The Silence of Bones

by June Hur

  The day seemed to repeat itself right before my eyes, for I found myself standing before a girl curled up on the floor. The torch shook in my grip as I drew the flame closer. Blood from her head covered half her face, dried and crusted down the side of her neck, staining the collar of her hanbok.

  “Woorim,” I whispered.

  She did not move.

  Then the torchlight shifted, exposing a different angle to this horror. The blood had flowed not only from her head, but from the gaping wound where her nose had once been—and was no longer.

  “No … no, no, no.” I shook my head, darkness pulsing through my veins. I wanted to crush something and scream. Guilt clawed at my chest. Woorim was dead because I had asked her to show me to the haunted mansion. I had made sure that her heart would never beat again.

  “Seol?”

  The sound of her voice drew me back, sending a surge of tremors through me. Woorim couldn’t move, tied up as she was, but she managed to lift her head ever so slightly to look my way. Her forehead crinkled, her tiny lips opened as trembling words wobbled out. “Seol, is that you?”

  “I-i-it is.” I couldn’t believe it: she was alive. “Woorim!”

  Panic widened her eyes, and words rushed out from her. “We don’t have time. They will come back soon!”

  “Shh, shh.” I crouched before her, so relieved my head swirled with lightness. “The police have come. You are safe.”

  Her eyes remained wide as I untied her wrists and her ankles. Then I held her arm, and with whatever strength remained in me, I gritted my teeth against the burning pain in my shoulder and hoisted her up onto her feet. I kept her steady as we both staggered through the tunnel. We squinted as we neared the mouth, the pitch darkness of the cave chased back by the skylight. It was almost dawn now.

  “Seol-ah,” Woorim whispered, tears dribbling down her cheeks, showing streaks of skin beneath the blood. “I thought the morning would never come.”

  The fragile beauty of the sky-lit forest yawned around us, the beams of light streaming in through the branches touching my face and reaching their arms into my soul. Never had I imagined this day would come—the end to darkness. I had succumbed to a hopelessness that had colored my world in storm-cloud gray, a hopelessness that swore the end would always remain unreachable, like home, like all my dreams, a distant land I knew of only from its faraway echoes. But it was over. The investigation was over.

  I let out a breath and whispered, “Finally.”

  At the sound of crunching snow, I glanced over to see Councillor Ch’oi weaving through the crowd, and I was not surprised. Every moment possible, the councillor had made his way back to his bastard son, as though pulled toward him by their blood ties, but also by shame. This time, the councillor’s face was pale, and he appeared a decade older as he stopped before the monster he’d created through neglect.

  “You mutilated a living girl. You killed four others,” Councillor Ch’oi said, his brows knitted over eyes wide with disbelief. “Compassion, sympathy, and empathy. Could you not feel them when you were hurting your poor victims?”

  Officer Shim remained still, kneeling on the forest floor. It took him an entire minute to muster enough strength to speak, and even then, his voice shook. “You … you begged Inspector Han to deliver the priest to you, but he wanted to kill the priest himself. So I did what the inspector refused to do: I offered to help you catch the priest.” All the confusion in the world seemed to cram into the dark pool of his eyes as he looked up at Councillor Ch’oi. “Is that not what sons are for?”

  Silence stretched as Councillor Ch’oi continued to stare down at his son. Shim turned away; he must have seen pity in His Lordship’s gaze. Pity from one’s father was the worst humiliation.

  “Suicide.” Everyone’s attention snapped back to Councillor Ch’oi as he spoke. “It is an accepted practice according to the customs of Joseon. A military officer who has served the Capital Police Bureau for years should be permitted to end his life honorably.”

  Above us, the trees hushed, as though a ripple of dread had passed through the forest. The snow crunched as officers shifted on their feet, uneasy, while Shim stared at the gleaming object in the councillor’s hand, a dagger drawn out. Perhaps Shim was wondering whether a little blade could truly empty the blood from his body, and how fast the blood would drip. As he looked up at the spectators, a flurry of emotions seemed to cross his pale countenance—his realization and horror at what had been done, his feelings of personal guilt, his wish for death and yet fear of execution, the shame of being spared.

