Jin’s mother was put into the earth wearing the same clothes she wore on her deathbed. Her lonely death left not a word in terms of a will. The woman Suh, who also lived in Banchon and took in sewing with Jin’s mother, witnessed her passing in mournful silence. Suh was the daughter of an interpreter official and was once married into the nobility, but when she bore no children four years into the match, she left that home on her own two feet. Suh’s father was wealthy enough to have her ride out in a palanquin at her wedding, a privilege observed only in the households of high officials. When Suh left her husband’s home, her father bought her a house on the water bank in Banchon. He then told her she was never to step foot in his household again. Suh, who had unsurpassed skill when it came to her needle, spent her days in that house working as a seamstress. Her younger sister, Lady Suh, a court lady, sent her extra work that the palace’s Embroidery Chamber could not manage. Suh had just begun to rent out room and board to scholars studying at Sungkyunkwan when the General Sherman, an American merchant ship, sailed up the Daedong River into Pyongyang. Korea’s military and militias, rallying around Governor Park Gyusu of Pyongan Province, burned the ship down. Determined to receive a formal apology and sign a trade deal, President Ulysses S. Grant retaliated by sending a new ironclad warship to Korea. Jin’s father, who hid his real name and lived in Banchon as a manual laborer, volunteered for the militia and left for Ganghwa Island. Jin was a baby in her mother’s womb at the time.
But death is sometimes a weapon that could never be defended against.
The Korean military used mostly rocks and spears to fight against the guns of the Americans. The civilian militia, when they ran out of even that, went against the invaders with their fists. Scores were shot at a time by the guns, their bodies falling into the ocean. Some, in despair, chose to take their own lives rather than die at the hands of foreigners, throwing themselves in great numbers into the water. But they never retreated. America was unable to initiate any kind of trade negotiation in the face of such determined resistance. The ironclad ship sent by President Grant filled itself with the spoils of war and left for China after forty days.
But Jin’s father did not return to Banchon.
Jin’s mother gave birth to her child alone.
While Korea locked its doors to the world and declared a ban of all foreigners from Korean soil, the Qing Dynasty of China, under its zhongtixiyong policy of “Chinese spirit, Western technology,” was already sending students to England and France. China, which once gave the West such technologies as the compass and block printing, was sending emissaries to learn foreign ways, a thing unheard of until then. Japan also sent about fifty of its own students in a group bound for America. Among them was an eight-year-old girl who declared to the people who came to the harbor to see them off that her dream was to establish an institution of higher learning for future female leaders of modern reform. Meanwhile, in France, a few young artists including Cezanne, Monet, Renoir, and Degas broke off from the salon system and mounted their own exhibition, sending shockwaves across the traditional art world.
Jin’s mother used to carry Jin on her back to the woman Suh’s house during the day and to help her with her sewing work. Suh thought things would always be this way, with Jin’s mother and herself keeping each other company. When Suh found herself with the abruptly orphaned Jin in her arms, she could only stare into the little one’s eyes with a feeling of deep loss.
—How pretty you are.
The child, who hadn’t an inkling that she had no family left to her in this world, possessed the clearest eyes. All she could do, this little one Suh had known only as Baby, was blink at Suh’s words.
—How heartless your mother was. If she was going to leave you all by yourself, she should’ve told me something about you. She should’ve given you a name. What could your family name be? What was she so afraid of that she couldn’t even tell me that?
There were people who went into Banchon to hide, those who had broken the country’s law by illegally cutting pine or brewing and selling wheat beer. The constables dared not enter Banchon, for a number of the nobility lived there. Even when illegal woodcutters managed to scramble into Banchon, there was no way of arresting them without a special warrant. And those who concealed themselves in Banchon never left it. They harvested cows and pigs for the Sungkyunkwan scholars or borrowed land to farm on, with young girls becoming servants attached to Sungkyunkwan while the boys worked as butchers at the slaughterhouse.
