Black Flower (13 page)

Y
I
J
ONGDO COULD NOT
sleep. At Yazche hacienda, where he had been taken, the immigrants were accommodated not in the Mayan pajas but in spare communal housing with tin roofs and walls of thin, hollow, brittle bricks. They were easy to build, but during the day they were as hot as a kettle lid. Beneath the corrugated iron roof, built so low that one could barely stand up straight, Yi Jongdo had shut his mouth tight and agonized over how to escape from the nightmarish reality he had witnessed over the past few days. Farm work was impossible for the soft-skinned Yi Jongdo. His whole life he had done nothing but read books and write. Of course, some of his friends’ families had come to ruin and had no choice but to dirty their hands in the earth, but even so, it had not been such uncouth work as this. And then the unique stubbornness of a Korean scholar came to the surface. On the first day, when everyone began cutting the henequen leaves, however awkwardly, he stood there with his mouth shut tight and did no work at all. “Look at the aristocrat! Look at him!” the immigrants whispered among themselves and mocked him, but he stood rigid, not even trying to avoid the blazing sun. The interpreter Gwon Yongjun was also at Yazche hacienda. He approached and asked him, “Why are you not working?” Yi Jongdo kept his lips shut tight and did not reply. Gwon Yongjun had figured out Yi Jongdo on the ship. Even now he insists that he’s an aristocrat, so he should be treated like an aristocrat, right? Gwon Yongjun stuck his face right in Yi Jongdo’s and asked again, “You don’t want to work?” Yi Jongdo still did not reply. Guards on horseback gathered around them. Yi Jongdo stiffly lifted his chin and spoke to Gwon Yongjun. “There must be a governor or magistrate here. Take me to him.” Gwon Yongjun grinned at this. “Fine, let’s go.” In a strange mixture of English and Spanish, Gwon Yongjun conveyed Yi Jongdo’s wishes to a guard. The guard nodded and the two of them got into a carriage and headed toward the great house near the hacienda entrance. The manager, who was acting as the hacendado, was sitting in the shade of the house drinking liquor. “What’s the matter?” Gwon Yongjun conveyed Yi Jongdo’s words in stuttering Spanish: “Big man in Korea, does not want to work, he has something to say.” The manager made a reluctant face. Then he mumbled in Spanish, “If he doesn’t want to work, why did he come?” Yi Jongdo stepped forward and spoke. “I am a member of the royal family of the Korean Empire and a literati. I have not come to work but to lead the immigrants and be their representative in the emperor’s stead. Please convey my words to the emperor of Mexico and let the emperor of Korea know that I am here. I will write you the proper letter. And our current residence is not fit for myself and my family, so please move us.”

Gwon Yongjun translated this into English, and then someone translated that into Spanish for the manager. The manager looked mildly amused. He asked Gwon Yongjun, “Is what he says true?” Gwon Yongjun smiled obsequiously and said, “Who knows? If that’s what he says, then that’s all I know.” The manager looked at Yi Jongdo’s shabby clothes and then took something out of a drawer and waved it before Yi Jongdo’s eyes. “This is a called a contract. You came here on the condition that you would work for four years.” The manager pointed at the name written on the document. “I paid John Meyers for you and your family, therefore no matter what happens in the next four years, you have to harvest henequen. If you break this contract, I will report you directly to the Mexican police. Emperor? There is no emperor in Mexico. It would be best for you to forget about all this, go back, and pick henequen leaves.” The manager stroked his mustache and gulped down the tequila that sat in front of him.

Gwon Yongjun translated his words for Yi Jongdo. It was not as if Yi Jongdo had expected any other reply. As he returned to the dusty fields, he had already given up hope. Yet he still could not work in the henequen fields with the others. It was not a matter of pride, but of ability. So he returned to his dwelling. Lady Yun, who had been lying in the hemp bed, Yeonsu, and Jinu jumped to their feet and greeted him. “What happened?” Yi Jongdo shut his mouth tight, sat down on the floor with his legs crossed, and opened his book. That meant he did not want to talk. Gwon Yongjun poked his head in and glanced at the family. Then his eyes met Yeonsu’s. The corners of his mouth turned up in a sly smile. Only when Lady Yun, who had fallen ill from fatigue, saw the interpreter did she guess what had taken place. Gwon Yongjun told her what had happened at the hacendado’s house. And he added a warning: “If you continue to not work, it will be considered a breach of contract. There are limits to your employer’s patience. He may pity the loss of his investment, but he will end up driving you away. Then what will happen to your family, unable to speak a word of Spanish? You’ll be food for the vultures, that’s what. I’m saying this as a fellow countryman—come to your senses. I don’t know why you got on that ship, but this is not Korea, this is Mexico. One wrong move and you could easily starve.”

