Hwang Sok-Yong - The Shadow of Arms

“Minh? It’s me, Nguyen Thach. We’ve had a mishap. Yes, rather serious. Keep out of sight today. No time for that. Don’t hang around the fish market, and report back to me by phone later. I’m sure we’ll solve the problem soon. If not, your duty can continue under someone else. Anyway, nothing to be too alarmed about. I’ll contact you soon.”

Suddenly his motions became very swift. He dumped everything out of his desk, and sorted out the papers from the small memos to the receipts. Then he checked the time. It was seven. On a clear day it would have been twilight, but outside it was already dark.

Toi arrived at his home, located off Le Loi Boulevard near the new market, around nine o’clock. He’d had a few drinks at the Bamboo Club and was in an exuberant mood. The lights were all out except in the living room. There was no answer when he rang the doorbell. Had everyone gone to sleep? Grumbling, he gave a light kick to the wooden gate on the side of the house. It swung open without a sound. Still grumbling, he unlatched the door and went into the house. The moment he entered, he found the muzzle of a gun pressed right against his forehead.

“So, in the habit of coming home drunk? Nice leisurely life you have here.”

Meeting these jeers, Toi quickly peered about. A man was sitting in the chair right in front of him, another stood in the doorway to the interior, and the third was holding the gun on him. All three were armed.

“Who are you people?”

“Shut up! Get down on your knees!”

The man next to Toi forced him to kneel in front of the seated figure.

“My family. .” Toi stammered.

“Don’t worry. They’re all in the back room. Who do you suppose we are?”

“NLF.”

“Not bad. And what do you do for a living? You’re a traitor. We’re here to hold a summary court-martial. First, after finishing your military duty as a conscript, you volunteered to work for enemy intelligence headquarters. Worse, that enemy is a foreign power. Second, ignoring the struggle of all the people of Vietnam today, you’ve been spying on and disrupting the historical mission of the NLF. Finally, you used the fruits of your treachery to try to extort money from a patriot and you threatened his life. Therefore, in the name of the People of Vietnam, the Quang Nam District Committee of the National Liberation Front hereby sentences you to death.”

Having spoken thus, the man turned and looked in turn at the two others. Both repeated the word “death,” as if to underscore it. Toi had no time even to attempt any excuses. The man in front of him spoke again.

“We shall make no compromises with a shameless scoundrel like you. Because ours is the righteous path.”

The man standing beside Toi swung his arm, and Toi’s mouth fell all the way open. Then he looked down at his own belly and fell sideways. A sharpened bamboo stick was jammed deep into his stomach. They had followed the method of execution used by the guerrillas out in the villages. After searching Toi’s fallen body and retrieving the note, they quickly fled from the house. Across the street, a van turned on its headlights and they got inside. Nguyen Thach drove away. One of the men handed him the piece of paper.

“Tear it up,” said Thach.

“What next, sir?”

“I guess it’s time to go underground,” Nguyen Thach answered brightly.

It was nine forty-five when the Korean investigation office received a call from the police. The recently arrived new chief sergeant took the call and then shouted, “I think they’re looking for you, sir.”

“All right, I’ll take it in my office,” the captain replied.

A few moments later the captain came back out, searching for Ahn Yong Kyu.

“Get dressed and get your weapon. And you, Sergeant, better come with us.”

“Sir? What about the boys. .?”

“The three of us will do. Toi’s been murdered.”

“What?!”

“That was the police, calling from the scene.”

Yong Kyu picked up a semi-automatic carbine with a folding aluminum stock that had belonged to the old chief sergeant. He also grabbed two clips, each holding thirty rounds.

“Where?”

“His house.”

There were three Vietnamese police cars parked in front of Toi’s house. When they rushed inside, a familiar police chief saluted the captain. Toi’s wife, his children and his old mother were all huddled together crying. Yong Kyu stayed in the hall, looking down at Toi’s corpse. It was the first time he saw Toi’s face up close without those mirrored mercury sunglasses. His mouth was gaping widely as though he were howling with laughter. His blind eye stared into space. The bamboo spear had been pulled from his body and lay beside him, drenched in blood like some living thing.

“It was guerrillas, sir. According to the wife, they broke into the house at around 2000, vaulting the fences from three sides. Then, she said, they held a summary court-martial. The crime they charged him with was helping you people. They also said the victim had tried to blackmail them.”

After listening to the report, Yong Kyu said to the captain, “I know who killed him. Let’s go and get him.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

In a fury, Yong Kyu pointed out through the gate with his carbine and shouted, “I say we go and get those VC!”

As Yong Kyu ran outside, the police chief asked the captain, “What’s that all about?”

“He told me he knows where the guerrillas are who did this.”

The chief gave orders to two of his policemen and they then hurried outside followed by four others. Yong Kyu got in the Jeep, and sat there without a word.

“Where are we headed?” the captain asked Yong Kyu.

“To the fish market, down by the pier.”

The Vietnamese police followed right behind them. When they reached the customs house, Yong Kyu turned and parked the Jeep at the square before the fish market. Empty wooden crates were stacked up everywhere, but there was no sign of people in the rainy streets.

“See that vacant lot down that alley?” Yong Kyu asked. “By that white wall? They’re two entrances, a big door out front and a side door from that vacant lot.”

As the captain repeated Yong Kyu’s words to the Vietnamese police chief, Yong Kyu dashed ahead into the alley, calling back, “Cover me, Sergeant!”

Yong Kyu crept up next to the door of the factory with the sergeant close behind him. The door opened a little. One at a time they ran inside. Then two policemen followed them in, jumped over some baskets of salt and crates of fish, heading for the middle of the building. Another policeman hit the lights. Two lamps hanging from the ceiling came on. Yong Kyu kicked the door on the side leading to the storeroom. The lamps were pouring light that way, but nothing could be seen except a row of nuoc mam urns. From the other side of the storeroom, a policeman opened the door and entered. The captain was looking on from behind them.

“Nobody around?”

“We’re too late. Toi and I knew about this place.”

Yong Kyu cracked one of the urns with the butt of his gun. The nuoc mam poured out, revealing gun stocks inside. The police chief and his men started breaking the other pots.

“All of them have guns inside,” said Yong Kyu as he walked outside.

“Why hadn’t you reported this yet?” asked the captain.

“We were conducting a secret investigation, sir. Call in some reinforcement, please.”

“Call the Americans?”

“Never mind. I’ll speak to him.” Yong Kyu went over to talk to the police chief who was enthusiastically smashing a row of urns.

“There’s another houseful of guerrillas across from Bai Bang. Call in some reinforcement.”