“Have you been driving a taxi long?” Bobby asked. “Have you always lived around here?”
“I drive at night,” the driver answered. “Mornings I practice Tae Kwon Do, teach a little, kick around.”
As Bobby looked at the man’s hands on the wheel, he made out the rough outline of their calluses. He was driving into the hills with a martial arts man, and he had all his money in his flimsy old wallet. Still, he banked on the man’s cheerfulness: surely a mugger wouldn’t be so talkative.
The hill was still some distance away, but just as Bobby was about to complain, the cab stopped a few meters off the road. “Be right back,” said the driver, and Bobby’s heart eased when he saw a dark house out the window to his left.
The driver jumped from the car and ran into the darkness calling someone’s name. In a moment a lamp was lit and a mournfully weak light emanated from the house. Bobby sat in the cab trying to glean meaning from the sounds he heard, but five minutes passed, and then ten, and the house fell silent. What was happening? he wondered. Had this guy been married so short a time that he was in there making love while Bobby waited in the car? And come to think of it, it was unlike a Korean man ever to worry about telling his wife anything. Had Bobby thought of that on the road he would really have been frightened.
Opening the door, Bobby stepped halfway out of the car and called to the guy, who called right back, “Coming!” And since he was out of the car, he took a deep breath and looked around. It was really beautiful territory, a beautiful country, Korea. The hill behind the house loomed magnificently, its menace contributing to the wonder of the place. Mr. Kwak had always said that the sky was high, and for the first time Bobby felt he knew what he meant. The stars seemed farther away than they did in America. They were bright but were made smaller as if by increased distance. And they seemed dashed more haphazardly across the sky, like salt across the surface of a lacquered box.
Bobby stood looking at the sky and marveling at the amazing randomness of things. Who could have predicted, this morning, that he’d be at the home of a cab driver or riding through the unknown hills tonight?
“Hey! OK! Sorry to keep you waiting,” said the driver, and Bobby was brought back from his stargazing when he realized that the driver was not alone. He had a woman with him and she, in turn, was carrying a small pink bag.
“You don’t mind, I hope,” said the driver. “But we haven’t been to the base in months.”
“Howdy,” said the wife. “You go base? Base number one.”
No wonder it had taken them so long. In the weak light from the cab of the car Bobby saw that this driver’s wife was dressed to kill, in tight, tight, pants and a red sweater with huge pink hearts surrounding each breast. And the driver too had changed into a suit, black shirt, white tie.
“I can’t believe, really,” said the wife. “I used to live that base. To go back will be fine, what good luck.”
She smiled and slid in the driver’s side, so all three of them were in the front seat of the cab. Her hair was cut like Cleopatra’s, straight across her forehead and straight across the back of her neck.
The driver wasted no time getting back to the main road again. His wife was carrying a floppy hat and she put it on now, holding it down with the hand nearest the driver while pinching Bobby’s thigh with the other. “Slow down, honey,” she said, but Bobby was just as happy with the speed. Maybe they really would get there before curfew, and maybe this Tae Kwon Do guy wouldn’t see his wife’s right hand on his leg.
As they flew down the road, the stars and the looming mountain receded and the June dust ballooned behind them and all around. The wife was chatty and the driver was fast. “Don’t worry, honey, he don’t speak English,” she said.
By train the trip would have taken two hours, but by cab it was far faster. And though he had spoken on the way from town, the driver seemed content now to let his wife do the talking. “I miss it, you know, the life,” she said. “Lots of beer and money, sleep late every day. I almost marry G.I. two time, one black, one white. I never in my life thought I end up with Korean.”
She was lost for a while in how wonderful her old life had been, but then she laughed and, turning to her husband, actually translated for him what she’d been telling Bobby. He laughed too, glancing around with his cheerful eyes.
“Can you believe?” the wife continued. “I used to be Gloria, now Mrs. Kim. Life fucking strange sometime.”
