The Silence of Bones

by June Hur

  “So…” Woorim’s voice filled the silence that had opened between us. “How old are you anyway?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “I am, too!” She grinned. “Since we’re the same age, shall we lower our words?”

  To lower our words meant to speak in banmal, “half words,” rather than in formal speech.

  “If you’d like,” I said.

  Her smile faltered. “Seol-ah, you know that feeling you get, when your skin goes all bumpy like chicken skin, because you sense someone is watching you?”

  “Eung. I know that feeling.”

  “I feel watched sometimes. No, not sometimes. All the time; whenever I leave the mansion.”

  “By whom?”

  “I don’t know, but I feel it.” Then the concern flew off her face like a flighty bird. Her lips popped into a grin. “Maybe it is a ghost!”

  Our conversation ended when we arrived at the residence, a stately mansion on the far edge of the Northern District. The spark of concern I’d felt for Woorim dissipated as I followed her across the courtyard and up stone steps, then took off my sandals.

  Standing close to the hanji doors, Woorim called, “Lady Kang, the damo is here to see you.”

  A smooth-soft voice replied, “Send her in.”

  I stepped into the guest hall, and through my lashes I observed a vast and airy chamber. Blue-gray light shone through the translucent paper panels, framed by wood and used as sliding doors and room dividers. A few steps closer, and I smelled the lady before I even saw her: the warm and sweet scent of clove buds. The scent of nobility. I didn’t look up, yet I could feel her gaze as I prostrated myself.

  “Lady Kang,” I said. “I am honored by—”

  “Lift your head. I cannot hear you.”

  I lifted my eyes, just high enough to see a low-legged table, dragons inlaid and lacquered. Behind the table, a full skirt of crimson silk.

  “Let us speak face-to-face.”

  I picked myself up—my shoulders and back, then my hands, which I rested neatly in my lap. At last, I saw her, and she looked different today. She had thick, lustrous black hair, braided and coiled neatly at her nape, decorated with pins and ornaments.

  “You must wonder why I summoned you,” she said.

  “Yes, mistress.”

  She placed her elbow on the table and locked her eyes on mine. It is rude to stare at your superiors, my sister’s warning whispered into my ear. I looked away, but the lady’s gaze beckoned me to meet her eyes again. As I did, the heat of my anxiety left me sweating.

  “I wish to know if you informed your inspector about those books.”

  Books, mere books. “I did not.”

  She studied my face so intently, I almost wanted to see my reflection, to see whether my thoughts were somehow written upon my face. Finally, she bowed her head. “I believe you. And your name, what is it?”

  “My name is Seol.”

  “You have not asked me, Seol, why those books were hidden. Are you not curious?”

  “I am, mistress.” I rubbed clammy palms against my skirt as I remained kneeling on the floor, my eyes fixed on her. “But it would be improper to ask, and so…”

  “They are all copies of one book, a book that turns life’s bitter and unbearable taste of pain into sweet and delicious pleasure.”

  She was speaking in riddles, though riddles I’d heard before from Maid Soyi. Perhaps this was why Catholic women educated their servants, so that they might read these illegal books on their own and understand.

  “Pain into something sweet…,” I said. “How is it possible, mistress?”

  She paused with consideration, then opened a drawer and pulled out a long, thin pipe made of precious silver. “Come closer. Help me light this.”

  I shuffled forward, and with practiced movements, I accepted tobacco from her and added it into the tiny bowl, then used a tinderbox to light it.

  “Have you ever believed in something before?”

  “Yes, I have, mistress,” I said quietly.

  “Such as what?”

  “I believe … I believe my family is waiting for me.”

  “Then have you ever had a conviction?” she asked, and when I paused, unable to differentiate the two words, she explained, “When we believe, we hold on to what we think is true. But when we have a conviction, that truth holds on to us.”

  “Oh,” I whispered, still not understanding anything.

  “I am convinced, Seol, that I am passionately loved by our Heavenly Father, and that my life is in his good hands. So though pain and sorrow press in around me, conviction holds on to me and strengthens me. It makes my yoke lighter to carry.”

