May 4, 1942
“Now.”
The interrogator held out a piece of paper with a few Japanese characters written on it. Beneath it was Subin's name, written plainly, without any Japanese name change. The interrogator informed him that this would be where his statement would be written. A dirty fountain pen lay next to the paper. A faint trace of blood could be seen where the light shone. A voice cracked softly from his parched lips. His joints, bruised and blue from the merciless assault, seemed to ache and scream. The interrogator sat in the chair across from Subin and interlocked their hands. His short beard added to the somewhat repulsive air he created, and though he wasn't tall by any means, his contemptuous gaze betrayed a clear authoritarianism. A name tag reading "Noh Deok-sul" could be seen on his right chest. It was neat. It was a stark contrast to Subin's appearance.
“Do Koreans have no ability to learn?”
The interrogator laughed slyly.
“They will lower their standards and not ask about the Korean Youth Association. (수준 낮게 대한청년회에 관해 묻진 않을 거다.)”
“……”
“Thanks to Yamato-kun’s cooperation, we can roughly grasp the members of the Korean Youth Association. Oh, I remember that the person he informed on was you.”
“…I am not a member of the Korean Youth Association. (…저는 대한청년회 회원이 아닙니다.)”
Deoksul chuckled, then laughed so loudly that the gloomy room vanished. My ears hurt and my head started to buzz. "It's really interesting how the Joseon people change their attitude," he said.
"I was born in a different era... I simply fell into confusion and changed course. It's unfair that I, a good student, was tied down with them and had to go through this... Is that what you're trying to say?"
Subin bit his lip. Tears welled up in his eyes, perhaps from the pain, or perhaps from the shame that washed over him more deeply than any torture he'd ever endured. Subin finally raised his head. The interrogator was scornfully looking at him. Of course, a Bulyeongseonin was born a Bulyeongseonin. Don't you have any pride? I've seen countless Koreans like you. They rush in with reckless abandon, only to find themselves at a disadvantage and eventually betray their comrades. You're one of them. Koreans are incredibly weak, after all. What's the difference between you and those pro-Japanese bastards? Look at the kamikazes of the Pacific War. They sacrificed their youth for their country, then risked their lives, flying into the enemy Marines and dying heroically—
“It’s embarrassing… that’s right…”
"What?"
“I don’t think I have the right to be called together with them…comrades…”
As Soobin cut him off, the interrogator frowned as if he was displeased. At that moment, his hypothesis about Koreans was shattered.It was Soobin who brought about destruction. No one else.
“I was born in this era… crying out for poetry… yearning for poets… counting the stars… I was so ashamed… that I couldn’t lead as a man… but just followed them forward like the moon following the sun… I was so ashamed…”
The interrogator banged the desk and slapped Soobin across the face.
"Let's see how long they can keep talking such hypocritical things. (그딴 위선적인 소릴 언제까지고 지껄일 수 있는지 지켜보지.)"
Subin raised his head and stared straight at the interrogator. Something indescribable was in his eyes. In that moment, his shame was his pride. Subin vowed to stand firm on behalf of the Korean Youth Association, no matter what. Even as the candle of his life extinguished, he would never shout "Long Live the Empire of Japan" beneath the heavens. A power welled up in his shabby body like a blessing. He simply obeyed that unknown power. The interrogator asked Subin a few more questions. Subin gave short answers. Whenever he was dissatisfied with the length of his answers, Deoksul would taunt him by hitting him again where he had previously been beaten. Soon, his entire body was covered in bruises, turning red and blue. The interrogator sat down, catching his breath. And finally, he asked.
"Chae Soo Bin. (최수빈.)"
“……”
"Have you ever been to Fukuoka?"
May 15, 1942
Arriving by boat, tied up with other inmates, Fukuoka Prison had the same gloomy atmosphere as any other prison. After lining up the inmates and counting them, the Fukuoka Prison staff sent them in one by one. Subin clenched her teeth and walked, on her own two feet, toward the maw of hell, a place filled with screams, much like Gyeongseong Prison.
"…uh?"
The prisoner's ID card was tattered and pinned to one wall. Within it, Subin saw a familiar face. Firm, dark eyebrows, strong lips pressed into a straight line. A man willingly turned into a dog, a man who would have been a beast had it not been for Joseon. As he gazed at it, both joyful and sorrowful, a military policeman roughly shoved him on the back and yelled at him to hurry. He arrived at a solitary cell. After receiving his prisoner number, the chief of staff had all the prisoners assemble in the yard in front of the prison. Pushed by the crowd, Subin was led out onto the yard. They gave a brief explanation: they would conduct a small experiment here. It was the bare minimum to prevent international condemnation. After a brief gathering, the prisoners were dragged back to their cells like animals.
