Togani, page 15
Back in the school, Kang encountered Yŏndu in the hall. She was holding hands with Yuri and seemed to be waiting for him. With a shy smile she deposited a small ribbon-wrapped envelope in his palm. Suspended from the pink ribbon were a pair of tiny bean-shaped golden bells. With adolescent giggles the two girls skittered off to the far end of the hall.
Inside the teachers’ room Kang opened the letter. It started, Mmm, as if the writer were wondering how to begin. And then, “To our teacher Kang Inho,”
This is the first time I’ve written to a teacher since I came here from the regular school. After Teacher Pak Pohyŏn was taken to the police station we’ve had nice times here in the evening. Except when Teacher Yun Cha’ae is in charge of the dorm. To be honest, I haven’t liked the teachers here. They always seem to have one eye on us and one eye looking somewhere else. Maybe it’s because I can’t hear, but I think that the look in people’s eyes is extremely important. I still remember the way you looked at us that first day. And that you lit the matches. At that moment I felt as if a bright light had turned on inside me. Until then, I never thought of myself as being in the dark, but when you lit those matches, I realized I had been standing in the dark—do you know what I mean? That day, for some reason, I felt your eyes on all of us. Maybe that’s why I had that impulse to tell you about Minsu’s brother.
The principal, the administrator, and Teacher Pak will soon be appearing in court. And I’ve heard that you will testify. And Ms. Sŏ called my mom and said we might have to go up to the witness stand too. I believe you will do everything in your power for us. And we will do our best. I used to think that maybe all grown-ups were bad people, but meeting you and Ms. Sŏ, and the head of the Action Committee, Pastor Ch’oe, I’ve had many second thoughts. I think I’ve had too many bad thoughts about the world, and I regret thinking the world was bad.
Teacher, Yuri is asleep in the bed next to mine, but for some strange reason I can’t sleep. I went to close the window because it was letting in cold air, and off in the distance I saw all the reeds glittering faintly in the moonlight. And they were swaying, I guess because of the wind. I remember when I was really little how the wind whispered past my ear. I remember the sound. But the memory is so faint now, I don’t know if it’s accurate. Anyway, that’s why I wanted to tell you a story.
It’s the story of how I lost my hearing. One day when I was in first grade I came down sick. I was very sick, all night long. That night Mom and Dad had to go to Big Uncle’s house for the ancestral ceremonies, and a neighborhood granny was watching over me. Well, she was by herself and got drunk on makkŏlli, and no matter how I cried, she wouldn’t wake up. Mom came home around dawn and noticed I had a fever and put a wet towel on my forehead, and after a while I finally went to sleep. When I woke up, it was strange—everything was quiet. So quiet. It was very peculiar. I felt like I was deep underwater. . . . I still had a fever, and it was hard to open my eyes, and I thought I had overslept and maybe everyone had left, and I called out to Mom while I was still half asleep. I kept calling her but she didn’t answer. And then I got mad. “Mom!” I screamed. And I got up. And the moment I got up, I understood. They were right there beside me, sitting around the meal table, but instead of eating they were watching me with bug eyes because I’d screamed.
So I realized that while I was lying there sick at the warm end of the floor, they were right beside me eating. They said something—at least I think they did. I saw their mouths open and close. Even though I was too little to know better, my heart dropped. I had a feeling that something very bad had happened, something that shouldn’t have happened, that couldn’t have happened.
I wanted to believe it was just a dream. So I went back to bed. My family were all right there within reach, but when I turned away from them, it was like they had disappeared and I was all by myself in an empty house. I got scared, opened my eyes, looked around, and there they were, right beside me. Gone when I closed my eyes, there when I opened them. Mom shook me and said something. I guess she was saying I should eat. But I couldn’t look at her face because I was watching her mouth open and close. I was afraid that if she learned the truth, then I would never again be able to hear. And so I buried myself in my quilt and acted fussy.