Lord, yes, thought Bobby, and then the driver rolled his wife Bobby’s way by sharply turning left. They were past Hongsong in a flash and onto the missile-base road. Ron’s truck made the trip in about twenty minutes, but Bobby had the feeling they’d be there in five. It was only eleven o’clock. They had curfew beat by a mile.
Mrs. Kim, the Gloria of old, was too excited to talk once they got near the Vil. And when they stopped she jumped from the cab and held both arms up in the air. Bobby expected her to yell, “Gloria’s back!,” but she stretched, turning the gesture into a yawn when no one noticed her.
The Vil was Bobby’s true destination, for he was sure that Cherry couldn’t be on the base. That Thanksgiving dinner had been a special occasion, and he knew that even as Gary’s guest she wouldn’t find such easy access again. But though Bobby could have found the hooches during the day, at night he wasn’t so sure. He had expected the Vil to be quiet on a weeknight but it was raucous. They were in front of a bar called the Lucky Seven Club, which was packed.
Mr. Kim locked his taxi and joined them on the boardwalk and Bobby gave him two thousand won.
“Wait,” said Gloria. “Let’s have a drink first. See the town. The three of us.”
She was smiling so happily that Bobby thought it wouldn’t hurt to settle them inside the bar and then ask around for the hooches. It was a small place, after all, and he should be able to find Cherry in a second.
Inside the Lucky Seven Club, all the tables were taken and a three-man band was playing in the corner. The customers were mostly American soldiers, but they were celebratory, no sense of Robert Kennedy’s death anywhere.
“Order some beer,” Bobby said. “I want to look around.” But before he could get away Gloria slipped her arms around his waist, grabbed the loose skin that was there, and pressed into him down low.
“You good guy,” she said. “Forgive my always touchy before. Old habit die slow.”
Bobby quickly forgave her. She really was great-looking, especially in this light, and he could tell she’d been disappointed that no one had recognized her. “I’ll be back,” he said. “I just have to find someone.”
“What’s her name?” Gloria asked. “Maybe I know her, remember from before.”
“Her name’s Cherry. But she wasn’t here before.”
Gloria thought back, trying to remember whether there had been a Cherry or not and Bobby left, mumbling again that he would return and stepping out the door.
Immediately an old madam saw him. “Nice girl everywhere,” she said. She looked at her watch, giving the first indication that anybody was thinking of the curfew. “Getting late,” she said. “All night ten dollar.”
“I’m looking for someone,” said Bobby. “Do you know Gary Smith’s hooch?”
“Gary Smith hooch? Sure.”
“Where is it?” he asked.
She sighed and pointed up toward the base’s gate. “International Club,” she said. “Turn left, down alley.”
Bobby started toward the International Club, but then looked once again at the madam. “Gloria’s back,” he said. “Did you see her? She’s inside the Lucky Seven Club right now.” The woman didn’t speak, but her expression lightened, and as Bobby left she was walking back through the Lucky Seven Club’s door.
It was only a block to the International Club, but girls came down off the boardwalk, some of them only whispering but others trying to grab Bobby and drag him home. It was late and hunting season was almost over.
When he got to the club and turned into t
he row of hooches things got worse. Here there were lots of low doorways with girls in front of every one. These were awful places, really, and some of the girls were made up to look like walking versions of their rooms, with green makeup if the hooches were green and psychedelic swirls on their faces if the walls of their rooms were wild. Some of the girls called out, but Bobby didn’t respond. At least he knew he was near Gary’s place when he heard Mississippi John Hurt again, singing Cherry’s old song.
“Got to go to Memphis,
From there to Leland.
Got to see my baby,
‘Bout a lovin’ spoonful.”
Bobby had become so involved with Mr. Kim and Gloria that he’d neglected to consider what he might find here. It was late, maybe he shouldn’t have come. Gary had as much as told him he was interested in Cherry too. Feeling like an intruder, that he should go home, he hesitated in front of the hooch. He then knocked quickly, four rapid taps.
“Yeah?” called Gary. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Bobby. May I come in?”
