Chapter 9: The Emperor and the Sea

I stll remember how my fingers trembled, buttoning my coat, how my heart pounded as I ran down, my feet flying over the steps, hurrying down in a fever of impatience to where he waited, every minute an eternity since the last time that I had seen that beloved face, heard that deep, melodious voice, since that moment when he had waved goodbye to me that magical night from the very spot that I was flitting to, light as gossamer, spurred on by the wings of my young, ardent love.

The low white sports convertible was perched at the bottom of the steps, and he was there, in the driver's seat, the tinted window half-wound down. A few metres away was a black car and two men in plainclothes standing beside it: his bodyguards, I presumed. My heart gave a tremendous leap, as he smiled at me.

He climbed out of the car, and opened the door to the seat next to him, saying, "Good morning, sunshine," and laughed. I clambered into the seat beside him, and when he said, "All ready to go to the sea then?" I could have told him that I didn't care where we went; because all that mattered was that I was sitting next to him, leaning forward to fasten my seat belt, and him helping me with it, his warm hands over mine, those exquisitely long, slender fingers brushing against my fumbling ones intimately, hugging my knees excitedly, as he said, "Let's go", and I turned to him, struggling to tell him how happy I was, so happy that my happiness was almost too much to bear, but I couldn't think of a word to say, and he smiled, and pressed my hand, like he knew, and understood what I was trying to say, that there was no need for words, and I drew a sharp intake of breath and thought, whatever happens in the future, I will remember this moment forever. I want to preserve this memory forever and bottle it up and uncork it and remember it all over again forever and ever. 

"Are you cold? I've got my coat here," he said, his left hand dipping into his side, and passing his coat to me. I took it, and draped it over myself, putting my hands into the long, heavy sleeves, exulting in the feel, the warmth, the texture of it, ecstactic, glowing with pride, basking in joy at the wearing of his clothes, like a worshipping schoolgirl in the presence of her dashing school captain.

We drove in silence, the black car following us behind closely, past houses that dotted the shore, the palm trees that swayed and bent in the wind; we rounded a bend, and I gripped the edge of my seat tightly and shut my eyes and thought, I want this memory to last forever; it must never be lost, and when I opened my eyes again, we had cleared the bend, and were approaching a rocky outcrop in the distance. He swerved all of a sudden, and manouvred the car up a narrow winding path that climbed the hills, higher and higher, twisting and turning, till we reached the summit, and could go no further; he stopped the car and got out, then stepped to my side and opened the car door for me. Without saying a word, he reached out and held my hand, and walked ahead silently, my hand in his, as I followed him gingerly, slowly, from behind, across the expanse of rocks and peered down, standing beside him on the edge of the rocky outcrop, looking down to the sea below, lapping at the shoreline, a few thousand metres below, and beyond it, in the distance, tiny houses dotting the coastline, their roofs appearing like little matchboxes against the pale blue sky. A cloud appeared and blotted out the sun, and the day turned cold. I looked at him, my hand clutched tightly in his cold one; his face appeared closed and still, his eyes bleak, his face shadowed, and I shivered suddenly.

"What is it?" I whispered. "What is it?"

He tightened his hold on my hand, and I felt a slight tremor; lost in his thoughts, he looked down at me without recognition, lost in the disquieting memories of his own dark thoughts.

"We should go," I said again, desperately.

His eyes cleared all of a sudden, and he shook his head slightly, as if to dispel whatever heaviness was weighing on him.

"I'm sorry," he said contritely, the stranger gone, the bleakness in his eyes dissipated, and the charming companion back in place again, who smiled at me, and walked me back to the car, and got in himself, saying, "Forgive me, that was very rude of me."

I smiled at him, happy again, the dark mood dispelled, and the cloud parting to reveal the sun again. 

We stopped at a little rest area, and the black car stopped, too; the two bodyguards kept a discreet distance as he produced a picnic basket from the back seat of the car, as if by magic, and set it upon a wooden table, one of many nestled snugly there to provide a respite for weary travellers bound to and from the sea; so, beneath a canopy of trees, and with the hills as our backdrop, we proceeded to have our picnic, perched on wooden benches, and tucked into the delightful feast in front of us, prepared with the utmost care and zeal by the palace chefs: a culinary spread to whet even the poorest of appetites, a glorious spread of thick fluffy sandwiches, stuffed to the brim with an assortment of savoury and sweet fillings, delicious meat pies with flaky buttery crusts, a rich bread pudding, decadent cream cakes, fragrant japchae, a creamy milky potato pancake, a steak and mushroom pizza and two hot flasks of coffee and tea. We ate ravenously and gobbled up almost the entire spread, and he sat there and watched me eat indulgently,  as I chewed and chomped with my mouth full, cramming the pizza and the cream cakes in, one after another, getting the tomato sauce on my fingers and the white cream on my lips, making him laugh out loud.

Leaning forward, he took a neatly-folded white napkin and gently wiped the sides of my mouth clean.

"How old are you?" he asked laughingly, leaning forward to look at me, his elbows leaning against the wooden table, his face resting against his cupped hands.

