7
A Bird with No Feet
The woman Suh paused before she stepped into the Banchon house.
A house falls quickly into disrepair without a constant human presence. The house had looked abandoned ever since Jin began locking herself up in it. The courtyard was overrun with weeds, and dead leaves from the year before tumbled about with no one to sweep them. The vegetable patch, once the first thing to be turned and cared for in the spring, lay neglected off to the side.
Only the flowering apricot tree looked as it always had, standing alone in the courtyard. The woman Suh pushed open the low gate, which hadn’t been opened since she last closed it ten days ago. She knew there would be no response, but she called out anyway. She knocked the dust off her shoes. Her voice echoed through the emptiness. Suh went into the kitchen first. Just as she suspected, the furnace showed no sign of having been lit. Suh poured water into the cauldron above it, lit a fire, and rubbed her eyes. She stared at the red flames. Her hair had gone completely white. It had happened when she heard news of the Queen’s death, along with that of her younger sister, Lady Suh. Days after the incident, the woman Suh had found Jin lying unconscious in the quarters of Lady Lee, who used to take Jin to and from the palace every day when Jin was a child in service of the Dowager Consort Cheolin. Suh’s back had bowed permanently after carrying the bloodied Jin back home. The knuckles of Suh’s fingers as they grazed the cauldron were thick and calloused. When she discerned that the cauldron was hot enough, she pushed more kindling into the furnace and closed the furnace gate. She stretched her back and opened the door to Jin’s room. Just as she had for the past few days, Jin ignored everything that was going on around her, remaining in the fetal position underneath her blanket. Had she written a letter? A letter lay near her pillow. Suh entered the room and slid her hand underneath the bedding. Jin was in what would be the warmest position in the room, but the fire had not taken effect yet. She picked up the letter. Victor’s name was written on it. Jin opened her eyes. She blinked as if the sunlight coming through the paper screen doors was too much for her. Suh spoke.
—The apricot tree bloomed. Did you see it?
Jin hadn’t eaten for days, and her eyes were sunken. Not a trace of pink could be seen on her haggard cheeks. Her hair was a mess of tangles. Jin tried to get up, and Suh helped her lean against a wall. The once firm nape of her neck was listlessly leaning to one side as well as peeping out of the lowered shoulder of her dress. Suh stared at her, then removed the patchwork covering of the bowl of congee she had left before. It was uneaten. Suh got up and fetched the congee she had made in the orphanage before coming to Jin. It was thick, having been properly cooked for a long time. Jin did not take it. Suh tried to coax her but then put the bowl back on the table.
—Is it death you want?
—. . .
—Is it?
—. . .
—If you do this, I shall stop eating as well.
—. . .
—I shall.
Tears flowed down Jin’s dry face.
—There was nothing you could have done. Everyone thought the Queen had fled somewhere by then. Who would have known she’d be killed in such a manner? The King sought refuge in the Russian legation.
Suh brought another spoonful of congee to Jin’s lips.
—Just a little. If you don’t eat, I will not eat either, from this day forward.
—. . .
—Just a little . . . just one spoonful . . .
As soon as the morsel made its way into Jin’s mouth, she retched.
Jin’s body, so tormented, was refusing even congee.
Suh consoled Jin, who managed to down a few spoonfuls before she started retching again. Suh fed, and Jin retched. Eventually, Suh gave up. The hand that wiped Jin’s mouth with a piece of folded linen was trembling, and the wrinkles of concern on her forehead were deep. A strange smell floated in the room.
—Open the door.
Suh opened the door. There was still a chill, but the clear, transparent spring sun shone upon the porch. A spring breeze entered the room. Jin gazed at the apricot blossoms for a while, and then pulled at Suh’s hand.
—Mother . . .
Suh looked in Jin’s eyes.
—Take me . . . take me to the palace.
Suh was silent. Jin seemed to be looking at the blossoms, but Suh realized there was nothing in Jin’s eyes. Those eyes would have seen the Queen being stabbed three times by the rōnin’s sword, her body trampled beneath their feet.
—There is nothing . . . There is nothing in the palace.
Suh’s throat constricted. Not only was there no Queen, but no Lady Suh, not even Soa. Even the King had abandoned the place.
—Take me there.
Suh brought a bowl of lukewarm water to Jin’s lips. Jin grasped it with both hands and drank it all down. She handed it to Suh and tried to smile.
—Must you go there?
Jin nodded.
—We have to call a palanquin. You can’t walk there in this state. I shall put a word in to Lady Lee and see if she’ll grant you entrance.
—Now.
“Now?” Suh repeated the word, and Jin nodded again.
—Would you like me to comb your hair?
Jin nodded. Suh opened a low dresser with a peony engraved on it. She was about to take out a comb, but Jin pointed to the brush. The brush with a rose on it, a gift from Victor. How he had loved to brush her hair with it. Suh gently sat Jin in front of her and handled this strange foreign thing through Jin’s dry hair.
—Mother.
Suh stopped brushing and tilted sideways to catch Jin’s face.