  Conviction. Whoever this Heavenly Father was, Lady Kang trusted in his character, enough that she’d let nothing in life shake that trust. I rubbed the spot over my vest where I’d hidden the norigae ornament, tying the tassel to the strap beneath the layers. I felt the same way about Inspector Han.

  Perhaps it was the tobacco fragrance—woody warm, with earthy undertones—rising in white clouds that returned my focus to the task at hand and calmed my nerves enough for me to grasp onto a fistful of boldness. Or perhaps it was the memory of Inspector Han that coaxed the words from me.

  “Mistress, would you permit me another question?”

  She made a gesture. Do so.

  “Begging your pardon, but did you hear of Lady O’s death?”

  “I did.” Wisps of smoke curled from her lips. “I was not well acquainted with the lady, but I knew her to be a kind and virtuous woman who died from no sin of her own.”

  I considered carefully, afraid I would offend her with my presumption. I forced myself to think of Inspector Han again, brave before the tiger. “There is a rumor that the victim had a lover.”

  Lady Kang remained quiet. At length, she said, “It is as you say, a rumor.”

  “But they examined her, and she was not a—a virgin. So she must have had a lover, though none know of him.”

  “Why do you ask me?”

  I looked up at her. Because you are a Catholic as she was.

  Catholic, like the murdered servants and peasants.

  “Woorim said you are aware of the goings-on here in Hanyang,” I lied, but did not feel that my guess was untrue. “That is why I ask you, mistress, and I beg your pardon for being so forward.”

  Lady Kang lowered her pipe and sighed. “Perhaps Lady O did have a lover, yet she is of such a gentle temperament. No man could have despised her enough to have harmed her.”

  But what if the reason behind the violence had its root in Catholicism? I didn’t know where to begin to unclutter this question. All I could do was dig and dig. “I have one last thing to ask, mistress. On the week of Lady O’s passing, there were many deaths among Catholics of low origin.”

  A shadow passed over Lady Kang’s countenance, and a chill jabbed into my chest. I had crossed a line; this question, I ought not to have asked. Yet I could not think of anyone more knowledgeable. She might have even worshipped the Western God together with the victims.

  I pressed on. “Do you know why such tragedies occurred all of a sudden?”

  “All those corpses found recently…” She lowered her voice, as though straining against a harsh weight. “They were the corpses of those who refused to apostatize this foreign learning. You see, Seol, it is dangerous to be different here in Joseon. Queen Regent Jeongsun is preparing the magistrates to reinforce the ogatong chi pŏp.”

  I frowned, not understanding.

  “It will be peaceful for the next five months, the formal mourning period before the elder king’s burial. But afterward, every five households will be grouped into a unit. If a Catholic is found in any one of them, all five are to be found guilty of treason in the New Year.”

  “Oh…”

  “But I believe the persecution is a double-edged sword. It will wipe out the Catholics, whom the kingdom despises for being different. But it will be the queen regent’s means of wiping o
ut her opposing faction as well.”

  “The Southerners,” I whispered, and withheld myself from adding, the faction to which Lady O’s father belongs. Yet another question rose to my lips—and I knew I’d already asked one too many, but Lady Kang’s willingness to talk encouraged me to speak on. “What connection does this faction have to Catholicism, mistress?”

  “That is a very important question.” She sucked on her pipe. A string of smoke twirled into the air as she breathed out and answered, “Southerner scholar-officials were among the first to spread Catholicism when it was smuggled in. They spread it in the name of reform, but the regent believes it is nothing more than their attempt to regain power in the government.”

  Lowering my gaze, I played with a loose thread on my sleeve. Masters and mistresses, lowborn parents and relatives—all were killing heretics out of fear for their own lives. And soon the fear and panic would reach their sharp fingers deep into the imperial court itself. Perhaps the lover had killed Lady O because he knew her heretical ways might endanger him or someone he cherished far more. Or perhaps Lady O’s mother had killed her. Honor killing was common in the capital.

