“Sonbi, you’re looking a little pale. You should take better care of yourself.”
Supervisor Ko cleared his throat loudly, then looked at Sonbi’s downcast face. Here was the girl that all his co-workers had been secretly feuding over! There was always something new about her beauty to appreciate. It was still up in the air whose hands she would fall into at the end of the day. His co-workers were all fiercely jealous of each other, and while none of them had yet gotten their way with this one, they were all trying as hard as they could to curry her favor. That was why each one of them enjoyed doing dormitory duty and regretted having to go home in the morning.
“Take a seat. Come on, sit down.”
The Clown lifted up a chair and moved it over next to her. Sonbi sat down and smoothed out the folds in her skirt. She wanted him to get on with his questions about Kannan so she could answer them and get out of there. Whenever she found herself facing one of the supervisors she felt awkward, almost as though she were overcome by that same unpleasantness she felt when facing Tokho.
“So, Sonbi, you come from the same village as this girl Kannan who just escaped, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t happen to remember anything she might have said to you before she left, do you?”
Sonbi knew that the Clown was sharp, and assumed that he was asking her these questions in full knowledge of what had actually happened. The color rushed into her face. She set her wits to work to come up with an answer.
“Well . . . I wasn’t paying much attention to what she said, so I don’t really remember.”
The Clown blinked his eyes several times.
“It doesn’t have to be anything important . . . Let’s say, for example, maybe she was complaining about how hard the work was in the factory, or how one of the supervisors was treating her badly?”
“I don’t really remember.”
“Hmm.”
Staring at Sonbi’s apple-colored cheeks, the Clown could hardly control himself. He felt hot all over: Damn, she’s . . . He wanted to jump forward right now and sweep her in his arms. But he was afraid that if any one of his co-workers found out about it, he’d be reported to his superiors, which meant his own job might be on the line.
“Well, what do you think about Kannan leaving like that?”
Judging from how well-behaved she normally was, the Clown had no real suspicions about her. Besides, they were sleeping in separate rooms, so she probably didn’t know anything about it, he figured. He’d called her in and was asking her all these questions, for no other reason than to sit down with her face to face. He watched her expressions carefully in order to gauge exactly how friendly she was toward him.
“I believe her conduct was immoral.”
Sonbi just barely came out with these words that her heart did not own. The supervisor smiled at her.
“Well! Of course her conduct was immoral. No factory girl could get out of here on her own. She must have planned her escape with a man. And where could she have gone all alone, anyway? Did Supervisor Yi by any chance mention something to you?”
Judging from this, it seemed as though the supervisors were becoming suspicious of each other.
“Well, did he?” he pressed her.
Sonbi put her hand up to her mouth and coughed softly. Then she let out a soft sigh of relief, now that she was confident the supervisor wasn’t suspicious of her.
“Why won’t you answer me? Now, tell me, did he say anything to you?”
“Yes!”
“Oh, come on, you keep saying yes, yes, yes, without thinking about what I’m actually asking you. Now, tell me, did he ask you anything about all this?”
That pest, Supervisor Yi, had sure enough called her in several days ago and asked her something or other about Kannan, but since Supervisor Ko was pretending he didn’t know this, Sonbi now wondered whether he had already compared notes with Supervisor Yi. Just then Sonbi suddenly remembered what Kannan used to always tell her: “Don’t always look so sulky when you talk with the supervisors. You have to at least pretend to smile. That way you’ll really keep them guessing.” Sonbi smiled, thinking how funny Kannan’s comment was. Just then, they heard the sound of someone climbing the stairs . . .
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The supervisor now looked serious. “Hell, you don’t know a thing about Kannan, do you? Go on, get out!”
Sonbi left as soon as the words crossed his lips. Once in her room, she could hear muddled voices coming from the supervisor’s office. Her roommates stared at her, ready to hang on her every word.
“So . . . what did he say?”
