Pearl Buck - The Living Reed

He made his obeisances nevertheless and gave his greetings and he waited for her to direct what he should say and thus she began:

“Everything here in the palace is the same. And everything is different.”

“May I inquire if your Majesty has conferred with the King?” he asked.

“We have not met,” she replied, “but I have been told that he will send for me today. Therefore I wished first for you to come before me so that I might learn what is the state of the nation as you see it. I know that you will speak the truth. Alas, I can say this of no other living soul. And I know, too, that I can no longer trust even myself. I am not wise enough. Who could have dreamed that I would be forced to flee from my own palace? I have been in a far country far away — very far — very far …”

She looked about the royal room as though she saw it for the first time.

“Majesty,” he said, “I cannot wholly regret that you have seen how your people live, in grass-roofed huts, with meager food.”

“And yet more happy than I am here,” she put in. “The poet’s wife — how fortunate she is to have no greater burden than the day’s work in her small house and all for one man whom she loves!”

“She is fortunate that her life is suited to her nature,” Il-han replied. “And you know very well, Majesty, that you could never live in a small house. You are truebone, and the palace is your home, your people are your responsibility. This is suited to your nature.”

She sighed and smiled and sighed again. “You will not allow me to envy anyone or even to pity myself. Proceed! Enlighten me! What must I know?”

Still she did not invite him to be seated and he stood, his head bowed so that he saw only the hem of her full skirt, beneath which peeped the upturned toes of her gold satin slippers.

“The Regent,” he said, “is now imprisoned in a house in a city not too near Peking. He is comfortable, but he is guarded and he cannot escape. I am in communication with that great Chinese statesman—”

“Li Hung-chang?” she cried with some anger. “Among all Chinese he is one I do not trust!”

Il-han replied firmly, “He is only wise enough to see that, while China will not lose her independence, we may lose ours, for she cannot protect us. For this reason, upon his advice, we must accept the newest western country as our ally. The treaty with the United States, which we have let pause, must now be ratified so that the Americans may send a representative here to the court—”

“You tell me this—”

“I tell you because I must. We must have a friend to take China’s place, for if we have not, Japan will encroach and possess us.”

“Japan never! Remember that we drove back Hideyoshi three hundred years ago!”

“Will you never forget Hideyoshi? The Japanese are stronger than we are now.”

“They were stronger then than we were but our Admiral Yi used his cunning brain and his iron turtle ships—”

“When will you forget those turtle ships? The Japanese have new iron ships and western weapons and they have not made a hermit nation of Japan as we have of our country. They have visited western countries and learned from them. And they are preparing to fight China — I so prophesy!”

“I cannot believe that a handful of islands could dream such folly against a vast continent—”

He interrupted her. “Majesty, I am no Christian, but the Christians have a quaint story about a giant whom no one dared to kill until a shepherd lad with a sling let fly a pebble with such good aim that the stone sank into the giant’s forehead and ended him. Today it is not size that means strength — it is the youth with the pebble. Some day, Majesty, the new nations will devise a weapon no bigger than a child’s playing ball, and that weapon will destroy a continent.”

“Do not tell me about Christians,” she retorted. “They are wanderers and troublemakers wherever they are. We should always put them to death.”

“There are too many of them now, it is true,” he agreed. “They swarm everywhere, and they carry the pebbles of revolution. But we can no longer kill them, Majesty. We must accept them, not because of their religion, but because they come from the West and they bring western learning to us. Let them come, Christian though they are. We must learn everything of them except religion. We cannot go to their country, therefore we must let them come here, for our own sakes.”

“If they come,” she declared, “I will not receive them. And I will see to it that the King does not receive them. They must live as exiles.”

He gave her a long look, and she returned it. Then she rose. “I am more weary than I thought,” she said. “You are dismissed.”

And so saying, she clapped her hands and her ladies came out from the next room and led her away.

He stood there irresolute. He had made her angry and he was chilled to think so. But he had done his duty. There remained now the King. What of the King? Should he ask for audience? Was it possible that his father had already been in audience? He thought quickly, and decided that he would go to his father and see how far apart they were, father and son, before he asked audience with the King.

When he arrived at his father’s house an hour later, unexpected, he was frightened to discover that his elder was ill. He was announced at the gate and his father’s chief servant himself drew back the bar and bowed before him.

“Sir,” he said, “we have been looking for you. Your father was preparing to go to the King this morning, at command, but when he had taken food, he suddenly fell unconscious and we have not been able to rouse him. The doctor is here—”

Il-han brushed the man aside strongly and strode through the gate and to his father’s bedroom. Everything fled from his mind except the fear of what he might see. His father was old, and yet somehow he had never thought of death, so strong was his father’s spirit, a brave stubborn spirit, difficult and yet one to be loved.

He entered the room and saw about the bed the servants weeping, and the doctor kneeling beside his father and feeling for the thirty-seven ways of the pulse. Il-han did not interrupt him. He stood waiting until the doctor rose and bowed.

“Sir,” the doctor said, “your illustrious father is suffering from the fatigues of old age and drying of the blood. He needs a healing stimulant. I prescribe a brew of sanghwatung . Do not scorn it because it is cheap. There is no better restorative for chill and fatigue. Your father rose before dawn to prepare for the royal audience. It is no wonder that at his age he became unconscious.”

Since all had long known the value of this brew, Il-han accepted the doctor’s decision, and he sent word to Sunia that he would remain with his father until the elder became conscious again, his soul returned safely into his body. As the day wore on, however, the old man did not waken. Instead his left side became rigid in paralysis and he breathed in great gasping sighs. Even though he was moved into another room for benefit of change, he did not waken or improve. Il-han became more alarmed with every hour, and at last he decided upon the extreme measure. He summoned his servant who was waiting outside in the gatehouse.

“It appears to me,” he told the man, “that my father is growing worse and not better. He is not able to swallow and therefore he cannot drink even the sanghwatung. You are to go now to the western doctor, that American who lives by the east gate. Invite him to come and give his opinion.”

The servant was horror-struck. “Surely, master, you dare not—”

“I dare anything if it may save my father’s life. Go, and do not reply to me,” Il-han commanded.