He offered Je-gal any gift he might wish, but the young man refused everything except the dog and the falcon. These the old man readily gave, and with dog at heel and bird on wrist, the young practitioner fared on, meeting his cavalcade a few miles further along the road. At last the gates of Peking loomed up in the distance, and the young physician was led into the Forbidden City by a brilliant escort. It was dusk as he entered, and he was taken first to his apartment for some refreshment. Meanwhile, the ailing Empress was suffering from intense excitement and demanding with screaming insistence that the physician from Korea should not be allowed to enter the palace but should be executed at once. Of course, this was considered the raving of a disordered mind and was not listened to.
The Empress declared that the Korean doctor should not come near her, but the following morning he was escorted to her apartment, where he was separated from her only by a screen. Je-gal declared that if a string were tied about her wrist and passed through a hole in the screen, he could diagnose the case by holding the other end. It was done, but the Empress, who seemed to be in the very extreme of terror, fought against it with all her might. Je-gal held the string a moment as if some telepathic power were passing from the patient to himself, but only for a moment. Dropping the string, he gave the screen a push, which sent it crashing to the floor, and at the same instant he rolled out from one of his flowing sleeves the little dog and from the other the hawk. The former flew at the Empress’ throat and the latter at her eyes while the Emperor, who stood by, was struck dumb with amazement at this sort of treatment.
A sort of free fight followed in which Emperors, Empresses, dogs, and falcons were indiscriminately mixed, but the animals conquered and the Empress lay dead before them. The Emperor denounced Je-gal as a murderer, but he stood perfectly still with folded arms and said only, “Watch the body.” The Emperor turned to the corpse and to his horror saw it slowly change its form to that of an enormous white fox with nine tails. Then he knew the truth—that his Empress had been destroyed and this beast had assumed her shape. “But where then is the Empress gone?” he cried. “Take up the boards of the floor and see,” the young man replied. It was done and there they found the bones of the unfortunate Empress, who had been devoured by the fox.
Deep as was the Emperor’s grief, he knew that a heavy load had been lifted from the Middle Kingdom, and he sent Je-gal back home loaded with honors and wealth. As he came to the Yalu River he felt the hinge moving in his pouch and took it out. The rusty bit of iron said, “Let me have a look at this beautiful river.” Je-gal held it up with thumb and finger over the swift current of the stream, and with one leap it wrenched itself from his hand and sank in the water. At the same moment a sort of mist came before Je-gal’s eyes, and from that hour he was blind. For a time he could not guess the enigma, but at last it came to him. The hinge’s work was done and it must go back to its own, but in order that Je-gal might not be called upon to exercise the physician’s office again he was made blind. So back to Seoul he went, where he lived till old age, an object of reverence to all the court and all the common people of Korea.
CATS AND THE DEAD
About two centuries and a half ago, a boy, who later became the great scholar Sa Jae, went to bed one night after a hard day’s work on his Chinese. He had not been asleep long when he awoke with a start. The moon was shining in at the window and dimly lighting the room. Something was moving just outside the door. He lay still and listened. The door swung of its own accord and a tall black object came gliding into the room and silently took its place in the corner. The boy mastered his fear and continued gazing into the darkness at his ominous visitor. He was a very strong-minded lad and after a while, seeing that the black ghost made no movement, he turned over and went to sleep.
The moment he awoke in the morning, he turned his eyes to the corner and there stood his visitor still. It was a great black coffin standing on end with the lid nailed on and evidently containing its intended occupant. The boy gazed at it a long while and at last a look of relief came over his face. He called in his servant and said, “Go down to the village and find out who has lost a corpse.”
Soon the servant came running back with the news that the whole village was in an uproar. A funeral had been in progress but the watchers by the coffin had fallen asleep, and when they awoke coffin and corpse had disappeared. “Go and tell the chief mourner to come here.” When that excited individual appeared, the boy called him into the room and, pointing to the corner, said quietly, “What is that?” The hemp-clad mourner gazed in wonder and consternation. “That? That’s my father’s coffin. What have you been doing? You’ve stolen my father’s body and disgraced me forever.” The boy smiled and said, “How could I bring it here? It came of its own accord. I awoke in the night and saw it enter.”
The mourner was incredulous and angry. “Now I will tell you why it came here,” said the boy. “You have a cat in your house and it must be that it jumped over the coffin. This was such an offense to the dead that by some occult power, coffin, corpse, and all came here to be safe from further insult. If you don’t believe it, send for your cat and we will see.” The challenge was too direct to refuse, and a servant was sent for the cat. Meanwhile, the mourner tried to lay the coffin down on its side, but, with all his strength, he could not budge it an inch. The boy came up to it and gave it three strokes with his hand on the left side and a gentle push. The dead recognized the master hand, and the coffin was easily laid on its side.
When the cat arrived and was placed in the room, the coffin, of its own accord, rose on its end again, a position in which it was impossible for the cat to jump over it. The wondering mourner accepted the explanation, and that day the corpse was laid safely in the ground. But to this day, the watchers beside the dead are particularly careful to see that no cat enters the mortuary chamber lest it disturb the peace of the deceased.