  Before I could even close my eyes, Shim scrambled toward his father, taking the soldiers off guard. It seemed the fear of shame was greatest, the fear of being called Ji-Won again. His bound wrists moved and his fingers strained for the knife, but just then, Inspector Han swept forward, grabbed his old friend by the shoulder, and threw him down to the frozen ground.

  “You murdered to escape shame,” the inspector rasped, as though he dared not speak any louder lest his voice fall apart. “Now pay the price. Endure a public trial.”

  Shim’s breath escaped him like the wind on a wild night, and then at long last, he crumpled forward with his face to the earth, curling up into a ball like a boy after a beating.

  * * *

  None of the remaining spectators moved after Officer Shim was dragged away. No one had been prepared for what they saw. Then the sound of a twig cracked as I stepped forward and whispered, “Inspector.”

  His silk robe rustled as he turned. Without a word, he donned his police hat, the black beads falling around his chin. Then he accepted his sword from a manservant and secured it to his sash belt. All this he did moving at the pace of a snail, burdened by an immense load upon his mind and body. Then at last he looked at me and said, “What is it?”

  So accustomed to my role as a damo, I made sure to bow to him in the position of submission—hands clasped before me, head lowered. “You are still bleeding, sir.”

  “Do not worry about me.” He then did something unusual. He reached out and patted my shoulder, and when I glanced up, I saw the rims of his eyes slowly redden. “Investigating with you … it was quite the experience, Damo Seol.”

  Without another word, he moved away, leaving my shoulder cold. He staggered past the officers, his hands hanging down by his sides. I took a step toward him again, but Commander Yi said, “Let him go.”

  I watched him walk through the pines, heading into the shadows cast by the first light of dawn. All on his own. He had done his best, and with the memory of the dead drenching the forest floor, the smell of their blood was so thick in the air it was hard to breathe.

  Unmindful of the killings, a lone bird called out a blissful song, the welcoming of a new day.

  TWENTY-TWO

  SISTER.

  A departing whisper echoed into my ear, startling me awake.

  Little Sister.

  I lay among the other damos, all of them curled up under their blankets. As they breathed in and out with the slow steadiness of those in deep slumber, I rolled off my mat and struggled to my feet. Exhaustion pulsed with a dizzying force against my skull.

  “You’re still weak from the cold,” Aejung had warned me yesterday. “You need to rest.”

  But I could not.

  Just as I had done the past three days, I bundled myself in my cotton-padded uniform, the norigae pendant Inspector Han had given me tied to the inside string of my dress. The norigae meant for his little sister; for me. The cold air bit my skin when I stepped outside. Falling snow, flickers of light against the clouded morning sky, drifted slowly down onto the black-tiled roofs and empty courtyards.

  It was over. The truth had been exposed and Senior Officer Shim was awaiting his trial. Inspector Han was alive and needed more rest to recover. There was no reason to feel as I did. No reason for dread to be crawling over me like a thousand tiny spiders. But something felt so very wrong.

  Frowning over this loose thread, I let
my feet carry me to the western courtyard and into the under-floor ondol furnace beneath the Officer of the Inspector. I lit a fire, still lost in my thoughts as I fanned the flames to heat up the pavilion, in case Inspector Han should arrive.

  Once the furnace was kindled enough, I shuffled out of the space and out into the cold again. My exhaustion was infecting my mind. All was well. I sucked in a breath of the crisp air—

  Little Sister.

  My heart leapt at the whisper, and I looked over my shoulder toward the gate that led into the main courtyard. I’d left the door ajar, and so the gate opened onto a scene of the gray sky, the thin blanket of snow, and the unchanging emptiness. The scenery was as it had been a few moments ago, and yet a tug of dread, fierce and relentless, dragged at my guts.