I went several times to the hospital and tried all the medications that were supposed to be good for me, but it was too late. Before I started grade school I could already read and write and people praised me for my singing. . . . And then I couldn’t do anything. Teacher, that’s when I entered an underwater world, a world in which all the people were like goldfish and I would watch their mouths open and close. I was forced to live in utter desolation. When classmates who couldn’t sing as well as I would go up in front of the class and sing, it really pained me.
The day came when I stopped eating, wouldn’t go to school, and all I did was cry. Young though I was, I wanted to die. Mom took my hand and wrote to me, “Just wait a little, and when you’re grown up maybe you’ll be able to hear. You have to eat and grow up to be an adult.” I believed her. Oh how I ate—I wanted to grow up so fast. A day passed, and then two days, a year passed, and then two years—and I still couldn’t hear. But I waited. Three years passed and then four. And still I couldn’t hear. One day I started throwing my stuff at her and screaming—“What’s wrong! I’m getting big, I’ve grown this much, didn’t you say I’d be able to hear? Well, why can’t I hear?” My mom was so sorry, she just held me and cried—even after I hit her with my notebooks, my books, and everything else. . . . Wasn’t I a bad girl, Teacher? Don’t you think I hurt her badly?
Teacher, in spite of it all, I am very happy now. It would be nice if dinner at the dorm tasted a little better, but that’s all right. The school is better now. The children seem a lot more cheerful—I can see it. Yuri sleeps well these days. There used to be a lot of days when I couldn’t sleep well because I was afraid Teacher Pak would wake her up and take her away. Once she and I even tied our wrists together before we went to sleep. Because if Teacher Pak came at night when I was asleep and took Yuri away, I wouldn’t have heard her even if she had screamed. But when I woke up the next morning the string had been cut through. And so we didn’t talk about those matters anymore. We did speak up to a few of the teachers, but they either ignored us or lectured us. But that was before you arrived and Minsu’s brother died.
We can’t wait for the trial. We want to go to the court to see those bad people who tormented us get a scolding from the honorable prosecutor and judge. We want to see them punished, and we want to see them promise never to do those things again.
Now Teacher, this is a secret. Yuri told me. She said she really likes you. Do you remember when you took her up on your back that day at the Human Rights Center when she finished her statement and kind of collapsed and was out cold? She told me she woke up on your back. She was so embarrassed she wanted to get down, but your back was so warm she pretended she was still asleep. She told me she was so sorry to put you to the trouble, she was so fat—and you know, she’s actually just skin and bones—and then out of the blue she said she wished you were her dad. Teacher, Yuri said I should absolutely not tell anyone. So please keep it a secret.
Teacher, thank you for coming to us. And thank you for saving me that day that Teacher Yun Cha’ae and those scary big kids put my hands into that washing machine to threaten me. Thank you for trusting in me when I wrote on your palm, and for calling my mom. Teacher, we may not grow up to be the best people, but one thing is for sure—on Teachers Day we will come visit you. And pin a carnation on your chest. Now that I’ve given you this letter, I’m so embarrassed I’m not sure I can see you tomorrow. Tonight I will pray to God before I go to bed. I will pray for Him to help my dad get well soon, to punish those bad people, and to help Ms. Sŏ and you and Pastor Ch’oe live happily ever after. Good-night, Teacher.
The first hearing took place on a day of clear skies and pleasant temperatures. Vehicles lined the curb outside the Mujin District Court, each sporting a car flag with the name of a newspaper or broadcasting station. At the main intersection nearby, the Home of Benevolence Alumni Association had held a press conference and issued the following statement: “We deplore the Home of Benevolence cover-up of ongoing sexual assaults, and we support the struggle of the victims—our fellow students—and the conscientious teachers.” A group of parishioners—Sŏ guessed they were from the Mujin First Church of God’s Glory—were singing a resounding hymn near the entrance to the courthouse.
