by James Zerndt
Our troops.
Jesus, if people could only see how some of them act out here. Like this is their home and Koreans are the foreigners. Like Korean customs and culture are some great inconvenience to them. I should emphasize the word some. I’ve also met a few really amazing people in the army here, too.
Anyway, the whole thing is obviously very sad. And, to make matters worse, our government hasn’t properly apologized yet.
Go figure.
Which has only made the protests here increase in both size and frequency. At least the army channel broadcasts the dates and locations of these protests so foreigners like me don’t get caught up in them.
Over the weekend I saw some people protesting in Seoul. The funny thing was I didn’t even know it was a protest until I got home and saw it on the news. The size of the crowds were very similar to those during the World Cup.
Some burn candles for the dead girls at these protests.
Others burn U.S. flags.
Mothers carry signs with the girls’ school photos on them. Others carry pictures of the accident, showing the girls flattened on the dirt road. It’s a horrible image, but also a powerful one. Which is why they use it, I guess.
I wish our president would just come over here and apologize already. Apparently Bush phoned their president, but Koreans only view that as an insult.
Like they aren’t worth the trip.
The trial of the two officers responsible for the deaths is next month. They’re trying them in military court which seems to have only fueled the anger here. Koreans, understandably, want them tried in their own courts. I actually heard one of our government officials say the trial would be a good demonstration of how justice works in the United States.
I thought that was a little arrogant.
Like Koreans don’t know how justice works.
Like he was explaining the wonders of fire to a bunch of savages.
Sometimes I hate our country.
There’s even talk among some of the English teachers of leaving. They think it’s unsafe. The protests, along with the recent threats from North Korea, are starting to worry them. I think they’re overreacting myself. Yes, people are angry. But they should be. That doesn’t mean they’re going to poison our gimchi.
I can’t help but think about those two mothers.
They had their babies, raised them, and then somebody from another country came along and killed them.
And then there’s me and what I did.
*
Today Jenny told me I looked like a pirate.
Then Richard said I had eyes like a snake.
*
If I hear Jean-Paul say “What’s the crack!” one more time, I’m going to shove a kindergartener down his throat.
So he can dong-jip him from the inside.
*
My kids are sweet little gumdrops.
Some days they make me forget about all the silly grown-up problems I have. I think I may be getting pretty good at this teaching thing, too, believe it or not.
I may look into it when I get home.
Home.
Sometimes it’s hard to believe it’s still out there somewhere.
Moon
Two envelopes sit on Moon’s desk.
One from his wife.
The other from Reed College.
Moon had no choice but to send a letter requesting the college transcripts. Maybe it was just a misunderstanding, but he needed proof. For Kim and Eunice. For peace of mind.
He starts with his wife’s letter.
He made her promise to send him pictures from their Chuseok gathering last week. Even the handwriting on the envelope makes Moon’s heart ache. So careful, precise and formal looking. Not the passionate, scrawling hand of the woman madly in love like when they were in college and couldn’t see each other for weeks on end.
No. This was just business.
Which is why she made a point of sending them to his work.
So Moon wouldn’t get the wrong idea.
There stands Hyo at his father and mother’s side, all of them dressed in traditional garb. It was taken before they went to trim the weeds around the family burial mounds. Hyo had taken his duties very seriously that day. The somberness with which Hyo pulled the weeds, patted the dirt around the mounds, and laid out the songpyeon made Moon fondly recall the days when these same tasks fell to him as a boy.
He never really understood it as a child though. How strange and silly he found it to be offering food to dead people. And his grandfather sitting on a mat with his gayageum. What sad music he played! But now Moon wonders if it wasn’t the same music his grandfather always played and that simply sitting there among the burial mounds had made the music seem morose.
Fat pimples.
Fat pimples that looked like they might pop at any second.
That’s what Moon had thought the burial mounds looked like as a child. The mounds were things to be wary of. Things to keep your distance from. But there was none of that in Hyo. He seemed to understand things Moon hadn’t at that age. Even now that Moon’s own grandfather was inside one of those mounds, he still found himself tiptoeing around the place.
Moon could see all of this in the photos of himself. It was on his face, in the nervous smile he gave the camera. He never told Min Jee about his fears. Why give her another reason to think poorly of him? It was enough that she agreed to let him go on the trip at all.
It was more than enough.
It was a start.
And even though she kept reminding Moon that it didn’t mean anything, he caught her enjoying herself a few times. She even laughed at one of his jokes when they went to see the folk games.
There was hope.
No matter what she said, there was still hope.
Moon had to believe that.
He checks to see if she included any kind of note, but there’s nothing. He sighs, carefully placing the photos back before opening the other envelope.
Dear Kids Inc!
I regret to inform you that no one by the name of Billie Wise or Joe Turner are, or have ever been, registered at Reed College. If you need further assistance, please feel free to call the registrar’s office at...