The crowing of roosters and barking of dogs was constant in Banchon.
On summer nights, the cries of the frogs penetrated every room of every house. In this village where no one put locks on their doors, Jin had lost her mother at the tender age of five and was left all alone in the world.
Around that time, Lady Suh, the woman Suh’s sister, was appointed to the Queen’s Chambers. She had previously served under a childless dowager consort who was widowed at a young age.
A lush bamboo forest grew behind the woman Suh’s house in Banchon. It made anyone who harbored love in their heart, whether for a person or the birds or the trees, send up a prayer to the heavens. Since bringing Jin into her home, Suh started her days in prayer before the bamboo forest over an offering of a bowl of clear water. Jin, who fell asleep to the sound of the bamboo leaves rustling, often dreamt of pear blossoms. Even when listening to the splattering of rain on leaves, a vision of a sea of pear blossoms spread before her. She repeatedly dreamed of walking among trees laden with pear blossoms, coming upon a lily pond of fathomless depths, and jumping headlong into the water.
She was dreaming it again during her nap the day Lady Suh brought more sewing to the woman Suh’s house in Banchon. Lady Suh’s steps were swift in her desire to give her older sister some black pepper, which was precious even in the palace. The welcome sight of her younger sister, whom she hadn’t seen in a while, made the woman Suh step down into the courtyard without even pausing for her shoes. Despite being the older sibling, the woman Suh never failed to call her sister “my lady.” Lady Suh had entered the palace at the age of eight and risen steadily to the ranks of the higher court ladies. She exuded an elegance befitting her station. As she dropped the outer coat that covered her head during out-of-palace excursions, the first thing she noticed was the child lying in Suh’s room.
—Who might this child be?
Suh hesitated, uncertain as to how to explain Jin’s presence.
—Sister! Who is this child?
—Do you remember the woman who used to come to this house and take on my extra work? She used to live on the banks . . . She’s left this child and gone on to the next world. The child has no other place to go . . .”
—How old is she?
—She’s five now.
—Her name?
—She has no name yet.
—Has no name? Then what have you been calling her?
—I just say, “Hello, Baby” . . . Sometimes I call her Ewha.
—Ewha?
—After the pear blossoms. Her house is by a large grove of pear trees . . .
Lady Suh stared down at the sleeping child. The woman Suh spoke.
—We could give her a name, but she has no family name . . .
—How is it that you do not know her family name?
—Her mother and I were neighbors, but she never talked about her life.
—Perhaps they were running from something?
—Well . . . maybe they were Catholic? I think she mentioned her family going to ruin in the Year of the Red Tiger. That’s the year the Catholics had to run for the hills. If they came here then, it must be so. Maybe that’s why the child’s father volunteered for that mess at Ganghwa Island. They were told they would be pardoned if they fought well, but he left and never came back.
—And as for this child, will you be the one raising her?
—I see no other way, my lady.
Lady Suh gently placed a hand on the sleeping child’s forehead.
/> —How pretty you are. Was that why you lost your parents so early?
Little Jin, who was dreaming of walking through clouds of pear blossoms, seemed like a young seagull trapped in a landlocked country.
—This child . . . shall I take her into the palace, sister?
And so, on a day when the early summer rain pattered upon the bamboo leaves, Jin entered the palace on the back of the young Lady Attendant Lee sent by Lady Suh. Love cannot happen without attachment, and Suh was distraught, questioning her choice of sending the girl away into the palace. Her desire to keep Jin close bubbled up from inside her. Lady Suh herself had said that bringing the girl into the palace now did not guarantee she would be made a court lady in the future.
In the palace were three dowager consorts who were childless and spending the rest of their days in loneliness. Dowager Consort Cheolin, whom Lady Suh had once served, was one of these three. Lady Suh hoped that the presence of a child would bring warmth to her former mistress, that Jin’s playful and pretty nature would lessen the old woman’s solitude. They agreed to try this arrangement for a few years before deciding the little girl’s future.