A KOREAN JONAH
He was on his way to China on a junk, from the harbor of Pungdeok, in company with a considerable company of merchants. All went well until they neared the vicinity of certain islands in the Yellow Sea. At this point the water became horribly agitated and a most violent storm lay upon them. At last they came to the conclusion that the spirits were angry at one of their number, so they cast lots, and the lot fell upon our friend Jo, who, so far as he remembered, had no quarrel with the spirits. They were about to throw him into the sea when one of their number, more compassionate than the rest, suggested that they try to land him on an island that they could see through the driving spray. They managed to find a sheltered nook in which they took refuge from the storm, and as soon as they were able they landed Jo, together with sundry bags of grain.
The moment he set foot on dry ground, the storm ceased as if by magic, and the merchants went on their way rejoicing. Our friend Jo was now, by force of circumstances, turned from a Jonah into a Robinson Crusoe. He built himself a hut in a crevice of the rocks and kept a sharp lookout for boats sailing Koreaward, but none appeared. He noticed that every four days, the sea would become terribly agitated for a few hours and then suddenly stop. One day as he sat on a point of rocks, watching the distant horizon for a sail, he learned the cause of the periodical disturbances, for a gigantic sea serpent lifted its head from the waves and came rolling toward the shore. Its coming was accompanied by a howling gale, and the sea was lashed into a fury. Gaining the shore, the serpent crawled into a hole in the rocks.
Jo, having played Jonah and Robinson Crusoe, now began to play St. George, for he seemed to know in some occult way that his own salvation depended on his killing the dragon. He studied the habits of the reptile and found that it never stirred out of its hole for two days and that it always slid down a certain grooved path into the sea. He bound a sharp knife to the end of a stake and planted it in the middle of the serpent’s path with the keen edge pointing toward the hole. He then lay down behind a rock and watched from afar. The serpent came out and glided down its accustomed path; th
e knife pierced its throat. According to snake nature, the reptile would not retreat but thought to gain the sea and so be safe. It therefore passed over the knife so that its entire body was slit open from end to end.
Its contortions were so terrible that Jo fled in dismay and dared not return until a horrible stench apprised him of the fact that the serpent was surely dead. Then he came and found that the ground all about the body was covered ankle deep with gems, with which, as everybody knows, a dragon’s insides are always lined. Jo thereupon shifted the scene again from St. George to Sinbad the Sailor and filled his now empty rice bags with priceless gems. Not long after, he saw the returning sails of his friends, who were on their way back to Korea and stopped to pick him up. When they saw his bags and asked what they contained, he gave an idiotic grin and said they were full of nice gobang* stones that he had been making during his leisure hours. They thought that solitude had driven him mad, so they took him and his heavy bags back to Korea, where he became the wealthiest man in all the realm.
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* A variant on the classic Asian strategy game go. It is also called gomoku.
A BRAVE GOVERNOR
Once upon a time, a newly appointed governor of Gyeongsang-do went to his post in Daegu but suddenly died within four days. Another was sent and he followed the bad example of the first. A third was sent, but news came back that he, too, died in the same mysterious manner. Now the governorship of that province is generally considered a pretty good thing, but after three governors had died in succession there was a visible falling off in applicants for the position. In fact, no one could be found who would venture. The king was quite uneasy over the situation but had no way of finding out where the difficulty lay. Not even the ajeons* of Daegu could give any reason for it. In every case the governor had been found dead in his bed the third morning after his arrival.
At this juncture one of the officials of seungji rank proposed to His Majesty that he should be sent as governor and boldly offered his services. The king was much moved by the man’s offer to go but tried to dissuade him. The official was firm, however, in his determination to go if the king would send him. With great hesitation the latter complied, and some days later the new governor arrived at the scene of the triple tragedy.
It is customary for newly appointed provincial governors to enter upon the duties of their office three days after their arrival at their posts. So this one had three days in which to set his affairs in order before assuming the reins of government. The ajeons looked upon him with wonder to think that he would thus brave almost certain death. The first and second nights passed without any trouble. It was the third night that was to be feared. As evening came on the governor told the ajeons to sleep as usual in the room adjoining his own. He ordered the great candles lit, two of them, as large around as a man’s arm. He then seated himself on his cushion, completely dressed, folded his arms, and awaited developments. The door between him and the ajeons was nearly shut, but a crack an inch wide gave them an opportunity to peep in from time to time and see what was going on. Not one of them closed his eyes in sleep. They feared not only for the governor but for themselves as well.
Hour after hour passed and still the governor sat as mute as a statue but wide awake. At about midnight a wave of freezing cold swept through the house. Each ajeon shivered like a leaf, not from cold alone but because they knew that this heralded the coming of a spirit from the dead. The candles flared wildly but did not go out, as is usually the case when spirits walk abroad.