I told him my age, and he smiled and said, "I remember that age; it's a particularly difficult age, a mix of fearless and fearful. I'm thankful that I have left it behind."

We finished our meal and got into the car and continued on our way to the sea. How well I remember that day, the rippled sky, the fluffy clouds, and the white, frothing sea. I feel again the wind on my face, whipping up my hair, the laughter on my lips echoed in his eyes. I remember the tiny boats, bobbing up and down, and the fishermen with their nets, and the huge yachts in the distance, lending their majestic presence to the magical watery world. I remember the wind catching my hat and tugging at it, and he holding it down, struggling manfully with it. I remember dissolving into laughter, collapsing against him, his arms around me. But, most of all, I remember us looking at each other, smiling into each other's eyes, my hand in his, his hand holding mine, how happy that I was with him, how happy I was that he was with me.

Soon, it was time to go, and we got into the car and drove back the way we had come. 

I was no longer the shy, awkward girl that had set off this morning. I was a woman: grown up, in love, happy, confident. We drove past a bend, and I closed my eyes and wished for this moment to last forever. I opened my eyes, and we had left the bend far behind; it belonged now to the past.

Impulsively, I opened my mouth and said, "I wish I could bottle up my memories and uncork them and relive them all over again and again."

He did not say anything, but continued to drive silently, his eyes on the road, his face suddenly darkened, and becoming austere and still. It was the face of a stranger; gone was the charming stranger who had bewitched me with his smile and dazzled me with his kindness. A chill came over me, and it was as if the air in the car had suddenly become stifling, all of a sudden. Blindly, I looked at the windscreen. 

To the left of us was the rocky outcrop, where we had stopped earlier this morning, and he swerved suddenly and stopped the car. I looked at him, a scream caught in my throat, my face white. He sat motionless, and said, his voice hard, his face cold, "You said, a little while ago, that you would like to bottle up your memories and uncork them and relive them again."

He turned in his seat and looked at me, the face of a stranger.

"Unlike you, I prefer not to remember my past; it should be blotted out completely. Memories?" he laughed cynically, mockingly. "They exist only to torment us. I choose to forget all of my memories. I choose to forget the past. It is the present that matters. It is the present that I live for. Reliving the past is reliving a hell that I would rather forget for the rest of my life."

I sat there, frozen, my eyes blurred with tears. I did not know this man. He was a stranger to me. I should never have come. All I wanted was to go home.

"I came here to that rocky outcrop some years ago with my wife," he said. "I drove up that narrow winding path with her, all the way to the top."

My wife.

The late Empress So Hyun.

It was the first time that he had ever mentioned her.

She hung like a heavy presence between him and me.

"I brought you here today, because I wanted your company, and also," he said slowly, in almost a whisper, "I wanted to see how I felt, whether it would be the same as that prior visit with - with her."

"Thankfully, it's not the same," he said, his voice flat. "It has changed, because you are here with me. She and I have left no mark on that place, and for that, I am thankful."

"You see, you have blocked out the past for me, far more, far longer than anyone or anything that I have encountered these past three interminably long years, and you can choose to believe it or not, but I am telling you the truth, so what do you have to say?"

He looked at me, his eyes very dark, his mouth tight, his face an icy mask.

"I want to go home," I said in a trembling voice.

I sat upright jerkily, my tears dripping all over my cheeks, running down my face, but I let them be, because I did not want him to see me crying.

He started the engine, and we were on the road heading back to where we had come from.

He reached out suddenly, took my hand and kissed it, then took out his handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into my hand. We continued to drive silently and swiftly, and I took the handkerchief and pressed it against my mouth to stifle my sobs, but to no avail. He stretched out his right hand, his left on the wheel, and my head, then let out a muffled curse, as the car almost collided with a chicken dashing across the road; the car swerved madly, then righted itself.

A chicken?

"Was that a - ," he said.

" - chicken?" I said faintly.

Both of us burst out laughing at the same time.

He gave me a sidelong glance, and his laughter subsided.

"I'm sorry," he said, and reached over, draping his hand around my shoulders, drawing me against him so that my head was resting under his chin.

"I've been a brute," he said, my head. "Forgive me, and forget everything that I said."

He bent, and kissed me on my head.

I was happy again. The clouds parted and the sun shone brighter than before. All was at peace with my world again.

We drove in silence for the rest of the way, and, in no time, had reached the spot where he had picked me up this morning.

"What is your mobile number?" he asked, turning to me, and taking out his handphone.

I gave him the number, and he keyed it in. Then he called me on my mobile. I stared at it, at the number flickering there, in disbelief.

"That's my number," he said, and grinned. "It's my personal number, and I only give it to people that I'm close to."

We looked at each other.

"I'll call you," he said softly, and lifting my hand to his lips, he kissed it, a warm, lingering kiss, and said, "Thank you for today."

"Yes, Your Majesty," I whispered, my hand tingling, my heart beating fast.

"Hyuk," he said, smiling. "Call me Hyuk when we're alone."

I ran up the steps, and turned.

He gave a little wave through the wound-down window, and drove off. The black car followed silently behind; I had forgotten all about it. 

I ran all the way home.