Jade Lady Burning

by Martin Limon

  Apparently, they were having lunch. I wondered if Lindbaugh could read Korean—I doubted it—and whether or not he knew what the specialty of the house was. Lunch was mercifully quick.

  Lindbaugh broke through the beaded curtain and looked both ways. I faded deeper into the stall of orchids. He walked down to his car alone and got in. After he drove past, I waited until the two Koreans came out. They paused in the alleyway, as if to make sure he was gone. Then they went back inside. Maybe they had a big weekend lined up and needed some more body protection soup, since it was believed to be an aphrodisiac.

  Ernie drove us back to the KPA compound. Lindbaugh’s sedan was there.

  I told Ernie about the dog-meat restaurant and the two Korean men sitting with Lindbaugh while he slurped his soup. Ernie nodded, bored. Just another clerk taking bribes. He didn’t show any interest until I told him the two men were the same two guys who had jumped Kimiko in Itaewon.

  We had four more hours until Lindbaugh got off work so, on the way to the CID Detachment, I had Ernie drop me off at the base library. They’ve got a few shelves there dedicated to Korean culture and history and language. I scrounged around until I found the fat Korean-English dictionary and sat down to look up Miss Pak Ok-suk’s name.

  The family name, Pak, was a clan name and literally millions out of the country’s forty million were named that, the three major clans in Korea being Kim, Lee, and Pak. The Koreans say that if you climb to the top of a tall building in Seoul and throw a pebble off, chances are that it will land on the head of a Pak, Kim, or Lee.

  At one time people with the same family name were not allowed to marry but that was done away with: It just wasn’t practical. There are too many unrelated people with the same last names.

  Her given name was more interesting. As I had thought, ok meant jade. In the Orient, jade is the most highly prized of all precious stones, and up until only a few decades earlier it had been considered more valuable than gold. Women often wore it in rings to signify that they were married.

  Ironically, the second half of her name, suk meant virtue. Feminine virtue. Purity.

  I made notes on the case and tried reading the Seoul papers. After a while, I put the dictionary back on the shelf, crumpled my notes, and threw them away.

  When we got to Lindbaugh’s quarters, his sedan was parked in front. After twenty minutes he appeared, nattily dressed in dark slacks, sports shirt, gray sweater, and a black windbreaker with ITCHEY FOOT BAR AND GRILL, TOLEDO, OHIO on the back. Two big fluorescent footprints framed the bar’s name and seemed to step forward rhythmically as Lindbaugh waddled to his sedan. We were out of our suits and ties, too, the things that advertised us as CID agents. I wore sneakers, blue jeans, and a nylon jacket with dragons embroidered on the back—just your typical GI.

  We followed him over to the Officers’ Club, where he parked the Army sedan out of the way, up against the tree line. He walked to the entranceway to wait for a cab. He got one in less than ten minutes and went directly to Itaewon.

  Ernie dropped me about twenty yards behind where Lindbaugh was paying the driver. I leaned back against a door across the street from the UN Club, hands in my pockets, trying to look bored, as if I were waiting for someone. Lindbaugh glanced around but not very carefully. He didn’t seem to notice me. I followed his waddle up the hill.

  He headed towards the King Club and for a moment I thought he was going to go in, but instead he passed the big wide steps of the entranceway and continued up the hill. Little hole-in-the-wall hostess bars lined the way. Music blared. The girls were out like they always were, in front of their respective alleys. Like trapdoor spiders, they would drag you back to their hooches, for a price. Lindbaugh got propositioned a couple of times but showed admirable restraint. At the Sloe-eyed Lady Club he went in.

  Great name. They’d probably looked it up in the Korean-English dictionary not realizing that most GIs would understand slant-eyed but sloe-eyed would sort of throw them. They had a good sound system, I could hear it from ten yards out, also a lot of bright neon, and some snappy-looking ladies milling around. So who cared what the name meant?