Moon tosses the letter on his desk.
There would be no more delaying it now.
He’d have to say something.
Yun-ji
Two white tiger cubs with black stripes rippling down their backs strode beside Yun-ji. Their fur glistened in the sunlight shining down through the canopy above.
“Who are you?” Yun-ji asked.
“I’m Shin. And this is Shim.”
Below them a marshy river burbled as red-crowned cranes stood like statues along the bank. It was quiet here. Only the occasional whirr of insects and the crunch of twigs underfoot.
“Where are you going?”
“We’re going to a birthday party? Want to come?”
“Sure,” Yun-ji said and followed after the two cubs as they made their way down to the river. “Who’s birthday is it?”
“Shin’s,” the shorter of the two said, but Yun-ji had already forgotten which was Shin and which was Shim. “She’s going to have lots of yummy treats to eat. You can have some, too, if you want.”
Yun-ji wondered what kind of treats little Siberian tigers ate. And if their mothers were close by. She’d read somewhere that tigers were never far from their cubs. And that might not be so good for Yun-ji.
“Where are you parents by the way?”
“My mom is waiting for me at the party,” one of the cubs said.
“And my mom’s at home,” the other said. “But it’s okay. We walk along this river almost every day. There’s nothing to worry about.”
Just as the young tiger said this, there was an explosion on the other side of the river. Yun-ji was about to ask what it was when a Musk deer shot past them.
“Where’s she going?”
Both the cubs stopped, watching the doe.
“Why do you say that?”
“Whenever there are Booms, all the pregnant animals run to the top of the mountain.”
“Why do they do that?”
“Something about the sound of the Boom can kill them. That’s what our dads told us anyway.”
Both of the cubs shrugged and then started off again. Yun-ji felt strange. What had made the noise? It sounded like cannon fire. Where were they anyway?
“A butterfly! A butterfly!”
Sure enough, fluttering there alongside the river, was a big blue butterfly. Yun-ji couldn’t remember ever seeing one so big.
“Let’s catch it! We’ll bring it to the party with us and feed it cake!”
With that the two cubs started chasing after the butterfly, but every time they got close it would dance away again. Which only caused the cubs to giggle and chase after it all the more.
“Wait, wait!” cried one of the cubs. “Don’t move. It’s stopped moving. See?”
A few feet ahead of them the butterfly had, indeed, alit on top of something shiny in the middle of the path. Something silver and shiny in the sunlight.
“Maybe if we both pounce at the same time, we can catch it,” one of the cubs whispered.
“Yes,” the other cub whispered back. “On three, okay? One, two, three!”
Something in Yun-ji wanted to warn them, wanted to tell them to be careful, that there would be plenty of time to chase butterflies once they’d gotten safely to their party, but before she could find the right words, the cubs jumped.
First there was a giant flash, and Yun-ji found herself temporarily blinded. Then came the deafening BOOM and dirt raining down all around. As Yun-ji’s sight slowly returned, instead of seeing the dead bodies of the cubs lying in front of her, she saw butterflies.
Thousands of them.
Millions.
A blue shimmering wall spiraling up into the sky.
“Death,” Yun-ji thought. “This is what death must look like. So beautiful it hurts to look at.”
Her belly. Her baby.
She’d nearly forgotten about it, but suddenly her belly throbbed. Something was wrong.
Across the river, there was another explosion.
Yun-ji knew what she had to do.
She ran.
All the way to the top of the mountain.
Billie
Whatever I once was has now gone out of style.
My shoulders now hit the floor when I walk.
I’ve grown a thick carpet of moss on my back.
My eyes are two shivering mice.
My tongue, a prostrated monk.
And my left leg has decided to grow an extra inch.
I am a stumbling distraction.
A walking italics that can’t straighten itself out.
And Joe couldn’t care less.
At school I do my best to appear indifferent about the whole situation. I can’t even look at Jean-Paul. I want to rip his Elvis Costello glasses from his face along with the shadow of a sneer that always follows him around. I want to dangle him from the balcony and watch his smugness fall like so much loose change.
But, instead, I hang my whoring head and avoid him.
The trouble is I teach right next to his room. And he’s always popping in, borrowing my erasers, pencils, scissors, colored paper, anything as an excuse to talk to me.
To drive me bat—shit crazy.
So I fashioned a balloon in the likeness of him and hung it up in my classroom. I affectionately refer to the balloon as “Stupid” and now my kids are doing the same. And there’s no mistaking who it’s supposed to be. The thick dark glasses and goatee are a dead giveaway. If I ever let the air out, my guess is it’ll wheeze out a fake British accent.
Whenever Jean Paul comes into my room now, I turn to the balloon and ask it a question. “What’s the opposite of up, Stupid? Purple? No, Stupid, I’m sorry. It’s down!”
