A Corpse in the Koryo (7 page)

"Looks like the trees grew anyway."

"That's not the point."

"How far does your jurisdiction run, Inspector?" Kang waved his hand lazily toward the city across the way. "If someone chopped up a body and threw it in the river, let's say, from the base of that hill, would that be in your zone?"

"We don't really have geographic areas. We operate in three sections.

Concentric circles in theory, though they aren't actually circles because of the way the streets run and how the city developed. We call them fortresses. Inner fortress--key buildings and neighborhoods where mostly upper ranks live. Middle fortress--the hotels, monuments, subway stops, and major roads. And outer fortress--everything else."

"You?"

"We don't talk a lot about our individual assignments, if you know what I mean, Kang." He leaned back against the railing and waited. I did some quick calculations. The Ministry didn't want us discussing details of our assignments with other security offices. Coordination was not banned, but it wasn't encouraged. No service could run an operation or a surveillance or even a simple patrol without worrying about stumbling over someone else's activity. On the other hand, if Kang was determined to find out what I did, he could do that with a couple of phone calls to the right places. He knew it, but he wanted me to tell him directly. Part of the stupid games the Investigations Department people played. "Middle," I said.

"That means you end up doing most of the city. But whatever you don't handle must have a red line around it, an inner fortress that is someone else's concern."

"Something like that."

Kang looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, then turned back to the view. "From this height, Inspector, the city makes perfect sense, wouldn't you say? It all fits together, tall buildings balancing traditional rooftops, rigid open squares balancing meandering parks, everything anchored visually and psychologically by this tower. Not like Beijing, with buildings springing up to no purpose and a jumbled skyline that can only create confusion and disorder in people's minds."

I wasn't about to interrupt. He wasn't talking about architecture.

Kang moved around to the northern side of the tower. "But this place doesn't exist in a vacuum. From here what do we see? Fields lapping at the edge of the city, and beyond that, in the distance, mountains. Mountains.

They last a long time, Inspector." He walked around to the southern side. "And there, in the distance, the glorious road south. Let's drive out there together some afternoon soon. Maybe we'll be able to find where they buried that boy's body."

Miss Shin had settled beside us, her eyes closed, a smile on her face as she enjoyed the breeze. The moment she heard Kang mention the body, she stopped smiling and drifted away.

"The corpse from the wrecked car was taken to the morgue last night. The boy's body was buried way back in the hills. His relatives never saw the body. They got an urn of ashes and a note from the hospital expressing regrets that the boy had been killed in an auto accident."

"And he wasn't?"

"I never knew a car crash that cut someone's throat. Did you?"

"Why are you telling me all of this?"

"You know some things I don't know. I know some things you don't know. Simple addition, Inspector."

"Not possible, Kang. What you know and what I know don't add up."

Kang turned to look upriver toward the trees I had shown him.

"Too bad about that gardener." He walked into the elevator where Miss Shin was waiting, reached around her, and pressed the red button.

"Come on, Inspector. Back to earth," he smiled. "Such as it is."

12

As soon as he heard my report on the conversation with Kang at the tower, Pak reached into his desk and pulled out a ticket. "Go home.

Pack a bag, take the rest of the week off. You need to be out of the city for a while. Trust me. Maybe Kanggye isn't such a bad idea after all. Be at the train station tomorrow morning early, at 4:30. Give this to the stationmaster, name is Pak, not my cousin as far as I know. He'll see you are comfy, away from the cigarette smoke and confusion of the masses. Good luck. Don't keep in touch. I'll contact you if there is any need. Stay away from phones." He saw the look on my face. "This is for your own good. It isn't punishment, Inspector. I just don't want you anywhere near Kang for now. If Military Security is gunning for him, something is out of kilter. Everywhere Kang goes these days, that thug Kim won't be far behind. Better yet, hand in your resignation."

you crazy?

"No. Resignation will get you onto the sidelines. We'll say you were drinking again and I had to let you go."

