The Yellow Papers (29 page)

He knew he was thinking too much, and that such thinking was dangerous, but still he paced. He should stop thinking and eat, while he had the chance, because there was no guarantee when he'd next have the opportunity.

He took a ration out of his pack – rice impregnated with soya bean and dried meat. He never used the Allied Forces' rations in case the unfamiliar smell carried to enemy soldiers. With his knife he hacked little ice slivers of food from the container. Each night the food froze solid, and by next evening would have begun to thaw but never completely before freezing again. With the tip of his knife he put a few grains of rice on his tongue and waited for them to warm before swallowing them.

A muffled crack outside the cave snapped Edward from his musings. Knife in hand and back to the cave wall he approached the entrance. There he waited. Minutes passed. Then the crack again, sharp this time, followed by a muffled
phump
. He knew that sound – a branch heavy with snow breaking from a tree. Cautiously he went out of the cave. All was still, except for crows flying in the valley; they were already feeding on the bodies below. He was about to re-enter the cave when he heard a moan.

He found her collapsed in a thicket a short distance from the cave entrance. Incongruously, one full sleeve of her uniform remained un-scorched, the rest of her clothes either missing or burnt to a carbon carapace. One side of her face was untouched, the other a mask of viscous black magma constricting so as to stop the eyelid and lips closing. Over her cheekbone, where phosphorous had burnt deeper, the bone was exposed, indecently white against the scorched flesh.

Wrapped in a blanket, lying on the floor of the cave, Hana looked like a small black slug. She still hadn't regained consciousness and Edward knew her chances of survival were slim. Logic told him she should be dead, that she would have passed the edge of human endurance. But still she breathed.

The soldier in him knew it would be wiser – kinder even – to kill her now. He had little chance of carrying her back to medical help, and even if that were possible, she would likely die anyway. That she'd made it back amazed him. What gave some people such an extreme will to live? He knew the effects of napalm – he'd seen enough of it. Scorched windpipes swelling to restrict breathing, hallucinations from the carbon monoxide, bones fused, and all the while more and more serum oozing from exposed wounds, slowly draining the body of life. But her condition should be none of his concern. He had his orders – observe, contact, get back to base without being caught. If any of his agents looked like defecting, or showed signs of weakness, shoot them. If anything gets in the way of the mission, do whatever it takes to fix it. And Hana was now in its way.

He should do it now, while she was still unconscious. But something made him hesitate. He kept hoping she'd die by herself.

He went back to the entrance of the cave. Told himself he was looking out for Bae though he knew Bae would not be coming back. It was hours since he'd found Hana, and soon it would be dark. He needed a cigarette. Hesitated, knowing the smell of burning tobacco could indicate his position. In the twilight the mountains and valley looked peaceful, almost primeval. An eagle rode the air currents. He decided to chance a cigarette.

If he left now he could travel for some hours before the fog rolled in so thickly it would make movement impossible. But he'd have to leave Hana. She moaned and he turned, and in the crepuscule, with the un-burnt side of her face towards him, he thought he saw Ming Li.

Edward lit another cigarette from the first and his hands shook. He should have killed her as soon as he'd found her. He knew now why he'd hesitated. He told himself he would wait a little longer for Bae. He would finish his cigarette. Then he would use the knife – it would be kinder. Cleaner. He would psyche himself up as he finished his smoke, then just do it. This wasn't Ming Li. He imagined himself kneeling astride of Hana's body. Gauging the angle of the knife. The thrust. The slight tension of flesh before it gave. The blade entering the heart. The hot gush of blood on his hand. She would die without ever regaining consciousness. It was better that way.

It struck him in the shoulder, massive and hammer-like. An electric current where none could exist. The crack and whine of gunfire echoed and reverberated throughout the cave and commingled with the sound of his knife dropping to the cave floor. Another struck him in the leg and he knew then he'd been shot and with that realisation came the pain.

Three North Korean soldiers stood at the cave entrance, guns aimed towards him, shouting orders, signalling for him to move away from Hana's body but Edward drifted between substance and illusion and he watched them recede into the distance – three little soldiers far far away – then they were near again and he felt dazed, suddenly weakened and he was falling. His head hit the rocky floor and he was staring into Hana's eyes.

‘
Jugye
,' she whispered, ‘kill me,' and he thought
yes, that's what I should do
as the cave darkened into nothingness.

23

Edward braced his knees against the opposite wall of the latrine, trying to stop his legs falling into the stinking, oozing hole below. Flies swarmed over his emaciated body and lice sucked his blood but he didn't feel them anymore. Wedged like this between the two walls no more than eighteen inches apart, his backside on one of the small logs covered in shit, he could even sleep if he wanted to. But he didn't want to sleep. He had to think. He knew they'd keep him in this stinkhole for days, and who knew how long his mind would hold out this time, when the heat of the day turned this box into an oven. He had to force his brain to function.

