The Silence of Bones

by June Hur

  “Byeol was impregnated by the man,” the shaman continued in her scratchy, whispery voice, “and when the child was born, she named him Ji-Won. Not the ‘ji’ that means wisdom, but the character that stands for ugliness. So that was the meaning of his name. Ugly Origin. A not-so-very-subtle name, but then, everyone knew of her disgrace. She was dismissed from her employment and became the village whore.” The shaman again looked at the man behind me, who was picking his ears. “Used and rejected, used and rejected by all the men here.”

  I shifted away from the old man. He must have been involved in Byeol’s accumulated resentment. Returning my attention to the shaman, I asked, “And no one knows who the father of the bastard is?”

  The shaman shook her head.

  “And what happened to Ji-Won?”

  “When he turned thirteen, perhaps thinking his future too bleak, or perhaps merely despising him, she strangled him and then dumped him into the well.”

  The shaman took another puff from her pipe, and as the smoke unfurled from her lips, she shook her head, looking deeply puzzled. “I saw her that day, perhaps moments after she had returned from the well. She was standing under a tree, smiling and laughing, telling me that she was waiting for her son. Then at night, there she was, hanging by the neck from a rope. The townspeople buried her, and for many years after that, I have held a ritual there to comfort her spirit.”

  “And her son’s corpse?” I asked.

  The shaman shook her head. “A street urchin witnessed his death, from the strangling to the dumping of his corpse. She was too afraid to tell anyone until the next day. But when we went to the well, we couldn’t find Ji-Won’s corpse. Never did. We only discovered Byeol’s corpse, and no one wanted to bury her at first, knowing she had murdered her own son. But we did in the end.”

  “Show me to the grave,” I said, my voice low. I did not know where else to begin searching for the truth.

  Both the shaman and man, perhaps curious to know the reason behind my insistence, rose to their feet and led me out of the hut. We traveled along the base of the mountain, and as we ventured through a thicket of trees, I noticed three trunks, each of which had white charm paper tied around them. They were meant to contain evil spirits from wandering into the village. I was led past these trees and into an eerily quiet open field sprinkled with snow.

  “This is the place.” The shaman gestured with her hand, and the raglike robe she wore over her dress billowed behind her, appearing as though a ghost was hanging on to her. “Her grave.”

  A lump protruded from the ground, no higher than my knees; a burial mound where the casket would be buried below. I didn’t know what I’d meant to find by visiting Madam Byeol’s grave, but then I noticed something strange. Madam Byeol had been buried seventeen years ago, so the burial mound ought to have been covered in snowy grass and weeds. Instead, the mound looked freshly disturbed, the grassy soil overturned.

  I walked around the site, bewildered, and right behind the mound lay a hoe, the angled blade thick with dried soil.

  “Are you certain this is Madam Byeol’s grave?” I asked.

  “Of course!” the shaman said, her voice screeching. Fear had widened her eyes. “I came here on the previous full moon to cast out her han … and it was covered in weeds!”

  The man wiped strands of his hair away from his face. “Perhaps Madam Byeol woke up and went searching for her son.”

  * * *

  After managing to shake off my two companions, I returned to the burial site. Large shadows, reflections of clouds, glided across the barren land. The brooks rolling over the rugged slopes murmured. I heard the occasional rush of a wing as a bird swept by. Otherwise, an oppressive silence hovered over the land.

  I was alone.

  Crouching, I reached out and touched the overturned soil, hardened from the cold. The snowflakes melted beneath my palm.

  I worried my lower lip. I knew with complete certainty that someone had disturbed this grave. But why? To hide or retrieve something? I picked up the hoe, telling myself there was no choice but to find out for myself. I swung the hoe, and the blade hit the mound, dirt spattering onto my robe. Another swing, and chunks of soil tumbled to my feet. I continued this repetitive motion—the thwack of the blade, the shhh of falling dirt.

  Then came a hollow thump. The sound of blade hitting wood.

  With shaking hands, I dug some more until a wooden casket lay before my eyes. Fear filled me up, so thick and prickly in my chest.

