Chapter 26  The Quiet Friend

Yet more news gripped Joseon within the next few days.

A body, that of a foreigner, had been found washed up at the water's edge, head down, and submerged in the water. 

It was the lifeless corpse of Mr. Adjutant Stevens, secretary to the Ambassador of France.

The townsfolk gasped; it was a well-known fact that he was a keen fencer, and had given fencing lessons to the moneyed and the elite, who called him Leo, a name which tripped off their tongues easily, unlike his real tongue-twister of a name, Adjutant, and that his pupils included Madam Kudo Hina, the beautiful owner of the Glory Hotel, and Mrs. Kang, who worked as a bureaucrat in the Royal Office of the King of Joseon.

Perhaps he had been caught in a tryst, the tongues wagged, for it was another well-known fact that he had an eye for the ladies, and had been seen lately in the company of Mrs. Kang, who was much older than him, and married; but Mr. Stevens was a charming, handsome man, and had the most beautiful manners, and what woman could resist him, a fine lion of a man - he had not been called Leo for nothing! - especially an older woman who spent her days staring at dry, yawn-inducing documents and her nights with a dried-up, yawn-inducing spouse. Perhaps, a jealous lover had killed him, or hired someone to do it, they speculated, but it did not matter, not any longer; for he was dead, and his remains claimed by the French Government, and no one would have batted an eye  nor an eyelid, if not for the shocking news that came hot on the tail of the murder of the Frenchman: Mrs. Kang had vanished into thin air, without a trace; and no one had seen, nor heard from her since the body of the Frenchman was found. 

Her disappearance cemented the niggling suspicion in everybody's minds into fact: she had murdered Mr. Stevens in a fit of jealousy, and fled the country.

Dong Mae sat on the railway tracks, and slid the hilt of his sword up and down the scabbard; he sheathed and unsheathed it, over and over, waiting, and still, she did not appear.

He had sat on the railway tracks every single day for the past week, and still, she had not appeared.

Where are you?

Are you well?

Are you alive?

Is he with you?

Did he keep you safe?

Is he keeping you safe?

The tracks stared back at him emptily, and the sword clanked heavily with each sheathing, and still, she did not appear.

He had dreamt a strange dream last night.

She stood on the rooftop, clad in a green hanbok, her skirt billowing in the wind, her hair tied back in a long braid, adorned with a long red ribbon that flapped in the wind.

She unfurled the ribbon with her hands, and her braid unloosened, freeing her hair, so that it flew wild and abandoned in the wind.

He looked again, and she was wearing a black suit.

She beckoned to him.

He ran to her, and was almost within touch of her, when she stumbled, and fell.

NOOOO, he screamed, and lunged toward her.

But the rooftop was empty, and he looked down and saw the red ribbon on his palm.

He looked again, and the red ribbon started to bleed.

The blood stained his fingers and still, the ribbon would not stop bleeding, and overflowed and drenched him until he was covered, was soaked in blood.

He woke with a start, his heart beating fast, a strange unease gripping his heart.

"What does my card say today?" he asked Hotaru.

She flipped the cards, and showed him.

SAD FATE

He laughed, and ruffled her hair.

"That is obvious," he smiled.

Hotaru looked at him with troubled eyes.

Hina was fencing by herself in the backyard of the hotel.

She lunged, and parried with an invisible partner, as Dong Mae lounged against the wall, and watched her lazily.

They had slipped back into their old companionship; friendship was not an appropriate word for what they shared, which went beyond the lines, beyond the boundaries of friendship; it was a palpable, conscious awareness of each other, a closeness that needed no words to convey what each was feeling to the other. They bandied with, and flirted with each other, as before, without a trace of awkwardness, of self-consciousness, and it was as if the moment on the beach had never happened.

"So, did you do it?" he asked.

"Do what?" she said, lowering her fencing sword, and strolled over to him, beads of sweat clinging to her smooth brow.

He handed her a towel draped on a chair.

"Kill the Frenchman?"

"Leo?" she smirked. "Why would I? He adored me; he wanted to bring me to Paris."

He narrowed his eyes.

"You are hiding something from me."

She pouted.

He laughed, and took the towel from her.

He peeled off her gloves carefully, and wiped her palms with the towel.

