Stepping out of the stream, Young-hee walked to the front gate and knocked using the iron ring. It was just a ring, not a biting animal. After a few moments, there was a sound from inside, and an old, thin man opened the door. Long whiskers clung to his face like ivy on an aged stone wall. He looks like an old, cracked piece of bamboo, she noted.
“Uh, hello. Sorry to bother you. I’m trying to get out of this forest, and a man I met back there”—she pointed behind her—“said I should follow the river to a house and ask for help.”
“Ah, yes. Very good,” he said. “I’ve been waiting a long time for you.”
“Oh, sorry? I came as soon as I could. I think it was just an hour or so.”
“No, you don’t understand. I’ve been waiting a long time for you, Miss Young-hee. Please, come with me.” Without another word, the man took a jade, nine-segmented walking stick from his home, closed the door behind him, and led Young-hee into the woods, away from the stream. Young-hee wanted to ask about leaving the forest, but somehow the thought, light as a shadow, kept slipping away, so she just followed him.
They walked quietly for a mile or so until at last they came to a slight hill where the trees thinned into a large clearing. The entire hillside was filled by an immense palace. Even from the outside, with great walls surrounding it, the building was spectacular. The parapets were covered with colorful jewels, precious stones, and exotic crystals. The roofs of the buildings inside the walls were made of beautiful, ornate ceramic tiles, curling in long, baroque eaves that spread like fir trees. The main gate of the palace was open. The old man led Young-hee to the gate and stopped.
“I can go no further. But you are invited to enter,” he said.
“But whose palace is it? Who’s inviting me?”
The old man offered no answers. “In the great hall, you will find the lord of the palace. You must talk with him,” he said.
Entering cautiously, she found wooden halls, pavilions and residences around a courtyard of white stone bricks. To one side was a great pool, surrounded by bamboo trees, where myriad birds swam and perched. The same ones Samjogo and I saw a few days ago? All the palace buildings were beautiful, with curling eaves and thick, wooden beams painted red; elaborate green, blue, and red designs covered the halls.
But only one building could be the great hall. Large as a soccer field, and three times higher the others, it loomed in the center of the palace grounds. Each floor was set off by flaring, curling eaves. The hall rested on a ten-meter high stone base topped with balustrades, each carved in the shape of a different animal. The Gyeongbokgung and Deoksugung palaces Young-hee had seen in Seoul looked like mud huts in comparison.
As she walked through the grounds, she realized it was full of forest fairies, all so slight and beautiful in their hanbok of earth-toned greens and browns. They looked at her, nodded respectfully, then resumed their work.
She climbed the stone steps to the great hall’s entrance, marked by a large marble table holding a jade brazier of burning incense. Inside, hundreds of fairies in scholarly robes sat studying at low tables running across the cavernous hall. One of the tables pointed to the hall’s deep heart. Young-hee passed row after row of studying fairies until the tables came to an end.
In the center of the room, reclining alone at a great table, sat a broad-shouldered fairy in green ceremonial robes. It was the man she had met earlier in the forest, the same person who had told her to travel this way. But this time she recognized him. He was clearly a fairy, but he also looked exactly like her father.
Young-hee stood before the fairy’s table, too shocked to react. How could this man look like my father? Could it be him? She had not seen her father in more than a year, since the police came and her life in Canada had fallen apart.
The fairy looked at her kindly. “Please, sit. You’ve had a long, difficult journey. Have something to eat.”
“B-but,” she stammered. “I don’t … I mean, but…” Face to face with her dad—well, what looked like her dad—Young-hee was suddenly speechless. She had not realized how much she missed him. Her heart ached so badly, like she had been stabbed in the middle of her chest.
He gave a signal, and servants quickly filled the table with all manner of foods. “Sit. Eat first. Then we’ll talk.”
Not knowing what else to do, Young-hee sat on a mat across from the fairy. There were noodles as light as gossamer. Amazing-colored fruit. Steaming soups that smelled of dawn after a night of rain. She picked up her chopsticks, but then stopped. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I am the king of the Forest Fairies,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Is that all you are?”
