by Jos
She made feijão and regaled me with stories of Joaquín. “The minute he stepped through the door, I knew I would like him. He was wearing a white guayabera which I had not seen anyone wear since the times of my father. He reminded me of him in many ways.” I listened intently, letting her talk until I felt it right to ask her the questions I really wanted to ask.
He loves your daughter very much, I told her. “He always did. She was always sad, perhaps because of a misfortune which befell her before she was born. I never saw her as happy until she met him. He accepted her for who she was.” Do you speak to her on the phone, I asked. “Oh, we’re not the phone type. We just write each other letters. Besides, she and Joaquín decided to start a new life away from everything. I gave her my blessings. She always dreamed of starting over and having a farm in the middle of nowhere. I guess that’s why they loved each other so much. Their dream was to live simple lives like Cincinnatus. They prefer their privacy in a corner of the world where no will bother them, to see the days pass slowly and be in touch with nature.”
I asked her if she had their address. They had a P.O. Box in Kingston, Jamaica. The only way I would be able to find him was if I staked out the post office, but I don’t see how I could sit around for what could ostensibly become months, waiting for a ghost from my past to appear. The minute I realized that I was chasing just that – a ghost – I decided to end my search at the home of Ana Maria’s mother. I would return to Ipanema beach the next day and move on. If Joaquín ever decided to abandon his life of invisibility, then he should be able to find me.
I spoke of Brazil, life in Paraty, life in Korea, and life in the US until I was very full and tired. I bade her goodbye and headed for the door. She stopped me. “Oh, I almost forgot. He left something for you.” She went to the closet and took out a sizable box. It was gift-wrapped. I took it and left.
I opened it later in my room in the pousada and jumped up. Then I screamed and danced back and forth like Cantinflas. Inside were a million bluebacks in 500 Euro notes. It was more than enough for me to accomplish my dream of buying a house in Holland and spending the rest of my life smoking. On top of the bills was what appeared to be a satellite phone.
Part Vier: The Satellite Phone
Surprise Call
I turned the phone on as soon as it had finished charging. It was one of those phones that are encrypted and can only communicate with other phones from the same encrypted network. It was a glorified walkie-talkie with voice verification. I had to say my name before being given access to the phone. How it had a prerecorded copy of my voice I do not know. There were no numbers saved in the phonebook. However, there was one phone number in the outgoing call log. I couldn’t resist and immediately dialed the number. It rang 5 times. No response. I tried dialing the number about 4 times. I eventually gave up and assumed the number had been disconnected.
The next day, as I was packing my bags before heading to Rio, the phone rang. On the other end was none other than Bubba himself. He sounded shocked. I was the last person he expected to hear from. “I’ve never received calls from strange numbers on this phone. I thought I knew all the people who had access to this network.” I told him about the money and the phone that Joaquín had left for me. “Then his intention was for you to find him. I can’t believe it took you so long to do it.” Well, I had a bit of a delay what with the whole translating the diary and what not.
“I’m living just outside of Kingston,” he said. Bubba told me he’d somehow find me when I got there. I spent two weeks enjoying the sun in Rio before boarding a flight to Jamaica.
Always Be Prepared
Looking back I probably wouldn’t have been able to handle the stress of leaving everything behind. That Joaquín saw it in me makes sense. He had already seen me struggle with my job; Koreans will give you sick days, but if you miss one single day, you’re liable to get fired. I had a severe case of gout for a while and missed a day. They threatened to fire me if I were to do it one more time and told me that they were not going to renew my contract, despite me having 12 sick days left.
I just took it passively. I guess Joaquín probably would have told them he had his bag ready--which he actually did. He kept a sports bag prepared with enough euros, won, and dollars to buy an airline ticket anywhere, his passports, several changes of clothing, and a pair of combat boots, ready to be picked up right next to his bed. Back in the US he kept a SIG-552 under the bed and a SIG-226 in the sports bag. He had to settle for a Swiss army knife in Korea. He always said no one ever knew when the shit was gonna go down. When North Korea started bombing Yeongpyeong Island and many figureheads were begging for all out war, I thought back to that bag of his and crawled in fear because I knew I was woefully unprepared. I had made fun of him for a while. At that point, his elevated alertness seemed more reasonable. That’s when I first called it elevated alertness; previously I would have called it paranoia.
We grew closer after the shelling of the island. He made me think more about the future. He always prepared for a future where everything broke down and money didn’t matter. Hyperinflation, he’d sneered. I assume he saw only gold and land as things of value. He was a cynic when it came to what he always referred to as “fiat currency.” He just assumed that everything was gonna go down to shit ‘cause humans were unpredictable and dangerous. I just went along with it after I saw what the North Koreans were capable of. After Joaquín and the crew disappeared, the first thing I did was prepare my own emergency bag.
