The Banality of Evil
Ki-jo gave the pistol in the man's hand a single sidelong glance and walked past him to where Dae-ik lay sprawled on the floor.
The gun did not concern him. If they had meant to be rid of him, they would not have gone about it this way — of that he was certain. A man who wanted him dead would have waited in some dark alley off Jongno and pulled the trigger the moment he stepped out after work. Ki-jo knew the tired tricks of the fifties well enough, and that was why he could pass an armed man without so much as a change in his step.
He spoke to Dae-ik where he lay.
"Dae-ik. Don't move."
Carefully he checked whether the neck or the back had taken the blow. Dae-ik's fingers and toes moved freely, and he could lift his arms and legs without trouble. His eyes, fixed on Ki-jo, said he would go downstairs and bring people.
Ki-jo met that look and slowly shook his head.
"You stay right where you are. These people didn't come to hurt me."
He looked around to be sure the woman on staff was unharmed — the secretary filling in for Hyeon-gyeong, who had gone on maternity leave after the birth of her daughter. The young woman was crouched in a corner, sobbing.
Ki-jo went to her as well.
"Don't worry, Miss Kim. They'll all leave quietly."
Once he had settled his secretary, he rose and turned to the man still leveling the pistol at him.
"Shall we step into my office? I'll pour you a cup of tea."
He said it so calmly, without a flicker of fear, that the man hesitated, wondering whether he ought to frighten him a little more.
To that hesitation Ki-jo added a single line.
"You'll want something worth taking back to the division commander, won't you? Let's talk."
He had already decided what they were: officers and noncommissioned officers sent by the division commander they called the Pine Caterpillar. Refuse the man a lease on a small warehouse, and he sends his people to apply a little force. The guess seemed sound. The hand aiming the gun eased down a fraction.
So I was right.
Ki-jo walked past the man in the uniform stripped of name tape and rank, entered the president's office ahead of him, and sat on the sofa. The one in charge, pistol still in hand, told his men to keep a close watch on the outer office and followed him in. Ki-jo offered him the sofa and poured two cups of the tea he had set out to cool. The man laid the pistol on the table and studied him. When Ki-jo held out the tea as if nothing at all were amiss, the man took a sip, and as he set the cup down Ki-jo spoke.
"Please. Tell me what it is you want."
"You know perfectly well."
The man threw it back at him, brazen. Name tape and insignia were gone from the uniform, but the way he spoke, the way he carried himself, his age — he was a field-grade officer at the least. Ki-jo's first thought was that the man was doing this because he had no choice, under his commander's orders. The division commander had him by the leash, and a field officer's pay would not buy so much as a sack of rice; of course he had thrown in his lot with the Pine Caterpillar. If the commander parceled out a cut of what the illegal logging brought in, that would be what fed the man's family.
Ki-jo was angry, and yet he pitied soldiers reduced to work like this. The root of their corruption was poverty. Faced with that bitter fact, he spoke.
"The small warehouses are not open to private parties. Hand one to a general and an investigation will follow."
The man's face creased.
"Now see here. If the lease is anonymous, who's going to find out, and how? And who exactly investigates!"
He pushed back hard.
"The Yeongdeungpo warehouse falls under the jurisdiction of the Gyeongmudae police. On orders forbidding private use, even generals of the Counterintelligence Corps and the Military Police had their applications refused."
At the names of the Counterintelligence Corps and the Military Police, the man's expression wavered for an instant. Then he twisted his face into something vicious and bellowed.
"Who the hell do you think you're bluffing! You turned down the Counterintelligence Corps and the Military Police, and you walked away clean? And you want me to believe that? Right now?"
"That is the truth."
Ki-jo was only stating the facts. He had used Kwak Young-joo to beat back every solicitation from high officials and general officers. Kwak, unexpectedly clean where money was concerned, had listened when Ki-jo confided his worry — that men who had piled up illicit fortunes seemed to want the Cheongsan warehouse in Yeongdeungpo as a place to stash their assets — and answered him like this.