  Taking in deep breaths, I held in a scream and threw the lid open.

  Inside there was nothing but bones and a small plaster box. The raised hair on my skin settled, my heart relieved. Fear clearing from my mind, I picked up the box; it was an ancient practice to leave articles for the dead, that they might see them in their afterlife. I opened it and found a letter. Was this why someone had dug up the grave? So that this box could be placed within?

  I opened the letter and saw words drawn out in ink. I struggled with the words for a moment, but I managed to decipher the contents.

  Dearest Mother,

  I did you no wrong, yet you accumulated so much hate against me. I lived embracing your fury, bound to the vile name you had given me. I consulted a shaman and got myself a new name. Jae, “to slaughter, to rule.” Deok, “ethics, morality, virtue.” I think if Father had listened to me when I cried out for help, matters would have been different.

  There it was. The suspect’s name. Jae Deok.

  And then the rest of the truth rushed in upon me like a wave: Officer Shim Jaedeok had killed the victims. Shim Jaedeok the seoja, the bastard. Shim Jaedeok the insignificant, the shadow.

  He must have gone to Hanyang to reclaim his honor. And his father, Councillor Ch’oi, had given him the perfect opportunity, perhaps telling him, Find the priest and bring him before me, even if that means betraying Inspector Han. Then you will be a worthy son.

  Perhaps Shim was the one who had received the anonymous tip to the police, the one containing information about Lady O’s Catholic faith and her association with the priest. Seeing his opportunity to please his father, Shim had gathered information about Lady O, and in the process, he must have discovered her secret affair with Scholar Ahn. So he had lured Lady O out with a love letter, had waited to follow her to the lovers’ meeting spot, a place that would surely be somewhere isolated. At some point, he must have accosted her, but she had fought against him. And before she could call out for help, Shim had slammed his hand over her mouth. In her struggle she must have ripped off his wooden horse-dragon pendant. Perhaps the scarf covering the lower half of his face had fallen off, too. I could almost hear her muffled cry, the fierce longing to live. Desperate, Shim had grabbed her suicide knife and sliced her throat, silencing her forever. But why had he taken the time to cut off her nose?

  Scholar Ahn, after being lured out of his home with a letter, had been kidnapped, stolen away in a palanquin. In the desolation of Mount Nam, Officer Shim had tortured Ahn for information about the priest, for the secrets Lady O had left with him. Whether Officer Shim had collected the information he’d needed or not, he must have known that it would’ve been too dangerous to let Ahn live. So Shim had let Ahn drown. His nose, too, had been sliced off.

  I pressed my hand to the earth to steady myself. At least I knew now who the true killer was, when for all these weeks I had believed Inspector Han guilty of the killings. How dreadful he must have felt when I had accused him of such an evil deed—

  “I see you’ve dug up a grave,” said someone behind me.

  At the sound of his voice, my blood ran cold. I spun round and found myself face-to-face with Shim Jaedeok.

  TWENTY-ONE

  SHIM JAEDEOK DID not look like a killer. His eyes were full of luster and changing lights, and when I looked closer, there was a shade of melancholy lurking deep within.

  “Good afternoon, Seol.” He took a single step toward me. “I never expected you to come this far.”

&nb
sp; “Afternoon,” I croaked.

  “I visited the inspector’s residence to speak with him … to apologize, and that was when I overheard a manservant telling him that you were coming here, so I thought to visit myself.” His eyes dropped to my hand. “What did you find?”

  My fingers tightened over the letter, and one thought succeeded in breaking through the haze of panic: He mustn’t know that I read it.

  “A piece of paper,” I said.

  He stretched out his hand, his long fingers uncurling.

  I placed the letter into his hands. “I do not know how to read,” I assured him. My fingers trembled and my expression likely did a poor job of hiding my fear. “I wish I did. I—I wonder what’s on it?”

  “Do you know who wrote this letter?”

  “It is Madam Byeol’s grave, so p-perhaps her son, sir?”

