Chapter twenty-six
The Equus made short work of the journey to Sinjang-ri, and half past seven on the following evening found me parking the car in the garage of the Dokgo hotel.
I walked into the bar. Trade was brisk and among the customers I noticed Shin in civilian clothes. Kwon Oh-young and Hae-jin were busily pouring drinks and taking orders.
Hae-jin spotted me and came towards me. ‘Hello, Han-sang’, she said. ‘I got your e-mail. It’s a nice surprise, seeing you again so soon’. She beamed.
I looked round the crowded bar. ‘It’s nice to be back’, I said. ‘You look lovely as ever’.
Kwon, all smiles, bustled up. ‘You’re in your old room’, he said. ‘I’ll get young Baik Chul-soo to take your bag up’.
‘That’s fine’, I said. ‘I’ll have a soju if I may, Hae-jin’.
She pushed a glass across the bar, and as I drank I listened to the buzz of conversation. It was being monopolised by a small, middle-aged, tough looking fisherman who stood with his back to the fireplace.
I said to Hae-jin: ‘This chap can spin a tale!’
‘That’s Rim Ji-hoon’, she said. ‘He’s getting properly wound up. Never stops talking except to pour beer down his throat’.
Rim Ji-hoon drank deeply and his audience waited silently for the chronicle to continue.
‘We goes aboard this trawler and Owd Kim Chong-hui pushes his great ’airy face into mine’, went on Rim, ‘and ’e says: ‘if y’don’t get off my boat, I’ll damn well string you up!’
‘Get on with you, Rim!’ said another fisherman. ‘Reminds me o’ the time old Pung Chang-sun– ’
‘I ’aven’t finished yet’, broke in the aggrieved Rim Ji-hoon.
‘And you won’t afore closing time!’ chimed in an anonymous voice from the corner.
But Rim was not to be silenced. ‘He’d got a hold on me’, he went on, ‘and ’e was breathing all over me. Smelt like a ruddy brewery! Then the Skipper comes up and taps ’im on the shoulder and says: ‘You can’t treat one o’ my men like that!’ Know what Owd Kim Chong-hui does then?’
‘Slung you in the drink’, suggested the voice from the corner.
Rim ignored the interruption. ‘He comes up to the Skipper, very slow like, and he grabs ’old on ’im. “One more squeak out of you”, he says, “ ’an’ I’ll pitch you both in the hogwash!” ’
There was a roar of laughter. But an elderly fisherman standing at Rim’s elbow nodded. ‘He would, too’, he said. ‘There’s always a row coming from that boat; I always let well alone – pretend I don’t ’ear nowt’.
‘Best thing you can do, Hak Ho-bang’, said Rim Ji-hoon. ’An’ that’s what I’ll do in future; these artist blokes are all the bloody same – daft as brushes’.
Shin said pontifically: ‘I hear he sells a lot of his pictures in Seoul’.
‘He won’t sell none round here’, said Rim in tones of bitterest contempt. ‘Folks got more sense’.
Shin spotted me in the bar and walked across. ‘How are you, Mr Moon?’ he inquired genially. ‘Fine, thanks’, I said. ‘Sounds as though you’ve been having a bit more excitement round here’. Shin jerked his thumb towards Rim. ‘You mean old Rim? No, nothing special, though there’s always something going on with that calligrapher bloke. He’s as mad as a hatter and drunk as often as not’.
‘What’s this artist’s name?’ I asked.
‘His real name’s Gwok Jung-mo. But all the blokes round here, call him Kim Chong-hui. After the famous calligrapher, see?’
A germ of an idea was taking shape at the back of my mind. ‘Does he ever come ashore?’
‘Once in a while’, said Shin. ‘He comes to collect some grub and booze. But he never gives me much trouble – does most of his drinking out to sea’.
Shin said good night to me, and to Kwon, and sauntered out. As I put my glass on the bar I looked towards the staircase.
Walking down the stairs, carrying a suitcase, was Choi Kyung-Lee …
Choi focused his short-sighted eyes on me and said: ‘Well, this is a surprise! What on earth brings you to this part of the world?’
