in Chaucer’s poem when he was interrupted by two guards who told him in Korean it was time for him to get up from his cot. He had no idea how much time had passed since he’d met Ganji. He’d eaten once, a few fingers’ worth of rice. That had been hours and hours ago. The guards put iron manacles on his hands and legs, then brought him to the front hall, where he had first entered the prison. A car waited outside. It was dusk. Ferguson’s clogs crunched through a small crust of snow as he was led into the sedan. Two large, uniformed men slid in on either side of him. The doors closed, and the car sped down the rutted dirt road. Within a few minutes Ferguson had lost track of the direction. He reverted to Chaucer, going back to the Prologue where the knight was introduced: A Knight ther was, and that a worthy man, That from the tyme that he ferst began To ryden out, he lovede chyvalrye, Trouthe and honour, fredom and curtesie, Ful worthi was he in his lordes werre The poem sprung up from his unconscious, unraveling from the depths of his memory.