He used his fingers to make small, circular motions all over her palms.

He looked at her, and smiled.

"Do you like this? I am massaging your palms, so that the muscles would not cramp."

"Are you flirting with me again?" she smiled.

"Perhaps," he quirked his lips in that crooked little smile that she loved, his eyes laughing, and looking terribly wicked.

"There, all done," he blew softly on her palms.

She sighed in contentment.

He pressed the towel into her hands, and said, "Tell me what you are hiding from me."

"Leo was providing information on the King's agents, those from the Righteous Army, and passing it to General Takashi," she said. "Mrs. Kang gave him the information. She was tasked by the King to follow the missionary, to keep him safe, because the King had arranged to meet with the missionary, and had passed him a letter to the American government, to ask for funds to help the Righteous Army to fight against Japan. But she was a traitor, and she passed on the information to the Frenchman, who informed Takashi."

"Did you kill her?"

"No, but I called some people, and they took her away."

"She plays cards with you, does she not?" Dong Mae said.

"Occasionally," Hina looked at Dong Mae, and said, "The lesson to be learnt is be careful of the company that you keep."

She leaned forward.

"I am curious about your quiet friend; you live with her, do you not?"

"Hotaru?" Dong Mae smiled. 

"How did you meet her?" Hina asked.

"It is a long story; I met her in Japan. I was on the run from some people who were after me, and I sought refuge at the house of a shaman."

"I was injured, and weak, and had lost a lot of blood; the shaman ushered me into the room where I was to stay, and there was a girl, crouching in a corner."

"The shaman told me that she was his maid, and worked for him, and that she was his gift to me, for paying him such a hefty sum, and that I could have her for the night. He boasted that she was a , and had never lain with any man before, and that I was a lucky man, because I would be her first, and then he left, leaving me alone with her, and the meal that he said she had prepared for me."

"She was crying quietly in a corner, and I let her be; I ate the food that she had cooked, and then I lay down to sleep, and turned to my side."

"Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder; I turned, and saw her, crouched over me, a hair clip in her hand."

"She looked like a trapped animal; she had not hurt me, the wound was superficial, and I wiped the blood, and told her to rest, because I was tired, and all that I wanted was to sleep, and she need have no worries that I would force myself on her that night, or any night thereafter, for that matter."

"I woke up the next morning, refreshed, and feeling much better, and opened my eyes; she was sitting next to me, staring at me. I got up, and gave her some money, and thanked her for the meal, and then I asked her whether she would like me to kill her tormentor; she took out a notebook, and wrote: YES, and that was the first time that I realized that she could not speak."

"I opened the door, and the shaman was waiting, and smiling; I took my sword, and slashed him, once, across his face, wiping off that smile; he fell down, dead."

"I went into the room, and took my bag of clothes, and I told her that I had killed him, and she was free to go."

"I walked away, and then I heard the sound of footsteps running behind me; she fell at my feet, and clutched at them, so that I could not take a step forward."

"I realized that she did not know where to go, and was afraid of the unknown, and wanted to go with me, so that she could be safe."

"I let her follow me, and I thought that it would be for a short time only, but she refused to leave me, and I have grown fond of her, and accustomed to her company."

"And that is the story of how we met, Hotaru and I; it is a strange story, is it not?"

"But why are you curious about her all of a sudden?"

Hina looked at him.

"It seems to me that you do not know your quiet friend as well as you think you do."

"What do you mean?" Dong Mae asked.

"I saw her at the Post Office yesterday; she left, and I found out that she had sent a telegram to Japan, to your Chief, about you, and your involvement with Lady Ae Shin."

Dong Mae's face darkened.

Dong Mae burst into the room, startling Yujo and Hotaru.

He drew his sword, and pointed it at Hotaru's throat.

"What have you done? Tell me at once what you have done!" he snarled.

Yujo laid a hand on Dong Mae's arm to restrain him, but Dong Mae pushed the sword nearer to Hotaru's throat, and said, his voice trembling with rage, "She has betrayed me. She has sent a telegram to the Chief in Japan to inform him of the mission of the Righteous Army in Japan."

Hotaru tore open her notebook, and painted on it, frenzied, like one possessed, her hand shaking so hard that the brush almost slipped from her fingers.