Every morning, Jin left for the palace on the back of Lady Attendant Lee, escorted to Banchon’s entrance by the woman Suh. She was brought home upon sundown, again on the back of Lady Attendant Lee, to the house in Banchon.
A pear blossom, a pear blossom, my baby’s face is a pear blossom . . .
Jin played with the woman Suh’s sewing basket as Suh did her work and drifted to sleep to the sound of Suh singing these words. Suh always said, as Jin was carried into the palace, “Have a good day today, Baby, don’t forget to smile, Baby.”
Jin had to be carried home every evening because she was very young, but also because she would wake around midnight and cry until she was breathless, her legs stretched out like planks. That was the hour when Jin’s mother had died.
Jin must have danced and sung for the dowager consort across from her gloomy royal meal table. She must have massaged with her little hands the dowager consort’s back that had grown crooked under the weight of the elaborate royal hair ornament. She must have fallen asleep in the presence of the dowager consort, who was not much for words and allowed silence to settle. Jin might have naively reached for the jeweled bits that dangled like water droplets in the hair ornament of the woman condemned to become a dowager consort at a young age. She might have walked behind the dowager consort across the Golden Flower Bridge as they took a stroll in the gardens during an appointed time.
All memory of this was gone. Only one scene remained.
For some forgotten reason, Jin was wandering the wide palace alone that day. She must have tiptoed out of the dowager consort’s chambers in search of a latrine. The dark tones of the palace scared her. She felt the beasts carved into the stones of the pillars were peering at her. The earth underneath her feet was sticky and black. Even the trees took on a deep blue hue. The moss growing on the granite was damp to the touch. Sunlight shone through the branches, but the blue, yellow, and orange of the leaves lost their usual coloring in the shade. The vast gardens of the palace were too wide for a five-year-old to spread out and play on her own. Even the green grass that carpeted the grounds seemed shady and dark. The large trees and flowers with names she didn’t know seemed to follow her. Jin looked up at an umbrella pine that a magpie had alighted upon. She followed a clear stream that babbled past her in a clearing. She skipped over a dry streambed. She stood on the edge of the flowing stream and looked at an arch built over it. The faces of the ferocious dokkaebi carved into the stone gave her a fright. Four beasts in the stone wore four different expressions, one of whom seemed to beg to be played with. It happened then, when Jin crouched down to look at that one animal.
—Who is this child?
The bright voice made Jin look up, and she had to close her doe-like eyes.
Just a moment earlier she had thought the palace was dark, but now it seemed that all the light of the world shimmered before her. The scent of flowers floated over to where Jin was. When the owner of the bright voice moved, a rustling issued from her beautiful green robes that looked as if they would carry her into the air.
—You are in the presence of the Queen.
Was it a dream?
Jin could only look up at her. The Queen was the first person who had ever asked her who she was. All she could see of her were her eyes. Her face quietly shone with good health, but her gaze was especially clear and present. They contained an emotion not as simple as joy or sadness but something too subtle to be spoken of. Underneath these eyes were a pair of slender lips, which were smiling.
—Who are you?
Jin could only gaze up at her from below.
—Why are you alone?
—. . .
—What were you looking at?
Jin was too young to say who she was, why she was alone, or what she was looking at. From behind the Queen, one of the many lady attendants, who all had their heads bowed, explained, “This is a child from the Dowager Consort Cheolin’s chambers.” From the band of white at the end of the Queen’s wide green sleeve emerged a pale, thin hand, which reached for Jin’s and held it.
—How clever you look, little one.
—. . .
—Would you like to come with me?