Sonbi took out her bedding and spread it on the floor. “What do you mean, what did he say? It’s always the same old story.”
“Well, aren’t you coming to night school?”
“No, I’m not feeling so well.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know . . . I’m just really tired.”
Seeing that Sonbi was in such low sprits, the others assumed the supervisor had given her a horrible scolding. They all left the room with fear in their eyes: would the supervisor call them in, too?
Sonbi felt sick. She couldn’t remember how long she had felt like this, but whenever she tried to relax, she felt chills throughout her body and her forehead broke out into a terrible sweat. When this happened, she couldn’t stop thinking about the heated floor she’d once slept on. That grass hut where she and her mother had once lived together! Stoke the fire with just a half a bundle of wood and how toasty warm it would be . . . If only she could snuggle under the covers and sweat out her cold on a heated floor like that. In no time at all she’d feel as good as new.
She fell asleep for a while, then awoke at some point to find a full moon shining in through the glass window. She wiped the beads of sweat from her forehead and lay back down facing the moon. Judging from what the supervisor had asked her, she was fairly sure that he wasn’t suspicious of her. But while she was relieved of much of the anxiety that Kannan’s escape had caused her, she now bore on her shoulders the heavy burden of her mission, and she was overwhelmed with the almost impossible task of carrying it out. Everything that Kannan had taught her flashed into her mind: the factory cells, the organization guidelines, the way she’d have to be in contact with comrades on the outside, the secret way of distributing leaflets and other notes that came from the outside. Oh, if only Kannan had waited just a little longer before she left, I wouldn’t be in this mess, she thought, after trying for a while to make sense of it all. But had Kannan even made it out safely? And what could have happened out there for Kannan to be called out so suddenly? Maybe some of them were arrested, she thought, struck with a keen sense of unease. And what kind of people were these comrades of hers, anyway, who she hadn’t even met yet? Were they people like Ch’otchae? Maybe Ch’otchae was one of them? But judging from the time she’d seen him on her way to Wolmido, Ch’otchae seemed to be working as some sort of day laborer, instead of in a factory. Most likely he had never met one of the leaders . . . Sonbi assumed that Ch’otchae was simply trying to keep himself busy, and hadn’t yet found the path which would lead him out of the darkness. And when Sonbi thought about Ch’otchae in this way, she wanted to meet him more than ever. More than anything she wanted to bring him into class consciousness. She knew he was likely to become a fearsome fighter, far stronger than anyone she knew.
While Sonbi couldn’t be certain, she wondered if this had something to do with that fact that Ch’otchae had suffered bitter moments in his past that were incomparable with her own. Was he still stealing from people? But when she thought about it, she clearly understood why he had started stealing to begin with and how this related to his being the son of a prostitute. She wanted to meet Ch’otchae as soon as possible and to teach him to fight alongside the masses, not just act as an individual.
Could he still be in Inch’on? Maybe he’s gone off somewhere else? And why on earth was I so scared of him back
in the countryside? As Sonbi’s thoughts raced on like this, she remembered once again how she’d tossed away the sumac roots Ch’otchae had dug up for her, and yet stashed under her bed Tokho’s money. Looking down at herself now, she felt so ashamed, so mortified, that she could feel cold sweat running down her back. But that wasn’t the least of it! Hadn’t she wept when Tokho had stolen her virginity! Hadn’t she wished she were dead time after time! How utterly childish of her and how stupid she had been! The Sonbi who had once looked into Tokho’s eyes and cried “Father! Oh, Father!”—that Sonbi was no longer the person she was now. And with this thought, so too came another: that of her own father’s death, about which she had always held suspicions. Granny Sobun was right! Sonbi jumped to her feet hardly knowing what she was doing. A sharp pain ran through her fingers. She pressed them up against her cheeks. Having barely managed to escape from Tokho, here she was in the clutches of human beings far more terrifying—she could feel this in her bones. But the Sonbi of today was no longer that Sonbi of the past . . . she wanted to cry this out at the top of her lungs.
