When we visited the hospital, the doctors recommended Soo-bo have an abortion. Her heart was weak, they had said, and they warned that a difficult delivery might kill her.
I was afraid that Soo-bo was considering having the abortion so I decided to take her to Gyeongbok Palace. I had to dig to the bottom of my satchel for the won I had been saving for food until my government check arrived. I counted it out. There was just enough for cab fare. Of course, the bus would cost far less. But it would require two transfers and take over an hour each way, and that would be too much for Soo-bo.
It was a clear spring day when the cab dropped us off at the Gwanghwamun Gate. Behind its drab concrete entranced was the massive Japanese Governor General building that the Japanese built during their occupation. Its towering brass dome and massive stone walls obscured the palace behind it.
We walked around the unsightly building into the palace courtyard. There, trees and grass were green and flowers were in bloom. Before us were several buildings, some old, and a few under construction. The buildings’ tiled roofs curved gracefully upward, like the wings of giant gray herons rising into the sky. The walkways and courtyards were paved with stones.
“Why did you bring me here, Ummah?” Soo-bo asked as we walked.
“I wanted you to see this place,” I answered. “It was the home of the Chosŏn dynasty for five hundred years.”
“I know. It is where Empress Myeongseong was murdered by the Japanese.”
“On October 8th, 1895,” I said. “Tell me if you get tired.”
“I’m okay for now.”
We slowly strolled past a pavilion with a long porch. Here and there, tourists took snapshots of each other or gazed in awe at the colorful buildings.
Finally, I said, “I want to talk to you about something.”
“Oh? What is it?”
“You cannot have an abortion.”
“But the doctor said I could die if I have the baby.”
I looked at my feet. “Yes, I know.”
I pointed at the palace grounds. “See this place? One hundred years ago, there were many more buildings here. Hundreds more. I have seen pictures and a map of what used to be here. Beautiful, majestic buildings for the Emperor and Empress and the royal family. They said there was no other place like it in all of Korea.”
“Hundreds of buildings?” Soo-bo exclaimed. “I can’t imagine. What happened to them?”
“The Japanese destroyed all but ten during their occupation. There is talk of rebuilding every one. They also want to tear down the Japanese Governor General building and rebuild the Gwanghwamun gate. I hope they do.”
“What does this have to do with me having an abortion?”
I looked up at Mount Bukhansan while we walked. “Do you remember the comb with the two-headed dragon?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Do you remember the story I told you about it?”
“Yes. The one about the rich yangban who sent her daughter away and gave her the comb.”
I took Soo-bo’s arm. “Come. I want to show you something.”
We walked to a series of connected buildings dominated by a tall tower with five pagoda roofs, one on top of the other in layers like the branches of a great pine tree. We entered a building. Inside was the National Museum of Korea. Glass cases filled with artifacts lined the corridors and folk art hung on the walls. Each had a plaque describing its history.
“I come here on Tuesdays,” I said. “It’s free and I can spend as much time as I want. There are things in here that remind me of my childhood.”
I led Soo-bo down a corridor filled with exhibits of Korean treasures and armament. We stopped at a glass case containing a sword with detailed etchings and a gold rim along the scabbard. “See this sword?” I asked. “Look at the etchings.”
Soo-bo examined the scabbard. “It has the same dragon as your comb!”
“That is right. Read the plaque. Read it aloud.”
Soo-bo leaned in and read, “In 1967, this sword was found hidden in the walls of a home once owned by a wealthy merchant. Historians believe the two-headed dragon with one head facing east and one facing west, protects Korea and those who served our country. Some believed Empress Myeongseong created the symbol of the two-headed dragon, although there is no evidence she did. During their occupation of Korea, the Japanese destroyed all items they could find bearing the two-headed dragon. This sword is the only known surviving artifact.”
Soo-bo stepped back. “What does it mean, Ummah?”
“Before you were born, your father saw me using my comb. He told me what the dragon stood for. I didn’t know if it was true, but I kept the comb for years. When I discovered this sword, I knew that what he said was true.”
I pointed at the sword. “Look at one more thing. How many toes does the dragon have?”
Soo-bo pressed against the case. “Four. It has four toes.”
