires at night and the only warmth was from the quick flame of dried grass when the evening meal was cooking. He went into the next room, his stockinged feet noiseless, and there he poured cold water into a basin set on the table and washed his face and hands. Then he unwound his hair, oiled and combed it and coiled it again on top of his head. This hair he had kept short ever since he had been in America, against Sunia’s complaints that women would think he was not married, but when the Japanese rulers moved into the capital he felt compelled to let his hair grow in defiance of the command of the Japanese Prince, now Resident-General. He had sent out a decree declaring that no reforms could be made in Korea until the men cut off their topknots, for he maintained that in this stubborn coil of hair was the symbol of Korean nationalism which must be utterly destroyed since Korea had become a colony of imperial Japan. The Governor-General then announced that the King had cut off his coil of hair and that he, the King, commanded his subjects t
o follow his example. This the Koreans had at first refused to do, saying that the King had not cut his hair by his own free will but had been forced to do so by his Japanese masters. In the end many had refused to obey, including Il-han, and so his hair was long again.

  He slid open the doors now and looked out into the night. A slight mist of rain was falling and the darkness was deep. He lit the stone lantern that stood by the door, and he waited until he saw those whom he expected. A man came out of the night leading some twenty children of different ages, all boys. They walked in silence until they reached him. The man looked left and right and then spoke in a low voice.

  “We saw a distant light.”

  “In what direction?” Il-han asked in the same low voice.

  “To the north.”

  “A moving light?”

  “Yes, but only one. Yet one spy is enough.”

  “I will keep the children here until dawn. Then I will send them away separately,” Il-han said.

  The man nodded and disappeared again into the mist. Il-han led the children into the house, looking into each face. Accustomed to silence, they walked gravely past him and into the room. He followed them, first putting out the light in the stone lantern. Then he drew the doors shut and barred them fast. By now the boys were seated on the floor. He took his place before them on his floor cushion and opened his book and began to speak, his voice still low.

  “You will remember,” he said, “that last night I spoke of King Sejong. I told you of his greatness, and how under his beneficent rule our country grew strong.”

  He continued to speak of history for half an hour. Then he closed his book and recited poetry. For tonight he had chosen a famous poem of the late Koryo times, written in the Sijo style.