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Visiting hours with his father were over now, and as he stepped back into his cell, Sinch’ol felt his heart shudder at the sound of his cell door closing shut. He collapsed to the floor, completely exhausted. The first time he’d entered this cell, the sound of that closing door had damaged his pride, but at the same time it had sparked enough resistance in him to make him firm in his decision to stick it out to the end, however difficult. And yet now the sound of the door made Sinch’ol realize that pride had been a falsehood, a mere pretension all along. He clutched his head in his hands and screwed up his face. It was painful thinking about how worn-down his father had looked. Whether it was because of Sinch’ol, or because of the difficult life he was now living, his father seemed like a completely different person than the man he had known only two years earlier. The clothes that his father was wearing, and that haggard, gaunt expression on his face! And then those red-rimmed eyes that stared at him blankly—a father unable to speak to his son! Sinch’ol could sense in his heart his father’s true feelings, even though the man hadn’t spoken. The clock ticked on and on, and neither father nor son could bring himself to utter a word to the other.
“Yongch’ol’s doing well?” Sinch’ol asked eventually.
His father’s eyes filled with tears.
“Uh-huh,” he replied, distractedly, and then turned his face away. As Sinch’ol listened to this vague response from his father, he suddenly felt a heaviness in his chest. The thought that the boy might have died struck him like a bolt of lightning.
“Gimme some caramels!” Would he never hear that voice again? Sinch’ol leaned up against the wall, and closed his eyes tight.
“You met Judge Pak, didn’t you?” his father had finally said to him. “Just do what Judge Pak tells you to do. Don’t be stubborn, because it won’t get you anywhere . . .”
Visiting hours had ended with these parting words. Oh, how his father’s voice had trembled! The man had almost been begging Sinch’ol, and those words now seemed to pierce right through his heart, through the core of his beliefs, and into other thoughts buried deep in the recesses of his mind. What do I do now? Go along with what Pyongsik said yesterday?
Pyongsik was the student who Sinch’ol had thought so stupid, so contemptible on that last day he’d been studying in the library. Pyongsik was the one memorizing The Compendium of the Six Laws. He had already become a judge over preliminary hearings.
Sinch’ol had betrayed some surprise when he first saw Pyongsik, but his pride had quickly set itself into action. Or rather, Sinch’ol had forced himself to draw on that pride. Even though he could have easily turned a deaf ear to Pyongsik’s advice, it was his pride that had made sitting face to face with him so unpleasant. And it was his pride that had helped him turn away from Pyongsik and refuse to answer any of his questions. In any case, Pyongsik had been courteous to him, insofar as his official duties were concerned, possibly because they’d once been friends.
In fact, now that he thought about it, Sinch’ol was sure his father had sought out Pyongsik and had entreated him to come here—indeed, there was no mistaking it. With this new revelation, Sinch’ol remembered word for word what Pyongsik had gone on about so excitedly.
“First of all let me just say that, personally speaking, I don’t think that everything about capitalist society is fair. You know, it makes perfect sense to me that there are going to be brave people out there, fighting against the system and trying to build a new society. But doesn’t history have a long way to go before we actually get rid of the system? You of all people should know that it’s going to take a lot of time and a hell of a sacrifice before that ever happens. But to go so far as making an individual sacrifice all for the sake of justice? Now, I suppose for a man there’s a sort of thrill in it all, but just think about it for a minute. No matter how much I think my sacrifice is going to contribute to the cause, a revolution isn’t going to happen today or tomorrow because of what I do, nor will a revolution fail to come about because of what I don’t do. We’re born once in this world and that’s it, so what’s the point of ignoring yourself as an individual? And besides, hasn’t your family fallen into pretty dire straights, just like mine has? Without us, they’d be out on the streets, begging from door to door in just a matter of time. Think about the sacrifices they’ll have to make if you’re locked up in here for a decade, or however long it takes . . . Now, you know very well that all the XXh Party big shots have converted now—even in Japan— and I’m sure they put a lot of thought into their decisions. What do you think about what I’ve said?”