  “I think so too,” he replied. “I pity the boy. Sometimes monsters are born, but sometimes they are made by an accumulation of hurt.”

  “I hear he lived a very harsh life here in Myeonmok village…” My lips formed words while my mind searched frantically for a way to escape. “A very h-harsh life…” The words dwindled away as Shim took a few more steps forward and picked up the hoe. It looked deadly in his grip.

  I wiped my forehead, drenched in cold sweat. “I just…” I cleared my throat upon hearing my voice shake. “I just found that lying here too. That hoe.”

  He used the hoe to pile the soil back over the exposed casket, and his voice was menacingly calm as he asked, “You disrespected the dead. For what reason?”

  “He was Councillor Ch’oi’s illegitimate son, so I thought I might find … something to prove Young Master Ch’oi’s guilt.” My mind went blank with fear; I could not think of a more clever response. “It was clear to me that someone had dug up the mound recently. So I thought something important was hidden inside, but I couldn’t understand what was written…”

  Now. I needed a way to escape now. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the dirt path that wound its way toward the shaman’s hut. I could run to her, but Shim would likely grab me before I reached safety. There was the entrance into the wooded mountain nearby, and there was a chance that I might be able to seek refuge in the thicket, but the isolation of the mountains warned me that I would most likely be butchered alive.

  “The evidence you found,” he said quietly, “the bloody robe. You ought to have hidden it better.” Again, he struck the dirt, the blade slicing deep. “Better yet, you ought to have burned it.”

  He thought I had lost the robe to Kyŏn; he did not know that I had handed it over to him myself.

  “You left me with no choice but to betray Inspector Han. Do you think I found delight in that?” There was real emotion in his voice now, the deepest shade of pain. He raised the hoe and slammed the blade into the soil. “It was like feeding my own brother to the tigers. Now things cannot be undone.”

  Now. The word pulsed through me. Run away. Now.

  So engrossed as he was in reburying his mother’s casket, I wondered whether taking him by surprise would be the best tactic. I could creep forward and—what? Push him? He would instantly grab and tackle me to the ground. Throw dirt at his face, then run? That still would not give me enough time to outrun him. If I did not run now, I might lose my chance. I took a step back, the soil crunching beneath my step, and he looked up.

  I froze.

  “I saw you enter Lady Kang’s home yesterday afternoon. An acquaintance?”

  I blinked. “She rescued me the day I got lost on Mount Inwang. I do not know her too well.”

  “Tell me what kind of conversations you had with her.”

  “We only spoke about … about … I cannot remember, sir. It must not have been important.”

  “You never asked her what the cargo was?”

  “Cargo, sir?”

  “On the night you disappeared on Mount Inwang, we crossed paths with Lady Kang. She was disguised as a gentleman, but we recognized her, the notorious Catholic rogue that she is. She had cargo, and as she was a noblewoman, we could not order a search. You do not know what it was?”

  “No. No, not at all.”

  “Not suspicious at all? You did not see what was inside?”

  “No…”

  “Perhaps you did.”

  I kept quiet.

  “Catholic books were in there. Perhaps you did see them but chose not to report the matter to the authorities and instead chose to keep quiet. Are you a Catholic, Damo Seol?”

  “I am not!”

  “Then are you sympathetic toward them?”

  “I…”

  “In which case, you will not easily tell me what I want to know.”

  “What is it you wish to know? Of course I will tell you, sir!”

  “Did you see a man inside her mansion?”

  “I did,” I blurted out, “but just a glimpse. He is gone now.”

  “Good, you admit it. All I want is information, Seol, and nothing more. What did he look like? What was unique about his appearance? Did he speak our language well?”

  “He … he … He had long, long white hair,” I lied. “His face was that of a very old man. I believe the man was Lady Kang’s relative—”

  “It is getting late.” Officer Shim tossed the hoe aside and looked up at the sky, the light fading, and for a long moment, he seemed interested only in admiring the colors of the sunset. At length, he lowered his eyes to me. “I already know the priest was within, but it seems he was moved elsewhere. I also know that he is no old man. You are fooling no one, Seol.”

