Jung-myung Lee - The Investigation

Should I act? Or should I not? I needed to know more. And there was only one person who could tell me the truth.

Dong-ju stepped into the interrogation room, looking spent. His sallow face was tense with nervousness. I untied the ropes binding his wrists. Dozens of questions floated in my head. I didn’t know where to begin.

He rubbed his wrists. ‘Is this about Sugiyama again? I thought it was all over.’ He looked exhausted.

‘It might be all over for Sugiyama. But not the books in the underground library.’

‘Books? Underground library? Whatever do you mean?’

‘Don’t bother denying it. I saw it with my own eyes!’

His lips tightened.

I pressed harder. ‘You joined Choi’s escape plot. But he didn’t mention you, even when he got caught. Why is he protecting you?’

Dong-ju’s eyes flickered slightly.

‘At first I thought he was shielding you from punishment. But that’s not it, is it? There’s a bigger, more important reason. That secret in the tunnel.’

He looked wary. He finally opened his dry lips. ‘What did you find out about Sugiyama?’

‘The dirt on his trousers isn’t the same dirt found in Choi’s tunnel. So that means there was another tunnel. Then I found that there were books in the censor’s library that had just vanished. Old government publications and publicity about the Empire.’

He didn’t refute my point; his eyes blazed.

‘What I want to know is the truth,’ I pressed.

‘There’s no such thing. Even if there is, you won’t get it.’

‘Well, then I have no choice but to report the missing books to the warden. He’ll rip this place apart. It’s only a matter of time before they find the hidden library.’

He looked down in resignation.

‘Who stole the books?’ My voice trembled.

‘What’s the point of talking about that? Nothing’s going to change.’

‘Choi’s life is on the line.’

He hesitated, then met my gaze reluctantly. ‘It was Sugiyama’s job to burn books. But — well, he was a craftsman. He actually made them.’

Sugiyama’s hatred for books bloomed into a burning admiration; eventually he was moved to steal them. When Sugiyama discovered Choi’s escape plan, he marched him and his gang into the interrogation room; they left with swollen eyes and broken wrists. Sugiyama’s club had extinguished their hope. They were forced to confront reality — their clumsy escape attempt was doomed, Choi couldn’t be trusted and they would never leave this prison. Now they would have to destroy the tunnel they’d dug.

Dong-ju was the last person to be called into the interrogation room. Sugiyama was seething with rage. His facial muscles were contorted, as though each and every one was rebelling against him. But his voice was calm when he began to speak. ‘You used to go around reciting poetry and literature. Now you’re putting your life on the line for a stupid plot.’

‘I might be an idiot, but I’ve never joined their plot,’ Dong-ju protested. ‘I knew what Choi’s plan was, but I didn’t believe it would ever succeed. Even if it did, that’s not how I want to leave.’

Sugiyama glared at Dong-ju suspiciously. ‘So why did you keep getting yourself sent to solitary?’

‘To dig my own tunnel.’

‘There’s another tunnel?’

‘It branches off Choi’s tunnel in the middle and comes towards the censor’s office.’

‘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.’