After Gwon Yongjun left, Lady Yun grabbed Yi Jongdo and said coolly, “Shouldn’t you try to do something? We’ve starved for two days already.” Yi Jongdo had nothing to say and remained silent. Yi Yeonsu got up from her seat and went outside. All the men had gone off to work, leaving only the women and children. Women with towels wrapped around their heads glared at Yi Yeonsu as she stared blankly at the sky. It had been the same on the ship, with only Yi Jongdo’s family being shunned. No one spoke to them. It was already widely known that they didn’t work, so everyone was wary that they might come to beg for corn. Furthermore, whenever the men caught a glimpse of Yeonsu’s face, at dawn or in the evening, they grew so flushed that they did not know what to do, and this did not go unnoticed by their women.

Yi Jinu, who was often so depressed that he would speak to no one, stood up. “I will go out to work.” Lady Yun shushed her son. Then she pleaded with Yi Jongdo once again. “Dear, let’s go back to Korea. That would be better.” Yi Jongdo thundered, “They said we signed a contract, did they not? How do you propose that we return now? And who do you think will take paupers like us by train and boat so far a distance?” Lady Yun was breathless. It felt as if someone had stuffed her throat with paper. There was no way. Yet the young Jinu was far more realistic than his mother or father. And when he got over his depressions he often became manic, and this was one of those times. He felt that he could do anything, and he wondered why his parents were so worried. Whether they worked or not, they had to stay alive, did they not? That was his thinking. And no matter how hard he thought, he saw no other way to survive. He was also displeased with his father, who didn’t know how to do anything and stayed at home like a snail. Yi Jongdo was like his declining nation: he didn’t want to work, he was lazy, he was irresponsible. Having led his family to this end, it was only right for him to take responsibility.

The next morning, Yi Jongdo awoke early but did not move. Instead, Jinu boarded the carriage and went out to the fields with the rest. Lady Yun cried as her son left to do manual labor before the sun had even risen. “What on earth kind of place is this?” But Yi Jinu looked cheerful. He bowed his head in greeting to everyone who appeared older than him, and he found a spot at the front, next to Gwon Yongjun.

The only one who did not work in the henequen fields was the interpreter. The Spanish he had learned while on the ship was poor, but it was enough to act as a go-between. Everyone curried favor with Gwon Yongjun. After only a few days, he was being treated like a midlevel overseer. The Spanish hacendado also gave Gwon Yongjun special treatment. His pay was many times more than that of the others, and his house was a fine brick building. It was enough for a decent life, with a proper bed and an attached bathroom.

Yi Jinu wanted to be like Gwon Yongjun. At any rate, each hacienda would need an interpreter. Gwon Yongjun could not go around to all twenty-two haciendas, so if Yi Jinu learned even a little Spanish, he would be able to serve as an interpreter at another hacienda, where he would swagger like Gwon Yongjun and receive much higher pay. Yi Jinu was quickly growing accustomed to life on the hacienda. He followed Gwon Yongjun around, picked up the Spanish that he used, and practiced it diligently.

Of course, the work was not easy. On the first day Yi Jinu bled, and on the second day his sores oozed. After a week, calluses formed on his hands. For days on end he collapsed as soon as he got home, and fell asleep on the spot. As always, Yi Jongdo did not budge, but sat in his place and read
The Analects of Confucius.
Father and son no longer spoke to each other. Yi Yeonsu rubbed a salve they had brought from Korea on her brother’s arms and legs. “It’s rough, isn’t it?” Yi Jinu shook his head. His eyes were dark. “It’s not all that bad, it’s fun. I’m going to be an interpreter. Then I’ll go to another hacienda.” “An interpreter?” “Yeah, I’m learning from Mr. Gwon. The first thing you need to learn are the numbers. Uno, dos, tres, cuatro.” As he recited, he counted on his fingers. “Does he teach you well?” Yi Yeonsu patted her brother’s shoulders. “The sages said there is no shame in learning.” Yi Yeonsu had her doubts about her brother’s studying. The interpreter’s authority came from owning language, so why would he want to teach others?

