The Last Empress - Anchee Min [32]
The doctor confessed that it had been a struggle for him to come forward with the truth. His medical team had been accused of bringing His Majesty bad luck. Everyone had been trying to keep Tung Chih's sickness a secret.
I asked the doctor to forgive me and promised that I would control my emotions.
An effort was made to stabilize Tung Chih's condition. In December of 1874, the spots on his body dried out and his fever abated. The palaces celebrated the signs of recovery. But it was premature. A few days later, Tung Chih's fever returned, and it persisted.
I can't recall how I passed my days. My mind was capable of only one thought: to save my son. I refused to believe that Tung Chih would die. Sun Pao-tien suggested that I seek out Western doctors for a second opinion. "They have the tools to take His Majesty's body fluid and blood samples," he whispered, knowing that he was not supposed to make the suggestion. "However, I doubt their diagnosis will be different."
The court rejected my request for Western doctors, fearing that foreigners would take advantage of Tung Chih's condition and see an opportunity to invade.
I lay beside my feverish son. I listened to the sound of his labored breathing. His cheeks burned. In his waking hours he quietly whimpered and moaned.
Tung Chih requested that Nuharoo and I resume the regency. I refused at first, because I knew I wouldn't be able to concentrate on court matters. But Tung Chih insisted. When I read his decree to the nation, I realized what my help would mean to him.
The ink handwriting on rice paper was my son's last calligraphy. Of all things, I was saddened by the fact that my grandchild would never see the way his father held the brush pen.
"I beg the two Empresses to have pity on my state and allow me to take care of myself," Tung Chih's edict read. "In looking after the affairs of state for a time, the Empresses will crown their great goodness toward me and I will show them everlasting gratitude."
Every day after an audience, I went to sit with Tung Chih. I spoke with Doctor Sun Pao-tien and Tung Chih's attendants. I examined the growing pustules on my son's skin and wished that they were on my own body. I begged for Heaven's mercy and prayed: "Please do not be too cruel to a mother."
I ordered that no one was to disturb Tung Chih's rest, but the doctor advised that I let my son see anyone he wished. "His Majesty might never have the chance again."
I complied. I sat by my son and made sure no one would exhaust him.
Alute refused to come when Tung Chih sent for her. She said that she would not enter the room unless I wasn't there.
I yielded.
It was two in the morning when my son opened his eyes. Although his cheeks were still hot, he was in good spirits. He asked me to sit by his side. I helped prop him up against the pillows. I begged him to let me feed him a little porridge. He shook his head.
"Let's have some fun together before I die." He managed a bright smile.
I broke down and told him that I didn't know what fun he was talking about. As far as I was concerned, my happiness would end if he died.
Tung Chih held my hand and squeezed it. "I miss the moon," he said. "Would you help me get out to the courtyard?"
I wrapped a blanket over his shoulders and helped him out of bed. Just getting dressed was an effort and he was soon out of breath.
With an arm on my shoulders, he stepped into the courtyard.
"What a beautiful night," he sighed.
"It's too cold, Tung Chih!" I said. "Let's go back in."
"Stay for just a moment, Mother. I am enjoying myself."
With a moonlit background the trees and bushes looked like black paper cutouts.
I looked at my son and wept. The moonlight bleached his face, making him look like a stone sculpture.
"Remember the time when you tried to teach me poetry, Mother? I was hopeless."
"Yes, of course. It was too much for you.