“Correct.” I said. “Come. You look tired. Let’s find a place to rest.”
We went outside to the courtyard and sat on the steps of the tall building with five roofs. We looked south over Seoul and the towering new office buildings and apartments. A lazy haze hung over the city. People strolled across the grounds in front of us.
I let a few people pass. I reached inside the pocket of my dress and took out a package. I loosened the twine and unfolded the brown cloth. Inside was the comb with the two-headed dragon.
“You still have it!” Soo-bo whispered. “I thought you sold it years ago.”
“The story about the yangban from Seoul,” I said, “I didn’t make it up. My mother gave this comb to my sister and me. She got it from her grandmother and her grandmother got it from her mother. My mother’s great grandmother, your third great grandmother, was the one who had the comb made.”
“Who was she?”
“Look at the dragon,” I said. “How many toes does it have?”
Soo-bo examined the comb. “Five,” she said.
“That is right,” I said. “A five-toed dragon.” I faced Soo-bo. “I didn’t know what it meant until one day I asked a docent why the dragon on the sword had four toes. She told me that most dragons on artifacts have only three. They knew the merchant who owned the sword was a very important man because the dragon had four toes. I asked her, ‘What if a dragon had five toes?’ She said that dragons with five toes were only used for items belonging to the Emperor and Empress.”
Soo-bo cocked her head. “Does that mean…?”
“Yes, Soo-bo. The comb is proof that Empress Myeongseong created the two-headed dragon and that we are her descendents. Through this comb, she has given us a responsibility to serve Korea.”
Soo-bo took a few minutes to take in what she had just learned. Then she asked, “But how can I serve Korea, Ummah?”
I took my daughter’s hand. “Soo-bo, you are my joy. You are the only thing that has given me lasting happiness since I was a young girl. I love you and it would break my heart if I ever lost you. But we are royalty my daughter, and our first duty is to our people. I think perhaps you were meant to have this baby. The dragon will protect you.”
I folded the cloth around the comb and gave it to Soo-bo.
She took it and stared at the package. “Do you really believe in the dragon, Ummah? Do you believe it will protect me?”
Looking back on my life, I saw that I had survived even the most dangerous situations while others had perished. Perhaps the dragon had protected me after all, like Soo-hee and Jin-mo had said it would. I had to believe it would protect Soo-bo, too. “Yes I do,” I said.
Soo-bo nodded. “Then I will have the baby,” she said.
We sat for a long time without talking. Eventually, I stood and extended a hand to Soo-bo to lead her home so she could rest. We walked arm in arm under the Gwanghwamun Gate, back into the great city of Seoul.
F ORTY-TWO
It scared me how weak Soo-bo became as her stomach swelled with the baby. It was as if it was sucki
ng the life from her and I wondered if I had done the right thing when I talked her out of having an abortion. The doctors grew increasingly worried too, and insisted that Soo-bo end her pregnancy. She refused. She slept long hours and forced down food when she wasn’t hungry. Every morning and night, she did the breathing exercises the nurses had taught her. She studied books on how to deliver a healthy baby. I was so very proud of her.
One night after a meal of rice and vegetables, Soo-bo went into labor. As she held her stomach and tried to breathe like she did in the exercises, I ran to the payphone in the lobby and called a cab. It came in less than five minutes.
Earlier that afternoon, there had been a rain shower, and when I helped Soo-bo into the cab, the city lights twinkled off inky-black puddles. The rain had brought in cool air and everything smelled clean. As the cab wound through traffic on its way to the hospital, Soo-bo grimaced in pain from a contraction. I held her hand. “The doctor will give you something for the pain,” I said.
“It’s okay, Ummah,” Soo-bo replied. “It is a good pain.”
As the cab pulled up to the emergency room door, Soo-bo’s water broke. There was a lot of blood. A nurse helped her into a wheelchair. When she saw how weak Soo-bo was, the nurse called for the doctor immediately. She pulled me aside and asked how long Soo-bo was in labor.
The concern on the nurse’s face filled me with fear. “Less than an hour,” I said. “We came as soon as it started.”