She held up the page, tears streaming down her face, and wailed, the raw cry of an animal in pain.

I DID IT SO THAT SHE WOULD DIE IN JAPAN.

I DID IT SO THAT YOU WOULD LIVE.

SHE HAS TO DIE, FOR YOU TO LIVE.

He drew in his breath.

She painted again, and held up the page, , rocking from side to side.

IF SHE LIVES, AND RETURNS TO JOSEON, I WILL KILL HER WITH MY OWN HANDS.

I WILL KILL HER, SO THAT YOU CAN REGAIN THE CHIEF'S TRUST.

AFTER THAT, YOU CAN KILL ME.

She wept noisily, brokenly, jabbing at the notebook, over and over, with her fingernails, clawing at the characters painted in red ink, smearing them with her tears, so that the edges ran, and appeared to be bleeding.

Dong Mae lowered his sword, but he was still shaking with fury.

He turned to Yujo.

"It is time for her to leave. Make sure that she is gone. I do not wish to see her ever again."

"I leave for Japan tonight."

"If I am not back after a month, tell the men to leave this place."

He his heels.

Hotaru ran after him, and threw herself at his feet, clinging to him, weeping.

"You would sacrifice your life for her, for that woman?" Yujo said.

"That woman," Dong Mae said, his voice raw, "is everything to me."

"Then let me go with you," Yujo said, a desperate plea in his eyes. "I beg you."

"I have to abandon you, all of you, so that you will be safe," Dong Mae cried, agony in his voice. 

He gripped Yujo by the shoulders.

"Do you not understand? There will be no return."

Hotaru blocked his path, her arms outstretched, shaking her head in despair.

He could not bear the stricken look in Yujo's eyes, nor the broken sobs of Hotaru any longer.

He strode to the window, and with a swift leap, vaulted off the balcony, and onto the street below.

He came to her at dusk, when the sun had set, and the sky glowed orange-red, as if lit by fire, and the shadows had started to encroach.

She was in the garden at the back of the hotel, a little garden that she had created, and tended, and made her own, her own little world, closed to the outside world, her space to sit, and gaze, and ponder, away from the cares and the sorrows of the world.

He stood for a moment, and looked at her, lost in thought, sitting back in her reclining chair, her face lifted to the darkening sky.

Dong Mae took a step forward, and she turned.

She uncoiled herself gracefully, and stretched, like a lazy cat.

She sat up, and looked at him.

"This is a surprise," she said. 

He lowered himself slowly onto the grass next to her, and stretched his legs.

He looked around him.

"I have never been here before; I did not know that there was a garden," he mused.

"It is my secret garden," she said, "though not so secret anymore, since you have found it."

He laughed.

"The maid said that you were at the back of the hotel, so I came here, and almost missed your secret garden, because it was hidden so cleverly by the shrubs and the tall trees."

She leaned over the side of her chair, and brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen across his eyes.

"Tell me," she said.

He stared unseeingly into the distance.

"Hotaru...she betrayed me," he said. 

"She sent that telegram to the Chief in Japan."

"She wants her to die in Japan."

"She said that she did it for me, so that I would live," he looked up at her, and his eyes were agonized.

Hina his hair gently, moving her hand back and forth, gently, soothingly.

"Do not hate her too much," she said. "She did it because she loves you."

Her eyes were sad.

"I know," he said heavily.

He looked up at her, and she cradled his face between both of her palms, so that they were gazing into each other's eyes.

"You saved her, and, in return, she gave you her heart," Hina said. 

"Do you not see how alike you and Hotaru are?" 

"She - the other - saved you, and you gave her your heart."

"What is it about the Book of Life that dictates that we must give our hearts to those who saved us?"

"Can we not be free to love those who did not save us?"

"How cruel, how unfair is the Book of Life, that we are doomed to love for eternity those who saved us?"

He rose to his feet.

He stood over her chair, took her hands and pulled her to her feet.

He looked at her, and his eyes were filled with sadness.

"I know," she whispered. "You came to say goodbye."

"You are going to her." Hina looked down.

"When do you leave?"

"Tonight."

"Then you have to make haste." 