  I stopped and talked to one of the girls who had propositioned me and she dropped down to five dollars real quick since it was still early and there wasn’t much traffic yet. I thanked her anyway and walked in front of the Sloe-eyed Lady Club so I could get a good look at Lindbaugh through the plate-glass windows.

  He was gone.

  I tried to act unconcerned, walked up a few yards, talked briefly to another girl—this one started at five dollars—and then crossed the road to get another angle on the windows of the Sloeeyed Lady Club. The joint was empty, except for the girls. No customers. Lindbaugh must have snuck out the back.

  Maybe he had someone to meet out back—a girl?—or maybe he had spotted his escorts and decided to ditch us.

  I followed the road as it swerved around Itaewon. Ernie was walking down the hill towards me.

  “Watch the front of the Sloe-eyed Lady Club. Lindbaugh must have slipped out the back.” I pointed to the narrow alley running off through the high cement-block walls. “I’m going to check back here. If we get separated, meet me at the King Club at”—I checked my watch—”eight.”

  Ernie nodded and sauntered down the road. I crept into the narrow alley.

  The stone and cement-block walls were so high that they blocked most of the light. I had to stop a moment and let my eyes adjust. There were wooden gates set into the stone walls but most of them were shut tight.

  I walked down to about where I figured the back of the Sloeeyed Lady would be. The gate was open. Light shone out and I heard voices, feminine voices. I peeked in. There was a small open area, mostly cement spotted with a few wilted plants. Two rows of wooden hooches extended to the two- and three-story buildings that fronted the main road of Itaewon. There was plenty of light coming from the hooches, illuminating a central path, and a few girls shuffled back and forth, shouting to their friends and busily getting ready for the night’s work.

  I ducked through. One of the girls noticed me, stopped in the center of the walkway, and shouted, “Sonnim wa!” A guest.

  A couple of girls slid back their wood slat doors as I walked into the center of the hooches. Some squatted on raised vinyl platforms in front of makeup mirrors, meticulously stroking and rouging and brushing. Others, still half undressed, casually put on clothes as I watched.

  I could see clearly the back of the building that housed the club. It was two stories. An old rusted stairwell rose to the second floor. Light shone in the window on the second floor and I thought I saw shadows passing across it.

  Buildings in Itaewon had a club on the first floor and either apartments or professional offices on the second and third floors. The village had dentists, OB-GYN clinics, passport and visa offices, and even a travel agency—all the things the girls might need for a toothache, a pregnancy, and for when they found a GI who wanted to marry them and take them home.

  I couldn’t figure what function the second floor above the Sloe-eyed Lady Club served. I hadn’t noticed any signs.

  “You come early, GI.”

  “Yeah, I’m early.” She was short and cute, and a few years ago, I would have said that she was too young for this business.

  “You want nice girl? I have many beautiful sisters.” The girl slowly waved her arm towards the entire colony of hooches.

  “How about you?” I said.

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “Maybe. I got to go to byonso first.”

  The girl took my hand and led me towards the back wall. I could smell it before I saw it. It was nestled in the darkness between the last hooch and the wall that separated this real estate from the buildings out front.

  “Is this the Sloe-eyed Lady Club here?”

  “Yeah,” the girl said. “I think so.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “All club same same. I don’t go small clubs.”

  “You only
go to the big clubs?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Which ones?”

  “King Club. Lucky Seven.”

  “Why don’t you go into the small clubs?”

  “Papa-san say no can do.”

  The small clubs already had their own hostesses, hand-picked girls, girls they could keep tabs on, and they didn’t want the hassles of having stray business girls hustling on the premises. The big clubs, on the other hand, had a lot of floor space and a lot of seats to fill. Sometimes on paydays, when the clubs were packed with GIs, the owners made the business girls stand up along the walls to save the seats for paying customers, and to display the flowers better.

  I braced my nostrils and walked into the foul-smelling latrine. It was nothing more than a rickety old closet made of rotted wood.

  The floor was cement with a rectangular hole in the center that led directly down into the cesspool below. I took a leak and came back out quickly.

