Chapter III

San-Houni, the scholar and intimate friend of Sun-Yen, was likewise condemned to exile on account of his friendship for the disgraced. He was obliged to leave the Korean Capital, a circumstance which he regretted exceedingly just at this time because his wife, Yeng-Si, who was soon to become a mother, would not have the comforts and advantages of the city. But of what avail are innocence and regret when a Prime Minister has rendered one undesirable in the eyes of the Monarch? It was decreed that San-Houni be banished and that he be forced to live on the island of Ko-Kum-To, a desolate, sparsely populated rock in the Yellow Sea.

It was a long journey. The trip would consume several days. San-Houni’s few servants took care of the details of the packing but he himself went in quest of a boatman who would agree to take him and his wife across the waters to the island. His choice was not a happy one but he was unaware of it.

The most violent contrast existed between the characters of Su-Rung and Su-Yeng, the two brothers, whom San-Houni engaged for the trip. From this difference in temperament great misfortunes were to come.

As long as they were in sight of the coast, things went well, but when the party was on the open sea, Su-Rung the wicked, revealed his designs.

“I am somewhat taken with the wife of our passenger,” he whispered to his brother, “I want her and I’m going to get her. Her husband grates on my nerves. I must get him out of the way.”

“You are mad,” replied Su-Yeng. “Do you think for a minute that I will ever allow you to do anything like that?”

“Bah! You are jealous of me,” cried Su-Rung, in a fury.

“Not at all, but your intentions disgust me.”

Su-Rung said nothing further but it could readily be seen that he had not given up his project.

The terrible thing about all this was that San-Houni and his wife had overheard the brothers. Their anxiety grew and soon merged into real fear. They discussed in low tones the peril which threatened them and how it would be possible to escape.

There was not much time left to them for reflection. Su-Rung called the oarsmen and whispered aside to them, “Men, I want you to grab that fellow and his servant. Take and keep what money they have on them and kill them. The woman alone must live. Make a good job of it.”

Su-Yeng here interposed, “I think you should be content with taking their money, but at least spare their lives.”

“Mind your own business,” shouted Su-Rung in a rage. “I am master here. Get out of my way and let me alone!”

Su-Yeng was forced to obey his brother’s injunction. As soon as he had turned his back, San-Houni and his servant were put to death. The murder was committed under the very eyes of the scholar’s wife. She was dazed with anger and sorrow. Having no desire to survive her husband, she plunged into the sea, crying, “In spite of you, I shall die with my husband.”

Su-Rung, however, ordered his sailors to turn about and rescue the unhappy woman. A few minutes more and Yeng-Si was pulled into the boat alive and safe.

Then the assassin, judging it indiscreet to continue in the direction of Ko-Kum-To, changed the course of his vessel to a spot he was well acquainted with. The boat made a landing shortly after. Su-Rung jumped ashore and approached an old woman on the beach, to whom he said:

“Go aboard my boat, you will find a woman there. I want you to take her home with you. Be very gentle and kind to her, encourage her, and console her, for she has been deeply afflicted.”

The old lady at once set about doing what Su-Rung had requested.

Meanwhile, Su-Rung had anchored his boat and as a sign of self-satisfaction he invited his men to a feast, where they made merry and drank freely. Shortly all the guests were drunk except Su-Yeng. He was broken up at the turn of events and his inability to avert Su-Rung’s crime. Therefore, he resolved to profit by the present situation by assisting, if it were possible, his brother’s unfortunate captive. He left the revelers without being noticed and, setting out at a rapid gait, soon reached the home of the old lady. He paused before entering at the sound of voices and in the midst of the lamentations of Yeng-Si, he could make out these words:

“Where do you come from?”

“The Capital.”

“Is that so? I lived at Yeng-Yang.”

“Then how is it that you are in these parts?”

The old lady, for it was she who was talking with Yeng-Si, uttered a deep sigh.

“Alas, I have lived here for ten years, much against my will. Like you, I am a victim of Su-Rung, who murdered my husband. I am awaiting the hour of vengeance, but it is slow in coming. Will this monster remain unpunished forever?”

Touched by her story, Yeng-Si forgot for the time her own misfortunes to sympathize with her companion. It was just at this moment that Su-Yeng entered the room where the two women were and said in a troubled voice:

“Do not take things too hard. Perhaps you will be rescued very soon. There is some one who is looking out for you. I have a profound horror of my brother’s evil deeds. Listen, if you wish to escape you will never have an easier time than now.”

“How so, your brother....”

“Don’t be afraid. For the time being, he is not capable of following you for he is asleep and dead drunk, but there is not a minute to be lost. You know the country for you have lived here a long while. You must show the way to this lady who is a stranger. Here, take this money, it will not do to wait any longer.”

The two women, weeping and sobbing, threw themselves at the feet of their rescuer in gratitude.

Su-Yeng helped them to their feet and urged them again to leave. It would be advisable, he insisted, to make haste for the rage of Su-Rung, if he captured them, would be terrible.

