The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [20]
“In Seoul,” said Mother, to remind me that Japanese language was not allowed at home.
I wanted to ask not only if the emperor had committed honor suicide, but also if his son, the new emperor, was really a simpleton. Girls at school said he was an idiot, but I knew that term was mean. Mother had a relative still at court, a cousin who had married the last prime minister loyal to Emperor Gojong. When this prime minister refused to affix his seal to the Protectorate Treaty of 1905—which proclaimed Japan to be the protector of Korea and thus opened wide the gates for official Japanese takeover—he was removed bodily from the palace. Not long afterward, he and their only son, a four-year-old child, were killed. His widow, whom I called Imo, Maternal Aunt, still attended royal functions and would certainly know something about the young emperor. Because of Mother’s warnings about my responsibility as a child of yangban, I’d known not to talk about Imo to my schoolmates. And I followed the same inner counsel and said nothing now.
Mother spoke as softly as the susurrus of thread being pulled through fabric. “Yes, there’s a big funeral planned, and they’re freely giving travel papers to anyone going to Seoul. What I’m going to tell you must remain between your ears.” She looked at me meaningfully and I nodded. “Your father is helping to coordinate a nationwide protest. Instead of a parade of mourning, there’ll be an enormous demonstration for independence. Every patriot knows about it. A wondrous event! At the same hour in every city and village across the country, a declaration of independence will be read.” Her voice held an intensity, an excitement I had never heard before. “All the churches are involved. Ministers lead the movement in towns and villages throughout Korea. Think of what it means!”
I didn’t really grasp what it meant, but her passion and the fact of everybody doing the same thing in a single moment intrigued me. Remembering my teacher’s advice to go to the root of a problem to solve it, I said, “I think I understand, but how did it happen?”
“What a good question,” she said. At that proud moment, I doubly appreciated my wise teacher and generous mother. “Our leaders were inspired by a speech given by America’s President Wilson, called Fourteen Points. Your father says that President Wilson wants to help small nations who are dominated by stronger nations. And also, America supports self-determination, our right as a people to choose to be an independent and free country.”
I kept to my sewing, questions bubbling in my throat. I didn’t clearly understand what Mother meant by self-determination, but was pleased that she spoke to me almost as if I were grown. Was the American president stronger than the Taisho Emperor? How would he help?
Mother smoothed a finished flag in her lap. “Think of it! If all the ministers are involved, many countrymen will participate. We have much to be grateful for in our patriot leaders. Some are in Europe right now trying to make other nations see how unjust the treaties were. Did you also learn about this?”
I tried to merge Teacher Yee’s lessons with this information. I recalled that my mother had once taught me about a European trip taken by Emperor Gojong’s men, who, having failed in their mission to garner support for Korea, had all committed suicide. She’d spelled the strange-sounding place, The Hague, and I remembered how she quickly scratched the letterforms with a needle on a starched sleeve, and as quickly rubbed them away. But that Hague business had occurred long before I was born. I frowned.
“I suppose not.” She sighed.
“Do you mean the foreign treaties that gave Korea to the Japanese without asking the emperor?” At least I could prove that I’d indeed paid attention to the lessons spoken over needlework in the evening hours with my mother.
“Yes,” she said with a rewarding smile. “And not just the emperor but all the Korean people, who should determine