"Those vermin are having themselves a time... Use my name and tell them no. Say the small warehouses in Yeongdeungpo are for Gyeongmudae alone, and if they still won't listen, you call me."
Kwak had gone so far as to block the Counterintelligence Corps and the Military Police himself. Once the others heard that only Gyeongmudae could use those warehouses, they quietly withdrew. Word had already gone around Seoul that the Yeongdeungpo small warehouses were off-limits, though a soldier posted out in the provinces might not have heard it.
"If you truly need a warehouse, I can introduce you to a place as secure as Yeongdeungpo."
"A place like that exists?"
"There is a warehouse belonging to Cheongsan Defense Industries, in Yeonji-dong, Busan."
"What?"
The man snatched up the pistol he had set on the table. He seemed to think he was being mocked.
Ki-jo, unshaken, explained how the Cheongsan Defense Industries warehouse could be used.
"Obtain the Minister of National Defense's approval and pass an inspection by the Counterintelligence Corps, and you may use it. It is a facility under the army's protection, so it will be safer than Yeongdeungpo."
"You call that an answer..."
The man set the muzzle against Ki-jo's forehead and sneered.
"I've heard General Paik Sun-yup was put in as president over there. So that's the game — you're leaning on the old Army Chief of Staff. Paik Sun-yup's a kite with the string cut! He hasn't got a shred of power left!"
Ki-jo did not so much as blink. He regarded the man threatening him with a steady gaze and thought it through. This was a soldier sent with orders to secure a warehouse, one way or another. He could not kill him. He was doing this to feed his own family. He would never pull that trigger.
At ease, Ki-jo held the man's eyes. They wavered, and a moment later the muzzle dropped.
"Everything you just said... all of it true?"
"It is. After you have gone this far, do you imagine I would lie?"
The man pulled off his service cap and raked a hand back through hair soaked with sweat. He had thought a gun and a few threats would settle the matter easily; now that he had struck a wall, he looked as if he were burning up inside. He was lifting the teacup to wet his mouth when a commotion rose outside — the sound of someone being barred from coming in.
Gun in hand, he flung the office door open, and there was Kwak Young-joo, shoving aside the soldier who tried to block him.
"What the hell are you bastards? Why is this company torn to pieces?"
Kwak came striding in through the outer office, medals hanging thick across the breast of his police dress uniform, and the soldiers could only stare at him, dumbstruck. He walked into the president's office as if it belonged to him, settled comfortably on the sofa, and beckoned the man with the gun.
"You. Get over here and sit."
The man stared hard at him, the pistol still in his fist.
"You one of Major General Shin's boys?"
Kwak asked it as he settled his back against the sofa. Agitation showed plain on the man's face.
"You are his man, aren't you? I'm thick with Major General Shin. Come sit down in front of me. Easy."
Ki-jo watched the soldiers listening from outside. Every one of them was shaken. The man slid the pistol into the holster at his waist and sat down before Kwak.
"Major General Shin doing all right?"
When the man could not bring himself to answer, Kwak came off the back of the sofa and slapped him across the face without warning.
Smack!
The man's head snapped sideways.
"I asked if the general's well. You son of a bitch."
Kwak said it through a sneer. The man held his silence, and Kwak struck him five times more, one after another. The watch on his wrist came loose. He set it straight again as he spoke.
"Still not talking. Bastard. I already got the number off the jeep you rode in on, downstairs. And you still won't talk?"
The man hung his head and said nothing. Kwak let out a short laugh.
"Fine. I'll call Major General Shin myself."
He stood, went to Ki-jo's desk, and reached for the receiver — and the man blurted out in a rush.
"Y-yes... that's right."
"Course it is. Ah, nothing to tense up about. Me and General Shin are friendly. He was up in Seoul not long ago and we had a drink. Loosen up."
