A Corpse in the Koryo

8

"You have tape in that thing, or is it just for show?" I nodded toward the recorder.

"Not to worry about the machinery, my friend." The Irishman's eyes opened wide in mock surprise. "You get that feeling, too, that we're becoming friends, Inspector?"

"Timefor a break."

"Up to you. So far, there's no energy drain on my part. I'm just sitting here. Not even any need to take notes yet. You're just getting warmed up, I assume." He smoothed the cloth on the table in front of him. The little birds weren't so cheerful anymore. A couple of them were drooping with fatigue.

"You looked at your watch again. You sure you're not going to meet someone? No appointments? Let me know, we can hurry this along."

"Nowhere, nobody. Relax, Richie." I held up my watch. "It doesn't run, hasn't for a couple of months. Makes people nervous if you don't wear one, though."

"Well, then. Rest your pipes awhile. I'll tell you the time." He pointed to the clock on the wall. "Or we can not worry about it." He plumped the pillow behind him. "Comfortable couch, probably better than that chair you're on." He was at ease, not tired at all. This was what he was good at, listening, an open ear into which you could pour a lifetime of unspoken thoughts. I checked myself. No one listened like that; it was fantasy.

"What?" I was musing and missed his last remark.

"I said, I'm all ears, Inspector. I'm ready whenever you are."

"You like to listen, don't you, Richie."

"Most wonderful thing in the world, to hear other people talk."

"Maybe in your world."

"And in yours?"

"Listening is the anvil that forms the sword, the fire that melts the lead for the bullet. Listening is the time to recoup, to gather your wits, to plan your attack. If you listen to anyone carefully enough, you'll hear the slip that points to their vitals. It's the compass on the killing map. People talk, but no one wants to say anything, because someone might listen."

"My God, Inspector, I think you're serious."

"Listen carefully, Irishman, I might find a voice we never knew I had."

He looked sad, as if something in him had bent to its limit. I could see he was uneasy. He tried to shake it off, cleared his throat and ran a hand over his scalp, just to get an extra second. That wasn't enough, so he coughed and looked at the clock. Finally, he crossed his arms over his chest.

"However you want to proceed, Inspector."

"fust pretend you didn't hear me say that. I'm not looking for sympathy."

"Don't worry." He nodded, and I knew he'd found himself again.

"I'm not looking to give any. You said Pak told you to go to Manpo. Curious thing for him to do. Makes me wonder. Why would he send you right into Kang's arms?"

"Pak spent most of his days trying to keep me out of trouble, one way or another. It's always been easy for me to step over the line, I don't even know where it is half the time. The other half I don't care. Pak didn't want me transferred away. We were comfortable, a comfortable office, nice way to spend the days. Pak took his job seriously, and he looked out for me. That's just the way he was. I would have done the same for him." I paused. "I should have."

The Irishman lit a cigarette, looked at it with distaste, then put it out.

"Should have. Another way of saying, 'Didn't.'" He tapped the tape recorder. "Ready? Nice and slow. Keep your voice level, would you?"

"Screw all machines, Richie. Have they got buttons on that thing for sarcasm, or irony, or the unspeakable? Do they make machines like that in the West? We don't. We still just use our voices to help out where words can't quite bridge the gap."

"Now you're really breaking my heart, Inspector. Can we get on with it?"