The kids all laugh and yell, “No, Stupid!”
His visits have, strangely, decreased significantly.
*
On our way home after work, Joe and I passed the small park midway between the school and our apartment.
“Is this where you two honey-mooned at?”
“Joe.”
“What? Is this the park? Yes or no? It’s a simple question, Billie.”
“Yes, this is it.”
“I’ve always been curious to see the infamous bench you two fell asleep on.”
“I don’t feel like it. Not right now, okay?”
“Oh, it’ll be fun. C’mon, don’t be so shy.”
“You need to let this go.”
“Here by the swings? Or is it further up?”
I just stared at him, slowly shaking my head in response to his questions. I didn’t know what else to do.
“On these benches then? They don’t look too comfortable. Maybe you two went into the woods then? That sounds more exciting.”
I gave up, deciding to get it over with and started walking up the hill ahead of him. We passed a volleyball pit. There were a group of young kids kicking a soccer ball around.
I felt old.
I wanted to switch places with the kids.
With anybody really.
The path was lined with logs and small rocks. For some reason, I didn’t remember that at all. We walked up a slight grade in silence for a bit until we came to an opening.
The outdoor exercise area.
The wooden benches I told Joe we slept on now looked like two miniature beds. And suddenly I could see Jean-Paul and I lying there drunk as the moonlight dripped through the trees. The two of us laughing, then nervously quiet before we turned toward one another.
It was vivid.
Like a movie being played back.
A horror flick.
“This is the bench?”
His words came out black.
The trees seemed to be bending in around me.
I needed to get out of there.
I ran to the bottom of the hill where I came spilling out in front of the kids playing soccer. They all stopped, frozen as if they’d been playing musical chairs.
I sat down in the grass.
Joe came down a few seconds later.
“I suppose now you’re going to tell me nothing happened. That I’m still overreacting.”
“We talked, Joe. Then I fell asleep.”
I could hear it my voice.
The lack of conviction.
Like I was tired.
Of lying.
“But why’d you have to go all the way up there to talk?”
“He said he knew a nice spot. So I went with is all.”
“To talk.”
“You’re not going to like this.”
“I don’t like any of this.”
“I need to tell you something.”
“Go.”
“You know how you sometimes ask about my tattoo?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I sort of told him.”
I could see him bristling. The hackles rising.
“Joe, I need you to listen to me right now. This is important. More important than me telling Jean-Paul something I should have told you years ago. Can you do that for me?”
He nodded but wouldn’t look at me.
“I had one before.”
“One what?”
“I was pregnant once before, okay? Back when I was fifteen.”
“Jesus, Billie...”
“Yeah. Jesus.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s not exactly something I’m proud of.”
He was quiet. Like he wasn’t sure how to react. Then, after a bit, he asked whose face was in the tattoo.
“It’s the Virgin of Guadalupe. She’s the protector of children.”
“Oh,” he said and looked down. “I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t. How could you?”
“But
why him? Why’d you have to...?”
“I was drunk, Joe. That’s all. It was stupid. All of it.”
Joe sat down, held his head, and started rocking back and forth. There was a long silence.
“What happened when you were fifteen?”
“I’ll tell you some time,” I said quietly. “Just not right now, okay?”
“Yeah,” he said and stopped rocking. “Sure thing. Just like the tattoo.”
Then he got up and walked away.
When I got home there a shattered glass frame on the floor.
Joe had gotten it for me. Something to hold the print I’d found in the alley when we first got here.
The one of the rooster.
My favorite.
*
I still can’t believe Joe did it.
And right in front of all the secretaries and kids, too.
Jean-Paul was teaching Music and Movement in the playroom, his back to the room, bending over, trying his best to mimic Barney up on the big screen when Joe crept up behind him with his hands and fingers poised in perfect dong-jipness.
Joe even stopped for a second and looked around the room to make sure everyone was watching. And then, once he was sure he had everyone’s attention, he dong-jipped Jean-Paul.
Headline: Superhero Nerd succumbs to his one mortal weakness-- Dong-jip!
It was brilliant.
It took everything I had not to yell out, “What’s the crack!”
Jean-Paul was so startled he jumped and nearly crashed through the big video screen. And the look on his face. Oh, man. Priceless. He was horrified. Appalled. Incredulous. You name it.
And then he tried to act like nothing happened.
But that only made everybody laugh harder.
Even the masturbating girl, busy rocking to and fro on her hands to Barney, stopped for a minute to laugh.
I felt not an ounce of pity for Jean-Paul after how he’s been peacocking around this place the last few months.
I was hoping Joe would come over and high-five me or something, but he just sauntered off down the hallway back to his room. I know this is going to sound messed up, seeing as I’m the one responsible for all this, but I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of him.