  With hurried steps, I returned to the main courtyard, turning on my heel to find the source of my uneasiness. A shadow caught the corner of my eye, and as I whirled around, the shadow sharpened into a familiar figure.

  Our gazes met across the courtyard, mine wide and his half-lidded.

  It almost felt like any other day from the past four and a half months: I’d be sweeping the pavilion and Inspector Han would stride in—the military official capable of shooting two hundred arrows a day in rain, snow, or sleet; the soldier who could slip silently through the grass with scarcely a ripple, like a speedy leopard.

  But today, Inspector Han stopped by the gate of the police bureau, leaning against the wooden beam with a book clutched against his chest. He had thinned so much that I could see the sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw. He breathed so slowly, and it took a few more breaths before he dragged one foot forward, then the other. Yet on his third step, as though struck from behind, he swayed.

  “Inspector!” I broke into a run. But no matter how fast I ran, the space swallowed up my steps and expanded, stretching into an enormous distance between me and Inspector Han, now collapsed on the ground, not moving. My heartbeat hammered against my chest, blood roaring in my ears. I nearly missed a step, stumbling in my haste.

  “Inspector, Inspector!” My knees hit the ground at last. I shook his shoulder, and when his eyes opened, just a slit, it was as though he were staring up at me from deep under the waves. “Wake up, sir!”

  I touched his pulse—weak, but beating steadily. His skin was icy cold. I pulled his arm around my shoulder, and pushing all my strength into my legs, I tried to rise. His deadweight dragged me back down.

  “Help!” I shouted over my shoulder. “Someone help!”

  The heavy hand of silence did not move from the bureau, nor did the shadows sleeping under the pavilion eaves stir. It was just me, the inspector, and his book. My attention darted onto the latter, its spine bound with five red stitches. Someone had written on the paper cover, Officer Shim’s Secret Investigation Records, and the sight of this book slid a thorn into my chest. It was the journal with information regarding the whereabouts of the priest. The man whom Inspector Han, despite his torn mind and body, had poured every ounce of his life into finding.

  You must kill Priest Zhou Wenmo were Mother’s last words to Older Brother in her suicide note. I remembered now. The day Brother and Sister had fought, he’d recited the note, reminding her of our duty to return to the capital, where the priest was rumored to be. I had overheard everything. Avenge the downfall of our family so that the sorrows of your dead parents might be appeased and that the living might find peace.

  The living … that was me. Yet I had never asked for vengeance. All I had ever wanted was a home and a family. A burning emotion swelled in my chest, stinging the corner of my eyes, but there was no time to grieve.

  My voice cracked as I yelled out again, “Please, someone help!” I gripped the inspector’s arm and heaved. I had not gotten him beyond the gates when I heard the crunching of hurried footsteps. In the white distance outside the bureau, a dark figure grew into a person I immediately recognized.

  “Ryun!” I cried the moment he was near, and through my shuddering breath, I managed to say, “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ll tell you later. Let me help bring the inspector to his office!”

  Ryun panted, still out of breath from running, and with his help, we managed to haul Inspector Han up. His feet dragged and staggered as we led him forward. His head lolled. His lips were so pale they blended in with his blanched face.

  “Once we get him to shelter,” Ryun said, “I’ll go find Commander Yi and the physician as well.”

  “The physician? Do you know what happened?”

  “My master has pushed his health to its limit, and with his infected wound…” Ryun shook his head. “He thinks himself invincible, but he is not. The physician warned him!”

  Specks of snow caught on my lashes and dissolved into my burning eyes. “Of what?”

  “For three days straight, he told my master to rest, that his health was failing him. But instead he didn’t even sleep and spent his time examining records, searching for that priest. And then last night, he heard Woorim had apostatized to avoid being executed. She hasn’t yet confessed Priest Zhou Wenmo’s whereabouts, so the inspector told me he’d return to the bureau to interview her. So when I couldn’t find him this morning, I knew I’d find him here…” Ryun’s voice wavered, and grief gleamed in his eyes. “His obsession is killing him, Seol. It’s killing him.”