May 27, 1942
Mother, please save me. This is hell. The first day, they locked us all in one locker and made us solve math problems, like 1+1. We did that all day. Only at night were we allowed to rest. The next day, they took us away one by one and gave us strange injections. I got one too. Oh, Mother, the next day, my head started to split in two and I had a fever. My whole body was flushed and I had no energy. Sometimes, the injection site would hurt, and I would have to suffer for a whole day. Everyone thought this "little experiment" was definitely wrong. A few days later, when one of us was dragged away vomiting blood, I realized. This is hell. We were injected one by one like guinea pigs. The needle marks and bruises on our arms grew by the day. One prisoner who asked what injection we were getting disappeared the next day. I still don't have the courage to follow in his footsteps, so I'm just terribly ashamed. They called us day and night, but they didn't even give us proper food. We chewed on the rags of our dirty mats like dogs. Sometimes, I could hear them weeping and cheering. I joined in, and then I remembered the soup my mother used to make, and...
Mother, I feel like I'm going crazy. Yesterday, when I was solving a problem, I couldn't get 2+3 to work, so I had to do finger counting with bruised hands. Feeling so miserable, I burst into tears like a little child. Mother, I'm scared. I miss my brother, I miss my comrades. If only I could, I'd pray to God. If only I could escape this hell alive, I'd devote my whole heart to Him. So, I wish I had just a little more time. But somehow, in the new cotton clothes you sent me, I saw a white shroud.
Mother, I got that shot today. Even as I write this, I feel a fever and my whole body feels like it's burning. I miss that warm embrace. I barely survive each day, drawing the stars with Mother, my family, and my comrades. I hope, I hope, that one day I can see you like that in a liberated Korea.
Here in Fukuoka, where I'm trapped, it's incredibly hot. Someone has already been carried out dead, apparently suffering from heatstroke. Mother, please don't forget to bring out your summer clothes early, don't forget to stock up on ice, buckwheat, and seaweed, don't skip meals or sleep, and above all, stay healthy. And I hope you'll think of your young son as a child who doesn't complain and shake him off. I'll definitely return alive. Oh, Mother! Oh, Mother...
_Unknown date 1942
“What's the problem? Where did I go wrong?!”
He heard someone screaming, his voice rising in a rage. It buzzed like a midsummer night's insects, then vanished into the distance. His vision, clouded as if by a transparent curtain, blurred, and Soobin realized he no longer possessed the youthful energy he once possessed.
"Let's dispose of it all. The idea that seawater can replace human blood is wrong in the first place."
Feeling his eyes closing again and again, Subin gasped for breath in agony. His body burned, and his bones throbbed, as if he were sensing the end of the world. Blood flowed from his nose. His stomach, devoid of food, seemed to regurgitate bloody gastric juices as if something were wrong. He was slowly approaching death. This was evident in his irregular, halting breaths. The sound of his rapid gasps was the only sound in the cell. Barely standing, Subin leaned against the wall, finally collapsed to the floor. Countless stars loomed above. The poet, who had longed for them, gazed up at the sky, yearning for a sense of shamelessness, was enveloped in starlight. The countless soft lights of early summer embraced their most beloved star, like a mother swaddles her newborn. The chirping of insects from Bukgando could be heard even in Fukuoka when he closed his eyes. The door to the solitary cell opened, and the soldiers' voices mingled with the chirping of insects. Are they already dead? Can't you tell just by looking? They're already dead. That's for sure. Well, saving bullets is good for us. Soobin struggled to raise her eyelids, staring at her trembling fingertips like leaves blowing in the wind. Finally, she turned, looking at the monotonous wooden ceiling, the star-filled sky, and smiled faintly. The cold touch aimed at her head ended her brief reverie. It was the death of her stolen youth. As she was finally reciting her last poem, yearning for independence, she faintly heard the chirping of insects from Bukgando, along with the faint sound of a distant gunshot.
Star Counting Night
The sky, where seasons pass, is filled with autumn. I feel like I can count all the stars in autumn without a care.
The reason I can no longer count the stars that are engraved one by one in my heart is because morning comes easily, because tomorrow night remains, and because my youth is not yet over.
One star for memories, one star for love,
One star is lonely, one star is longing,
One star, one poem, one star
Mother, mother
Mother,
I sing a beautiful word to each star.
I call out the names of the children I shared a desk with in elementary school, the names of foreign girls like Pae, Gyeong, and Ok, the names of girls who have already become mothers, the names of poor neighbors, pigeons, puppies, rabbits, mules, deer, the names of poets like Francis Jamme and Rainer Maria Rilke. They are so far away, like faint stars.
Mother,
And you are far away in Bukgando.
I longed for something, so I wrote my name on this star-filled hill and covered it with dirt. The insects that cry all night long mourn their shameful name.
But when winter passes and spring comes to my star, just as green grass blooms on graves, so too will the hill where my name is buried be covered with lush grass, as if it were a boast.