Jung-myung Lee - The Investigation

‘Thanks for saving me.’

‘No need to get a big head. I’m just doing my job, suppressing a problem prisoner.’

Dong-ju just looked down. Otherwise Sugiyama wouldn’t have sprinted up the hill and pushed him behind the poplar tree, or clubbed him so viciously, forcing him into a ball. He wouldn’t have stood over Dong-ju to block the gun-sight with his wide back.

Back in the censor’s office, Sugiyama filled out a medical treatment form for Dong-ju. It was the first time he’d done such a thing.

Sugiyama was called into the warden’s office. Hasegawa pushed up his round glasses and stared out of the window. Maeda sprang to his feet, brushing away Sugiyama’s salute. ‘Sugiyama! What the hell were you doing? Where were you when that prisoner was inciting the others?’

Instead of answering, Sugiyama looked down at his boots. Truncated images flashed through his head. Men gazing up at the blue sky; the red kite floating up with the wind; the young man winding up the lines on the hill; the gun barrel moving upwards; the splattering of blood; the interrogation room where he dragged the poet. None of that felt real now.

‘Today, around 4 p.m., Prisoner 645 violated the rules,’ he reported. ‘He flew a kite within the prison yard for about ten minutes. Thankfully the prisoners were not agitated and the incident ended upon my suppression.’

Maeda glared at him. ‘Thankfully? He flouted the rules in full view of all the Koreans!’

‘He did, but I had previously given him permission. Prisoner 645 had requested permission to fly a handmade kite.’

‘What were you thinking? How could you allow that kind of behaviour?’ Maeda shouted. ‘Have you gone mad?’

Sugiyama swallowed hard.

Hasegawa cut in. ‘I thought it was fun to watch.’

Maeda wiped his brow, reassured by the warden’s mild reaction.

Sugiyama jumped in to explain. ‘I thought it would be a good way to control the prisoners. When they’re outside, they’re scattered in a wide area and they fight. I figured if they were concentrated in one area, it would be easier to watch them and keep them under control. When the kite was flying there were no fights. Everyone was focused on the kite.’

Hasegawa knew that hunger, anxiety and extreme weather aggravated the prisoners, who swung their fists at the smallest perceived insult. Neither torture nor solitary confinement did much to deter them. But this tactic had made them submissive. He smiled approvingly. ‘So if we let them fly kites, we’ll be able to handle them more effectively.’

Maeda appeared unconvinced. ‘But these animals become violent the moment you look away. If their kite ventures beyond the walls, it would just provoke them further.’

‘No, it’ll be fine.’ Hasegawa shook his head. ‘No matter what the kite does, the prisoners are still inside the prison. If it becomes a problem we’ll just cut the kite lines.’

Maeda quickly conceded. ‘Yes, sir. We’ll have them fly kites every Tuesday afternoon then!’

‘You might want to get them involved in kite-fighting. People always fight, no matter where they are. We’ll have fewer incidents if their violent tendencies are channelled that way. Of course, we’ll have to keep a close eye on them.’ The warden licked his thin lips in satisfaction.

Sugiyama quietly let out his breath. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding it the entire time.

The autumn deepened. Cold air burrowed into uniforms. Leaves rustled and rolled around; bare branches brushed against each other. Puffs of dust rose up from the grey yard. Sugiyama had more work to do, constructing a big, strong kite that would be able to fly high. He prepared small scraps of paper, glue made from boiled rice, bamboo shafts and cotton thread for the kite lines. He kept the white kite in his office until Tuesday afternoon, when he handed it to Dong-ju. The prisoners gathered in the yard. The kite line twinkled as it unravelled. The kite flapped like a white flag above the walls. The men stared at it, recalling a time when the high walls and thick barbed wire didn’t block everything from view. Now they remembered running freely through fields and rice paddies, feeling the breeze in their faces. The kite shot up, staggered, plummeted and circled dizzily; their wishes flew up and their dreams breached the walls. They shouted and laughed, seeing not the kite, but themselves. Free.

With the tips of his fingers, Dong-ju read the capricious wind as it changed direction and speed with every second; with his eyes, he followed its movement. Once, a gust of wind snatched the kite and made it tilt, triggering a burst of moans from the prisoners. With skilled hands, Dong-ju unwound the line and rewound it and the kite regained its balance. His deft touch made it seem as though he’d made the kite circle the air twice on purpose. Finally Dong-ju let go of the spool; it spun like a top and the line unwound quickly. The kite sank, its tail wafting behind it languorously. The prisoners groaned.

Sugiyama grabbed some line and wrapped it around his bare hand. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ The line dug into his palm, making him bleed.

‘You have to give it more slack to get it up higher. Then the kite can ride the wind and lift up.’ Just then, the trembling kite caught the wind and shot up higher than before.

The men shouted, pointing the other way. A large blue kite with a sky-blue tail had risen from the other side of the walls, and it attacked Dong-ju’s kite like a shark preying on smaller fish.

Sugiyama murmured, ‘A fight. The prisoners are getting too excited.’

Instead of answering, Dong-ju quickly dodged the new kite. The blue kite attacked Dong-ju’s, which lost its balance and wavered. The blue kite changed height and direction and persistently tried to tangle its kite line with Dong-ju’s. The men, holding their breaths, watched as their sad kite avoided the attack. Finally Dong-ju’s kite emerged unscathed, and the prisoners let out cheers. Dong-ju quickly wound in the line; the kite dropped down and came back within the walls. The men let out a loud, wounded sigh.

The siren blared, marking the end of break. The men disappeared one by one into the work area or the cells. The yard returned to its quiet.

‘Why did you avoid the fight?’ Sugiyama asked.

Instead of answering, Dong-ju finished winding the kite line.

Sugiyama wondered if Dong-ju had decided that it would be better to avoid the battle instead of disappointing the prisoners by losing. Perhaps he figured it would be better to shield the hopes and dreams of the Koreans than risk them being felled by an aggressive kite. It had to be better than losing hope.

Maeda crumpled the piece of paper in his hand and threw it on the floor. ‘What have you been doing as the censor? Explain how these seditious writings were circulated!’

Sugiyama picked up the ball of paper.

‘Look at what’s written on it!’

Sugiyama unfolded it. His eyes bulged. The tiny letters were in Korean. His face went rigid, as though it would crack at a soft tap. ‘I’m unable to decipher it, but—’

Maeda cut him off. ‘The fact that it’s written in Korean means it’s seditious!’

The coals in the furnace crackled loudly.

‘I discovered the Korean prisoners passing it round. You must know who wrote this damn document?’ Maeda barked.

Sugiyama felt perspiration running down his back. There was only one person in the prison who wrote with such a neat hand. He swallowed the name on the tip of his tongue. ‘Sir, I’ll find out who it is immediately!’

‘No need!’ Maeda opened the confiscated documents log and stepped closer to Sugiyama. ‘I already know who did it.’ He dropped his voice. ‘Who else would do this? It’s Hiranuma Tochu. Why weren’t his confiscated documents incinerated?’