"What's gotten into you? I'm not resigning. And I've stopped drinking. Pretty much. Everyone knows that."

"Fine, be stubborn. Here, at least take the ticket." He turned back to the papers on his desk, then glanced up at me, a look of concern passing over his face. "Can you wake up that early, Inspector? Whatever you do, don't miss the train."

PART

TWO

When we are apart,

The moon through the pines

Is never bright in Kanggye,

But a pale reflection on the lake that Nightly grows, watered by my tears.

-Pak Hac Gun (1456-1497!

The stationmaster moved slowly for such a small man. He took the ticket, squinted at the number, looked at me, then looked back at the ticket. At that hour, there was not much light in the station, just shadings of darkness. Somewhere in the building a bulb was burning. Whatever feeble watts it emitted floated in and out of clouds of cigarette smoke until sinking onto peasants with weary faces and expressionless eyes. A few sat on wooden benches, but most squatted on the floor beside battered cardboard boxes. Each box was tied with ropes that had been mended and spliced a hundred times. It seemed impossible that any of them would survive another tug or twist.

"Pretty old ticket," he said, in a voice that just carried the distance between us.

"The number not lucky anymore?" I was guessing that it meant something to him, maybe from a list agreed on years ago. Pak wouldn't have called him; he wanted me to slip out of town, not blare the news over the phone.

"Numbers don't bring luck." The oversized hat the little man wore might have made him seem taller, but it tipped to one side, so he just looked off balance. He was tired--maybe he had been up all night-- but mostly he was wary.

"Up to you," I said, and turned to go. He took a quick step and put his hand on my arm, gently, as if he didn't want to startle me.

"Don't turn around." He had lowered his voice even more, so I could barely catch his words. "Just walk to the corner, over to the right.

Stand in the shadow. I'll be back."

He had my ticket, and I didn't want to let him keep it because I was beginning not to trust him. Maybe things had changed since he and Chief Inspector Pak had last met. Things change. People change. You never know.

"Go." His voice had a new tone, urgent, not the voice of this hushed waiting room. The peasants nearest on the floor turned to look and then turned away, not wanting to see, already forgetting.

I waited in the corner. It was so dark I couldn't read my watch. And other than coughing and a few snores, the only sound was the slow drip of water reverberating around the walls. Everything was muted, even the sense of time. The train must be delayed.

"Here is your ticket, Inspector." He was beside me. I hadn't heard a thing. I didn't like this muffled atmosphere. It was unhealthy. "You have a seat on the third car. Everyone will scramble when the train gets here, and it will get here soon enough. You'll hear it whistle as it pulls into the station. Saddest damn whistle; no reason to sound it so early in the morning, but the engineer says it's regulation, and I don't mind.

We'll throw everyone off the third car, or most of them, anyway. There |

should be three passenger cars, two boxcars, and a caboose. I let army 1

officers stay on your car, maybe a few cadre kids, and anyone who slips me five dollars. The view from the caboose is the best. You can see the countryside slipping away behind, makes you think you're actually going somewhere."

I had a ten-dollar bill ready to give him. He shook his head. "From you, nothing. I stamp your ticket, then I walk away. I don't even remember your face."

I felt the ticket put into my pocket, turned to ask how he knew to call me "Inspector," and found nothing but still, empty air.

The train should have been scrapped years ago. The small engine looked too tired to pull the collection of cars hitched behind. The first two coaches were brown, Korean made, but the third car was bigger, huskier, European. It had been bought secondhand, probably in the past year, and rolled all the way across Siberia. There were no lights along the platform; a single light was shining about thirty meters away, in the middle of the empty train yard where it was doing no one any good. Dawn was still an hour away, but already the darkness had thinned enough for me to distinguish some details on the third car.

From the manufacturer's plate beside the door, I saw it was Czech. The instruction placards placed over the passageways at either end hadn't been changed to Korean, but it didn't make much difference. If they were meant to inform passengers that the dining car was five cars back and the first seating was at 6:00 p.m., no one needed to know. If they were safety instructions, they weren't any use, either. Trains rarely picked up any speed on these tracks. Even on minor grades, if you jumped off the rear car and started to walk, you could overtake the engine.