  There didn’t seem to be any way, other than climbing the fence, to get into the opening behind the Sloe-eyed Lady Club. I was going to ask the girl, when I heard a door open high above me and the creaking of metal as someone stepped out onto the decrepit stairwell. I stepped back into the latrine and closed the door. There was a small window in the wood and I could see out without being seen.

  Lindbaugh was walking down the steps, his chubby face pinched with anxiety. Following slowly behind him was a swarthy Korean man, solidly built, with a square head, and my first impression of him was that he had a lot of hair for a Korean. It was hard to tell for sure, though, because of the dim light. Not that his hair was bristling out, it was short-cropped, but he was one of those guys whose beards and growth of hair are so thick that they make their complexions look darker than they actually are.

  They reached the bottom floor and I popped out of the latrine, gratefully.

  The little girl held onto my wrist and I almost had to drag her down between the hooches to the front gate.

  “Where you go?” she said.

  “Maybe I’ll see you some other time,” I said.

  “When?”

  “Soon.”

  I shook her loose. She was cursing and I could hear the stomping of her small feet on the pavement as I went through the gate and sprinted back to the main road. Ernie trotted up the hill and slowed when he saw me.

  “I think they’re waiting for a cab,” he said. “Keep an eye on them while I get the jeep.”

  I crossed the main road of Itaewon and took a few steps into a dirt-floored alley that led off into the gradually deepening dark. A girl followed me and I talked to her, pretending to be interested, while I kept an eye on Lindbaugh and the Korean man with him.

  They stood away from the main entrance of the Sloe-eyed Lady, but there was still enough light to confirm my first impression of the Korean. His black hair was short and brittle, almost kinky. His clothes were casual: a windbreaker, sports shirt, slacks. Expensive, the kind of stuff that was made in the Korean textile mills for export only. He was calm but his eyes surveyed the area carefully. They looked at me, then, seeing the girl, moved on.

  Lindbaugh, on the other hand, seemed exceedingly nervous. His pinball eyes bounced everywhere, and he kept talking, and gesturing with his hands, but the Korean didn’t seem to hear.

  A cab chugged up the hill, made a U, and stopped in front of them. A young Korean bounced out of the passenger seat and held the back door open as the two clambered into the back. Then they were off.

  Ernie squealed around the corner, spotted me in the alley, and screeched the jeep to a halt. I jumped into the passenger seat and the open-mouthed business girl didn’t have time to move before we were off in a cloud of dust.

  “Orange cab,” I said. “The Kei In Company. It just hung a left at the MSR.”

  The traffic on the big road was bumper to bumper but Ernie didn’t slow down. Breaks squealed, horns honked, and savage cursing marked Ernie’s plunge through the traffic. He swerved, downshifted, and cut around cars and pedestrians.

  I spotted the cab. It hadn’t gone far because it was waiting to turn about a block further down the road. The cabbie found an opening and punched through the traffic. Another guy was waiting to make a left but Ernie swerved around his flank and edged out into the oncoming flow, making people stop. More screeching tires and curses, but we were through. Their taillights were at the top of the incline ahead. Ernie floored it and put some serious gas to the old jeep. It sputtered and responded and pretty soon we were doing about fifty. If I hadn’t been watching the sides of the road we would have missed them.

  “Hold it! We passed them!”

  Ernie slowed, pulled over to the curb, and this time waited for the traffic to clear before making a complete turn.

  We cruised on by again. They were getting out of the cab in front of a big modern two-story house with a cement-block fence around it.

  Greeting them and bowing were two beautiful Korean women in full-length traditional chima-chogori dresses. The entranceway was bathed in yellow light from the sign above the gateway.

  “Chinese characters,” I said. “Ok Lim Gong. The Palace of the Jade Forest.”

  “A gisaeng house?”

  “Got to be.”

  “They’re giving old Lindbaugh first-class treatment.”

  Ernie turned into a dirt alley and found a place to park. I toyed with the translation: The Palace Amidst an Orchard of Precious Gems. Any way you sliced it, it sounded like a fun place.