Escape
I’d never needed to use the bag, gladly, but I still made sure to always be ready for any eventuality. I boarded my flight to Kingston weary and hung over from a late night of partying that stretched into the afternoon until I had to catch my redeye. I had a book to read and a playlist prepared on my iPod. However, I knew I would most likely not listen to any music.
Over the course of the voyage, I flew back over my life. The whole plane ride was like a low-budget blaxploitation movie playing out in my head. I was thinking back to ridiculous things that bordered on the absurd. However, they were all real.
Absurd
The daydream started one day when we were standing around the bar at Nash Village and some girl asked Joaquín if he was that guy she saw passed out in the bushes at Superland, a children’s amusement park. “Hush, little mamma,” he responded. “Lotta cats fit my description.” She was baffled and didn’t know how to react. Joaquín sometimes spoke exclusively in quotes. I cracked up immediately at the look of confusion on the girl’s face.
Joaquín continued passing out after Superland. He would pass out predictably. He would be around cracking me up by spouting opportunistic quotes one minute and the next he’d be sleeping. We had been partying non-stop for 16 hours by the time we got to Superland on Saturday at around 2 p.m. Joaquín remembers only the three roller coasters we got on. The rest of the time he was passed out in the bushes as we waited in line, only to wake up when we’d get to the front of the line. He probably passed out in six different bushes. Koreans were completely oblivious. They just assumed he was a businessman who was taking his child out after a long business dinner. The dude was slick; he’d wear a suit and be clean-shaven when he knew he was going to pass out. Being dressed up made it seem like it was not habitual. In the US, such a thing would have resulted in him being kicked out of the park, but there they just looked at him for a couple of seconds and then walked away. In the same way that Koreans were oblivious to El Turco passed out on a subway bench, they simply concentrated on their own little world. Some foreigners would place objects on his head and take pictures around him in strange poses, but nothing beyond that.
After Superland we headed to Jake’s cabin. He refused to leave the park so we left him behind in the bushes. When he woke up, he caught a bus and met up with us a few hours later. He continued binging at Jake’s, where he promptly passed out again. He passed out standing up. That was his thing; he would pass out standing up everywhere. That time at J
ake’s Cabin some random white guy took a picture as he gave the middle finger directly to Joaquín’s face. I guess it was a testament to the safety of Korean society. In the Heights Joaquín would have gotten jacked faster than a motherfucker. However, he was never robbed of anything in Korea.
Hell, that he was even able to remain inside the bars as he slept was evidence of the freedom allowed in Korea. Back home if you got too drunk in a bar you’d get kicked out. There they just kept feeding him drinks. The only way he wouldn’t get served drinks was if he was overly belligerent. Sometimes Joaquín would get belligerent when he was with Muirne.
Belligerence
Once at Sam Brian’s, he and Muirne decided to strip down to their underwear as they walked to Molly’s Bar on top of Hooker Hill. Muirne had a toned physique and large bust; she was wearing black Victor’s Secret silk underwear. Joaquín was skinny and tanned and he sported blue, tight-fitting Calvo Clein boxer-briefs. They looked like two models set loose from a shoot.
They walked up Hooker Hill and tried entering every single brothel, but were locked out by the freaked out sex workers inside. The prostitutes have CCTV and watch the men coming up the hill. If they see a man walking all by his lonesome, they open the glass doors in their skimpy outfits and invite him in. If you make eye contact, they continue insisting. The best way to avoid them is by just walking straight and avoiding eye contact. I can only imagine the fear they must have felt at seeing a couple of maniacs in their underwear trying to force their way into their sex chambers.
As they made their way into Molly’s, a group of US army MPs were walking down and chased Joaquín into the bathroom before realizing he wasn’t a G.I. Molly’s and Old City were basically the only places that would serve them under the condition they were in. But they kept at it all night, just pounding drinks after drinks.
They headed down to Old City and inside started a carnival. There’s always a seventy-year-old man we called The Alfaiate at Old City. He goes there by himself and gets completely smashed. He would dance with us and make funny gestures. I’ve seen him in the subway, but he never appeared to recognize me. Joaquín convinced the old man to join him in dancing shirtless. Before we knew it, half the people in the bar were down to their pants. Some Russian girl was passed out and one of her friends took a picture of himself teabagging her. A young Korean kid with no teeth got on the dance floor and started busting out some mean breakdancing moves.