—Please give that letter to Paul Choi at the French legation.
—. . .
—He said Victor was coming back to Korea in a few days. You must give it to him before then.
Suh’s eyes grew wide.
—But why would he ever come back?
—He’s been reappointed as the legate to Korea.
—Will you see him again?
—No . . . I can’t.
—. . .
—You must give Paul Choi that letter.
Suh was about to say something but thought better of it and left to call a palanquin. Jin sat alone and opened one of the dresser drawers to take out a linen package. She unwrapped it. Inside was a jade-green jacket and indigo skirt, and the red ribbon for her hair. The court lady uniform she wore when she left the palace to visit the legation. She had walked out of the palace in this, not knowing she would never return to live there. On top of it was the yellowing, handwritten French-Korean dictionary that Blanc had used to teach Jin French. She remembered how Victor had silently watched her packing it, the first thing she packed for her return to Korea. Jin had followed his stare and gazed at it herself before putting it away in another package. She examined her old court lady clothes. If she had worn these, she would be with the Queen now. The rōnin had pushed Jin aside, but they did not dare kill her. She couldn’t bear the guilt of having survived when Lady Suh and Soa had been killed. Jin took off her dress and put on the court lady attire, beginning with the inner garment. She braided her lusterless hair and secured it into knots with the red ribbon, the hairstyle she and Soa did for each other every morning during their days at the Embroidery Chamber. No matter how she tried now, her brittle hair refused to stay neat, with strands that persisted in poking out of the knots.
Suh, who had come back from calling a palanquin, regarded Jin with worried eyes.
Having lost the Queen, the King spent his nights in terror and anxiety before abandoning the palace in February. Sneaking past the Japanese forces training in front of the main gate, the King rode in a palanquin reserved for court ladies into the Russian legation. The Crown Prince escaped with him. The palace, having lost its owner, was a hollow shell of its former glory. Where had all the courtiers gone? Japan declared the Regent responsible for the events of that night, claiming he had conspired with the disgr
untled new army to drive out the King and Queen. They spread a rumor that the Queen had fled the palace. They made the King sign an expulsion order for the Queen and made him decree that men’s hair was to be cut short. When the King became the first to cut his hair, people on the streets wept in humiliation. The Russian electrical engineer Sabatin and America’s General Dye, who was staying at the palace, bore witness to what had really happened there, but Japan continued to deny the Queen’s death. The palace could not even hold her funeral. Aside from a few scholars silently protesting with their heads shorn before the Gate of Greeting Autumn, demanding the King’s return and an end to the haircutting decree, the environs of the palace were silent. Jin saw one of the Japanese soldiers give something to the woman Suh. The soldiers did not closely question their business. It was like entering an empty house.
Suh wandered through the palace, looking for Jin.
Even with the King gone, Suh had dared not enter the palace as she pleased. She thought she could at least get some form of permission from Lady Lee at her quarters, so she left Jin in a sunny spot to wait. But when she came back, Jin was gone. It was sunset by the time Suh and Lady Lee found Jin, on the hill behind Geoncheonggung. Months ago, So Chonsil’s daughter, who held on to Jin as the Queen was being murdered, let her go only when they wrapped the Queen’s body in a quilt and moved her to this hill. When Jin saw them throw the Queen’s body on top of a stack of kindling and pour fuel over the pile before setting fire to it, she lapsed into unconsciousness. The next thing she could remember was waking in Lady Lee’s quarters. They could not find Soa’s body, who had fallen near the Hall of Precious Rest, or the remains of the valiant Lady Suh. If Lady Lee had not found Jin lying half-conscious on the hill and spirited her away on her back, there was no telling what would have become of her as well. The rōnin wanted to throw the Queen’s charred bones into a pond, but Jin heard that someone got to the remains first and buried them somewhere in the palace, prompting her to go digging for the Queen’s bones.
Lady Lee tried to help Jin stand up. They were beside that very spot where the Queen had been burned on that terrible night. Jin asked in a whisper to be taken to the Queen’s Chambers. Lady Lee told her that there was no one in the Queen’s Chambers. Jin insisted. In the end, just as she had done countless times twenty years ago when Jin was in service to the Dowager Consort Cheolin, Lady Lee carried Jin on her back down the hill and into the main court and set her down at the Queen’s Chambers. That was four days ago.
Lady Lee came up to the woman Suh, who sat before the Gate of Dualities.
The Queen’s Chambers had stood empty for some time. Ever since the Queen moved her sleeping quarters to Geoncheonggung, the Queen’s Chambers had lost its vitality, and a chill had descended upon the building. Once, the Gate of Dualities had been practically worn down from all the visitors passing through it, but now there were weeds sprouting everywhere. There the Queen’s Chambers sat, neglected, in the early spring sunshine.
—Is she still . . .?
Suh nodded her head. Jin had refused to leave the Queen’s Chambers since entering them four days ago.
—What is she doing in there?
—She’s touching the things that are still in there.
—They say the soul of the Queen is haunting the Queen’s Chambers. But it’s just us court ladies at the palace now . . .
