Soon we ease out of the city, and rolling hills and greenhouses replace skyscrapers and concrete. The hills, packed with evergreens, feel alive compared to the desert-like landscape of California. We pass a dormant rice field, brown stalks chopped off like a bad haircut. An airplane soars above us—we’re quite close now to Incheon Airport—and a pang runs through my chest. I wish I was on one of those planes, whisking over the Pacific to L.A. If only I could convince Dad to move back home.
I’m in the middle of a daydream in which I’ve secretly stowed myself on a plane when I realize we’re already driving off the ferry onto a tiny, two-lane road on Muui Island, where Grandfather lives. Metal-framed shacks line the curb with vendors selling crab and tangerines, an odd combination. We curve inland and climb a hill, passing an old man spreading his peppers out on blankets to redden them in the sun.
It turns out that Grandfather’s house isn’t on the beach but above the coast, built on the edge of a cliff. It’s a traditional Korean home, with the fluted roof line and cross-beamed walls. I wonder how old this place is. It’s absolutely stunning. As I scoot out of the car, the scent of pine and that icy smell of winter wash over me.
A servant answers the door with a bow and whisks away our bags. I slip off my boots, as is customary in all Korean homes, and follow Dad through the entryway into the main room. The house has an airy feel even in its old age due to its sparseness and the geometric screened windows overlooking the ocean. A near life-size stone statue of a winged horse rests on a wooden platform by the far wall. A gold plaque labels it Chollima. On the other side of the room is a uniform fitted on a manikin. I move closer to study it.
“Do you know anything about this?” I ask Dad, but he’s busy studying the mural of a tiger on the far wall. It’s painted in traditional Asian style, with the tiger stretched out as if running. Its jaws gape wide, revealing sharp, jagged teeth.
“Annyeong hashimnikka,” Grandfather greets us as he enters the room. He’s wearing loose black pants and a silken gray tunic that buttons down the center. We bow as is expected.
“That is a reproduction of General Yu-Shin Kim’s uniform,” Grandfather says, nodding toward the manikin.
I don’t know what to say and apparently neither does Dad. The silence that follows is painfully awkward. I find myself thinking of my friends back in L.A. who would rush into their grandparent’s arms with hugs, and my chest aches for that kind of openness. But they didn’t have thousands of years of tradition and ancestors hanging over them.
I tap my fingers against the sides of my thighs, waiting for his eyes to turn to mine and frown. When his attention does slide to me, his eyelashes squeeze tight and he nods once. I squirm and lower my eyes, not expecting that response.
“So she stays,” Grandfather says.
“Abeoji,” Dad says, “We’ve just arrived. Please try to keep the peace.”
“Peace?” Grandfather scoffs, settling onto a pillow at the traditional square table in the room’s center. “Peace is what I live for. What our ancestors lived for.”
“Good,” Dad says, now smiling. His shoulders relax and he, too, sits.
“Sit, sit.” Grandfather waves to me, his gold ring flashing as he does so.
We sit cross-legged on silk cushions on the oak floor as a servant sets out tea and tteok for us. I choose a pink-colored one and pop it into my mouth. Sesame and brown sugar have been tucked inside. These are the best rice cakes I’ve ever tasted.
“How do you like Korea?” Grandfather asks me.
“It’s okay, I guess,” I say, studying the tea leaves in my cup. “But I miss my friends back home.”
“I am sure you miss your American education,” he says.
My head jerks up, and I search his face. He looks dead serious.
“She attends an international school,” Dad says. “They have the same American education as any top school in the States.”
Grandfather nods while crossing his arms. “Do you not think boarding school in America would be more appropriate for Jae Hwa? Many families send their children to boarding schools. Taking her away from her homeland must be difficult.”
I nearly drop my teacup. “There are boarding schools in L.A.”
“Is that so?” Grandfather asks.
Boarding school! Why hadn’t I thought of that? Maybe Grandfather’s antagonism might work for my good.
“It’s out of the question.” Dad’s scowl is firmly back in place. “Jae needs more time to adjust. Besides, she’s far too young to be off by herself.”