‘I often come here’, I explained, ‘I have a very personal reason for coming here’. I indicated in the direction of Hae-jin.
‘Ah, but this is quite extraordinary. What a small world’, said Choi. ‘When did you arrive?’
‘About twenty minutes ago’.
‘Oh dear’, said Choi regretfully, ‘and I’m just leaving. What a pity’.
The boy called Baik appeared and picked up Choi’s suitcase. ‘I’ll see if the taxi’s here, Mr Choi’, he said, and disappeared through the front door.
‘Have you been here long?’ I asked Choi.
‘I arrived last night’, he replied. ‘I had a telephone message from a customer of mine who lives here; he’s a wealthy collector. I told him I could quite easily send him a list of my stock, but he insisted on my coming here – so stupid really, and a complete waste of time, but he’s paying all my expenses’.
‘Have you been here before?’ I asked.
‘Once, a very long time ago. It’s a pleasant enough part of the country, but a little too – er – rugged for my liking’.
‘How’s Mrs Choi?’ I inquired.
‘Quite a lot better, thank goodness. The hospital seems quite pleased with her’. ‘That’s good news’, I said. ‘Give her my best wishes when you next see her’.
‘I will indeed’, said Choi. He glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘I must get a move on or I’ll miss my train’.
It was some time later when I wandered back to the bar, now almost deserted, and said to Hae- jin: ‘Could I have a word with you and your father?’
‘Yes, of course’, she said. She called down the length of the bar: ‘Dad!’ Kwon Oh-young looked over his shoulder. ‘Hello?’
‘Could you come over a minute?’
Kwon and Hae-jin leaned over the bar together.
I said: ‘You remember the first time I was here I was due to meet a friend of mine called Park Song-yong?’
Kwon nodded. ‘Aye, that’s right. He never turned up’.
‘I thought you were going to meet him in Seoul’, put in Hae-jin.
‘So I was’, I said, ‘but he never showed up in Seoul either’. I fumbled in the inside pocket of my jacket. ‘I’ve got some photographs of Park Song-yong here, and I’d like you and Hae-jin to have a look at them’.
I spread several photographs on the bar: one was a head and shoulders portrait; the others were snapshots.
Hae-jin picked up the studio photograph. ‘But this is Mr Ho Dae-du!’ she exclaimed dramatically.
‘So it is’, corroborated Kwon.
‘Tell me about this Mr Ho, Oh-young’, I said quickly.
Kwon scratched his head thoughtfully. ‘Twould be about the time of the big storm’, he said. He pointed to one of the photographs. ‘This man Ho Dae-du booked in here. He said he’d be staying a few days’.
‘He didn’t, though’, supplied Hae-jin.
‘He certainly didn’t’, said Kwon. ‘Booked in on a Friday, I think it was. Next morning he’d gone. He went up to his room on the Friday night and that was the last we ever saw of him. His bed wasn’t slept in nor nothing. Strangest blooming caper I’ve come across in a long time’.
‘At first we thought he’d done a flit’, explained Hae-jin, ‘so as to get out of paying his bill. But next day we got a letter saying he’d had to leave sudden like. He enclosed ten thousand won’. ‘Very generous of him it was, too’, said Kwon, ‘seeing as how bed an’ breakfast is only half that and he didn’t have either’.
‘I suppose you wouldn’t still have the letter?’ I said.
‘Reckon we have’, said Hae-jin. ‘I put it in that box under the counter’. ‘Have a look, there’s a love’, said Kwon.
Madge hurried to the other end of the bar. I said: ‘Have you seen this Mr Ho since?’
‘Not a sign of him’, said Kwon. ‘You say it’s your friend Park, do you?’
I indicated one of the photographs. ‘Well, that’s certainly Park Song-yong. There’s no doubt about that’.
‘It’s Mr Ho too’, said Kwon, ‘so it must be the same bloke. Funny sort of turn-up, isn’t it?’