Receiver in hand, Kwak called the Jongno Police Station.
"This is Kwak Young-joo. Send one company from Jongno Police Station to the Cheongsan Building. Right now. Fully armed. Yes. The official reason is protection of a presidential special envoy."
At those words the man's eyes went wide. Ki-jo looked at Kwak as well. Kwak gave him a thin smile, stepped behind the sofa, and seized a fistful of the man's hair. He brought his mouth close to the man's ear.
"You dare threaten a presidential envoy bound overseas? You and Major General Shin are going to find out what hot tastes like."
Finished, he shoved the man's head away roughly and let go. The man got to his feet, dropped to his knees before Kwak, and spoke.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know a thing. I only—"
"Only what? General Shin told you to? You call yourself a soldier? Selling out the very superior you're supposed to guard with your life? Not a loyal bone in this one..."
Kwak kicked the man aside and took the seat of honor on the sofa. The man rose onto his knees and crawled to him.
"Please forgive me, just this once. I'm begging you..."
He knelt with his head bowed, tears dropping one after another.
"I've got ten in the family to feed. Look the other way just this once, and I'll take the uniform off at once..."
"Ha... what am I supposed to do with this? Ki-jo. What do we do with this rotten excuse for a soldier?"
When Kwak put the question to him, the man went and knelt in front of Ki-jo.
"Please, spare me, sir. I beg you. Ten lives hang on me, from my parents down to my children."
By then the soldiers holding the outer office had read the room. They came into the president's office, knelt in a line, and bowed their heads. Ki-jo was simply at a loss. When he kept his silence, Kwak smiled thinly.
"Ki-jo, I'll do it however you want. Just say the word."
Kwak drew out a cigarette and lit it, and from beyond the window came the wail of police sirens. Moments later dozens of armed officers, under the Jongno police chief himself, burst into the office. In an instant they ringed the kneeling soldiers and leveled their long rifles. The chief snapped a salute to Kwak, who sat smoking on the sofa.
"Loyalty! Commissioner! What shall we do with these men?"
"Drag them out. Throw them in the lockup and wait."
"Yes, sir, Commissioner!"
The police bound the soldiers swiftly and hauled them away. Cheongsan's people, startled by the charge, crowded in to see that Ki-jo was unhurt. He told Dae-ik to send them all back out. It was a mercy the department heads had not been at headquarters; Kim Seogwang, Jang Ma-ryang, and Shim Hansu were over at the Yeongdeungpo warehouse.
In the president's office, quiet again now that the rampaging soldiers and the police were gone, Kwak asked for water. Ki-jo poured him a cool cup of tea. Kwak drained it in one long swallow and broke into a bright smile.
"Ki-jo. Congratulations."
"On what, sir?"
"On what? His Excellency has approved that envoy post to Germany you applied for. That's what."
So Lee Byung-chull chose Italy. Whether it had been Syngman Rhee's decision or Lee Byung-chull shifting his ground, Ki-jo could not be sure. His instinct said the former. Either way, he was glad the German loan had fallen to him. A smile spread across his whole face.
"Thank you, Commissioner. It's entirely thanks to you."
He turned every bit of the credit over to Kwak.
"Hey, come on. What did I do? All I did was tell His Excellency you're a man with loyalty. Haha."
Kwak rubbed the back of his head, as if embarrassed, then leaned in close and spoke in a low, familiar tone.
"Ki-jo, from here on out all you've got left is making money. You can pull fifty million dollars out of West Germany, yeah?"
"I'll do everything in my power to see that it happens."
"Haha, you rascal. When did that green kid get so big?"
He looked at Ki-jo with pride, as though he himself had raised him.
"Anyway, once the money's in, you turn over twenty percent first as campaign funds for the Liberal Party. This election matters. A lot."
Ki-jo said, for the moment, that he understood.
"You skim one percent. That's still about five hundred thousand dollars, isn't it? I'll look the other way on that."