Most derailments only resulted in a few bruises, unless the whole train tumbled off a bridge.

The train bumped once and then started slowly out of the station.

Other than a rainstorm or two, the coach I was on must not have seen a washing since it left the Czech border. The original color was hidden under a thick coat of dust, and the windows had so much dirt baked on by the sun along the bottom ledge that they wouldn't open. There were small signs over every other window. Maybe they said use only in emergency but I couldn't read Czech and didn't plan on taking lessons.

I banged on the window next to the seat with my fists, trying to force it open.

An army colonel was slumped on the seat across the aisle, his hat over his eyes, boots untied, trying to sleep. "Enough," he said and pushed back his cap so he could see what was going on, "enough pounding. Leave it be, can't you? I've got to get some rest." He looked over at me with a bleary frown. "Once the sun is up, the air outside won't be any cooler. Why let in the noise from the engine?"

The young woman in the seat facing me shook her head. "Ignore him. He is always like this, contrary. I need some air, go ahead and open these filthy windows, if you can. I don't plan to suffocate on this train to nowhere. You don't smoke, I hope." She stopped and tilted her head slightly. "You're not mad at me, are you?"

"We haven't even met. Why should I be mad at you?"

"You look mad." She squinted at my face. "Maybe it's your eyebrows.

Close together. People with wide foreheads and broad faces tend to be happy. Haven't you noticed? Lots of room to smile. But your forehead"-she shook her head--"with those eyebrows. You don't smile enough.

When you get older, all your wrinkles will go the wrong direction."

She was in her late twenties, not very pretty, or maybe it was the way her hair was done in a permanent that made her head seem about to swallow her face. For this early in the morning, she had on plenty of makeup, more than most girls I knew wore any time of day. It looked like she was going to meet someone, or had just left.

I tried to find a comfortable position. It was too hot to sleep, and still too dark to see much scenery through the grime. I'd made sure to sit on the right side of the train, so that I could watch dawn find the hills.

"This side of the coach is going to roast, but there might be a view."

The girl had a habit of raising her voice at the end of each sentence, making every statement into a question. It was a sure sign she had spent time overseas. They didn't do that in China. She must have been in Europe, doing what I couldn't guess. "Are you going to open the window or not?" This, at least, was a real question.

From across the aisle, the colonel groaned and rubbed his eyes.

"Open it or she'll go on like this all morning. And there'll be more about foreheads, I guarantee." He turned to look out his window, and as he did, the sun rose over the mountain tops. I watched the light touch each peak separately, and each, as it emerged, marched jagged and saw toothed along the edge of the day, nothing like the smooth, caressed hilltops only a morning ago.

"It's already stifling in here. Open the window, and I'll give you some tea." The girl pointed at the small canvas bag that served as my suitcase. "You wouldn't seem to have any in there."

"I'm going to murder her if she doesn't shut up," the colonel muttered, but he looked hard at the jar of tea she'd removed from a plastic carry bag. With no warning, the train lurched and the jar flew from her hands, shattering on the floor at my feet. The colonel rested his head against the seat back and closed his eyes. "Someone please remind me why I even bother." He growled to himself, and the next moment, he was asleep.

The girl stared mournfully at the broken glass. "This is a bad beginning."

She turned toward the window, almost in tears. "A journey ill begun finishes badly." It sounded like something she had read once but never had the chance to say out loud.

"Pretty gloomy for such a young person." I brushed away the tea that had splashed on my trousers. "And much too gloomy for so early in the day. We'll find some tea at the next station." The train lurched again and shuddered to a stop. From outside the car came shouts. Two railway police had a small boy by the collar, though because of the long shadows and the dirt on the windows, it was hard to tell how old he was. They dragged him to an embankment and gave him a shove.