The Last Empress

15. Do Not Look Back

Hyuk and I went on with our lives and never spoke of the cottage again. I understood now what my life with him would be like henceforth: I had to live only for the present, and must never speak of the past, for it brought back memories that were unbearable for him, and turned him into a stranger, a man with rage in his eyes and madness in his face, who spoke words that were cruel and cutting, who looked upon me with an unfamiliar anger, or turned away from me, as if I did not exist. I could not understand why the past was a source of such agony to him, and I wept into my pillow at night, silently, taking care not to disturb the prone, still figure lying next to me. Before, we had lain in each other's arms all night, but from that day on, he slept on his side, his back to me, his face turned away from me. Something changed from that day when he strode away from me;  overnight, an invisible wall, an impenetrable fortress sprung up between us. We spoke, yet much more was left unspoken between us, and the divide, the distance between us grew, more and more each day. 

And so, we forged on ahead blindly, each alone, each apart; he on one path, and I, on the other.

As the days and weeks passed, I grew to dread that some thoughtless remark, a careless word, a reckless comment, would bring that bleakness, that terrible darkness back to his eyes again. And so, I treaded on eggshells in the presence of his company, carefully avoiding any mention of the lake, of water, of accidents, of drowning, and my shyness and awkwardness became worse when the visitors came; and there were many who flocked to the palace in droves, one after the other, alone, in pairs and in groups, well-connected people, dignitaries, royalty, who lived in the country and abroad, and the bowing, the shaking of hands, the conversation that must inevitably follow, became an ordeal that made my hands clammy with sweat, that caused my heart to pound in nervous anticipation, because of this fear in me, this dread that they might talk of something that was forbidden, that would turn Hyuk into that terrifying stranger that I did not know, that I feared. The strange faces staring at me in curiosity made it worse, and I would sit there with a fixed, bright smile on my lips, my hands folded in my lap, giving monosyllabic answers to their flurry of questions.

"Ah, the palace is looking splendid, as always."

"Yes, indeed."

"Have you settled in, Your Majesty?"

"Yes, I have."

"The weather's hot today."

"Yes, indeed."

"I was on a cruise last week, the waves were a bit rough." I would hold my breath, stealing a little look at Hyuk, but he would appear fine, quite unruffled, even adding to the conversation, calmly, with a smile on his face, "Were they? I would have thought that the sea wouldn't be choppy at this time of year."

The safest remarks were the lawns and the gardens. I would breathe a sigh of relief inwardly, the tight knot of anxiety in the pit of my stomach would ease at once, and my heartbeat would slow to its normal steady pace again.

"The lawns are looking wonderfully fresh."

"Yes, they are, indeed."

"The roses are in full bloom, I see. They are beautiful, aren't they?"

"Indeed they are."

A little laughter, a few forced chuckles, a little pucker of bewilderment, and they would turn to Hyuk with relief, as they always did, as they invariably would, and the conversation would flow with ease, as they spoke of acquaintances and people and places that I did not know and had never met, had no desire to know, and no desire to meet.

I could imagine them saying to one another, as they drove away, "What a quiet, uninspiring girl. She hardly spoke more than ten sentences." They looked at me with bewildered eyes, and I knew what was in their minds; "She's so different from the other one."