Chapter  15  The Confrontation

When Dong Mae returned home that night after the incident at the trains, he felt as if he would be driven insane by the turbulence of his thoughts. He closed his eyes, but, the images, and the sensations continued to assail him without mercy: he felt again, the cold hardness of the trigger against his fingers, and the slippery dampness of the nervous sweat pooling on his palm, he relived again the wild beating of his heart, the cold sweat on his brow, he recoiled again at the force of the jolt, and heard, once more, the deafening sound of the shot, he saw again her body jerking like a rag doll as the shot hit her leg, and her falling and disappearing over the edge of the rooftop, he heard again the loud clattering of the tiles coming loose, and striking the ground, and the dull, muted thuds of her body hurtling downward, beyond his reach.

He fell into a troubled sleep, and dreamt wild dreams, of her falling, of her calling out to him for help, of him running and running,  his heart thudding, his breath coming in gasps, to reach the other side, and find her dead, broken, her eyes staring at him, blood pooling into a sea of red beneath her head...

Over and over, he dreamt the same dream, and it always ended with her dead, limp, lifeless, her eyes staring accusingly at him.

Why had she done the inconceivable act of joining a cause which was so alien, so foreign to him? He could not understand her motivations. She had everything; she was a noblewoman from one of the most highly respected families of Joseon, descended from a line of pure, noble blood. Her grandfather was Lord Go, the renowned scholar, a man of letters, an upright citizen of Joseon, a fine old gentleman of high intellect; Dong Mae could not imagine a man of that standing allowing his grand daughter to lower herself and become a foot soldier; for that was what she was: a soldier who took instructions, and obeyed orders without question. She had been instructed to shoot at Dong Mae at the port and at the trains, to prevent him from reaching the runaway wretch of a woman, and she had done so, to the best of her ability.

It had been a of good luck that he had recognized her eyes, and had shot at her leg. If she had not turned and looked at him - a chill went through him at the thought of what could have happened to her. He would have aimed for her head; he had had a clear shot of her, framed against the pale sky, he would have shot, and killed her instantaneously, he would not have missed, and she would have died, by his hand. The thought almost drove him wild with rage, and agony. How would he have been able to live on, knowing that she had died, that he had killed her? 

Dong Mae forced himself to calm down, to think logically, sensibly. She was a soldier fighting for the Righteous Army, and it was impossible that she had been able to leave her mansion for prolonged periods of time without the knowledge of her grandfather. She had shot with remarkable accuracy, using a long range rifle, which meant that she had undergone a long period of training somewhere hidden from the eyes of the world, under someone who had taught her well. 

Lord Go knew what she was doing. It was the only explanation that fit. He knew, and he had given his blessing. But why would he endanger his granddaughter's life? It was not a game; she looked death in the eye every time she undertook a mission. Dong Mae remembered Hina talking about the passion that propelled men to the cause, without fear of life or death. Was she governed by the same passion in her heart, that made her fearless in the constant face of death? Was her grandfather, Lord Go, that fine, noble, upright citizen of Joseon, ruled by that same passion in his heart and his mind, a passion stronger than his love for his granddaughter?

He had shot at her leg and she had bled copious amounts of blood. The wound would heal, but it would mark her permanently. Would she think of him every time she ran her fingers over that scar, or brush against it by accident? Would she hate him more than she did now for scarring her? Somehow, he did not think so. She was a soldier, and a soldier bore her scars with pride; scars were testament to a soldier's resilience, and a soldier's tenacity.

She was not the cosetted, pampered and sheltered noblewoman that he had thought she was; the noblewoman had been but a mask, hiding the real woman within, the woman who used her firm, unwavering fingers to hold a calligraphy brush, the woman who had used the same fingers to tighten over the trigger of a rifle, and had aimed with the same firmness, the same unwavering accuracy.

Which woman did he love? The noblewoman, or the soldier?

