Pearl Buck - The Living Reed

With this he enumerated, one by one on his ten fingers, the steps by which he had come to his present despair. Left alone, he had returned to the task of beseeching his superiors to send the American advisers for whom the King so urgently asked.

“The most pressing need of Korea in her present deplorable situation, I told Washington, is competent western instructors for her troops — many of them. Well, what happened? Three teachers were recommended by the Department of State! The King said he would pay for their expenses, but they were not permitted to come, except under private support. And where was I to find the money?”

Now that he had begun his confession to Il-han it seemed that Foulk could not stop himself. He wrung his hands together, he ground his teeth in anguish. “I had no money, I tell you! Because I was acting chargé d’affaires I couldn’t even draw my navy pay — I was allotted half the minister’s fund, but I couldn’t draw the money. And then that German, that von Mollendorf, he got himself appointed head of customs in your capital, since no American advisers came, and he has worked against me continually, trying to get German advisers into Korea with the hope of establishing German influence here—”

“He did not succeed!” Il-han exclaimed.

Foulk went passionately on, as though he recited a program of doom and Il-han could only hold his head and groan as he listened.

“No, but failing to get German advisers, he employed Russian advisers, at least for your armies. Then and for once China and Japan united in pleading with the King that American advisers be sent — they being above all afraid of Russia. Well, the American military advisers are now scheduled to come next year — four years too late! The King has lost confidence in my country and my government and how can I blame him?”

Here Il-han opened his mouth to speak, but Foulk was not finished. “My pay drafts have been returned. Insufficient funds! Appropriations for Korea have been exhausted! And meanwhile I must handle affairs at Chemulpo as well as at Seoul, my country being the only one without a consul in Chemulpo! I resigned six months ago!”

“But you are still here.”

Foulk made bitter laughter. “No one reads the dispatches I send, therefore no one is sent to replace me! In spite of this, your people—” Foulk paused here and leaned his elbows on the low desk, and shaded his eyes with his hands. His voice broke. “Your glorious people still look on me as the representative of the United States, the lodestar of their hope of independence! But I have had to tell them — the leader of the new independence group — a brave young man — I won’t speak his name even here — I have told him that my government is interested only in collecting the indemnity for the General Sherman —lost so many years ago.”

Foulk’s voice was trembling. He paused, he pressed his lips together and went on abruptly. “I can no longer carry the burden of representing my government — and my people — without even clerical or secretarial help. But I haven’t enough money to pay the most necessary bills for the legation. It has all made me ill. My health has failed. I — look at this.”

He held out his hands and Il-han saw how thin his wrists were, the big bones gaunt and the skin drawn taut over the wasting muscles.

What could Il-han say? He clasped the hands of his friend in his own hands again and he bent his head down until his forehead rested on their clasped hands and his tears overflowed. Foulk waited a long moment and then without further word he withdrew his hands gently and left the room.

Some time afterwards, how long Il-han did not know, Sunia slid the door open. “Will you not come to bed now?” she asked but timidly.

“No,” Il-han said, and did not look up.

She slid the door shut again and went away, and he sat the night through alone.

… Hours passed uncounted. Whether he was in the body or out of the body he did not know. Did he hate the Americans? He could have hated them except that he remembered them as he had gone to and fro among them in their own country, a kindly people, enjoying the manifold benefits of their life, and in their enjoyment and self-content exuding friendliness, though without friendship, as he now perceived. They were still too young for friendship, incapable of the deep bonds which bind one human being to others. Friendliness is shallow though pleasant, and it was unreasonable to expect a depth beyond their capacity. The mind must know, the heart must feel, before there can be understanding, and they did not know the long sad history of his people, nor could they feel the terror of being a small country set by chance among giants. The King had expected far too much. He and his fellows, Il-han himself, had expected too much of the Americans. It was their own ignorance of foreign peoples to mistake the easy promises of friendliness for the loyalty of true friendship. No, he could not hate them. Yet without them he knew his people were doomed.

What then could he do? His heart urged him to leave his grass roof and go to the King and the Queen and offer himself for their service, any service at any cost. Yet he knew this was only the longing to rid himself of the burden of his own knowledge. The King was no fool — he must know very well by now that he could trust no foreigners, the Americans having failed. And the Queen had never trusted them. The country was like a ship at sea, anchor lost, rudder broken, and captain helpless. He and all Koreans could only stay by their ship, wait out the storm, let destiny take its course. In kindness and forgiveness, he hoped that the friendly people in America would not know the opportunity they had lost and which would never again be offered them. Pray Buddha they would not some day be compelled to pay the costs!

“Father!”

Il-han heard his elder son’s voice and was startled, as though he had never heard it before. It was no longer the high voice of a child. It had dropped halfway down the scale, it was cracked and hoarse, the voice of a boy ready to become a man. How had this come about so suddenly? Or was it sudden? He had been too engrossed in the even smoothness of his cloistered days to notice.

“Come in, my son,” he said.

He stared at the lad as he entered the room. Surely he was taller today than yesterday, his hands bigger, his bones heavier. And his face was changed, the features thickening into adolescence—

“Why are you looking at me, Father?” the boy demanded.

“You are growing up.”

“I have been growing up for a long time, Father.”

“Why have I not seen it?”

“Because you are always looking at your books, even when you teach us. Father!”

“Well?”

“I want to go to school in the city.”

“What are you saying?”

Il-han closed his book and motioned to his son to kneel on the floor cushion opposite him.

“You think I am not a good teacher?”

His son faced him with black eyes as bold as ever. “You teach old books, and I want to learn the new.”

Il-han was about to reply sharply and then remembered as sharply. In his youth he had accused his father in the same fashion. In his son’s voice he heard his own again. He kept himself calm. “Are there such schools in the city?”

“Yes, Father, and there are some teachers from America.”

“They are Christians!”

His son shrugged. “There are also schools with Japanese teachers.”

“You wish to learn from Japanese?”

“I wish only to learn,” his son retorted.

What could Il-han say? He was wounded to the heart that his son considered him no longer fit to be his teacher, and yet he would not acknowledge his private hurt. He continued his argument.