‘So that’s not an escape tunnel.’
‘I told you, I’m not leaving this place through a tunnel. I remain oppressed whether I’m in here or outside. Why escape hell for something worse?’
‘Then what were you doing?’
‘I wanted to escape in another way.’
‘Where?’
‘Into books.’
Sugiyama snorted, but deep down he knew what Dong-ju was saying. Dong-ju could live in imaginary cities and villages. It suddenly struck Sugiyama that he might actually be insane for thinking Dong-ju made sense. Every night he himself was drawn to the library by an irresistible curiosity, and when he was reading his terror dissolved. ‘What do you mean?’
Dong-ju studied Sugiyama, weighing his options. ‘Your office and library are the only places with books in the prison.’
Sugiyama shook his head. ‘But that’s because I burn them here.’
‘I was tunnelling towards your office so that I could steal a book or two when you weren’t there. I could smuggle it into solitary and bring it back before you missed it. That way I could read at least a handful of books, if I spent a week in solitary.’
‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I would know if someone’s creeping into—’ He stopped. A thought suddenly came to him. ‘If it’s the library, fine,’ Sugiyama reasoned carefully. ‘But don’t you dare touch my office! The library has a basement that was used in the past for all interrogations. When the prison expanded, we shut that one down and moved into this bigger room.’ His head was reeling; he couldn’t believe what he was saying. ‘You can make your library there. It’s small and damp and smells of dried blood, but it should do.’
Sugiyama wondered if he was committing treason. ‘Where would we get our hands on some books?’ He knew someone would notice if books started vanishing.
Dong-ju spoke cautiously. ‘I would think the government publications slated for incineration are guarded less carefully. If we can get those, I can find a way.’
‘You don’t have to risk your life for those, you can request to read them in your cell.’
‘No, we’re going to make new books out of them.’
‘How?’
‘I know a Korean prisoner on the coal transportation team. If I can obtain a few pieces of coal, grate them down and mix the coal dust with some heating oil, I can make charcoal-black. We can then black out the pages. The paper is old, so it’ll take well to colour. The oil will act like a fixing agent, so it won’t smear, either.’
‘You’re going to black out the pages? What’s the point of having a black book?’
‘You can write on black paper with white ink.’
‘Who the hell has white ink?’
‘We can make the white ink with coal ash and oil. It won’t be ideal, but if we write on the black page at least we’ll be able to read it. If you assign me to the work team charged with keeping the guardroom heated, I can make both.’
‘Even if you make books and find ink, how will you write them?’
Dong-ju just smiled.
Sugiyama wasn’t sure what to do. But he knew he couldn’t refuse. He was being sucked in.
‘I’m sure there are hundreds of confiscated books,’ Dong-ju said cautiously. ‘I’ll translate the Japanese books into Korean.’
Sugiyama felt himself flush. ‘You want to steal confiscated books? It’s a death-wish!’
‘No, no. I won’t steal them. That would be too obvious. I’ll just borrow one a week. I promise to return it, after I’m done translating it.’
‘Why would I let you do that? For free? I’m no Jesus Christ!’
‘You’ll be paid handsomely for your contribution.’ Sugiyama snorted. What could he expect in payment from a prisoner?
‘Do you remember telling me that I had to start writing poems again?’ Dong-ju asked. ‘That’s what you’ll get. I’ll write poems and translate them into Japanese for you. What do you think? Is that fair?’
Sugiyama didn’t hesitate. He caught himself nodding fervently.
A sudden worried look passed over Dong-ju’s features. ‘Why are you trying to help me?’
‘I’m not.’ Sugiyama stared at him. ‘I’m just trying to help myself.’
‘You might be accused of being a traitor.’
‘You’ve become as powerful as Choi,’ Sugiyama explained. ‘My goal is to keep you inside these walls. I’m agreeing to your plan so that I can keep you here.’
Dong-ju let it go. Beauty would yet purify the underground torture chamber, once soaked with Korean blood and tears.
I shook my head in disbelief. Dong-ju had turned against Choi with Sugiyama’s help. Choi had killed Sugiyama while also protecting Dong-ju. The three created a labyrinthine tangle. Where to start unravelling the knot?
‘Did Choi ever find out about your betrayal?’
Dong-ju nodded. ‘At the end of summer he came to me after a stint in solitary. His eyes were burning with rage. He’d discovered my tunnel. He tried to strangle me, shouting, “Why did you dig your own tunnel, you rat?” I told him it was a way to freedom, just like his tunnel. I mean, who was to say that either one would work? And I knew he wouldn’t kill me or report me. I don’t know how I knew that, but I did. He said, “We’re both digging to get out of this place. I guess it’s good to have more than one route. All I can do is hope that my tunnel will save me.” I said a prayer for our two tunnels to free us in our separate ways. We didn’t say anything else about the subject after that.’
‘Choi kept your underground library secret this whole time,’ I mused. ‘He must have known that talking about your tunnel wouldn’t help his cause.’
‘For all Koreans, Sugiyama was someone who deserved to die. At first, I thought Choi killed him, too.’
‘Are you saying he’s not the murderer?’
‘When Sugiyama died, several Koreans saw Choi in the underground library. He couldn’t have killed him.’
‘Then why didn’t they say anything?’
‘Because Choi was going to be executed anyway, for his escape plot. Why send another to his death? I’m sure everyone wanted to protect whoever it was that killed Sugiyama.’
Dong-ju’s words struck me as if I’d been winded. Had I accused an innocent man? He was going to die because of me. How would I prove now that he didn’t kill Sugiyama? I had to start all over again. ‘Then who killed Sugiyama?’
A dark smile appeared on Dong-ju’s pale face.
Was that the smile of a murderer wearing the mask of a poet? Suspicion and fear spread like a vine in my head. Was Dong-ju lying to me? He had fooled Choi, after all. ‘You blamed Choi to hide the fact that you killed Sugiyama!’ I cried. ‘Your tunnel led to the inspection ward, which is connected to the central facilities!’ My voice trembled.
Dong-ju assumed a cold expression. ‘And why would I kill him?’
‘Because he found out about the underground library! He knew you stole those books. You silenced him to keep your secret safe. You murderer!’ My voice choked with rage. I wanted to punch him. He’d made me falsely accuse another man.
He looked at me sympathetically, as though he understood.
I walked along the dark corridor. My boots were as heavy as lead. Dong-ju’s insistence that Choi wasn’t the murderer confused me. If Dong-ju had killed Sugiyama, he’d committed a perfect crime. Choi was already accused of it. But Dong-ju went out of his way to insist that it wasn’t Choi, even though he must have known I would suspect him next. Or perhaps he was urging me, in his subtle way, to find the real murderer, chastising me for accusing an innocent man. I was back at the beginning, inundated with questions, without a single answer. Titles on those black books swam into my hazy, muddled head. Government publications had been smuggled into the underground space to be reborn as new books — The Birth of an Empire became Les Misérables, Regulations for Actions in War became The Poetry of Francis Jammes.