  “You care about this case.” Lady Kang’s solemn voice lifted my attention back to her dark eyes, steadied on me. The uneasiness in her composure from moments ago was gone. “You are free to suspect, but do not jump to conclusions. Do not fixate on only one possibility. Wait until you have thoroughly examined all angles of the case.”

  “I am a servant, mistress,” I reminded her. “A servant’s conclusion could never matter.”

  “All who are involved in an investigation are responsible in taking care of a life. Each decision you make, you will look back to it one day and you’ll realize that it took something out of you, never to be replaced. So tread with care, Damo Seol … great care.”

  The thought that my decisions were of importance filled me with a free-falling sensation, as if I were a bird released from a cage, thrown into a world of endless sky. Yet I couldn’t help fearing that I was being tempted. She’d said so herself: it was dangerous to be different.

  “I understand,” I whispered.

  The creak of footsteps brought our conversation to a hold. The silhouette of a maid bowed outside the screened door. The tranquil voice said, “Mistress, Scholar Hwang is here to speak with you.”

  “So he has arrived…” Lady Kang puffed on her pipe, turning back to me. “Because you are so curious, I will tell you this: since I was a child, I’ve had a certain peculiarity. I have known things that others did not. I would study the face of a man or woman, and right away, I could tell much about them. I said once, ‘This marriage is bad,’ and they ended up divorced later. Even as a child, I was called ‘the Matchmaker.’” A smile tugged at her lips. “It may seem incredible, but in truth, you can know a person’s character by the direction of their emotions, actions, words—as you might know the direction of the wind by studying a magpie’s nest.”

  I waited in silence, daring no interruption. She could tell much about a man or woman, and seemed to know much about me, yet to me she was mysterious and unknowable. I could not understand why a woman such as she—wealthy and privileged, wanting nothing—had chosen to risk everything for heresy.

  “I was informed that you saved your inspector.”

  “Yes, mistress,” I whispered.

  “You have courage, that is clear. You are also intelligent and possess a good heart—and incredible curiosity. Cunning, yet honest too. There is too much empathy in you, though, and it will burn you out.” Her gaze remained fixed, as though peering into the wilderness of my future. “A darkness will fall on you. But never let fear stop you from doing good, Damo Seol. Everyone dies; what is difficult is a meaningful death.”

  I sat straight as a hollowing sensation expanded in my chest. “What do you mean, mistress?”

  She didn’t answer, and instead said, “When you are in trouble, do not forget. Come to me for help.”

  * * *

  A flash of subdued robes the color of Woorim’s hanbok caught my eye as I slipped on my sandals outside the guest hall. Woorim, just disappearing through a courtyard gate. I followed, keeping my steps quiet. If I could not find answers with Lady Kang, perhaps it was time to consult the maid again.

  I emerged into another quiet courtyard, the women’s quarter. A paulownia tree stood by the stone wall, and I kept under the shadow of its huge, heart-shaped leaves. A few paces away, Woorim set a tray down and crept up to the middle pavilion. She peeked through a crack in the papered screen. Only for a moment, as if she was afraid of being spied upon, then withdrew and hurried along her way. The tray remained.

  My heart thrumming, I walked quietly over to the pavilion. My warm breath rushed against the paper screen as I drew closer to the gap. Within, a middle-aged gentleman sat cross-legged. His eyes were downcast and his dark hair tied back, revealing a broad face covered with small scars.

  A man was not to linger in the women’s quarter. Fathers and brothers might visit, but never for long. This man was concealed, away from searching eyes …

  Away, perhaps, from the eyes of an investigator.

  The hairs on my skin rose. I tried pushing the thought aside, shocked by the leap my mind had made. Yet, once there, the thought could not be undone.

  I slipped from the courtyard as quietly as I’d come and collected the still-empty market basket. Speaking to no one, I hurried from the mansion, the secrets of Lady Kang burning inside me.