He loved both of them, because they were her, the reality of her. He felt a surge of emotion, as he realized how much his love for her had deepened after discovering who she was, under the mask. She had been unapproachable, an impossible yearning, but the unveiling of her true self had reduced the ocean of distance that stretched between them. Was that love within his reach now that she had descended from her pinnacle, and come down to his level, sharing with each other some semblance of common ground - he with his sword, she with her rifle, both warriors: he, fighting for survival; she, fighting for her cause?

Dong Mae walked past the French Bakery with its rows of buns and breads, and its trays of candies beckoning gaily to the passers-by in the bright sunlight.

"Some candies for you, sir?" the shop owner called out, remembering that the swordsman had stopped, and bought a whole bag of candies one day a few weeks ago. "Sweet candies to sweeten your day?"

Dong Mae glared at him.

"They are not sweet; the sweetness is but a mask to obscure the bitter taste that lingers after," he scowled darkly. "They are not what they appear to be."

The shop owner stared blankly at him.

Dong Mae stopped at the Glory Hotel, and was surprised to see a new maidservant hanging out the laundry in the yard.

The girl looked familiar.

"I know you," he said. "I saw you at the American Logan Taylor's house. You were carrying the child."

"Yes, sir," she bowed. "I was taking care of the child."

"Is that the swaddle that you used to carry the child in?" he asked, staring at the pink and white checked piece of cloth flapping in the breeze.

"Yes, sir," she said. "I have washed it, and I intend to make a shirt for my young brother."

"It looks familiar. You were swaddling the child in it the day I came," he was staring at her, and she looked flustered.

"Did you hide the document in there that day, the document that I was looking for, but failed to find?"

She backed away, terrified.

"You did, did you not?" he said softly. "It was there all the time, and I did not know." 

He grabbed her wrist, and dragged her after him.

She broke away, and ran down the line of shops with him in close pursuit.

She reached the calligraphy shop, and rapped wildly on the glass door with her palms, crying out, "Help! Help me, please!"

Ae Shin opened the door, and the girl fell into her arms, clutching at her.

"Help me, my lady ! Help me, please!"

Ae Shin stared at Dong Mae in shock. "What are you doing? Why is this girl so afraid? What have you done to her?"

"She has taken something that I was looking for, and I am going to find out from her what she has done with it."

Ae Shin stepped close to him, and said in a voice trembling with anger, "Why do I always have to see you in moments like this? Or is it because you only have moments like this?" 

He felt his heart rip with the cruelty of her words, as if she had driven a knife into it, and twisted it until it bled with hurt and pain.

How could you speak such cruel words to me?

Do you not know how much I feel for you, how much I love you?

Or, do you know, but speak so cruelly to me to taunt me, to mock my love for you?

Do you know that I am not made of stone, but of flesh and blood, and that I feel, I hurt?

Do you not know that I am not a monster, but a man who was forced to become a monster in order to survive this cruel, hard, uncaring, unfeeling world, and that this monstrous man bleeds with each cruel jibe that you make, each cruel word that you toss from your lips so carelessly?

How could you?

He willed his rage to take over, so that it would numb the pain.

He grabbed a fistful of the girl's hair, and pulled it toward him, causing her to scream out.

"Is this one of those moments that you mean, is this one of those moments that you want to see?" he asked bitterly. "Am I monstrous enough for you like this? Or, would you like me to act more monstrously so that you will be appeased?"

Ae Shin slapped him, hard, across the face. "I hope that you live moments like this as well."

She turned to her maid. "Find a safe place for this girl to stay."

"She has made me lose a great amount of money, because she gave the document that I was looking for to someone else," he said, rubbing his face where a red weal had appeared.

"I will pay the amount of money that you have lost. Name the price, and I will pay it in full," she said, her eyes blazing.

"Indeed, you will. I will wait for you to come, a month from today, or," he said grimly, pointing at the cowering maid, "she will pay."

Dong Mae strode off, still rubbing his cheek.

The last time they met at the trains, she had told him that she could kill him easily. Today, she wanted him to live.

It lightened his heart, those words that she had spoken.

He knew that he was a fool, that he was clutching at straws, but the words that she had spoken, that she wanted him to live, were like salve to his pain, and he could live again.

He smiled to himself.

Yujo stared at him curiously.