When Saturday came, Yi Jinu took his wooden chits to the paymaster and received his pay. Then he went to the store and bought food for the week. It was nowhere near enough for a family of four. The days stretched on when they thought they would starve. Despite this, Yi Jongdo did not budge. Yet he still ate first, and he still ate the most. As if it were somehow his noble duty, at each meal he sat in the best spot, albeit on a dirt floor, and was the first to lift his spoon. He said not a single word of encouragement to his son, nor a single word of apology to his wife and daughter. He was a descendant of the royal line, where it was common for an entire family to be slaughtered because the patriarch fell out of favor. It might have been better for him had he been sentenced to death and forced to drink poison. No exile was as cruel as this. Even if the head of the family was banished to a lonely island in a distant sea, his family could wait for the king’s pardon with their relatives and servants in their hometown. But here it was impossible for a literati to maintain the least shred of dignity. Yi Jongdo’s tragedy lay in the fact that all these things were his own fault, as he had been needlessly pessimistic about the situation in Korea, and that there was no one with whom he could share the blame. He had thought that at least he would be able to use his writing to communicate, as he had in Beijing, where men like himself could make their thoughts known through the great Chinese characters, even if they could not understand each other’s speech. He felt his error to the very marrow of his bones, yet he had to maintain his authority as the father. Not authority, but duty. He could not teach his children servility. This was the failing of the literati. If the head of the family bowed his head and admitted his error, who would forgive his family members when they were in error? Yi Jongdo slowly drank the thin corn gruel and spoke to his son.

“There is no shame in pulling a plow to cultivate a field. But why must you cling to this interpreter official and learn the speech of the barbarians?” His tone was stern. Yi Jinu looked into the eyes of his mother and sister, as if asking for their support, and then he answered his father. He had not yet passed puberty, and his voice trembled. “Then what would you have me do, Father?” He showed his father the scratches and welts on his hands and arms. “Look. After only three days, this is what the hands and feet of all our people look like. It is not because they are dull-witted, but because there is no other way. We must learn. Only by learning the ways of the barbarian can we survive.”

They all thought that Yi Jongdo would fly into a thunderous rage. But, rather unexpectedly, that rage simmered down. As boiling foam subsides when the lid is lifted off a pot, so did every part of Yi Jongdo’s being—his eyelids, his shoulders, his wrinkled cheeks, his waist—seem to suddenly succumb to the force of gravity and sink toward the earth. He closed his eyes. He turned his back. Then he called his son: “Jinu.” This descendant of an ill-favored dynasty pricked up his ears at his father’s voice. “You may be right. I don’t know anymore. I just don’t know.” His family was speechless. His son and daughter, who had never learned how to comfort their father, went outside and sat down against the wall. And they said nothing. Yi Jinu felt burdened by his father’s collapse. Was he going to leave everything to him? Here? At fourteen years old, his pay was less than that of an adult, and it was absurd to entrust the family to him.

“Jinu,” his sister said, “don’t worry. Surely we won’t go on living like this. There will be a way.” Seeing the profile of her younger brother, about to slip into depression again, Yeonsu thought of Ijeong. He would be bearing it with all his strength, like her younger brother. Cutting, binding, and loading the henequen leaves, with cuts on his hands and feet, and then collapsing at night and falling asleep. Is he thinking of me? Her body shook, longing for the warmth of his hand that had touched her breast. Jinu patted her shoulder as she sat there trembling, her eyes closed. “I must learn the language of this land and put food on the table,” he said. “And it’s not really that bad. It was much worse while we were on the ship. It felt like I was completely worthless; I was afraid of what lay ahead. I did not go up on deck because I was afraid I would throw myself into the ocean. But this is much better. I feel like I can handle anything.”

The two of them went back inside the house and fell asleep with their mother between them. At this hacienda, they were not even supplied with hamacas. Yet their sleep was sweet. Their bodies, steeped in exhaustion, took no notice of the humid air or the vicious mosquitoes. At four in the morning, the noisy bell rang, starting the sound of men whispering as they rose and went outside. And the sound of women, too. Some women were now going out to the henequen fields with the men. Once they learned that women could earn money too, there was no reason for them to stay at home. Even the more traditional men had no choice. If the women didn’t work, there was no way they could earn enough money to escape the hacienda. The Koreans, who were not yet used to the work, couldn’t do half as much as the Mayans, though they worked from four in the morning to seven in the evening. Thus they received less than half of what they had been promised. The women wrapped their small children in blankets, tied them to their backs, and went to work. They spread out blankets between the rows of henequen plants and laid their children in the shade beneath them. The children cried from heat rashes and the ants, but they grew tired of even that, and fell asleep.