‘No, thanks,’ Dong-ju said placidly. ‘I’m going to walk out through the front gates on my release date, 30 November of next year. No sooner, no later.’
Choi wanted to stab this idiot; he wanted to brandish his metal shaft and force Dong-ju to understand that these were tools with which to break out of prison. He wished he could drag him into solitary to show him the tunnel to freedom. But he had to be careful. He grinned. ‘Then you must not realize how terrible this place is. There’s no way a puny bastard like you could last until next year.’
‘I don’t need your protection. God will protect me.’
Everything changed when Dong-ju was sent to solitary. Choi watched anxiously as Dong-ju walked in there with his shoulders hunched. He was worried that the sensitive boy might discover his secret. Choi was on tenterhooks until Dong-ju limped out after a fortnight.
‘Glad you made it out alive,’ Choi said, smiling nonchalantly.
Dong-ju squinted against the strong sunlight. During his stay in solitary his face had grown paler. ‘It was hard, but not hard enough to die. Agony can’t kill a man, not like despair can. People who have hope live, and people who lose it die.’
‘What are you talking about? Your poems? Poetry isn’t hope. It doesn’t help you overcome reality. It just makes you forget it. Sinking into sentimentalism doesn’t make the world disappear. Escaping these bars and walls and barbed wire — that’s the only way.’
‘Yours is an impossible dream. There’s no freedom for the colonized.’
Frustrated heat spread inside Choi’s heart. He wanted to tell Dong-ju his entire plan; Dong-ju wouldn’t talk lightly if he knew. But he suppressed the urge with a deep sigh. ‘Don’t talk like that. You don’t know anything. Behind these walls we have our own rules and secrets.’
‘And you might die because of those secrets.’
Choi leaned forward and whispered, ‘What do you know? What did you see?’
It was a useless question — their secret was already cracking at the seams.
Choi swallowed. ‘You have good eyes, buddy. Okay. You don’t have to say anything.’
‘How can you be so sure I saw anything?’
Choi’s sharp eyes cut to Dong-ju’s dirty knees. ‘The cell floor is cement. Where else would you have got your knees muddy?’ He shot a glance at his men, waiting at a distance.
The group exchanged furtive looks. One hitched his trousers up, grabbing a shaft of metal from inside his pocket. Another began to walk towards the other prisoners. Their movements were in perfect synchronicity — the man approaching the other prisoners would start shouting to draw the guards’ attention, while the man with the weapon would stab Dong-ju and disappear back into the crowd.
‘I found some dirt around the latrine,’ Dong-ju said. ‘So I took it out and found a tunnel below.’
‘Then you must know that now’s the time to make a choice. You either join in on the plan or. ’
Dong-ju’s mind raced. Should he do nothing, or should he act? A rash action could be dangerous, not only for him, but for others. The man with the shaft was approaching quickly.
‘For the last six years I’ve thought up dozens of ideas,’ Choi said. ‘Before digging the tunnel, I measured the length of the yard with my footsteps and figured out the right direction. I got trustworthy people to help.’
‘What will you do when you get out?’
‘Go away. Away from this filthy war, from this country.’
‘How long do you think you can be on the run for? You’ll be caught in less than twenty-four hours and shot. You have nowhere to go. You’ll end up getting killed like a dog. That’s exactly what the Japs want.’
‘So, according to you, the Japs want me to escape.’
‘Of course. To make you an example. To show everyone what happens when someone tries.’
‘If you don’t join, you’ll be the one killed like a dog.’
The man with the metal shaft was almost in front of Dong-ju, the muscles in his forearms bulging. Dong-ju had intruded on something he wanted nothing to do with, like an insect caught in spider silk. There was no telling to what the strand that tangled him was linked. Everyone was tied to something, but nobody knew what tied him down. Even if he did know, there was nothing he could do. ‘Okay, I’ll do it!’ Dong-ju blurted out.
Choi shot the man with the shaft a look. He whirled around and walked off. Sweat trickled down Dong-ju’s back.
‘So Hiranuma was in on your plot?’ I leaned forward, my forehead almost touching his.
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know if he did his share of the digging or not. I didn’t care, though. All that mattered was that he was with us. He’s resourceful and intelligent, and he could rally all the Koreans. That in itself was a huge advantage.’
‘He didn’t help you at all, though. He just joined your conspiracy to avoid getting killed. He wouldn’t have escaped even if you’d managed to complete the tunnel.’
‘What does it matter? My secret was safe as long as he was in on the plan. He knew his life would be over if he stayed in prison after we escaped.’
None of it made any sense. According to Choi, Hiranuma wasn’t important to the escape plot, so then why did Choi work so hard to bring him into the fold? I scanned his written confession. ‘Why is Hiranuma not mentioned here?’
Choi’s features darkened. He stroked his beard. ‘Because he’s not an important figure in the plot.’
Was Choi protecting him? Why? What was he hiding?
Choi stared at the report in front of me. ‘Can I have a piece of that paper?’
I was suspicious. ‘What for?’
‘I don’t know when I’m going to die,’ he mumbled. ‘I should like to write my will.’
I ripped out the last, blank page of the file and handed it to him. He folded it carefully and slid it into his breast pocket. ‘Thanks. I owe you one.’
I brushed it aside. What else could a death-row inmate do as he waited for his end in a tiny solitary cell?
THE PRIVATE LIFE OF A BOOK-WORM
Back in the inspection office, I flipped through the log of incinerated materials. Nothing caught my eye until I got to 18 September. Eighteen books were burned that day, more than the usual ten. They were mostly confiscated items from new prisoners or records that were due to be destroyed, but there was one book without an identification number — Birth of an Empire, issued by the Citizens’ Education Bureau of the Interior Ministry. I took the log and headed to the tiny library next to the office. The limewashed walls were peeling and giving way to mould. The library contained only two desks, four chairs and rickety bookcases that held guard-education publications distributed by the Public Security Bureau: How to Make Rounds, Prison Administration Regulations and soldiers’ manuals distributed by the Army Ministry. There were some war novels, too: The Way of the Empire, The Cherry Blossom Warrior, Cherry Blossoms in the Blue Sky. It was part of the censor’s job to sort the books distributed every month and incinerate older volumes to make room for new ones.
I traced a finger along the spine of each book. I noticed two lines drawn in the dust. Someone had taken out those books. Additional lines, thick and thin, were marked around them, both faint and clear, marking the time when books were removed. These books didn’t have identification numbers on their spines. They must have been brought here before Sugiyama became the censor, as he’d created a list of all distributed materials when he took over. I flipped to the back of the books to check the publication dates and found that most of them were much older. I opened the log I was holding in my hands: there was no mention of any publication without identification numbers. A waterwheel began to spin in my heart, creaking, circling, pounding. There was only one conclusion I could draw from all of this: books were disappearing. Dozens of them. They must somehow be related to Sugiyama’s death.