“Jae seems quite mature,” Grandfather says. “I would be pleased to contribute any funds needed for such an enterprise.”
“No,” Dad says flatly.
“It is merely a thought. I do not see why you keep resisting my generosity.” Grandfather’s eyes are tight with anger. Or is it worry?
“I love your painting of that tiger,” I say, deciding to switch the topic. “It almost looks alive.”
“Ah yes, the Tiger of Shinshi,” Grandfather says. “You remember the legends, yes?”
I reach for another tteok. “Something about him protecting the Korean people throughout time?”
“Excellent memory!” Grandfather beams. “It is he who watches over the Golden Thread that binds our people as one.”
“Speaking of time, when are the others supposed to arrive?” Dad’s still on edge.
“I commissioned an esteemed Korean-American painter to create the mural,” Grandfather says, ignoring Dad’s comment. I can’t blame Dad, though. It’s strange no one else from our family has arrived yet. “It serves as a continual reminder of my duties here on Earth.”
Yep. He’s completely michutda.
“Jae Hwa, would you care to take a stroll with me on the beach?” Grandfather asks.
My hand freezes while I’m reaching for my teacup. He wants to take me for a walk? The granddaughter he’s so ashamed of that he’s thinking of ways to get me out of the country? Or have I somehow exaggerated how he feels about me? Mom had always said I go overboard sometimes. Still, this could turn into an opportunity—like boarding school.
The servant hurries over and hands me my coat, scarf, and boots. As we step out the back door, Dad calls to Grandfather, his forehead bunching up like it does when he’s worried.
“Just a walk, Abeoji,” he says. “None of your stories, remember? She doesn’t need nightmares.”
Nightmares? Two days ago I would’ve glared at Dad for treating me like a five-year-old. But today I start to wonder if Dad isn’t right.
Once outside, I draw in a breath of salt air and gaze down into the dark-indigo ocean, the afternoon sun scattering rays across its surface.
Mom would’ve wanted to paint this place.
Crops of rounded hills rise up out of the water. Sluggish waves lap against the black sand like fingers touching a keyboard. It’s such a contrast to the ten-foot waves that crash against the Malibu beaches where my friends and I hung out.
“These are the tidal flats.” Grandfather swings open a waist-high gate and starts down a set of wooden stairs that lead to the beach. “Soon, very soon, all the water will be gone, leaving only mud.”
I can’t imagine how that much water could disappear. I hurry after him. The sound of wind and rushing water grows once I hit the dark sand, hard and icy. I scramble to catch up as he strides out to stand at the muddy water’s edge, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes tuned to the skyline.
“They said it was impossible to land an army here in Incheon.” Grandfather’s wrinkles appear deeper in the daylight. “That is why General MacArthur surprised the North Koreans and won the war. He took the impossible and made it possible.”
Now I know where Dad gets all his sayings. Dad is big on motivational stuff like “The best way to predict your future is to create it,” which he has hanging over his desk.
“So you think it’s possible for me to go to boarding school?” I ask.
“Of course. I must first
convince your father.”
“That might be more difficult than you think.”
He chuckles, his chin coming up as he does. “Jae Hwa, your father and I have disagreements. But my greatest concern is for your safety.”
My stomach rolls, wondering how he could know about my hallucination. But he couldn’t know. He’s probably thinking about boys. I smile. “I don’t think you need to worry about me, Haraboji.”
If he only knew. Like when the third-grade class bully, Jacob Cantor, strutted up to me, pulled my long braid, and called me a worthless immi (short for immigrant). If he’d been smart, he would’ve picked on some other immi. But unlucky Jacob picked me. I stood and knocked him a blow that sent him tumbling into the trash can. Where he probably felt right at home.
I say, “I have a black belt in Tae Kwon Do. Besides, Seoul is way safer than L.A.”
Except for what happened last night, I think. I rub the back of my head, pushing away that thought.
“Not for you,” he says.