Jin’s tiny hand was wrapped in the soft hand of the Queen. The Queen’s touch was so warm and lovely that Jin kept wriggling her fingers in it. Together, the two went down the wide path of thinly spread pebbles. They walked among the pine trees that threw shadows on the ground. Lady Suh, who had just heard what had happened, her face as white as a sheet, came hurrying before the Queen as she repeatedly bowed and said, “Forgive me, Your Majesty, forgive me.” But the Queen did not let go of Jin’s hand.
A kind of affinity appears between two people who hold hands. The woman and the child didn’t let go as they watched the sun go down over the faraway mountains and as they walked by the pond that contained the moon. They passed Amisan Hill, made from the earth dug up during the construction of the Pavilion of Festivities, and the gardens that were their own world of flowers and grass and decorative rocks.
They reached the Queen’s Chambers deep in the palace, a building distinguished by its lack of a dragon ridge along the apex of its roof. Only then did the Queen stop to speak to one of the many lady attendants following her with their heads bowed.
—Are there pears in the Refreshments Chamber?
The Queen’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear.
—Bring one, and a fruit knife and spoon.
Jin’s heart was stolen by the beautiful flowered wall that she could see behind the Queen. She was fascinated by the chimney that was built by stacking red bricks into a hexagonal tower and crowned with black roof tile and a flue cover. There were engravings all over it, of demons, phoenixes, fantastic deer, the Ten Immortal Elements, and the Four Gentlemen.
As they passed through the Gate of Dualities, the doors of the Queen’s Chambers were slid open.
Avid as a seagull spotting dry land, pure as a drop of dew on a pear blossom, Jin was seated next to the Queen.
A lady attendant placed a tray containing a glistening pear, a fruit knife, and a small spoon between Jin and the Queen. The Queen spread Jin’s hand and placed the pear upon Jin’s tiny palm.
—Are you lonely like me?
The rough wet skin of the pear pressed into Jin’s palm. The moment its coolness touched her skin, Jin remembered her mother’s face.
The face unseen since the day the thousands of pear blossoms opened and fluttered in the wind.
—Shall I feed you?
The Queen’s eyes still shone, but unlike in the gardens, her voice was infused with sadness. Taking the fruit knife, the Queen sliced off the top of the pear, exposing the moist, white flesh. The Queen gently scraped the white insides of the pear with the spoon. Once the bowl of the spoon was filled, she fed the spoon into Jin’s mouth.
&n
bsp; —Is it good?
The child nodded.
The Queen smiled and scraped at the white pear flesh again. Pear juice dribbled on her sleeve, to which the Queen was oblivious. When the spoon filled with pear again, she fed it to Jin and smiled once more. The lady attendant from the Refreshments Chamber, standing at a distance, was so disconcerted that she blushed.
—Do you like it?
The child nodded again.
It was something the girl’s mother used to do for her when they lived by the pear orchard. Her mother would scrape the insides of a pear earned from doing some sewing and feed it to Jin, asking, “Is it good?” Jin, her mouth full, would only be able to nod. The mother waited until the child swallowed all the pear before scraping another spoonful of pear and asking again, “Is it good?”
Watching Jin’s cheeks puff, her mouth full of pear juice, her mother would say, “You’re a pear tree, you are.
“How strange it was, to see a lone pear tree growing by the sea. A pear tree on the beach? It’s the last place you would expect one. Would its flowers bloom in the ocean storms? Would it bear fruit? I kept worrying about it, so I brought that pear tree home. Then I had you, so you must be a pear tree.”
It was the Queen who sat before her, but Jin thought she heard her mother’s voice and looked about the chamber, tears trembling in her eyes.
—Why are you crying when you’re eating something delicious?
The Queen reached over to wipe the child’s eyes.
Jin, in a vague wave of longing, kept eating from the Queen’s spoon like a baby seagull as the Queen scraped together the watery flesh. The sweetness pooled in her mouth and droplets dewed in her eyes. Jin was on the verge of realizing that she could never go back to that time when she was with her mother, to that place where all the pear blossoms of the world had floated and scattered in the wind.
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