Yielding to the entreaties of Su-Yeng, the two women set out. Their friend accompanied them for a short distance. When they were alone, they walked as rapidly as their strength would permit. At the end of two hours Yeng-Si, thoroughly fatigued, requested that they rest for a few moments. Her companion consented quite willingly. So the two fugitives sat down to rest their weary bodies. Suddenly the elder of the two said to the other:

“I’m going to ask you something.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Well, I would consider it a great favor if you would let me have your sandals in exchange for mine.”

This request puzzled Yeng-Si a great deal as she did not understand the purpose of the elder woman’s intentions. However, the old lady gave her little time for reflection.

“You are,” she said, “like me, very tired, but you are still young, consequently you are capable of enduring greater hardships than I. I am very old. You go on. If Su-Rung catches up--and he will not wait long--I will tell him that I do not know in what direction you went. Now, hurry on, but leave your sandals here with me if you wish to be real kind.”

Yeng-Si arose at once. She thanked her friend for her excellent advice and handed her sandals to her without understanding in the least what motive she had in this request. As she was leaving, the old lady continued:

“Just a moment. I am going to show you the road which you should take to escape from Su-Rung. Keep straight ahead until you come to a grove of bamboo where you might rest a few moments if you like, then keep on walking in the same direction until you come upon the temple of Buddha. When you arrive at this spot, you will be out of danger but be careful to follow my directions explicitly.”

“I will do so, thank you.”

“Good, now, good-bye.”

When Yeng-Si had gone a short way, the old woman arose, and taking the sandals, she turned toward a lake which was a short distance away. Placing them at the water’s edge, she uttered a brief prayer and jumped into the water.

Yeng-Si, however, heard her cries. She immediately retraced her steps, hastening to the lake where she noticed the sandals beside the water and the body of the old lady floating on the surface. This sight almost overbore her.

“Why did this poor woman drown herself?” she muttered. “Can it be--yes, I imagine--her persistency in asking for my sandals--oh, blessed one! She had the idea of dying before saying good-bye. She did not wish her death to be fruitless, so she placed my sandals on the shore, that it would appear as if I had committed suicide. Poor woman, how devoted she was! May she have her reward in the Hereafter.”

If she had listened to the promptings of her heart, Yeng-Si would have remained there mourning for her unfortunate companion. Remembering the entreaties of the latter, however, she hurried her steps and shortly came to the forest of bamboo. Suddenly she experienced the most agonizing pains. She trembled, shivered, broke out into a cold perspiration and suffered terribly. She understood that she was about to become a mother. What a terrible situation she was in! Here alone, away from everybody, what was to become of her?

* * * * *

Yes, it was a little boy. She seized the poor, little being and covered it with tears and kisses.

“Poor child,” she said, “what can I do with you? You have no father and your mother does not know what is going to become of you.”

Fortunately for Yeng-Si, some one had heard her shrieks and cries. It was a nun from the temple that the old lady had told her about. This nun ran to the spot whence the cries came and was somewhat surprised to find there the mother and child.

After rendering what assistance she could, she asked her how it came about that she gave birth to the child in that place.

Yeng-Si told briefly her sad story. The nun was deeply touched at the tale--so fraught with sorrow.

“What do you count upon doing?” she asked her.

“Alas, I do not know. Here I am alone and without resources. How can I bring up my little one? I shall have to abandon him, but I shall not live long anyway, I am sure of that, so perhaps I shall make way with myself.”

“That would not be doing exactly right. Suppose you try to follow my advice. Give your child to some charitable person and come live with me.”

“I could not ask for anything better, but why can’t I take my little one along with me?”

“Because it is against the rules of our order to receive children. I know it is hard for you to give up your little one, but since you scarcely have any choice in the matter, you must resign yourself. If you were to continue on your way with your little son you would unquestionably fall into the hands of the brigands. Besides, it is possible that you may be able to reclaim your child some day in the future. When he becomes a man he will aid you in getting retribution for his father’s death.”

Yeng-Si followed the advice of the nun. She wrapped the little fellow as well as she could, tearing bandages from her own clothes. Since she wished to have some sign which would enable her to recognize her son, she took his arm and with a needle traced on the pink flesh the characters forming the name of San-Syeng. Then she went over these letters with India ink which the nun gave her. Finally, slipping off the ring which she wore, she placed it in the wrappings of the child. This finished, she started out accompanied by the nun. They were going to the neighboring village to place the child at a street corner and then return to the temple.

Very soon, Yeng-Si could sight the roofs of the little village where she was to say “good-bye” to her son. Alas, the child, whom she and her husband had been looking forward to with such great joy, would be abandoned just as if she were an unnatural mother. Her cup was filled to the brim with sorrow, for her husband had been murdered before her eyes and now her son was to be left on a street corner. More dead than alive, she gently placed the child on the ground after giving him a last fond kiss. With a supreme effort she regained her courage and walked slowly away, shedding tears of sorrow, while the hunger-cries of the baby grew louder and louder.

She tottered along very, very feebly, she was so torn with emotion and anguish. The nun, familiar with sad scenes, was nevertheless deeply moved.

“Pray, pray to Heaven,” she said to Yeng-Si, “some day you will find your son. He will come to you when he grows up. Something within me gives me confidence in what I am telling you, but prepare yourself for a long separation--take courage.”

* * * * *

_Here endeth our third chapter._

IV