A Corpse in the Koryo

15

"Your grandfather used to take the train all the time from here." I looked up suddenly. The stationmaster was peering at me intently. "You don't much resemble him. Except when you're not listening."

"Don't you have a station to supervise?"

"See, that's what I mean. When you talk to people, your face gets official, kind of hard, but when you're staring off, like remembering someone, then your face falls into place. It's the eyes, I suppose. You have his eyes."

What was this? Suddenly every old person I met thought I had my grandfather's eyes? "I don't know what you're talking about. How about you just tell me when a train is due?"

He laughed and put his hand on my shoulder. "Tough guy. I remember when you were little. Just after the war. Things were dirty and confused. People milling around what was left of this station, looking for relatives, military police barking orders, Chinese everywhere, and I mean everywhere. There was one wouldn't leave my office. I told him he couldn't see the train schedules. Didn't matter how good an ally they was, the schedules belonged to us. We might not have much left, I said, but what we got is ours, and the schedule was not his business. He said troop trains were moving and transports and food, and if he didn't get the schedule, there would be a mess and I'd get shot."

Suddenly I was interested in this old man. He was telling a story I'd heard from my grandfather a dozen times over the years. "So," I said, "you pulled a big revolver from your belt and laid it on the table."

He was quiet a moment. "That table, your grandfather made it for me before the war."

"It was maple, with round legs, and golden oak trim inlaid along the top."

"That Chinaman put his boots on the table. I told him, 'Boots off the table, now, or your brains go on the floor.' "

"What did he do?" I knew, but I wanted to hear the old man tell it.

The stationmaster rubbed his eyes. He took off his hat and scratched his head, enjoying the memory. "The bastard told me to screw myself. Then he spat against the wall and left my office."

"My grandfather said that table had a secret drawer."

"It still does."

"You have that table? Here in the station?" I wanted to touch the wood, know what my grandfather had felt as he sawed and smoothed and found the heart.

"Why don't you come and see?" We crossed the main hall, stepping around people sleeping soundly on the floor, their packs of Chinese goods held in their arms like lovers. The stationmaster took out his key to unlock the door to his office, then stopped. The door was open. He gave me a puzzled look, stepped into the room, and groaned. There, on the table, was a fish, gasping to breathe, pinned by a knife meant to gut a goat. I pulled out the knife, and the fish flopped to the floor.

"My table…" The old man's voice was dull. "All these years. .. ames Church