Hae-jin came back flourishing a piece of paper. ‘Here we are’, she announced triumphantly. ‘Knew I’d kept it somewhere’.
It was typical of the hasty scrawls that represented Park Song-yong’s efforts at correspondence.
Sorry, had to leave in a hurry. Bit of urgent business cropped up. Ho Dae-du.
I was just putting the letter in my pocket when Dr Lee Chung-kyu poked his head round the door. Seeing me, he came into the bar. ‘Well, well’, he said expansively, ‘good evening to you, Mr Moon. What brings you to this part of the world?’ He sat down and gazed about him with extreme benevolence.
‘Perhaps you can shed a little light on a mystery, Doctor’, I said.
‘Mystery? What mystery? Don’t tell me Hae-jin has been watering the beer again!’ He chuckled comfortably at his own joke.
‘The very idea!’ said Hae-jin indignantly.
There was general laughter at this riposte, but I did not join in. I said to Lee Chung-kyu: ‘I’ve got a letter here from a Mr Ho who stayed here – or that er, booked a room – about three weeks ago’.
Lee looked slightly bewildered, but Kwon added: ‘You remember, Doctor; it was about the time when we had that bad storm’.
‘I remember the storm well enough’, said Lee, ‘but I can’t say that I remember a Mr Ho Dae- du’.
‘He arrived here’, I said, ‘and he was shown to his room, next morning he’d completely disappeared. Twenty-four hours later Kwon got this letter with ten thousand won’.
Lee examined the letter. ‘That was pretty generous’, he remarked. Then he looked up in mild surprise. ‘Well’, he said, ‘what’s wrong with it?’
‘Two things’, I said. ‘In the first place, this mysterious Mr Ho happens to be my ex-business partner, Park Song-yong. Oh-young and Hae-jin have both identified him from photographs’. ‘Oh?’ murmured Dr Lee non-committally.
‘In the second place’, I went on, ‘this letter wasn’t written by Park Song-yong. I know his handwriting as well as I know my own; I’m one of the very few people who can read it’. ‘Perhaps someone wrote the letter for him’, suggested Hae-jin brightly. ‘Perhaps he was too busy at the time. He must have been pretty busy to dash off like that, without saying a word to anyone’.
‘That’s possible’, I agreed. ‘Alternatively, he may not have known anything about the letter’. ‘I don't quite follow you, Mr Moon’, Dr Lee said.
‘Look at it this way’, I said. ‘Suppose Park didn’t want to leave here but was kidnapped …’
‘Kidnapped?’ echoed Hae-jin in an awestruck voice.
Kwon drew a heavy breath. ‘Well, God bless my soul, Mr Moon!’ he said.
Lee regarded me with indulgence. ‘Surely that’s a bit far-fetched, my dear fellow’.
‘But is it so far fetched, Doctor?’ I said. ‘I don’t think so. It fits the facts. Suddenly, in the middle of the night, this man disappears. Twenty-four hours later Oh-young receives a letter – supposedly sent by Ho Dae-du – explaining why he vanished so suddenly. Naturally, Oh- young’s perfectly satisfied – after all, ten thousand won for bed and breakfast is fair enough, particularly as he had neither bed nor breakfast. Right, Oh-young?’
‘True enough, Mr Moon’, said Kwon.
‘Why should Oh-young be curious?’ I went on. ‘He’s made ten thousand won out of it – tax free’.
‘Too right’, said Kwon with feeling.
Lee frowned in perplexity. ‘It seems logical enough’, he admitted; ‘but kidnapping! Really, Mr Moon, I can’t help feeling that you’re jumping to rather melodramatic conclusions. Unless, of course, you’ve got a specific reason for believing that your friend really was kidnapped’.
‘No’, I said, ‘I haven’t any specific reason for thinking that’.
‘All the same’, said Kwon thoughtfully, ‘it’s pretty rum, whichever way you look at it’.
Lee looked at his watch. ‘well, I’m afraid I must be off. No rest for the wicked’. He waved a hand in farewell and went out into the street.