“She shouldn’t be in this much pain,” the nurse said. “And there should not be this much blood.”
They wheeled Soo-bo inside a blue-tiled delivery room with a large bank of lights. The nurse stripped off Soo-bo’s clothes, dressed her in a hospital gown and laid her in a bed with stirrups for her feet. She gave Soo-bo a shot for her pain and spread a blue sheet over her. I stood at my daughter’s side and held her hand.
As another contraction started to build in Soo-bo, the doctor entered the room. He asked about Soo-bo’s condition.
“She’s in a lot of pain,” the nurse replied, “and she’s been in labor for less than an hour. Her blood pressure and heart rate are very high.”
As the doctor took Soo-bo’s pulse, he asked me, “What can you tell me?”
“Her heart is weak,” I answered.
The doctor dropped Soo-bo’s arm. “Yes it is,” he said gravely. He ordered the nurse to get a heart monitor and some help. “Now!” he barked.
As the nurse ran out, the doctor lifted the blue sheet and looked between Soo-bo’s scrawny legs. “The baby is breached,” he said, “and the mother has lost too much blood for a Cesarean.”
Soo-bo arched her back from a contraction and her body shook. The twisted pain in her face made me hate myself for making her have this baby.
“Breathe!” the doctor ordered from under the sheet. “Get her to breathe.”
I leaned over my daughter. “Soo-bo, you have to breathe. Deep breaths like the book said.”
Soo-bo closed her eyes and tried to take in deep breaths but she could only breathe in gasps. She gripped the bed with both hands. Beads of sweat formed on her head.
“Nurse!” the doctor yelled toward the door. “Get that heart monitor in here!”
I squeezed Soo-bo’s arm. “Breathe, Soo-bo. Please, breathe.”
After a few minutes, the contraction subsided and Soo-bo sunk into the bed. Her face was ashen and sweat matted her hair. The doctor put his stethoscope over her heart. “We need to turn the baby,” he said. “But the mother’s heart is arrhythmic. We have to change our approach before the next contraction. I’ll be right back.”
The doctor ran out of the room, angrily barking orders at the staff outside. Soo-bo blinked her eyes open and looked at me.
“Am I doing it right, Ummah?” she asked.
I stroked her sweat-soaked hair. “Yes, my daughter. You are doing it just right.”
“Good,” she said. “What should I name my baby?”
“Her name should be Ja-young.”
“Why should she be named Ja-young, Ummah?”
I leaned in close and wiped my daughter’s brow. “Because it is a royal name. She should have a royal name.”
Soo-bo smiled and nodded. “Ja-young. Yes, that is a good name. I will name my baby Ja-young.”
Then, as I held Soo-bo’s hand she asked, “Do you have the comb? I should hold it so the dragon will protect me.”
My heart stopped. In the panic to get to the hospital, I had forgotten to take the comb from its place under the windowsill in our apartment. I couldn’t give it to Soo-bo.
Suddenly the door to the delivery room flew open and the doctor and nurse rushed through. Another contraction began to build in Soo-bo. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Her back arched high.
“We’re too late,” the doctor said from between Soo-bo’s legs. “We do not have time for anything else. What’s her pulse?”
The nurse held Soo-bo’s wrist, and answered, “I can’t get a reading.”
I watched in horror as Soo-bo’s body convulsed as if an unseen spirit was shaking her. She gripped the bed hard. Her eyes rolled back and her mouth opened. She did not breathe and neither did I.
“Her heart stopped!” the nurse said.
I stared at my precious daughter. “Soo-bo,” I whispered.
A second doctor and two nurses burst into the room with a heart monitor and oxygen. The doctor went to Soo-bo’s side and hooked up the monitor while one of the nurses slipped the oxygen mask over Soo-bo’s face. The other nurse took me by the arm. “You have to go outside now, ma’am,” she insisted. “Quickly.”
I looked at Soo-bo as the nurse led me to the door. “My baby,” I said. “Ye deulah.”