  FIVE

  THE DEEP RUMBLE of the great bell had already echoed through every street and alley, announcing the start of curfew. The time of total silence. Occasionally footsteps hurried across, followed by a patrolman’s call of “Arrest him!”

  I had spent the entire next morning and afternoon trying to appease the chief maid’s fury. After all, I’d left the bureau for far too long the day before to visit Lady Kang. So I’d made sure to catch up on all my chores until every limb in my body ached in protest.

  Now the sky had finally darkened, and it was nearly time to retire for the night—but not yet.

  I stood by the courtyard gate with a lantern, waiting for Damo Aejung. Iron cauldrons, ablaze with smoky light, cast moving shadows against the curve of rooftops, reminding me of the midnight waves of my childhood, crashing against the cliffs, then withdrawing. I had watched their dance from the door of our hut. A dance that reached for the moon.

  The moon had fascinated me: how alone it looked, how locked up within darkness. My brother had told me its story. To escape a hungry tiger, two children climbed a rope to the sky. The brother became the sun. And the sister became the moon. “I am scared of the night,” said the sister, and so the brother replied, “I will be the moon for you instead.” So the brother became the moon, and the sister became the sun.

  I opened my eyes to the flooding light. It was never pitch-dark in the capital, especially in the police bureau, the place that never slept. Prisoners groaned in the eastern courtyard. A servant ran with eyes to the ground, his torch going whoosh, whoosh as he searched for something lost. Though most of the gwanbi—the local office servants—had returned to their homes for the night, the damos were ibyeok, live-in servants, so we had no families to go to. The police bureau was our home.

  Lanterns hanging from eaves illuminated the main pavilion; our superiors got little rest when a murder occurred.

  This hanok building was divided into three quarters: the office of the commander, the meeting hall, and the guest room. The paper-screened doors of the office stood open to allow in the late summer breeze. Two gentlemen knelt inside. Inspector Han sat in a position of subordination, and the commander sat at the head of the table with the paneled screen behind him, the position of honor. Their voices were faint but audible, like the rustling of faraway trees.

  “Councillor Ch’oi visited you, I hear,” the commander was saying.

  “He did, yeonggam. His Lordship reminded me of his friendship with”—Inspector Han cleared h
is throat—“my father. He asked that I help him for the sake of old ties.”

  “With what?”

  “He fears the regent’s offensive to purge the Southerners.”

  “Of course. He must be counting down the remaining days of his life.”

  “Indeed. Without King Chŏngjo’s protection, Councillor Ch’oi fears the Old Doctrine will come for him. He wants protection.”

  “And what could you possibly do for him?”

  “Assist in the capturing of Priest Zhou Wenmo.”

  Silence pooled. I could feel the rippling tension. Priest Zhou Wenmo. There were wanted posters of him all over the capital, all over my hometown, and likely all over the kingdom. The only priest of Joseon.

  Inspector Han continued, “If Councillor Ch’oi can claim to have had a hand in the priest’s capture, it will shield His Lordship from being swept along with his fellow Southerners. But you may rest assured, I have no intention of assisting him.”

  A shiver trembled down my spine as a thought crept into my mind. Councillor Ch’oi feared that the link between his faction and Catholicism would lead to his death, and the councillor’s son resented the Catholic Lady O for humiliating him. A connecting thread gleamed.

  “Aigoo, aigoo. Always eavesdropping, you.” It was Aejung, arriving with a tray of bottles of wine and bowls for officers staying at the bureau tonight. Even though she was a year older than I was, she was a head shorter. In fact, I was taller than most damos here. “One day, you will learn something you should not know and it will kill you.”

  “They will never find out,” I said. “I’m invisible.”

  As we passed by the pavilion, I noticed someone whom I hadn’t seen earlier. Senior Officer Shim was standing next to a pillar, hidden in the shadow. Though he must have seen us, his head didn’t turn as we passed. His gaze was locked in the direction of Commander Yi and Inspector Han, and his normally stern brows had weakened. I think there was despair in his eyes.