“What else would I be?” His voice was so warm it sounded like a laugh. Young-hee couldn’t recall ever hearing a voice so wonderful.
“You look like …”
“But that would be impossible,” he interrupted. Even then, he sounded kind. “Eat.”
So Young-hee ate. And as she ate, other fairies played music—complex rhythms, with wisps of melancholic melodies above the deep percussions. The music was sad, but somehow evoked a sort of joy. Or maybe the other way around. When she couldn’t eat any more, the servants cleared the table.
“Did you like the food? The music?”
“Very much.”
“It is said that when the forest fairy play their songs, even the clouds stop to listen.”
“I believe it. It was very beautiful. And sad.”
“Like a dream, perhaps.”
“Am I dreaming?” asked Young-hee, suddenly afraid. “Am I lying in the woods, asleep, just dreaming all this? Or maybe this whole world has been a dream, and I’m still home, in my lousy apartment?”
The king smiled softly. “Have you ever had a dream like this?”
“No.”
“It is no dream, I promise. And tomorrow is a lucky day. I’m happy you made it in time.”
“In time for what?”
“My eldest son will marry a princess of the Cloud Fairies. It will be a beautiful ceremony, with all of our finest foods and music, dancing and joyfulness. A fairy wedding is a wonderful celebration, and a marriage of fairy royalty is beyond imagining.”
“Yes, that does sound very nice. But…”
“But?”
It was so hard to think, to remember. “But I came here for help to get out of this forest so I can find a pullocho and save my brother.”
“Yes, I know all about that. After the wedding, there will be time for serious talk. Come celebrate with us. I promise it will not delay your quest. It will be a very joyful occasion. And necessary.”
Young-hee breathed heavily through her nose, trying to keep calm. She couldn’t stand any more distractions from saving her brother—but a few hours’ sleep wouldn’t be so bad. “Okay, but then you must help me.”
“Wonderful!” said the king. “So, tonight, enjoy our hospitality. Rest. Bathe. And tomorrow I will show you so many things.”
He stood and told the servants to prepare the nicest residence, the finest clothes, and everything his guest could need.
Before dismissing her, the king took Young-hee’s hands in his and kissed her fingers lightly, just like her dad had done when she was little and had been crying. Then he gave her a big hug. Many dads she knew could be so distant, but not hers. He was warm and kind, which is why it hurt so much when he went to prison.
It was dark when the servants escorted her to her very own residential hall, a long, wooden building covered with precious metals and jewels. Inside, beautiful paintings, long panoramas of animals and mountains and spirits covered walls and screens. Young-hee soaked in a hot bath for over an hour, trying to settle her busy, worried mind. Later, servants brought new clothes of impossibly soft cloth woven by fairy magic. A hanbok, dark blue with golden trim fit perfectly, its light silk as warm as a fleece. Incense burning in the hall smelled of lavender.
The next morning she woke to hot soup and kaypal rice on a table in her
room. She ate voraciously and felt immensely satisfied—at least until she remembered her brother. How could I have forgotten? she chastised herself.
Sliding open the door to her hall, she discovered the fairy king waiting patiently. “Are you ready?” he asked.
“I guess so. I don’t really know where we’re going.”
“First the wedding. Then further in.”
A palanquin carried them to the Great Hall. Emptied of scholarly tables, the huge hall was decorated for the wedding with jewel-lined flowers, silk ribbons, and all the fairy fineries. Jade bells rang out, and delightful perfume filled in the air. The Cloud Fairies, beautiful but more wispy than their Forest cousins, wore light blues and whites. The princess, wearing a great string of pearls, stood at the front with the king’s son, and Young-hee thought they were the most gorgeous couple she had ever seen. Music, dancing, and happiness filled the hall. Wedding hall ceremonies in Korea were always so deathly dull and tacky, but this was both dignified and fun at the same time. After the ceremony, despite her anxiety, Young-hee joined in the joyful feasting and celebration.