*
I was numb as I stared at the delivery room door. I didn’t know how long I sat there. On the other side, the doctors and nurses worked on Soo-bo. Medical staff rushed in and out. Time seemed to stop and I was afraid that I had made a tragic mistake. I had convinced my daughter to have her baby. I told her the dragon would protect her, but I didn’t know if it would. And sometimes it was hard for me to believe that Soo-bo and I were direct descendents of Empress Myeongseong, responsible to carry on the legacy of the two-headed dragon. Certainly, I believed in the spirits of my ancestors. I could feel them inside and see them in the people and land of my country. But if Soo-bo and I were a part of their grand scheme, why didn’t they help us? Why did we have to suffer and die for Korea? I prayed to my ancestors, to my great-great grandmother, the powerful Empress who gave her life for Korea, to spare my daughter.
Eventually, the doctor pushed his way out the door and slowly walked toward me. His clothes hung loosely on him and his eyes were sunken. He bowed to me. “We did everything we could,” he said. “Her heart just wasn’t strong enough. We could not save her.”
I was unable to move or to breathe or to see anything beyond his words. My sweet, sweet Soo-bo. The child I carried close in my womb, who suckled and slept at my breast, who I taught to walk and to read, who I loved so much that the loving hurt me inside. My daughter was dead and I had killed her because of the cursed comb and my duty to Korea. I wished I could go back and refuse to take the comb from Soo-hee in the comfort station. I had accepted it and it had cost me everything.
But there was still the baby. I heard myself say, “The baby?”
“She is fine,” the doctor answered. “Strong, in fact. A beautiful girl. Would you like to hold her?”
The doctor stepped aside and I saw a bundle wrapped in yellow in a nurse’s arms. Slowly, I rose to my feet. The nurse stepped forward and gave me the baby. I pressed her to my breast. Beneath the yellow blanket, I could feel her short breaths. I gently ran my hand over her smooth, warm head. With a finger, I traced the lines of her high cheekbones and her delicate nose. I pressed my finger into the baby’s hand and she gripped it with long fingers. I could feel the spirit of Korea strong inside her.
“She is an empress,” I said. “Her name is Ja-you
ng. Be sure she is given that name.”
I held my gaze on the baby and reached to the depths of my soul for one last bit of strength. “And an empress needs a family where she can grow strong so that she can do what she must do.” I pushed down one last cry and held the baby out to the nurse. “Please,” I said, struggling to push the words out, “I would like to put my granddaughter up for adoption.”
F ORTY-THREE
August 2008. Seoul, South Korea
The comb with the two-headed dragon sits on the table between Mrs. Hong and me. The amazing comb with the gold spine and ivory dragon gleams in the evening light. Next to it are the mugunghwa blossom and the photographs of Mrs. Hong’s family and her daughter—my birthmother, Soo-bo.
“Now do you understand why I sent you away?” Mrs. Hong says. “I had nothing left to give. I died the day Soo-bo died, just like my mother did the day Soo-hee and I left home. So I made the decision to have you adopted. I didn’t know if I would ever see you again. But I believed that if the dragon was true, if everything I had suffered through was part of a grand enterprise to make Korea great, then the spirits of my ancestors would bring you back to me someday. And here you are, my granddaughter, here you are. I believe in the two-headed dragon and I believe it is your destiny to have the comb.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
Mrs. Hong sighs and looks at me. “Why did you come to Korea?” she asks.
“To see where I was born. To meet my birthmother. To learn what it means for me to be Korean.”
“And what have you learned?”
I think of Mrs. Hong’s story and all the things I saw on our trip. Nothing adds up to any real answer. “I can’t say for sure,” I say.
“You should know about Empress Myeongseong,” Mrs. Hong says. She folds her hands in her lap. “Her name was Min, Ja-young. She was born in 1851 to a poor clan from Seoul. She was very beautiful and quite intelligent. At fifteen years old, her family arranged for her to marry Yi Myeong-bok, the boy king of the House of Yi. The king was lazy and incompetent, so Ja-young taught herself history, science, politics, and religion. She had a good ear for languages and learned to speak Japanese, Chinese, English, and Russian. Eventually, she acquired great power. She promoted education, modernization, freedom of the press, the arts, and equality for women. They say she modeled herself after Queen Victoria of England.”
Daughters of the Dragon: A Comfort Woman's Story Page 24