  * * *

  The ondol floor beneath where I knelt grew warm as I waited inside the office, hoping a hint of color would return to Inspector Han’s cheeks.

  Once he regains consciousness, Ryun had told me earlier, talk to him, try to keep him awake until the physician arrives.

  I dug my nails into my skirt, bunching it into a tight ball until my knuckles turned white. I waited, but the ghostly pallor clung to his skin and would not leave.

  * * *

  Memories flickered in the cavern of my mind. The radiant moonlight filtering in through the brushwood door. A sputtering candle and its dancing shadows. My brother’s hands over my ears; muffled voices seeping in through his fingers, Catholic demons! They’ll bring a curse on us! His eyes, steady and silent as a sunlit meadow, the corners crinkling as he smiled at me.

  All will be well, he’d whispered. I promise you.

  My finger hovered as it traced the contours of Inspector Han’s face, his stern brows, the curve of his eyelids, and the straight line of his nose. Was he still there, this brother of mine? My hand jerked back as his eyes half-opened.

  There was an odd fogginess still swimming in his gaze, like he was somewhere else, and wherever that was, it was a place where I did not exist. But he was awake, finally! Heartbeat racing, I took in a deep breath to call out for Ryun, for he might have returned by now. But before I could, Inspector Han whispered, “Those letters…”

  “Letters, sir?” I waited for something more, but he drifted in and out of consciousness.

  I looked around. There was the low-legged table that Inspector Han had always sat behind during my visits. The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on either side of us. And an object I’d always observed from afar: the black-lacquered document box with gold-painted decoration, mother-of-pearl inlay, and metal fittings. Folded sheets were piled inside, with the lid resting on the table next to it.

  “Those letters,” Inspector Han’s voice resurfaced. “Give them to Ryun.”

  “I will,” I promised, and when silence followed, I could hear only the pounding of my frightened heart. “Inspector, please, talk to me. Ask me anything.”

  “Your older sister … she is well?”

  He made himself sound even more like a stranger, and I had to restrain myself from correcting him. Our sister.

  I instead played along. “I believe so. She got married many years ago.”

  “And your sister … when she asks one day, tell her I am well.”

  “Won’t you see her and tell her yourself, sir?”

  In the quiet that followed, I realized that it was hopeless. I thought he would want to get
to know me and my family, the mystery now solved and my identity revealed. All this time, I must have really thought he would come back as my brother, ready to live in Inchon, perhaps by taking up a humble position in the government office nearby and living a small life.

  Small, I thought bitterly. No, Inspector Han was meant for a different life. He would not, could not change back into my brother.

  “Too much time has passed,” he said, echoing my own thoughts, “for things to go back to the way they were. It has been too long.”

  It was too late for things to go back, especially after what I had done to him. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I betrayed you, sir.”

  “Do not be. Sometimes betrayal is the deepest expression of love.”

  For a long time I stayed still, watching his chest rise and fall as he breathed. His eyes were open, the dim flickering of light in them growing even dimmer. It was like watching an eclipse slowly shut out the sun.

  Then the pace of his breathing slowed, saliva slipping down the side of his mouth.

  “Inspector?”

  His eyelids flinched. A sign, perhaps, that he’d heard me.

  I was running out of time, yet I had so much to say. “In those letters,” I blurted out, “did you ever write about me?” I knew he had, but I wanted him to speak openly, to share more about what he thought about me. It was my only way of asking him, Do you even care?

  The slightest smile tugged at his lips, like a rare ripple in the calm sea. “Tomorrow, Seol.”

  Just then I heard approaching footsteps and male voices. I rose from the floor and hurried to the door, struggling to breathe through the swelling of mingled panic and hope. But just as I reached the door, I heard it.

  A deep sigh escaped his lips. The sigh of a weary traveler at the end of a long journey.