The day was nearly gone when she finally remembered her great hurry. Hunting through the crowds of fairies, she found the king, at last. “Your majesty, I’m sorry to interrupt, but …”
“Ah, there you are. Would you like to see how fairies see the world?”
What a peculiar question. “Yes, I guess. Maybe next time.”
“Nonsense. This is the perfect time.” So the king led Young-hee deeper into the palace. They passed resplendent streams and waterfalls winding through the grounds. The estate was even more huge than she had noticed yesterday, another world unto itself, full of green hills and a menagerie of animals, all living peacefully with the fairies.
The king led Young-hee to the estate’s center, where its largest hill was crowned by a tall tower. They climbed stairs to the top where he showed her the full view of the palace. All around, waterfalls and hills and buildings and animals fit together in perfect harmony, with a golden halo hanging over it all. The sounds of the fairies’ music—gayageum zithers, haeguem fiddles, daegeum flutes, and buk and janggu drums—floated from the wedding, echoed through the hills. The king regaled Young-hee with fabulous stories from fairy history. Before she knew it, the sun had set. The fairy wedding went long into the night. Young-hee sang and danced and made many friends, and forgot her worries. Before bed, the king recited a shijo poem:
You ask how many friends I have?
Water, rocks, pine, and bamboo.
And when the moon rises over east mountain,
I feel even greater pleasure.
Enough:
To these five why add more?
Young-hee thought it sounded marvelous, even if she didn’t totally understand it. Why add more? she thought, drifting off to sleep.
She woke up late the next day, another great meal by her bed. For a brief moment she remembered her quest, her brother. There’s some sort of magic here, making me forget. But by the time she finished eating, she had forgotten yet again.
That day, the fairies hosted games for their Cloud Fairy guests—running, archery, riding, and more. The following day, the king showed Young-hee the most precious and magical creatures in his zoo—the eight-legged cheollima horse, capable of traveling a thousand li in one gallop, and the great cranes, bigger than a house, like Young-hee had seen in the sky when she first entered Strange Land.
And so it went. Each day was special with exotic and entertaining happenings. There were people to meet, songs to sing, and fun to have. Time slipped away. Days, then weeks, then months, and before Young-hee knew it two years had passed. Time had turned into nothing, and she rarely thought about why she come or what lay beyond the Great Forest. And as soon as she half-remember her other life, a new delight arrived to distracted her.
One day Young-hee was seated beside the Forest Fairy King at one feast or another when the king’s son and daughter-in-law entered. Young-hee, laughing at a joke, suddenly noticed that the Cloud Fairy carried a small child, her firstborn. All at once, Young-hee thought of her brother. “Young-beom!” she exclaimed. How could I have forgotten him? How long have I been here? “No, no, no! This is all wrong!”
Everyone fell silent and stared at her. “Is something wrong, Young-hee?” asked the fairy king.
“Something is very wrong! My brother—I came to find my brother. Instead I’ve been stuck for ages.” Young-hee knew she was making people uncomfortable, but didn’t care.
“I’m surprised you remember your brother, after all this time,” said the king.
“I can’t believe I forgot,” said Young-hee, struggling to free her thoughts.
“It’s okay, these things happen in the fairies’ home. Tomorrow we will talk about him.”
“No!” said Young-hee, louder than she intended. “No, not tomorrow. No more tomorrows! No laters! No more mysteries!” Once she started yelling she couldn’t stop; one frustrated bellow swept into the next, until her heart raged like the Hungry River. All eyes were on her. “You said you could help. I need to leave and save my brother. I-I need … I’m sorry,” she said, embarrassment battling rage, and started to cry. Great … blubbering like a little girl. The more she cried, the angrier it made her, and the angrier she got, the more embarrassed she grew, and the more embarrassed she was, the more she cried. “Stupid,” she muttered and stood up, determined to leave immediately.
The king reached across the table and placed a large, strong hand on hers. “This world is very different from the world of mud and dust you came from. It can seem … difficult.”