Peace talks. Were the rumours correct? Had they really begun to talk, to try and put an end to this madness? How long would that take? Weeks, at least. How long had he been here? He'd been captured in February, that much he remembered. They had walked for days, weeks – was it months? – from village to village, over mountains and through what had once been paddy fields but were then nothing but frozen mud, a bedraggled group of prisoners under North Korean guard. He'd been luckier than some in his padded Chinese clothes that kept out some of the cold. Cold. So cold. So cold and so hungry.

No – concentrate! It's summer now. But he'd already been through one summer in this stinkhole. One summer and another winter and now it was summer again. He'd heard rumours there were peace talks before. Had been for a year now. How long did they need? It was summer – so it must be June or July. August maybe? No, definitely July. July 1952. At Kaesong, they said. The peace talks were at Kaesong. Okay, if these rumours were true, how much longer before they all went home? Surely they'd finish talking soon. Let's say another month. Two maybe? How long did peace talks take? How long had it taken to end the other war? But the bombs ended that one. Bombs. Napalm. So much napalm. Napalm Bae Hana. Kill Hana. Did he kill Hana? He couldn't remember. Yes, he must have – there'd been blood. Hana's blood on his hands. No, his blood. Got shot. Panic, then relief. Wounded at last – paying his dues. Wounded men slowing down the march. Shoot stragglers through the head. Mustn't slow down the march. Sear his wounds with burning sticks to stop infection. Keep walking. Keep walking or you'll get shot. Don't think of the others. Do whatever it takes to stay alive.
‘The earnest officer with a truly humane mind will not save his life if it requires him to sacrifice of his humaneness. He will even sacrifice himself to consummate his humaneness.'
Bullshit! You and your quotes and your Confucius are a load of crap, Chen Mu! What do you know about fear and suffering? About what men are capable of doing to other men? To women and to children? What do you know about hunger? Hungry. So hungry. Wounded men walking walking walking from sun-up to sunset. Frozen bodies. Made to strip and walk naked with their hands on their heads through villages. Angry villagers spitting on them, cursing them, beating them. Keep on walking. Another village. Clothed this time. Villagers throwing stones. A woman with a basket of small cabbages. One of the prisoners swapped his watch for two cabbages. He remembered that. They shot the woman for fraternising with the enemy. Shot the prisoner too. No more cabbages. Walking until they reached PyokTong. A clutter of camps by the Yalu River, just south of Manchuria. Camp Five. Chinese guards now. Did it matter? Rifle butts and kicking boots. Chinese, Korean, all the same.
Sign here. Confess. Admit you have engaged in germ warfare. Are you a reactionary? Confess
. Haunted looks on skeletal faces. Fake executions.
Confess. Sign this confession. No? Ready, aim, fire
– click.
Next time for real. Confess
. God it's hot! How long had he been in this sweatbox?
Confess confess confess confess …

‘Why are you being so stubborn? Do you think us fools?'

Edward glanced at Comrade P'i Gao – or, as the men had nicknamed him because of his appearance, Comrade Ghoul. With no eyebrows or eyelashes, or a single hair anywhere on his face or body, this Chinese stirred something at the back of Edward's mind that he couldn't grasp. Something about his manner. Had he seen him before? Here in Korea? In China? It was no use – he couldn't remember. There was so much he couldn't remember … so much …

‘We have evidence. You are a capitalist spy. Why do you not confess?'

‘Produce your bloody evidence then, if you have any.'

‘What is your name? Why do the men call you Oz? That's not your name. Why do you not state your name, rank and service number? Every prisoner is allowed to state his name, rank and service number. Why do you refuse?'

‘You tell me.'

‘That attitude will not help you, but it is my duty to help you. To help you come to an understanding of what you have done. What did your government ask you to do?'

‘I thought you had evidence …'

‘Your attitude is arrogant. You need to change your attitude, comrade. Show your repentance by giving a full confession.'

‘Go to hell.'

‘You're a fool. But I can wait. Remember, I am here to help you. You'll come to see that I am right.' He signalled to a guard by the door. ‘Take him out.'

They took him to the centre of the compound and made him strip. The temperature was well below zero and dropping, the snow hard and compact. He knew what was coming. Soon it would be dark. Would he live through another night?
No. No no no no no. Please God no. Your attitude is arrogant. Too right, you bastards. You'll come to see I'm right, comrade
. They tied his hands behind his back with wire
come to see I'm right
. Another guard approached, carrying a bucket of water.
Oh God! Come on you bastard get it over with!
Slowly the guard poured the water over him.
Oh God it's cold so cold!
He felt the water running down his body
so cold so cold so cold
felt the water pool around his feet
you'll come to see you'll come so cold so cold you'll come you'll come you bastards you won't break me
felt the water begin to freeze his feet to the ground
you'll come you'll come you'll come a waltzing Matilda with me waltzing Maltilda waltzing you fucking bastards waltzing waltzing by a
billabong fuck you all once a jolly swagman you'll come to see you'llcomeyou'llcomeyou'llcome …