Jung-myung Lee - The Investigation

It did make sense. With shame I remembered the way I thoughtlessly treated the people closest to me. Perhaps a brutal era like this forced you to grow. Reality might appear gloomy, but life was even more valuable because of it. Still, I was troubled. ‘You’re not Jesus Christ!’ I shouted at him. ‘You’re going to die like a dog!’

He just looked at me sadly.

The next day I stood waiting in front of the auditorium. A line of prisoners shuffled over from the other side of the corridor. Their pallid faces were cast with powerlessness and dejection. One man had ringworm from the top of his head down to his temples, another had red, chapped skin and blistered lips, and yet another had pale, cracked cheeks. They limped along, their shackles rubbing against their ankles. The sour smell of unwashed bodies wafted over. I stepped up to the guard, the same one who had escorted these prisoners to the infirmary the day before. The chains stopped clacking.

He looked uncertainly at me. ‘What is it?’ he barked.

‘I am requesting your cooperation, sir.’

He tensed at my use of formality. I assumed a gentle expression, but continued stiffly. ‘The chorus is nearing the end of rehearsals. They are improving, but they have stage fright. If they are thrown onstage like this they’ll be nervous. It’ll ruin their singing.’

‘And what does that have to do with me?’

‘If the chorus could practise singing to an audience before getting onstage, it would help ease their fear.’

‘So what do you want?’

‘These prisoners walk through this corridor every day for medical treatment. If they could stop and listen to the chorus practising even for five minutes, they’ll be able to perform better.’

His eyes sparked with curiosity, but soon dulled again. ‘I have to bring these men to the infirmary on time.’

‘You know how important this concert is,’ I pressed. ‘Everyone will be in attendance, from the Interior Minister and the heads of police, to foreign ambassadors and consuls and their families. If something were to go wrong. ’

He shook his head, fear crossing his features.

‘After the successful conclusion of the concert, those who helped will be recognized for allowing the chorus to have a real practice run.’

He relaxed a little. ‘Fine. Only for five minutes, though!’

I looked through the window into the auditorium, where sunlight streamed in like a white curtain. Midori was sitting at the piano and the singers were lined up according to voice part. She caught my eye and nodded. A growing vibration cut through the heavy silence: the beginnings of ‘Va, pensiero’. Like the way a stream coursed towards the sea, the men dragged their shackles to the window, one by one. Heavy, sad, but powerful singing reached us. The music coasted towards us like a golden carpet, glowing and smooth. Five minutes flew by, at once over in an instant and an eternity.

The escort guard lobbed a command. ‘Turn right! Proceed!’

The men shuffled along, looking softer, as though they’d just been awakened from a sweet dream. I sneaked a glance at Dong-ju. In the silence we exchanged joyful looks, then the men went on their way.

I crossed the auditorium to Midori. ‘It was marvellous. Even the escort guard was fully immersed in the music.’

‘I’m glad. They’re slowly getting better.’

‘The one flaw is that I can’t understand the lyrics. I can definitely feel the emotion. But it’s too bad that we don’t understand what the chorus is singing. I know the prisoners have spent days memorizing the Italian, but — what about translating the words into Japanese?’

‘True emotion transcends language,’ she said. ‘Whether it’s in Italian or Japanese, everyone can understand the true yearning inherent in that song.’ Her hands brushed the keys to pick out ‘Va, pensiero’. She started to sing along in Japanese:

Fly, thought, on wings of gold;

go settle upon the slopes and the hills,

where, soft and mild, the sweet airs

of our native land smell fragrant!

Greet the banks of the Jordan

and Zion’s toppled towers.

Oh, my country, so beautiful and lost!

Oh, remembrance, so dear and so fatal!

Golden harp of the prophetic seers,

why dost thou hang mute upon the willow?

Rekindle our bosom’s memories,

and speak to us of times gone by!

Mindful of the fate of Jerusalem,

give forth a sound of crude lamentation,

or may the Lord inspire you a harmony of voices

which may instil virtue to suffering.

I was stunned. I wasn’t sure what it was about the lyrics that made them seditious, but I knew that they were. It made me even more nervous. I feigned nonchalance. ‘You know, because of the majestic singing, I thought it was an account of the brave exploits of soldiers. I see now that it has a different meaning.’

Midori gave me a wry smile. What was she scheming?

‘Va, pensiero’ hung over me for the rest of the day. I couldn’t work out why it bothered me so. I walked into the inspection office and carefully scanned the log of confiscated materials. I found what I was looking for in the fourth log: The Titans of Classical Music , at the very bottom of box number 645. I opened the book and ran my finger down the table of contents — introductions to classical composers’ lives and works, from Bach and Handel to Beethoven, Schubert, Chopin and Schumann. I finally came across an entry for Verdi on the sixth page: ‘Wagner and Verdi, A Two-Horse Carriage of European Opera’. I turned to that page as though I were under a spell:

The chorus ‘Va, pensiero’ appears in Act Three, Scene Two of the opera Nabucco . Nabucco is another name for Babylon’s King Nebuchadnezzar, who appears in the Old Testament, specifically in the Second Book of Kings, the Book of Jeremiah and the Book of Daniel. His powerful kingdom defeated Syria and Egypt and he was thus venerated as the absolute monarch surpassing Hammurabi. King Nebuchadnezzar felled the kingdom of Israel, which had been divided into Judah in the south and Israel to the north after King Solomon’s death, and took the captured Hebrews to Babylon. The enslaved Hebrews were forced to construct the embankment of the Babylon River. Psalm 137 in the Book of Psalms contains the story of the Hebrews who sang longingly for their home along the river bank.

After losing his wife and son, Verdi sank into despair and gave up music, confining himself at home. Merelli, the impresario of La Scala, gave the story for Nabucco to the depressed Verdi. Verdi was moved by the story of the Hebrew slaves who led their lives with resolve, without losing hope of returning to their homeland, and he began to compose again. Nabucco brought Verdi immense success. When it premiered at La Scala on 9 March 1842, the Milanese were moved to tears. The performance fanned nationalist fervour in the hearts of all Italians, who were suffering from the repression of the Austrian Empire and saw parallels in the plight of the enslaved Jews of Babylon; they sang this song all over Italy. ‘Va, pensiero’ injected despairing Italians with a new passion for freedom.

Italians revered Verdi as the nation’s composer and ‘Va, pensiero’ was treated as the second national anthem. Thirty years after the premiere of Nabucco in Milan, Italy became a united country under General Garibaldi. At Verdi’s funeral, ‘Va, pensiero’ was sung in honour of the great man.

I closed the book and returned it to the box. I recalled the lyrics to ‘Va, pensiero’:

Fly, thought, on wings of gold;