‘You’re not very busy tonight’, I remarked, looking round the deserted bar.
‘We shall be in a few minutes’, said Kwon. ‘They’re all over at a card game at Aphae-Eup. My regulars will all be back as soon as it’s over’.
‘A nice chap, Dr Lee’, I commented.
Kwon picked up an ashtray and emptied it into the fire. ‘Oh aye’, he said, ‘very popular in the village, is the doctor. And we don’t take to strangers as a rule in these parts’.
‘But I thought he was a local man’, I said.
Kwon shook his head. ‘Hardly that. You’ve got to have been here thirty years or more before you become a local. I shouldn’t think Dr Lee’s been here much more than eighteen months. But he’s a good chap for all that: always seems to be putting himself out to help folk. Must be pretty well off, I imagine’.
Again the feeling came over me that Lee was a little too good to be true. ‘In what way does he help people?’ I queried.
‘Well, he looks after some of the old people like they was children. Then again, he’s done a lot for Gwok Jung-mo, the bloke we call Kim Chong-hui’.
‘That’s the calligrapher I was hearing about earlier?’
Kwon nodded. ‘That’s the one. Toughest looking chap I’ve ever seen; lives on an old trawler out on the saltings’.
I was silent for a moment. I was thinking of Rim Ji-hoon’s story about Kim Chong-hui – the calligrapher, drunkard, and trouble maker, who was so anxious to keep visitors away from his trawler. I wondered what strange bond of friendship existed between Dr Lee, most conventional of general practitioners, and a man like Gwok Jung-mo.
‘If it hadn’t been for the doctor’, continued Kwon with relish, ‘I reckon Kim Chong-hui would have gone inside by now. Bought some of his pictures, an’ all – just to keep him going, like. ’Twasn’t as if Kim Chong-hui’s pictures was any good, either, and I don’t mind betting he spent all the money on booze. But the doctor’s got a kind heart, see?’
Kwon’s monologue was interrupted by the appearance of the nucleus of the Dokgo hotel regulars, headed by Rim Ji-hoon, whose verbosity seemed to be totally unimpaired.
‘Now then, what about a bit o’service, Oh-young?’ he demanded. ‘Don’t want us all to go back to Aphae-eup, do you?’
‘If you can drink the swill they call beer there’, said Kwon with a disdainful sniff, ‘you can buzz off now!’
I moved up the bar a little until I was standing next to Rim Ji-hoon. ‘How did the card game go?’ I inquired.
‘Orrible!’ said Rim disgustedly. ‘Some of the blokes wot calls ’emselves card players ’ad a job tonight. Shin-cho, ’ere, wanted a royal flush to finish, an’ wot does he do? Bloody near draws a blank’.
I laughed. ‘What about a drink?’
‘I won’t say no’, said Rim. ‘I’ll have a soju’.
‘I heard you talking about Kim Chong-hui earlier on’, I said. ‘It sounded like a good story. What happened?’
‘Weren’t a lot to it, really’, said Rim. ‘We was just coming in when we ’eard this racket going on board ’is boat. Thought ’e were ’aving a scrap wi’ someone. Seems it weren’t a fight at all, though, ’cos there were nobody there ’cept Owd Kim Chong-hui – leastways, we couldn’t see nobody. I reckon Kim Chong-hui were a bit drunker than usual and breaking up the ’appy ’ome – never ’eard such a blooming racket’.
‘This Kim Chong-hui sounds quite a character’, I remarked.
‘He is that!’ agreed Rim. ‘But I’m steering clear of ’im in future; I don’t want to get meself slung in the drink. I got washed into the West Sea once and that’s enough for me, thank you’.
I heard the telephone ringing and presently Kwon returned to the bar. ‘It’s for you, Mr Moon’, he announced.
‘From Seoul?’ I asked.
‘I don’t think so. Sounds like a local call’.
