The calligrapher's daughter_ a novel - Eugenia Kim [68]
“Come, Your Highness,” said a lady-in-waiting. “Best that we rest.”
We returned to her sitting room where we remained until night fell. The women lamented loudly, a sound that sometimes helped release into tears the grief held within our bodies, and also sometimes seemed pointless and irritating. I wanted to shout, “Let her mourn in peace! Let her pray for her brother, her family, and let her voice her fears.” She did not have Jesus in her vocabulary, but she could appeal to Heaven to reward the soul of the emperor, and for the merciful future of her vanquished family.
The servants had more mobility than we did, and so desperate were we for news that we relied on them to pass messages through the kitchen. At lunch came word that my aunt, who’d come from church to walk me home, was with the empress. When we asked for fresh water, we learned that the minister of rites and certain Japanese officials had visited the empress to speak of funeral preparations. At dinner the death of the tasting maid was confirmed, and at bedtime snack came news that the emperor’s cause of death was ascribed to apoplexy. I remembered the spider-knobbed hands of Dr. Hakugi when in the past he’d examined the princess, who often had headaches. I could envision his spindly face and wiry mouth attesting to the emperor’s cerebral hemorrhage, apoplexy, with the professional confidence of a longtime falsifier.
I stayed with Princess Deokhye that night, sitting by her bedside with the strong maid, the eunuch posted outside her door. I dozed until the princess woke with sad tears or nightmares. I felt my mother’s spirit and her dream of water, of women’s resilience, with me, and regardless of propriety or prohibition, I softly sang hymns to help the princess fall asleep again, to bring something pure and good to the room. There was no way to know if news of the emperor’s death had yet reached outside the palace.
We were detained at Sugang Hall for nine days. I sent word to Imo and the empress through the servants that we were unharmed, and received similar reassurances from Imo. On the tenth day, Imo was released and allowed to stop in at the princess’s house for a short while before taking me to her house. She told us what she knew about the days ahead. My imo looked determined and strong, if somewhat tired, and I was relieved to have her near. I hadn’t realized my degree of fear until I felt the safety of her presence, the comfort of her flower and citrus smell. Then I felt guilty because Princess Deokhye could not share this relief.
By then, news of the emperor’s death had reached the city and had quickly spread throughout the country. While spontaneous demonstrations of outrage and sadness, and cries for independence clogged the town squares and city plazas, rumors about the cause of his death and about his mental health continued to propagate. To mollify the people, a formal state funeral was slated for several weeks later, June 10, which would bestow the proper Confucian burial rites to the last emperor of Korea. In the meantime, Imo would send me home to Gaeseong for my safety, while she would continue to do what little she could to support the few survivors of the once-great Yi royal family.
Imo said it was time to leave the palace. Although I had been waiting for this moment all the past nine days, it felt too abrupt. I thought it was similar to the fate that had shadowed the palace and the royal family for decades. The Yunghui emperor’s unnatural death had always been feared, and imminent, and yet its occurrence felt sudden and unexpected. I said my goodbyes to the staff and bowed low to the princess, saying all the formalities of honorable thanks and farewell in the special language reserved for royalty. My eyes were wet, but my voice was as steady and sure as the training I had