  Deadly silence strangled me. Had Woorim told him that Priest Zhou Wenmo had been moved elsewhere? Shim might even think I knew the secrets of the priest’s whereabouts, and if he discovered that I truly knew nothing, he would dispose of me. Scrambling through my thoughts, I searched for a way to pique Shim’s interest, a reason to keep me alive even a moment longer. All I could think of was the truth. “You are Councillor Ch’oi’s son, are you not?”

  This seemed to catch him unawares. “What makes you think that?”

  “Because of Councillor Ch’oi’s horse-dragon pendant, and … and because you were born in this village, right next to Mount Yongma.”

  “You’re a very clever girl,” he said, almost regretfully. “Though perhaps you would have come to the truth much quicker had both you and Inspector Han worked together.”

  I had to keep him talking. “And the noses? Why did you slice them off?”

  “You continue to surprise me with your boldness, Seol. You seem to have come to a firm conclusion that I am the killer.” He unraveled a coil of rope hanging by his side, slowly and with heavy hands. “Seeing a dead person continues to be difficult, but with their nose removed … it reminds me that they were heretics. Wicked people.”

  Cold sweat dripped into my eyes. I took a step back, and now I was five paces away from the man who clearly did not expect me to live. That was why he was telling me the truth. I knew too much now for him to let me go.

  “And all this,” I said, my voice tight with fear, “did Councillor Ch’oi order it of you?”

  His eyes flashed. “Councillor Ch’oi had nothing to do with this. It was me, all me. I am the one that approached him first. I swore I’d find the priest for him. He was confused by my offer, but a man whose neck is on the line knows not to ask too many questions, and I’d promised to explain everything in due time. Once I catch the priest, that is when I will tell him who I am.” He sounded eager to share his wretched story with me. It seemed the weight of his unspoken life had become unbearable, and he had chosen me to be his confidante. “I will save Father from the Catholic purge and make him call me his son. Someone he would not be ashamed to call his true son.”

  “So it is shame that drove you,” I whispered.

  “It was justice,” he corrected. “Justice stamps out evil.”

  “And you stamped out the lives of Lady O and Scholar Ahn—” I froze, remembering Woorim’s h
and gripping mine, her plea for help. My voice shook as I asked, “Did you kill Maid Woorim too?”

  A menacing stillness followed. Something about his face changed, as if a shadowy veil had drawn across it. There was a sudden chill in the air. He continued to unravel the rope slowly.

  “She is dead,” I whispered. Grief choked me and panic swelled up in my chest, making it hard to speak on, but I did. The horrible question prickled up my throat. “You killed three people?”

  “There was another, long before Lady O.”

  I knew I shouldn’t look, but he was gazing intently at something behind me, his eyes growing so red. I took another step back, creating more space between us, then cast the quickest glance over my shoulder and saw what Shim was staring at: the grave. His mother. She hadn’t committed suicide by hanging herself: her own son had killed her.

  Now, a panicked voice in me urged. I had to run now—

  Suddenly I felt a roughness tighten around my own throat. A rope.

  Pressure built in my temple, my skull about to crack as blood filled it to bursting, and a hazy darkness closed in around my vision. Then I saw no more.

  * * *

  Seol, Seol, I told myself. Wake up!

  Ignore the painful ripping sensation in your throat. Ignore the confusing stabbing pricks in your eyes, the squeezing of your brain.

  You mustn’t sleep forever.

  * * *

  In the darkness, I heard a voice speak, muffled, as though I lay under-water. “He said to get rid of her quick.”

  A beam of hazy light shone through; someone had pried my eye open, holding up a torch. The faces of two men, grimy like peasants, floated before me.

  “I think she’s dead.”

  Their faces faded away again.

  * * *

  A dragging sensation woke me up. A tug, and my entire body shifted forward, then another tug, and I realized four hands were pulling at my arms, the earth passing by under me. I tried to move but could not, weakness tingling in my arms and legs, making me want to never move again. I was aware, on some level, that I should be alarmed.