I put my glass on the bar and walked to the telephone. I said: ‘This is Moon Han-sang …’
The voice on the other end was weak and tremulous, but I recognised it immediately. It said jerkily: ‘Han-sang, this is Song-yong, Park Song-yong, … If you want to see me, I’ll meet you in … about half an hour …’
‘Where?’ I demanded. This time I was going to tie him down to a definite time and place or know the reason why.
There was a pause and I thought I could hear a vague muttering at the other end. Then a voice spoke again; it sounded like Song-yong’s, although I was not absolutely sure. The voice said: ‘At the jetty – near the lighthouse …’ There was a buzz as the receiver was replaced.
I said desperately: ‘Song-yong, are you there?’ But there was no answer. I wondered if the call could be traced, but gave up the idea. I put down the receiver and turned to Kwon.
‘Where’s the lighthouse?’ I asked him.
He looked at me queerly for a moment. ‘That’ll be the lighthouse down at the end of the jetty’, he said.
The jetty was deserted when I arrived there. The warehouses seemed to cast huge, eerie shadows over the large open space. I drove up and stopped outside a small stone building at the end of the jetty. Prominently in front of this building was the lighthouse.
I moved over to the lighthouse. I stopped next to it: there was nothing in sight and a cold, clammy silence hung over the whole area. I shivered, not entirely from cold.
I lit a cigarette and looked at my watch in the flame of my lighter. Then I stiffened: I had noticed a very slight movement in the shadow of one of the warehouses. I heard a very faint shuffling sound, as if a man was shifting his weight from one foot to the other. I stood absolutely motionless, listening intently. Then I deliberately walked a short distance from the small building and stood with my back to the warehouse. The silence was relieved only by the sound of the wind coming in from the sea. I shivered again and admitted freely to myself that I was scared as hell …
I looked round quickly, but saw nothing save the ghostly outline of the warehouse. Then, faintly but quite audibly, I heard a soft metallic click …
Some instinct prompted me to lean over sideways and this undoubtedly saved my life. A man lunged at me from behind, and I felt a knife rip through the side of my raincoat. I lashed out with my right fist and connected with the man’s cheekbone. He cursed horribly and I knew that voice at once – it was the man who had called himself Si. With an upward stroke he slashed at my arm, but I managed to get a grip on his wrist.
We swayed backwards and forwards and I could hear Si mouthing obscenities. He jerked his right knee up, but I anticipated the move and, catching Si’s ankle, threw him sideways. He fell heavily on the cobblestones.
But he had retained his hold on the knife. This time he came at me head down and slashed at my face. I ducked in the nick of time and seized Si’s knife hand, at the same time driving my other fist into his midriff. I weigh a good thirteen stone and most of it was behind that punch. I almost heard the breath going out of Si, and the knife fell to the ground with a clatter.
But he wasn’t finished yet. He made a dive for the knife, and I kicked it towards the edge of the jetty. Si went after it, but I dived for his legs and tackled him to the ground before he could reach it. I hauled him to his feet and gave him a clean uppercut right on the point of the jaw.
Si let out a thin squeal like a trapped rabbit as my hands fastened on his throat. He kicked out desperately and caught me squarely on the knee-cap, but I still managed to hold on to him. Seizing him by his coat collar I swung him round and rocked him to his heels with a smashing right-hander to the mouth.
Si recoiled, but came for me again. By this time we were on the extreme edge of the jetty. Below us the sea swirled blackly. Snarling like an animal, Si wrapped both arms round my waist. I broke from his hold and seized him by the throat again; then my grip relaxed as Si bit into the back of my hand.
I knew that he was considerably younger and probably fitter than I, and my only chance was to finish him with a knock-out punch. Summoning up my last ounce of strength – and I hadn’t a lot left – I drove a punch at Si’s face. He suddenly threw up his arms, screamed shrilly, and vanished into the blackness below.
Breathing hard, staggering a couple of paces, and clutching my stomach, I looked down into the sea. Waves of pain and nausea swept over me. I put my hand up to my face and tasted warm blood.
I looked down at the sea again. The waves battered against the jetty. Then I kicked the knife after Si and walked unsteadily back to my car …