One of the ajeons, braver than the rest, crept to the governor’s door and looked through the crack. There sat the governor as calm as ever while in the center of the room stood the figure of a beautiful girl clad in rich garments. One hand was pressed to her bosom and the other was stretched out toward the governor as if in supplication. Her face was as white as marble, and about it played a dim mysterious light, as if from another world. The ajeon could not make out much of the conversation, for it was almost finished when he looked. Presently the figure of the girl faded away into a dark corner of the room, the icy pall lifted, and she was gone.
The governor called the ajeons in and told them they had no need to fear longer, that the three former governors had evidently been frightened to death by this apparition but that there was no more danger. He bade them all lie down in his room and sleep. The rest of the night passed quietly.
In the morning the governor assumed the duties of his office, and his first command was to send to the town of Chilwon, arrest the head ajeon, tell him that all was known, and wrest a confession from him by torture.
This was done, and the wretch confessed that in order to secure his dead brother’s estate, he had killed that brother’s only daughter and buried her behind his house. The body, being disinterred, was found to be perfectly preserved. It was given decent burial and the wicked ajeon was killed.
So the spirit of the girl was laid, and no more governors were frightened to death by her appeals for justice. In later years this same governor was second-in-command of the military expedition against the traitor Yi Gwal, who had raised a dangerous insurrection in the north. This was early in the seventeenth century. It is said that the spirit of this girl used to appear to him each night and tell him how to dispose his troops upon the morrow so as to defeat the rebel. The general-in-chief acted upon his suggestions, and thus it was that this formidable rebellion was so easily put down.
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* Low-level government officials who were employed in central and local government offices during the Joseon Dynasty.
HEN VERSUS CENTIPEDE
Song Gu-yun was a modest man, as well he might be, since he was only a yeoriggun, or runner for one of the silk shops at Jongno. His business was to stand on the street and, with persuasive tones, induce the passerby to change his mind and buy a bolt of silk rather than something else he had in mind.
One day a slave woman came along and let him lead her into the silk shop. He did not expect he would get much of a percentage out of what such a woman would buy, but it would be better than nothing. When she had looked over the goods, however, she bought lavishly and paid in good hard cash. A few days later she came again and would listen to no other yeoriggun but Song, who felt much flattered. Again she bought heavily, and Song began to hear the money jingle in his pouch. So it went on day after day until the other runners were green with envy. At last the slave woman said that her mistress would like to see him about some important purchases, and Song followed her to the eastern part of the city, where they entered a fine large house. Song was ushered immediately into the presence of the mistress of the house, rather to his embarrassment, for, as we have said, Song was a modest man, and this procedure was a little out of the ordinary for Korea. But the lady set him at his ease immediately by thanking him for having been of such help in making former purchases and by entering upon the details of others that she intended. Song had to spend all his time running between her house and the shops.
One day the lady inquired about his home and prospects and, learning that he was a childless widower, suggested that he occupy a part of her house so as to be more conveniently situated for the work she had for him. He gratefully accepted the offer, and things kept going from bad to worse, or rather from good to better, until at last he married the woman and settled down to a life of comparative ease.
But his felicity was rudely shocked. One night as he was going homeward from Jongno along the side of the sewer below Water Gauge Bridge, he heard his dead father’s voice calling to him out of the air and saying, “Listen, my son, you must kill the woman though she is beautiful and seems good. Kill her as you would a reptile.”
Song stood still in mute astonishment. It was indeed his father’s voice and had told him to kill the good woman who had taken him out of his poverty and made him wealthy, who had been a kind and loving wife for more than a year. No, he could not kill her. It was absurd.
The next night he passed t
he same way and again he heard the weird voice calling as if from a distance, “Kill her, kill her like a reptile. Kill her before the seventeenth of the moon at dusk or you yourself will die.” This gave Song a nervous chill. It was so horribly definite, the seventeenth at dusk. That was only ten days off. Well, he would think it over. But the more he thought about it, the less possible it seemed, to take the life of his innocent wife. He put the thought away, and for some days shunned the place where, alone, the voice was heard. On the night of the sixteenth he passed that way and this time the unearthly voice fairly screamed at him. “Why don’t you do my bidding? I say, kill her or you will die tomorrow. Forget her goodness, look not upon her beauty. Kill her as you would a serpent; kill her—kill, kill!”
This time Song fairly made up his mind to obey the voice, and he went home sad at heart because of the horrible crime that his father was driving him to. When, however, he entered the house and his wife greeted him, hung up his hat, and brought his favorite pipe, his grim determination began to melt away, and inside of an hour he had decided that, father or no father, he could not and would not destroy this woman. He was sure he would have to die for it, but why not? She had done everything for him, and if one of them must die, why should it not be he rather than his benefactress? This generous thought stayed with him all the following day, and when the afternoon shadows began to lengthen, he made his way homeward with a stout heart. If he was to die at dusk he might as well do so decently at home. Everything was just as usual there. His wife was as kind and gentle as she always had been, and sudden death seemed the very last thing that could happen.
Eerie Tales from Old Korea Page 4