Ki-jo only smiled, and did not answer.
Kwak was badly mistaken. He believed that a commercial loan from West Germany would arrive as cash in hand. Most of a fifty-million-dollar credit was bound for West German firms: the plant equipment would be ordered there, and freight, installation, even the cost of sending technicians would all come out of the loan. In practice, almost nothing would be left to hold.
"His Excellency said to have the loan talks wrapped up by the middle of the year at the latest. You know why."
The election, of course. So the President could build an accomplishment — bringing in fifty million dollars from West Germany to put up a fertilizer plant.
"Yes, Commissioner."
"Right. Ki-jo, the President didn't pick you for nothing. He knows a man who can serve the country when he sees one — men like you, men like me. Isn't that so?"
Ki-jo nodded.
"You saw it yourself. The bastards who piled up dirty money came running to you, wanting somewhere safe to keep what they'd scraped together."
"Yes."
"Those soldiers just now, same thing. A man like Major General Shin — his job is cutting timber in the rear and sending it up to the armistice line. That's what you build the stockades with, so the troops can hold the puppet army off. Am I wrong?"
In the fifties there was no barbed-wire fence along the cease-fire line. Across a hundred and fifty-five miles they had dug trenches and raised wooden stockades, and there they faced the North.
"And these bastards are so rotten they're selling the timber that's supposed to defend the country. If the likes of us don't get our heads on straight and stand by His Excellency, there's no saving the nation. First step is winning the next presidential election."
A light burned in Kwak's eyes. His loyalty to Syngman Rhee was fanatical.
"You're right, Commissioner."
"Good. I'm grateful you understand what I feel for His Excellency."
Kwak laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
He was wrong about something else as well. The generals sold poached timber to civilians partly to enrich themselves, yes — but also to feed political money to the Liberal Party. Supply the party with funds and a man kept his post, or rose. Knowing as much, the Ministry of National Defense itself looked the other way while division commanders siphoned off lumber.
Kwak seemed to have said his piece. As he brushed himself off and made to rise, Ki-jo asked.
"Commissioner. What becomes of those soldiers from earlier?"
"Ah. Those guys?"
Already on his feet, Kwak answered.
"Nothing's going to happen to them."
Even as he said it, he brushed the seams of his clothes and gave a bitter smile.
"Truly nothing?"
"Well, they might let them go hungry a while in the Jongno lockup, and if I say so they might land a few blows. But that's the whole of it."
"Is that true?"
"Yeah. Turn them over to the Military Police and that bastard Shin pulls them straight back out. He has to, if he wants his men to stay loyal. Slip the MPs a little money and they'll act like it never happened."
Ki-jo was glad of it. He had no wish to see the soldiers who had torn up his office lose the living that fed them. Had it not been these men, someone else would have been sent, and until the men above them changed, there would always be more. In their way, he thought, they too were victims of the people who held power.
"That's why I can't stand soldiers. With us police, corruption comes out and your head's gone. Those bastards are different. They cover for each other, they keep each other alive, they raise every kind of hell there is."
Kwak set his police cap on his head and squared it.
"If a man like me doesn't keep the army in check, one day those bastards are going to do something enormous. Leave anything to pool and it rots. The military has to be checked."
He looked himself over, then started out of the office.
"Ki-jo. Congratulations again. For His Excellency's sake, you've got to make this work."
"Yes, Commissioner."
Ki-jo swore that he would.
"Aigoo. Place is a complete wreck. Cleaning this up is going to be a job."
Kwak muttered it as he picked his way around the furnishings scattered on the floor, stepping high. Before he left the outer office, he looked back at Ki-jo and smiled. The smile stayed in Ki-jo's mind like an afterimage.
At this rate, I might actually grow fond of Kwak Young-joo.
On December 21, 1961, Kwak Young-joo would be executed at Seodaemun Prison.
Nine hundred and seventy-two days of his life remained.