She looked at him, smiling, pretending that all was well, and that her heart was not breaking.

He took a step forward, so that they were almost touching each other.

He took both of her hands, and turned them, so that the palms faced upward.

"These hands are so tiny, and yet so strong," he said, smoothing his thumbs over her palms, slowly; how was it, she wondered, that those hands that appeared to be so hard, so coarse, could feel so warm, so incredibly gentle?

"Stop fencing," he said, and closed his hands over hers, holding them tightly in his. "Keep that sword. You have fought long enough."

"Replace that gun in your bag with fragrant powder. Live as a woman, as the beautiful, beautiful woman that you are, that I see before me now," and he held her apart, and looked at her, the whole length of her, taking in her beauty, the splendour of her beauty.

"You are a queen, and men should grovel at your feet, should worship at your feet." He smiled, and brushed away her hair from the sides, and traced his hands slowly over the contours of her face, beginnng with her eyes, trailing down the length of her nose, to her cheeks, and finally, lingering on her lips, brushing a thumb gently over them.

"Find a kind man, a good man, who will love you, and cherish you, and worship you, to the end of your days."

"And above all, be happy," his voice achingly sad. "You have been sad all of your life, and you deserve to be happy, you deserve all the happiness in the world."

"I want so much for you to be happy," he said, his voice sinking to a whisper, as she lay her head against his chest, and turned her face against it, so that she could hear the thudding of his heart, as he spoke.

"You are speaking as if you are going to die, again," she said, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay, the treacherous tears that threatened to spill over. 

She would not cry, she told herself. She would be calm, and collected, and smiling. That was how he would remember her by, the image of her that he would carry with him, as he stepped into the fire: a worldly woman, who took farewells in stride, smilingly, nonchalantly, even if she knew that he would never return, even if she knew that she would never see him again. It would gladden his heart to see her smiling, and at peace for the last time; he would leave with a light heart, and be able to breathe freely, easily, secure in the knowledge that she would be all right, that she would live a good life, a happy life, without his presence, his companionship, at her side. 

So she smiled, and spoke, even though her heart was breaking, and the tears threatened to choke her, "Remember your promise to me on the shore; that you would not die before me."

"Bad men will die before the good. I have been a very bad man," he said, smiling.

He drew back, and they looked at each other.

"I will not cry," she said. "I will smile, so that you will remember me like this, smiling, and happy."

But even as she spoke, her tears started to fall.

She dashed at her tears angrily with her hands, but the tears refused to stop, and fell fast.

"Do not cry, my lovely. I cannot bear to see you cry," he cradled her face tenderly, and brushed away her tears gently. "You have cried enough tears for me."

"Do not go," she choked.

He drew her toward him, so that her head lay against his chest.

"I have to," he said, her hair.

"Will you come back?" she cried.

"I do not know," he said.

He drew back, and held her hands tightly in his.

"Will you promise me something?" he asked.

She nodded, smiling through her tears.

"Promise me that you will not wait for me," he said.

"I promise," she said, but it was a lie.

"Promise me that you will not look back, that you will move forward," he said.

"I promise," she said, the tears running unashamedly down her cheeks. 

He pulled her toward him again, and held her close, his arms enfolding her. She threw her arms around his waist, and held him fiercely, and breathed him in, closing her eyes.

I will remember this moment forever, she thought. Even if he never comes back, I will have this moment to remember forever. For this moment, for this very brief moment in time, he is not hers; he is mine.

She lifted her hands and ran her fingers over his face, lingering over his eyebrows, his eyelids, his nose, his cheeks, his chin, and his lips, like a blind person, and consigned every feature of that beloved face to memory; for memory would be her only solace, and her only companion, from now on, in the bleakness, the emptiness that stretched interminably ahead.

He bent, and brushed his lips against hers, so soft, so tender; the gentlest, the loveliest of kisses.

She clung to him, in sudden desperation, and kissed him back.

She poured everything that she had, her heart, and her soul, into that kiss.

I love you.

I love you so much.

As long as I live, I will love you.

I have never loved anyone, but you.

I will never love anyone, but you.

They drew apart, slowly.

Her hands fell to her sides limply.

"Goodbye, my lovely," he said softly.

She watched him walk away through a thick haze of tears.