Such rumors were only natural, seeing how someone had entered the Queen’s Chambers and refused to leave.
The lonely wind swirled around the Queen’s Chambers.
Suh and Lady Lee entered the compound to look for Jin. For four days, Jin had passed her hands over every surface of the Queen’s Chambers as if to memorize the space, but today she sat across from where the Queen would have normally sat. Her head was bowed as if she were listening to someone, and her lips would move on occasion as if to speak. She had shrunken so much that she looked like a child.
Lady Lee teared up.
—How could she go on like this? Does she eat anything?
—Only water.
They saw Jin slump forward onto her elbows. Lady Lee pulled Suh away.
—Go to my quarters and eat something and rest. Nothing can be done for her now.
Jin felt through her very bones the sound of the two women opening the door of the Queen’s Chambers and closing it behind them. Just as she had wished, her body was weakening. The eyes that had watched the Queen being killed were getting weaker, but strangely enough, her hearing was finer than ever before. She could hear everything, from the sound of birds landing on the ancient pine of the empty palace to the rocks being idly thrown against the stonework of the King’s well by the patrolling Japanese soldiers.
—I cannot live.
Jin, unmoving, murmured toward where the Queen would have sat.
—I cannot die.
Jin’s face twisted in pain.
—I cannot live, or die . . . What must I do?
Her strength had left her, and she could barely see, but she clearly remembered the night she spent in the Queen’s Chambers after returning from Paris, when the Queen woke up and lit her own cigarette and whispered the deepest worries of her soul.
—Do you sleep?
Jin lifted her head at the sound of the Queen’s voice. The voice sounded like it came from nearby, but she saw only the chilly dimness of the Queen’s Chambers about her. Jin realized that the voice had been the Queen’s from that night she had slept by her side. She regretted having pretended to sleep that night. Why had she allowed the Queen to become so lonely?
—My poor lady . . .
Tears moistened her dry eyes.
—My poor lady . . .
The tears welled up from inside her. Was it spring, or autumn, when the Queen brought a young Jin, lost and wandering through the palace, to this very room? Memories of time and the seasons were fading. The hands that lifted the fruit knife and cut a circle along the top of the pear . . . She had scraped the moist flesh of the pear with a spoon and fed it to her. Is it good? Do you like it? The Queen, taking no heed of the juice dripping on her silk sleeves, filling the spoon again and again, the mouthfuls of sweetness.
—Your Majesty. My poor lady.
Jin swallowed as if she had a mouthful of sweet pear. The moment she had seen the queen felled by the sword, she had realized that she saw the Queen as her true mother. That the Queen was not someone who was difficult to look in the eye, but a mother, kind and strong and powerful. Which was why, despite Jin’s disappointment and resentment, she could not help but love her.
Jin managed to stand up and do a deep bow before the seat of the Queen.
Uncertain on her feet, she started to step slowly about the floor.
The final part of the Dance of the Spring Oriole. When she spread her arms, she could see the banquet before her like in years past. The years when she knew without looking that the sound of the daegeum, melting into the spreading of her sleeves like wings or her serene and contemplative look as if to a beautiful flower, was Yeon’s. In her years as a court lady where she lived day to day in fear of what would happen to the palace and the country, she managed to be truly free only while dancing. She could feel love, or the breeze on her skin, joyful praise, the falling flower, the flowing water. How could she have known that the last time she properly performed this dance was for the Queen, the night before she left for Paris? Where did she find the strength? Jin could barely stand at first, but now she finished the dance in careful form, gathered her breath and her hands, and stepped away from the stage.
The cold spring sunlight prickled her eyes as she left the Queen’s Chambers. She held in her arms the linen parcel she had brought with her four days ago and gazed past the roof of the Queen’s Chambers to the Dowagers’ Chambers in the north. It was where Dowager Consort Cheolin had taught the young Jin about the chun, gwi, man, su, nak characters engraved on the patterned wall. She recalled the sadness and patience in the young dowager consort’s face as she voiced the characters f
or her.
Jin walked toward the back gardens of the Queen’s Chambers where the Queen would often stroll with her court lady attendants. The once-beautiful Amisan Hill, made from the earth dug up during the construction of the pond surrounding the Pavilion of Festivities, was overrun with weeds. The balance of various trees and flowers that had created a lush tableau was no more. Only faraway Baekaksan Mountain looked gloomily down at the hill where no one dared tread. Dead leaves from the year before tumbled into the Pond of Sunset and the Moon-Bearing Pond. A white and yellow cat, once taken care of perhaps by a court lady, sunned itself on the hill, and sprinted away at the sound of Jin’s footsteps. Having listlessly wandered through the palace, Jin sat down on a white rock surrounded by overgrown weeds and leaned her back against a stone lantern. The cat stopped underneath the ancient pine near the Queen’s Chambers and looked back at Jin. The former court dancer unwrapped the linen package to reveal the French-Korean dictionary transcribed in Blanc’s hand. She placed it on her knees.