Chapter 7: The Memorial Wall

The last bus to Paju left Seon-ho at a dark stop with no shelter.

The walk to the old gate took twenty minutes in the cold.

It was a flat gray field cut with drainage ditches.

At the far end stood a wall of fresh concrete, three meters thick, with iron ward plates bolted across its face.

Gate 9 lay behind it, sealed.

Beside it, in a small gravel yard, stood a low stone wall with six slots cut into it.

Five of the slots held a name.

A black car was parked at the gravel's edge.

Yoon Tae-hwan sat on the stone ledge in front of the wall, in his long coat and gloves, with his hands hanging between his knees.

He was talking.

Seon-ho stopped in the dark thirty steps away, because it was not the kind of talk you interrupted.

"I washed one hand today," Tae-hwan told the wall.

His voice was very low.

"Half of one. A kid on a gate crew, rated E. He thinks it's a game."

A wind pushed through the dry grass.

"You'd like him, Captain. He laughs at everything. He ate cold noodles instead of washing his hands."

He fell quiet.

Then, without turning around, he said, "I told you not to come back."

Seon-ho walked the rest of the way in.

"You wrote it on a note," he said. "I don't read notes."

Tae-hwan let out something that was almost a laugh.

"You left the money."

"It's a month's pay. I haven't worked a month."

"It wasn't for the night."

"Then what was it for?"

Tae-hwan stared at the six slots.

"I didn't know how to say thank you," he said at last.

"No one's ever done that for me before. I panicked and wrote something stupid."

Seon-ho sat down on the ledge beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched.

Tae-hwan flinched, and then did not move away.

"Which one was the captain?" Seon-ho asked.

Tae-hwan pointed at the first slot.

"He was thirty-four. He'd have liked you better than he liked me."

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