“I’m sorry,” Young-hee repeated, happy to be all cried out. “It’s just … I can’t stay here any more. I have no idea how long I’ve been here or what’s happened to Young-beom. If you won’t help, I’ll go by myself. Maybe I can’t get through the forest, but I have to try.”
The king looked into Young-hee’s eyes, steady and thoughtful. “Yes, I believe you.”
“You don’t need to believe me. Just watch me go.”
“No, that’s not necessary,” said the king, rising, “We can go together.” As they left the hall, the celebrations started again.
“Is this a trick? To make me forget again?”
“No, no tricks. I just wanted to talk before you left.”
Young-hee walked to her private pavilion, packed her belongings, and donned her own clothes. The king was waiting outside. “Which way do I go?” asked Young-hee, suddenly aware it had been years since she saw or thought of the main gate.
“I will walk you there.”
Young-hee noticed that the palace seemed less and less magical with each step. The jewels faded, the great pond turned mossy and shrank, the buildings grew older and more run down. “Why did you make me stay?”
“We never made you. You’ve been in the realm of immortals, beyond the attachments of mud. Had you stayed, you could have forgotten everything from your mud world—anger, longing, sadness, hate, fear, ambition, selfishness.”
“But I would have forgotten my family, too.”
“Yes, everything. In time.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Terrible? Weren’t you happy here?”
Young-hee thought for a moment. “No,” she said. “I mean, it was all wonderful, everyone was fun and delightful. But I feel … distracted, not happy.”
“I see,” said the king. “Before you go, may I show you one more thing? It will only take a moment, and it is about your family.”
“A moment?”
The king nodded and led Young-hee to his private pavilion, now a rotted relic of the splendid mansion. They mounted a staircase to a tower where there lay a large, jade-colored crystal, uneven and unclear.
“This is my dragon glass. It grants far sight.”
“Like a fire pearl?”
He laughed. “Yes, a little. As a grain of sand resembles a mountain. Look into the dragon glass.”
So she looked. The b
lue crystal warped her vision, magnifying some things, shrinking others. “I can’t see anything.”
“Keep looking.”
Gradually, blue crystal cleared and the views sorted into near and far. She saw the forest fairies in the palace, playing, studying, and living. She saw miles of bamboo beyond the walls. And, slowly, she began to see ever farther—to the Great Forest and across the vast expanses of Strange Land. She saw past Cheongyong Mountains, the Ogre’s Fist, Lake Mey, and more. She saw the Wandering Mountains and the Jade Forest and the great Orange Sea. The more she looked, the faster she sped across wider and wider plains and realms, always with startling clarity. She saw Bassam walking across desert wastes with a treasure-caravan laden.
Then, all at once, she was looking into a Korean apartment—large and modern, but tasteful. It looked lived-in and happy. Young-hee had lived in an unhappy apartment for long enough to know the difference. Happy homes lacked that nervous edge, the dreadful anticipation of the next thing to go wrong.
A door opened, and a young girl ran through, in a pretty skirt and fashionable haircut, followed by her mother. Her mother. It took Young-hee a moment to realize she was looking at her mom. And herself. They were laughing, happy. She felt confused. A moment later a man entered. Her father.
“What is that?” she asked.
“It is you. Or it could be, if you wanted.”
“Me?”
“You could be back home, in your world.”
“Oh, really? You can do that?” After all she had been through in Strange Land, it seemed too good to be true. Young-hee blinked hard, trying to believe that the vivid scene before her in the blue glass was real. “But that’s not my world,” she said. “Or my apartment. I don’t wear skirts”—that struck her as quite odd—“Or live with my dad.”
“Yes, but you could. Just tell me that’s what you want, and I have the power to return you to your world.”
“My world. But in a nice home. With my father.”
“Yes. Just like you always dreamed. Just tell me you want it, and I can send you there. No more quest, no paths, no more monsters chasing you, no scheming spirits.”
Young-hee and the Pullocho Page 23