Bobby couldn’t hear anything over the music, but in a moment Gary opened the door. He stood in the half-light with a newspaper in his hand, and though Bobby could not see past him he was immediately sure he was alone. “Bobby,” said Gary. “What the hell? What’s going on?”
“I’m looking for Cherry. I got the day off because of this Robert Kennedy thing. Have you heard the news?”
“I’m reading about it now,” said Gary. “It’s in the Sars & Stripes already.” He paused. “Cherry’s gone, Bobby,” he said. “She left about an hour ago for home.”
Bobby stepped into the hooch and Gary closed the door. “She came up here this afternoon and I got her on a troop truck heading straight for Kimpo,” he said.
Bobby looked down and asked to see the paper. There was a photograph of the guy who’d shot Robert Kennedy on the front page, and Robert Kennedy was there too, his stricken face difficult to see in the bad light.
Bobby wanted only to leave now. Before he could speak, though, there was another knock on the door. God, wasn’t it curfew yet, he thought. Gary called out, but when there was no answer he opened the door to find Gloria, Mr. Kim, and the madam Bobby’d met right behind her. The madam was carrying a tray with watermelon on it. Next to the watermelon was a plate of strawberries and a bowl of powdered sugar.
“Ah, Smith,” she said, “looky here. Your friend bring Gloria back. We make a little treat, say thanks.”
Gary looked at Bobby strangely, but moved back out of the way.
Gloria came in first. “I can’t believe,” she said. “It like a dream, really. One minute home in bed, next minute back like nothin’ happen. Like no time go by.” She turned in the room, expressing the freedom she felt, but then stopped. “Hello, Gary,” she said softly. “How do you do?”
“Hello, Gloria,” said Gary Smith.
Bobby sat against the cushions of the room, hollow-chested but smiling up at the others. The madam, it turned out, was Gary’s landlady and Gloria had lived next door. When Gary’d first arrived in Korea, her beauty seduced him early, bringing him out to the Vil, and estranging him from his fellow officers who never left the base. Gloria had been Gary’s neighbor and girlfriend whom Bobby had brought back because she was now the wife of the taxi driver he had chosen to carry him into all of this. And he had arrived too late. Cherry Consiliak was gone.
While they ate the watermelon Bobby chimed in from time to time, his mouth spewing words into the room. After the madam left, though, he asked Gary what was going on in Ron’s hooch, and was told that Ron was on base, getting ready to be transferred to Seoul. He would have asked if Gloria and Mr. Kim could sleep there, but Gloria touched him once again. “Don’t worry, honey,” she said. “Mama got a room for us. Mr. Kim sleepy now, we go back soon. Maybe meet for a beer at Mama’s once Mr. Kim asleep.” As the two of them stood to leave Gloria added, “Don’t forget, I wait for you both outside….”
But when the door closed, Bobby was suddenly as tired as Mr. Kim. All this pretense was making him ill. Cherry was gone, Robert Kennedy was dead, and if he’d stayed in Taechon he’d have been asleep hours ago, ready to support his friends in the morning for their boycott of spy-catching day.
He was feeling devastated and tired but was cheered a little when Gary Smith got up and left the room too. “I’ll go find her,” he said. “If you feel like it, come on over to Mama’s for a beer.”
The light was out, the music was off, and Bobby had fallen asleep when the door opened again and Gloria came in. She quickly slipped into the bed beside him, her hands roaming all over his body before she understood that it wasn’t Gary she was touching but Bobby, who was quickly waking up from a dream.
“Gloria!” he said. “What are you doing here? What about Mr. Kim?”
“Mr. Kim sleep like dead,” she said. “I been six month on that farm. Where Gary?”
“He went out to look for you. What time is it? Are you sure Mr. Kim’s asleep?”
“No problem,” said Gloria. “Not really married anyhow. Just together for convenience sake.”
“What if he comes looking for you?”
Gloria seemed to think about this for a moment, and Bobby decided that the best thing for him to do would be to get dressed again and go outside. He really didn’t want Mr. Kim coming in, married or not.
“I’ll go find Gary,” he said. “You’d better come along.” He didn’t know what else to say. If he left her, he knew she’d be there when he got back.
