The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [58]
Imo sighed. I apologized and asked if she was too tired to talk. If I hadn’t been so young and piqued to hear the dramatic stories from court, I might have considered that remembering this past would be painful for my aunt.
“No, you should know what happened. I was about your age and still living at home when she died, so I never met her. They say she was unusually strong-willed and intelligent, very involved in politics. Some say she was ambitious and cared only about power. As a matter of fact, when the Gwangmu Emperor acceded to the throne, most of the ministerial appointments were given to her clan.”
I admired how Imo handled her chopsticks to pick up pear slices, and while waiting for her to finish chewing I recited in my head the high court positions: minister of the left, minister of the right, minister of the state council, minister of justice, minister of war, minister of rites, minister of personnel, minister of public works … I was confused if this was the cabinet before or after the 1895 Kabo Reforms, but suddenly recognized the reform year as being the same as the queen’s death, and wondered if the two were related.
Imo told me to finish eating. One was supposed to eat everything served, hence portions were small. She continued, “After Japan won the war with China, the queen spoke strongly against foreign influence in court. This was also immediately after the Donghak Revolution, the peasant uprising, and it was a complicated time. You probably don’t know that many officials were actually grateful for the Japanese. Japan was seen as a generous friend who would help guide us into the modern age. Hundreds of newspapers came out, and suddenly anybody who could read, or anyone who could listen to someone else read, had an opinion about how things should be. There was a widespread popular movement toward ‘civilization and enlightenment.’ Since it meant following the Japanese example, it raised opposition from traditionalists, like your father. But it was fashionable and trendy to strive for modern ideas and Western goods.” She sipped her rice tea. I wondered what kinds of “civilized and enlightened” products of that time might have attracted Imo.
“So you see,” she said, “Japanese advisers were already involved in court. The queen was like a rock they had to kick from the road to pass through.” She moved her tray aside, checked mine and called Kyungmee, who removed them. Imo told me to get my sewing from across the room and asked Kyungmee to light the brazier and bring a shawl.
“In early October 1895, in the evening, a eunuch alerted the queen and her ladies that the new Japanese envoy, Miura Goro, had entered the palace with soldiers and was heading her way. To conceal herself, the queen dressed in simple clothes and sat among the ladies-in-waiting. The soldiers couldn’t know which of the ladies was the queen, so they slashed to death the women closest to them. Some say she tried to save her ladies-in-waiting by identifying herself, but who knows? They killed all the witnesses, desecrated her and burned her body in the garden.”
I couldn’t swallow. Desecrated rang in my ears. I felt terrible for wanting to hear the story as if it were gossip. I remembered Teacher Yee and what she’d suffered. My eyes filled with the horror of it, and the shame. “Yes, child,” said Imo quietly. “When the news came out, everyone was shocked and there were many protests.” I felt pangs of sadness for my teacher and the queen’s tragic end, and was glad to have sewing to hold my attention until the intensity of the feelings eased. Imo asked me to get her a deck of cards from across the room, which allowed me to pull a handkerchief from my skirtband and surreptitiously blot my eyes and nose. Her example showed me how women could help each other preserve