Early that morning Sŏ had left for the courthouse with Pastor Ch’oe. The pastor, now in his mid-sixties, was a native of Mujin. Until he agreed to head up the Action Committee, he had received at best a lukewarm welcome within the progressive camp. Back in the 1970s and 1980s, when Mujin had stood up to dictatorship and emerged as a mecca for the pro-democracy movement, he had been much publicized for his consistently moderate views. A warm smile always adorned the face behind the glasses with their round lenses.
“Any lucky dreams last night, Pastor?”
All along the way Pastor Ch’oe had been lost in thought.
“Ms. Sŏ, the prosecution are confident there will be a conviction, are they not?”
Sŏ wondered if a deeper meaning underlay this question—conviction, after all, was a foregone conclusion. She had met the prosecutor only once or twice. He was an expressionless man, a bit peevish, perhaps, but he seemed to have an objective grasp of the case, and she had no concerns about him.
“Yes, I would think so—the facts are clear, the victims’ statements are consistent, and when you add the witnesses’—”
She broke off and looked to the pastor for his reaction. He nodded briefly but said nothing, and in that instant Sŏ felt a gust of fear. Before she could get a handle on that feeling, the pastor spoke.
“Yes, I thought so too, but then I learned who the attorney for the defendants is. I know him pretty well. He was a couple of years behind me at the high school here, and he was always number one in his class. I think he ranked number two among the students accepted in the law department at Seoul National University. To everyone here he’s been a prodigy since primary school. I thought he was still a high court judge, but it turns out he just entered private practice. And I think this is his first case.”
“So you think everyone will defer to him because he was a high court judge? But he wouldn’t go so far as to say that guilty people aren’t guilty—would he?”
Seeing how serious Sŏ looked, Pastor Ch’oe responded with an indulgent smile. “No, I don’t think there’s any chance of that. But his background can’t hurt him—judicial etiquette, you know. But let’s give him the benefit of the doubt. We have to remember, though—these are highly educated, cultivated people, the cream of the crop in our country. Anyway, we should probably keep all of this in mind.”
Any further thoughts were cut short when they arrived at the courthouse. As soon as their car came to a stop, the reporters were upon them. While Pastor Ch’oe answered questions, Sŏ managed to distance herself from the throng. And then she felt warm breath against her ear—an ominous, sickening heat that left her feeling feverish. She whipped around to see a heavily made-up woman in her mid-fifties glaring at her. What?
“You dirty cunt, so you’re the one. Let’s have a look at that mug of yours, you witch! So you’re the one who’s after my husband, you’re the one who slandered him. No husband, no fucking, no wonder you’re flipping out! You think everybody’s into screwing except you, is that it? You witch, our Lord Jesus will drive you to hell, and I’ll grind up your pussy once and for all. You Satan bitch!”
Imagine you’re going for a drive on a scintillating spring day, whistling to yourself, and the road breaks up before your eyes. This assault was incomparably worse—no notice, no warning, no precedent. If morning had abruptly turned to night and excrement had rained down from the heavens, it would still have been less loathsome and chilling than those words. Never in Sŏ’s life had she heard a voice of such stark barbarity. She was frozen in place, too terrified even to cry out in response. The singing of the hymn, the chanting of slogans, the honking of cars, the whump of camera flashes—all became distant, and it was just the two of them, she and the plastered woman, in a still, bleached-out space. Not until later did Sŏ learn the reason for this encounter; for the moment she understood only the icy fear experienced by the small, birdlike children of the Home of Benevolence in the presence of unmitigated brutality.