I press my lips together and resist rolling my eyes. Here comes the whole girls-need-to-be-protected lecture.
I’m about to explain to him how I can take care of myself when he motions to a set of smooth rocks to our left and sits on one. I follow, dragging my boots so they make a snakelike trail in the sand behind me. Great. I’ve let myself get lured out here with my lunatic grandfather.
“In ancient times there was a daughter of the spirit of the river.”
I’d rather discuss potential boarding school options. “I thought Dad didn’t want you telling me stories,” I say, trying to steer the conversation back on course.
“Her name was Princess Yuhwa,” he continues, ignoring my comment. “In fact, she was about your age. She had such beauty, anyone who laid eyes on her fell in love with her. One hot day, she and her sisters were bathing in a pond. This was the very day Haemosu, a demigod, decided to pay a visit to the people of the earth and set his mark on the land.”
Demigod? I press my chin to my tucked-in knees and stare out at the rounded island just beyond our beach.
“He saw her and fell instantly in love,” Grandfather says. “Haemosu decided he must have Princess Yuhwa as his wife. But she refused. He gave her a beautiful bracelet gilded of heavenly gold and promised he would change her mind. Four more times he returned, entreating her to come with him to his beautiful land. Yet still the princess refused. This infuriated him, and he decided to marry her against her will.”
“Why don’t princesses ever do something in all these old stories?” I interrupt. “Like try to escape or get someone to help them?”
“She did tell her father, the water god, Habaek. When he discovered that Haemosu did not follow the proper marriage ceremony, he fought with Haemosu. Habaek lost. Helpless, the princess was taken away in Haemosu’s chariot, Oryonggeo, driven by five dragons to the Spirit World.”
I dig the toe of my boot into the sand. “That’s a great story. But if you’re worried about me getting whisked away, you don’t need to. I can take care of myself.” Although a chariot driven by five dragons does sound pretty cool.
His eyebrows knit as he frowns. “I have not finished.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry.” It’s then that I notice the tide has pulled back about twenty feet, leaving behind a bank of mud. I sit up. When did that happen?
“What Haemosu underestimated was Princess Yuhwa. She secretly withdrew a golden pin from her hair, cut her way through the bottom of the chariot, and fell back to her people.”
I’d always thought princesses were more of the fainting type. Good for Yuhwa. “I guess Haemosu wasn’t too thrilled about that,” I say.
“He was furious,” Grandfather says, fingering the ring on his finger. “The legend says he searched everywhere for her, but she remained hidden in her father’s palace. Secretly, she bore Haemosu’s son, Chumong, who later became the founder of the Koguryo kingdom in ancient Korea.”
Is this some warped idea of happily ever after? “So it all worked out. Good for her.”
Grandfather rises, smoothing out the wrinkles in his tunic. “But it didn’t.”
I’m not sure if it’s from the tone of his voice or the oddness of the story, but a heaviness presses on me like a storm cloud.
“What the legend does not mention is that the princess fled to China, where Haemosu had no power.” Grandfather focuses on me. “Even today Haemosu still seeks her.”
Chills slither up my spine as I think about this twisted fairy tale. I nearly jump when one of the servants rushes up to us. “Sir,” he says in Korean. “Your brother’s family has arrived.”
“Well then.” Grandfather stands and pats me on the shoulder. “I must greet them. I had hoped for us to have more time together. Perhaps tomorrow?” When I don’t answer, he says, “Do you wish to join me? You have yet to meet the rest of the family.”
“Maybe later,” I say with a shrug. Meeting another set of strangers sounds even more painful than listening to Grandfather’s psycho stories.
“As you wish.” He starts off, but stops and glances over his shoulder. “Do not go to the outer island without me. It would not be wise.”
He turns and heads back to the house, his stride sure and quick, even with the wintry breeze whipping at his tunic.
I stare out at the island, wondering what Grandfather meant. A sound of rushing water catches my attention, and I notice how the water level is rapidly decreasing. A makeshift bridge of stepping stones from Grandfather’s beach to the tiny island not forty feet away appears. The stones must have been hidden under the water, and now that the tide has pulled back, their surfaces poke out of the mud, slick and shiny in the winter sun.
