Human Acts(26)

How much time had passed? Eun-sook heard a faint voice, clearly coming from some distance, and turned toward the window. The voice grew stronger: it was a woman, speaking into a megaphone, but not Seon-ju.

“Citizens, please join us in front of the Provincial Office. The army is reentering the city.”

The silence swelled inside the room, like a huge balloon expanding to fill all corners. A truck rattled by in front of the hospital, and the voice grew even louder.

“We have resolved to fight to the end. Please come out and join us, fight with us side by side.”

The voice dwindled, fading into the distance. Barely ten minutes had passed before the silence it had left in its wake was broken by the sound of soldiers. It was like nothing Eun-sook had ever heard before. The resolute, synchronized thud of a thousand pairs of combat boots. Tanks whose thunderous roar threatened to shatter paving slabs, shiver down walls like glass. She put her head between her knees. A small voice piped up from one of the ward beds. Close the window, Mum. It’s already closed. Close it tighter, then. Can’t you close it tighter? When the military din eventually swept past, the street broadcast could be heard once more. It cut through the silence muffling the heart of the city, faintly audible even from several blocks’ distance. “Citizens of Gwangju, please join us in the streets. The army is coming.”

When the unmistakable sound of gunfire was eventually heard, coming from the direction of the Provincial Office, Eun-sook was already wide awake. She could have pressed her hands over her ears, could have screwed her eyes tight shut, shook her head from side to side or moaned in distress. Instead, she simply remembered you, Dong-ho. How you darted away up the stairs when she’d tried to take you home. Your face frozen with terror, as though escaping this importunate plea was your only hope of survival. Let’s go together, Dong-ho. We ought to leave together, right away. You stood there clinging to the second-floor railing, trembling. When she caught your gaze, Eun-sook saw your eyelids quiver. Because you were afraid. Because you wanted to live.





Slap Six


“How is he planning to get it past the censors?” the boss muttered. He was examining the invitation card that had just been delivered by a young man from Mr. Seo’s theater. He almost appeared to be talking to himself, but Eun-sook knew that the question was aimed at her.

“Could he be rewriting the whole script from the beginning? But there’s less than a fortnight left until the performance…how are they going to rehearse?”

The initial plan had been to publish the play this week and ensure that a review appeared in the newspapers’ literary sections the week after. That would be a good way of publicizing the stage performance, which in turn would offer an opportunity to promote the book; they had also decided that, during the run, Yoon would sell copies of the play at the entrance to the theater. But now that the censors had made publication impossible, even performing a play based on that eviscerated script was off the table. And now, for whatever reason, Mr. Seo had gone and sent the invitation cards as though none of this had happened.

The door to the office banged open and Yoon staggered in, straining under the weight of a large box of books. His glasses were all misted up.

“Someone take my glasses off for me.”

Eun-sook rushed over and removed his glasses. Panting, Yoon bent down and let the box thud to the floor by the table. Eun-sook opened it up with a Stanley knife and took out two copies. After handing one to the boss, she turned her attention to the cover. There, where she had been expecting the name of the fugitive translator, she discovered that of the boss’s relative, the one who had emigrated to the United States. The whole office had been in a state of high tension after handing this book’s proofs in to the censors—now, it transpired that it had been sent off to the printer’s with only two paragraphs removed.

Eun-sook covered the tabletop with newspaper before helping Yoon to unload the books. Accompanied by a press release, each copy went into an envelope bearing the publisher’s logo, and these were then stacked in neat piles to be distributed to the press the following morning.

“Looks good,” the boss remarked, again as if to himself. He cleared his throat then spoke again, more formally. “It’s come out really well.”

He took off his reading glasses and stood up. Struggling with his coat, he tried and failed several times to get his right arm into the sleeve. His arthritic shoulder, stiff and painful at the best of times, always seemed to get worse during winter. Eun-sook stopped what she was doing and went to help him.

“Thank you, Miss Kim.”

From close up, his open, unguarded eyes seemed unaccountably tinged with fear, and the lines circling his neck were deeper than one would have expected for someone his age. Eun-sook found herself wondering why someone so timid and feeble would maintain close relationships with writers who were under the scrutiny of the authorities, why he kept on publishing precisely those books that earned the censors’ attention.

—

The boss had barely left the building before Yoon also clocked off for the day, leaving Eun-sook alone in the office.

Rather than go home early, she went and sat by the freshly printed books. Trying to recall the translator’s face, she found that for some reason or other she was unable to remember his appearance in any detail. It no longer hurt to let her fingers skim over her bruised right cheek. Even pressing down produced a sensation that barely qualified as pain.