After the foul-mouthed woman had unloaded her curses and walked off, Sŏ stood where she was, heart pounding and fingertips trembling, until Pastor Ch’oe finished with the reporters. She set out after him and then took a look back, and there was the woman, a woman she never wanted to think about again, crimson lips mouthing “God our Father” along with others in the crowd. Later Sŏ would learn that the woman was the wife of Yi Kangbok. If the woman had grabbed Sŏ’s hair during the tirade, she probably wouldn’t have resisted, would have remained rooted to the spot. Not so much from the strength of the woman but from the suddenness of the attack. She observed the woman, her eyes still ridden with fear. The woman was in a circle of linked hands, praying. The subtle green of her suit, the pearl necklace, the thick waves of her hair bespoke refinement. If not for the outburst just now, Sŏ would have taken her for a typical cultured, middle-aged gentlewoman; she might even have felt womanly compassion knowing her counterpart was present because her husband was on trial. Sŏ watched as the prayer ended, and a man in a dark suit patted the woman on the shoulder and offered what appeared to be encouraging words, whereupon the woman managed to place a hand over her mouth, avert her face, and contrive a coy titter. How in God’s name could people be so stupid, so low? Did that woman really believe her husband was innocent? Was that why she hated Sŏ—for lodging the accusation? Possibly. And what about the shower of curses? Sŏ felt she could have yielded a hundred times to the woman’s grievances and still not have been spared. But then she realized that the old-fashioned rhetoric of the woman’s obscenities, the subjugation of their gender it implied, made the wife an accomplice to the husband’s crimes. The strange thing was, even after she had analyzed it this way, her fear remained—the instinctual terror induced by a predator with a blood-smeared maw.
Sŏ sat blankly in the packed courtroom. The judge had yet to appear from his chambers. Photography was not allowed, but enough reporters and spectators were present that their collective body heat could be felt.
“We should be thankful that the judge is a reasonably decent man. And in my opinion he’s not a dyed-in-the-wool conservative.”
Pastor Ch’oe may have thought that the reason for Sŏ’s vacant gaze was her concern about the defense attorney’s background, as he had described it on their way here, and it was this concern he now tried to ease by commenting on the judge. In truth, the focus of Sŏ’s gaze was the judicial bench. What was it like to be up there, looking down on everybody? What did it feel like to be a good three feet above those seated or standing below who looked up at you, awaiting your disposition? Didn’t that lofty position make you different from those below; didn’t it make you a kind of half god, half man?
There was a stir as the three defendants in their turquoise-colored prison garb entered the courtroom. Some of the spectators wept, others called out, “You deserve to die!” Because of the uniforms, the brothers Yi were impossible to distinguish. Twins, Sŏ reminded herself. Even without the prison garb, the identical balding heads, bony appearance, and angular build would have made the two men difficult to tell apart. Standing before the bench, the brothers glanced behind them, acknowledging various individuals with a glance and occasionally a smile. Next to them stood Pak Pohyŏn with a wooden expression, his wavy hair and small stature rendering him all the more shabby in comparison.
“Why all the attorneys?” asked Sŏ.
“Well, well, well,” said Pastor Ch’oe. “There we have the famous attorney Hwang, and that would appear to be his assistant next to him. And the next man is Pak Pohyŏn’s attorney. I’m guessing he couldn’t afford to hire one, so his is government-appointed.”
“Same charges, different attorneys?”
Pastor Ch’oe considered the question, indulging Sŏ in her naivete, then nodded. “I guess so. The brothers get a good attorney and let Pak make do with a public defender. No loyalty among thieves, eh?” He produced a wan smile.
“I have trembled with shame these past few days as I ask myself why I have been visited with such hardships. In the presence of God and my ancestors, I have had the opportunity to look back on my life. It has been fifty years since our deceased father, Paesan Yi Chunbŏm, out of compassion for the hearing-impaired, emptied his coffers and established the Home of Benevolence. From the time we were sniveling children, my brother and I grew up in that home, and I have never forgotten the words of our deceased father, who had such compassion for the hearing-impaired—and that is true of my brother, Yi Kangbok, the school administrator, as well. In the words of our deceased father, how could we take better care of these children, how could we feed them better, how could we teach them better—and if that is a crime . . .”
The trial was under way, the identities of the defendants duly established and the indictment read by the prosecutor. From the moment Principal Yi Kangsŏk had been sworn in, his voice had trembled.
There was a commotion in the gallery, and a voice called out—that of a deaf person, judging from the inflection: “Please interpret for us. In sign language!”
“What?” barked the judge. He gave the man a sharp look.