I slide off the rock and rub my hands together. Curiosity tugs at me like the tide, and I can’t stop myself. I cross the stepping-stone bridge, careful not to slip on its mud-slathered surface.
Once on the island, I follow an overgrown trail across a meadow, which leaves me at a series of volcanic-like boulders that spike up, jagged and taller than a two-story house. Looking around, I can’t figure out what’s so dangerous about this place that Grandfather had to warn me explicitly about it.
I start climbing the rocks for fun, trying to remember the moves I learned at summer camp two years ago in Montana. I’m halfway up a rock side when I spot a narrow passageway between two boulders that twists its way from the beach to the rocks. I drop to the ground.
The passageway is so narrow I have to shimmy sideways. Above, the sky looks like a zigzag streak of paint between the uneven rock walls. At the end rests a wooden door, typhoon weathered. Why in the world is there a door here? I wonder. I turn the handle, and, with a click, it opens.
Is this place Haraboji’s? Sure, he’s my grandfather, but what do I really know about him? I peek inside. It’s dark as pitch. On a stone ledge just inside the door sits a metal box from which I extract a lighter. I ignite the torch lying against the wall, and instantly the long, rock-walled corridor is illuminated.
This is absolutely the most fascinating place I’ve ever seen. I know I shouldn’t be here. I could head back to Haraboji’s house to meet the distant relatives and attempt smiles, all the while tortured with curiosity over what lies at the other end of this corridor.
Or I could explore.
I glance over my shoulder, licking the salt from my lips. I’ll just go to the end of the hallway, I promise myself. Grandfather will never know.
Musty air saturates the corridor as I follow the torch-lit path, trailing my hand over the smooth walls that must have been carved out by ancient waves. A sharp breeze howls through the tunnel and slams the door shut behind me. I jump and nearly trip over myself.
Now free of the wind, the passageway is damp and cold. The torchlight flickers ghostly shadows over the walls, and the air is silent. I shudder and eye the door, debating whether to go back or explore. Ultimately the lure of the unknown draws me deeper.
At the end of the corridor I discover a space
about fifteen feet in diameter. I stare. It’s like some ancient tomb we’d study in school. But it isn’t a tomb. It’s something else entirely.
Sconces hang from each of the walls and, wanting to see the room clearer, I light them. Two of the walls show a mural of a princess riding in a chariot drawn by five golden dragons. Though the colors have faded to pale yellows and light blues, I know she must be Princess Yuhwa. I move closer, studying her. She looks just like me. Creepy.
I back away to check out the rest of the room. Along the far wall is a wooden shelf packed with scrolls and leather-bound books. Hundreds maybe.
I rub my sweaty hands down my jeans. Okay, so I’m definitely not supposed to be here. I should go. Dad’s probably wondering about me, too.
But my attention is pulled, almost by force, to the fourth wall, which is covered with bows, quivers, and arrows hanging on pegs. I eye the smooth wood of one horn bow, so old it should be in a museum. The image of the Blue Dragon, one of the four immortal guardians of Korea, is painted on it. The horn bow is unique to Korea, known for its ability to shoot arrows farther than any other bow. My fingers itch to take it off the wall, string it, and draw back on it to feel its pull.
Without thinking, I grasp it. An electric shock runs through me, and I nearly drop the bow. The bamboo is as smooth as pearl against my hands. My fingers set into the notches on the bow, and a buzz of nerves courses through me because the bow fits my hand perfectly. I drag my fingers along the string, wondering if that hum I’m hearing is my imagination.
I replace the bow and move to the low teak table in the center of the room. On top lies an aged scroll, unrolled and revealing ancient Chinese symbols. I clamp my sweaty hands in my lap and lean forward. Seeing an ancient scroll that isn’t behind glass is beyond cool. The rice paper appears faded, but the swirled texture is still intact.
Gilded (The Gilded Series, Book One) Page 4