Pyongsik’s face seemed lit with pathos as he looked at Sinch’ol. But that Pyongsik would attempt to win him over with this selfish theory of individualism struck Sinch’ol as both amusing and beyond contempt. He refused to give Pyongsik a reply.
“Well,” said Pyongsik, reading Sinch’ol’s mind. “Go back in there and think about this very carefully. I have a job to do here, but I’ll do my best to support you, since the two of us go way back.”
Just then, the guard standing beside them shouted out an order.
“On your feet!”
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How weak he had been today, how very pathetic his sense of determination, as he listened to his father pleading with him, and as he looked into his father’s hollowed eyes. Sinch’ol let out a deep sigh. He thought of his friend Pamsongi, and then one by one he saw the faces of all his fellow comrades who were locked up in this very same prison. But then it was Ch’otchae, back in Inch’on, whose face in particular kept flashing into his mind, blown up to a frightening size. It was to avoid seeing that face that Sinch’ol now opened his eyes. Only last night he’d thought of Ch’otchae with such fondness, but now that same face was somehow terrifying.
Shining through the window like red skeins of thread, the rays of the sun cast an elaborate pattern on the wall. The glass, the iron bars, the thick metal netting and the fine wire mesh, and making its way through all four layers was that sunlight! This was Sinch’ol’s one and only friend. Each time the guard looked through the mihari hole, Sinch’ol asked him the time and made marks on the wall following the sun’s path of movement. Sinch’ol now looked at that ray of sunlight and calculated that it was just about half past eleven. I bet Father’s home by now, he thought. He must be going through sheer hell. It looked as though his father had lost his job at the school. And with several members of his extended family still relying on him for support, Sinch’ol could easily understand, even without seeing it for himself, the sort of poverty their life must have been reduced to.
What should he do? Judging from the situation back home, there was no question that he simply had to get out of here, but more importantly, it was his own weak state of health that made it impossible for him to stay. He thought back to how he’d been tortured at that first police station, and shuddered. That was one thing he could never go through twice
in his lifetime. Not knowing what you were in for was one thing, but once you’d had a good taste of it, it was better to drop dead right on the spot than ever go through something like that again.
Though he didn’t know for sure, it seemed as though it would take one or two years for his case to come up for deliberation. And a decision might take ten or twenty years—though he had no way of being sure even of that. In any case, it all would take far more than a decade. He might even end up spending his whole life in prison. Thinking about it was simply overwhelming. Sinch’ol thought about Pyongsik. He went over very carefully again what his friend had told him.
He’d refused to listen to Pyongsik’s sickening spiel, but now less than twenty-four hours later what Pyongsik had told him seemed to make sense. But even so, he had far too much pride to hang his head in front of Pyongsik. He let out a deep sigh and glanced down at his feet. He noticed an ant climbing up and down his toes. With great delight Sinch’ol picked up the ant and placed it in the palm of his hand. The ant was oblivious to what had happened to it, and quickly tried to crawl away. But Sinch’ol caught it, placed it back in his palm, and stared down at it again.
The longer Sinch’ol stared at the ant, the more it seemed that he, too, was wasting all his efforts. The ant hadn’t known what he was getting into when he entered this cell, for there was no reason to visit a dreary prison cell without a scrap of food to munch on. Today would be rough for the ant, for he’d been captured and he wouldn’t get a thing to eat. And so, too, for Sinch’ol. It wasn’t just that he’d willingly suffered by giving up the means to any income, or that he had ended up here in jail. Even if he were lucky enough to make it out alive in a couple of decades, he’d be so far behind the others that he wouldn’t be able to relate to either side. And in the end there’d be nothing left for him to do but become someone like Ilp’o and Kiho—a stuffy, fallen intellectual.
From Wonso Pond Page 33