Gloria was stroking Bobby’s arm, considering whether to settle for him, but when Bobby stood and pulled on his pants, she sighed and stood up too. “Can you believe?” she said. “After all this time Gary Smith still here. Mr. Kim no problem at all.”
The pathway in front of the hooch was pitch dark, and when Bobby started to speak Gloria put her hand over his mouth. “Curfew very bad news,” she whispered.
They walked to the end of the row, where the madam’s room apparently was, but when they stopped in front of it, the only sound they heard was coming from a bucket of cold water under a dripping tap. Suddenly, though, Gary materialized, coming out from somewhere and standing beside them like a ghost.
“Hi,” he said.
Bobby jumped, but Gloria grabbed Gary’s arm. “Oh Gary, where you been?” she asked. “Come on, let’s go back inside.”
“What about Mr. Kim?” asked Gary Smith.
There was no moon, though Bobby remembered that there had been when, so many hours before, he’d stood out from the taxi at Mr. Kim’s farm. When Gloria turned Gary toward his hooch, Bobby stayed back, letting the darkness surround him. If he stood just in the center of the path he could not see the hooch doors, and if he looked up he could not see the sky, and there was mud below his feet from where the tap bucket had overflowed. He waited until he could no longer hear Gary and Gloria ahead, and then he followed them. Only he went past Gary’s door and stepped into Ron’s hooch, where the walls were painted black like the night outside.
When Bobby kicked off his shoes and pulled the filthy blankets around him, he was alone again in a world of his own. In the other world Robert Kennedy had died and Mrs. Nesbitt’s son was missing. And an hour ago Cherry Consiliak had left for home. But it wasn’t Bobby’s intention to dwell on any of that. His intention, rather, was to wonder for the ten-thousandth time how people could pass through his life so easily, marking him with their presence but taking nothing of him with them when they left.
Waiting
Six at the top means: One falls into the pit. Uninvited guests arrive.
When Bobby stepped off the train the next evening, the Goma was waiting for him, and his expression was not one of peace. “Where have you been?” he asked. “Didn’t you know today was special?”
“I had to see somebody,” said Bobby. “Why? What happened? Who was the spy? Who caught him?”
“The whole thing’s been called off, put back until tomorrow. But the s
py’s in town somewhere, hiding out.”
Bobby thought of Mr. Kwak and the Lees. “Why did they postpone it?” he asked.
The Goma looked at him carefully. “Because tomorrow is market day. Strangers will be coming to town and the streets will be confused. It’s cheating to use a farmer for the spy, but we all think they will. And farmers always act like fools. Who’d know whether they were supposed to be spies or not?”
“So nothing happened at school? They just had an ordinary day?”
The Goma shrugged and turned, taking the bank note Bobby’d given him over to the biting lady and then joining Bobby as he headed up the street. “There’s a bet on that again this year it won’t be a school kid who finds him. Not for two years has it been a school kid. It’s always one of us finding him and then selling the information. School kids get money from their papas and pay us off.”
Bobby eyed the Goma walking along. He was so upset by this postponement that even his Korean was clarified by it. Once they reached Miss Moon’s tearoom Bobby turned to take him in for tea. He found the door locked, though, and the light off. He had never known the tearoom to be closed before, but he was too exhausted for tea anyway, and since it wasn’t late he wanted to go home and get his towel and soap. The public bath was open until eleven and he knew he’d have the place to himself.
“Well, good luck tomorrow,” he said. The Goma stepped closer and lowered his voice. “You know who it is, don’t you?”
“No,” said Bobby. “How would I know? I’ve been gone.”
“Everyone knows that the headmaster chooses. We’ve got guys watching his house every minute but he’s tricky. Come on, who is it? I know he told you.”
“Be serious. No one tells me anything around here. I’d be the last one he would tell.”
The Goma gave Bobby a measured look, before he nodded and slumped off in the direction of the inn. “I’ve got to sleep,” he said. “This whole thing starts early…”
Festival for Three Thousand Women Page 11