  Ernie stayed in the jeep while I got out and walked to the mouth of the alley. The cab was gone but now there were two more vehicles, short black limousines, and businessmen types in dark blue suits were getting out. More girls appeared, also dressed like something out of the sixteenth century. They smiled, bowed, and escorted the men inside.

  I went back to the jeep. “Looks like it’s going to be a big party. I’m going to try to get a better look.”

  Ernie started the engine. “I’ll turn around.”

  I went back out to the alley. The buildings lining the street were brick, two and three stories high. A teahouse was advertised on the second story of the building next to the gisaeng house and I figured that was my best shot. I climbed the narrow cement stairwell to the teahouse and pushed through the beaded curtain. A young woman in slacks and blouse bowed as I came in, her eyes wide with surprise. Not too many GIs came into these kinds of joints. She waited for me to do something. Korean men were scattered around the room in pairs, smoking, drinking coffee, and receiving attentive care from the hostesses seated next to them. I found an open table next to the windows facing the gisaeng house and sat down. My hostess stood at attention in front of the table, her hands clasped across her stomach, and her head cocked, waiting for my order.

  She wasn’t a bad-looking girl but was too thin and had on too much makeup and anyway I really didn’t have the time. I asked her how much a cup of coffee was. She seemed relieved that I spoke Korean. Two hundred and fifty won. Fifty cents for a little porcelain thimbleful of espresso. I could buy a twelve-ounce bottle of OB for three hundred won. I asked her about ginseng tea. That was three hundred and fifty won. What the hell. At least it would kick my metabolism into high gear. I told her to bring me one.

  While the hostess was gone I fumbled with the metal screw that latched the two sliding windows together. The windows were opaque, made of some sort of heavy plastic. I loosened the screw and slid the window open a crack. Bitterly cold air rushed into the warm room. People turned around and looked at me, stared for a moment, and then turned back to their coffee.

  My hostess returned with a porcelain cup on a metal tray. I slid the window shut. Using two hands, she placed the tinkling cup and saucer in front of me. I pulled out a thousand-won bill and she left to get the change.

  I sipped the tea. The production of ginseng root has been a Korean monopoly since ancient times. Proper ginseng grew nowhere else on earth except this mountainous peninsula. The tea was light brown and tas
ted bitter. There was no caffeine in it, but I knew from past experience (when Ernie used to carry a raw root in his pocket and would break off a chunk for me every now and then) that it would get your body churning until you actually developed a slight fever.

  The waitress brought me my change. I smiled, thanked her, and pocketed it all. She stood there for a moment, waiting to be asked to join me. I played the stupid GI until she bowed and walked away. I took another sip of the biting herb—it grows on you—and cracked the window open.

  There was an outside stairway on the gisaeng house. Guys in suits walked up it, escorted by women in brightly colored formal dresses. When the double doors were slid back and everyone bent over to take off their shoes, I could see inside. Lindbaugh and the Korean who brought him were seated cross-legged on the floor in front of a large table filled with plates of food and bottles of clear rice wine. Two girls sat next to them, smiling while another, off to the side, fiddled with some musical instrument that I didn’t recognize.

  More men came up the stairs. All bowed and shook hands with Lindbaugh first and then bowed more deeply and shook hands with his Korean comrade.

  I felt a soft hand on my shoulder.

  “Yoboseiyo. Nomu chuwo.” My hostess hugged her arms around herself, chilled, and looked at me pleadingly.

  I glanced back at the gisaeng house. The big sliding doors had been closed. I smiled at the girl, slid the window shut, and finished my tea. When I got up and walked out, the patrons of the tearoom were no doubt relieved to see the dragons on my back.

  I heard the steady crunch of feet moving up the narrow alleyway. I leaned back farther into the shadows protecting me. When the footsteps passed I poked my head out. It was Kimiko. She was bundled up in a warm coat.

  She followed the alley and was quickly out of sight. I followed. Her footsteps were outlined clearly in the dirty snow. She had gone into the gisaeng house.

  All the gates lining the back were shut tight and no lights shone in the houses behind them except the one.