However, Joaquín came in and challenged the kid to a dance off. The kid would bust out serious moves and Joaquín performed the same lame steps every time. I guess he just wanted to watch the kid dance more. The kid would pull out his best moves whenever challenged.
It was the middle of December and the weather was freezing, yet they still walked around in their underwear.
Winter
We only had the 25th and the 1st of January off for Christmas and New Year’s. Those of us forced to stay in Seoul instead of going home just made the best of it with alcohol.
We spent most of our Sunday at the Wolfdog becoming a family in many ways. A group of similar enough people in a distant part of the world eventually become close in my experience. Some, however, couldn’t handle the stress of being away from any maternal or paternal figure for such a time of the year. Noah and Joaquín took the whole affair very well. Even those who had lived abroad during college had done so by staying with a host family. The Christmas break hit Patricia particularly hard.
She had never been away from her family in her life. She commuted to college back in London. The recession meant that the best paying job she could get would be in Korea. For all of December, she was completely devastated. She started raping army men, often two or three a night, just to be close to someone for the holidays. But the way she went about it was too direct and dramatic. She would drunk-dial them while they were at work and would always go full retard. I would see her in the bar, with her makeup smudged after days of non-stop drinking, drunkenly mumbling into her cell phone to any family member or friend back home that would listen to her. The more she talked, the more her tears smudged her eyeliner. If I knew I was going to cry and wanted someone to notice and give me attention, I would also wear a lot of eyeliner. The black streams that painted her face made it seem as if her entire world had been obliterated by a meteorite, and indeed I believe her very soul was scarred. That month, her cell phone bill was so high that she was more broke than The Cat Lady’s pimp.
She was one of the main characters that stole the show in December. Of course, El Turco would also take the stage for part of the performance. It was a somber month for him. He was still grieving the loss of his favorite horse back on his New England state. “One round to all my friends,” he would say as he bought all of us a Käegerbomb. “This is in honor of Mortimer,” he would say each time. He would do that once a night. The rest of the night he’d be blacked out in a corner for hours at a time.
Every time El Turco would offer the bar a round of Käegerbombs, Tequila Man would come in and offer a round of tequila. He was a fresa from El Distrito Federal who always wore pink, yellow, and other brightly colored Burberry shirts. He was simply in Korea as a tourist. His father was one of the wealthiest industrialists in Mexico, and Tequila Man would use his father’s money to fund his extravagantly hedonistic lifestyle in “The Orient.” He’d spent 3 months in Korea and 3 months traveling South East Asia. He would do tequila shots until he could no longer stand. I met him after I saw him being escorted out of the Wolfdog by the staff after he passed out and pissed his pants. He met up with some of the crew when everyone went down to Thailand. The only thing that anyone remembers about him in Thailand is that he se cagó after losing control of his sphincter.
It would make sense for him to party in a far off, discreet land where his name would be quickly forgotten by a group of transients who were themselves perpetually smashed. The only person that Tequila Man was able to have conversations with was Fat Jimmy. I guess their suits were cut by the same golden scissors. I have no idea what they spoke about because Tequila Man had a thick Scottish accent. When he and Fat Jimmy started talking to each other quickly, I would get lost. I felt embarrassed having to stop them every other word by asking them to clarify and would just nod my head and take sips of my drink whenever they motioned my way. They probably weren’t making sense anyway.
Kimchi Boulevard
I was woken from my daydream by the flight attendant offering me a meal. I looked around to see almost everyone asleep. I turned down the pasta and went instead for a whiskey and coffee and ten-dollar wifi access. I wanted to look at Facebook pictures on my netbook for the rest of the flight. Looking at Facebook pictures was a trip down Kimchi Boulevard.
Most of the pictures are of the crew and me having fun. My favorite pictures are a tie between Fat Jimmy passed out in a dark corner of Jake’s with a trail of shots leading up to him and one of him riding a skateboard in track shorts with a cigarette in his mouth and a bottle in one hand. On a Monday. There are also so many pictures of Joaquín passed out standing up against some wall that I’ve decided not to count.
The only way he was often able to reconstruct his weekends was thanks to pictures. Discovering that he had been carried down Hooker Hill by a topless Muirne as a gang of shirtless soldiers from Texas in cowboy boots and trucker hats followed them out of a redneck bar with a Confederate flag on the wall came as a complete shock to him.
After they went down Hooker Hill they saw the back of a garbage truck and Joaquín remembered a game he used to play in the DR when he was a kid: el chivito. The game basically consists of sneaking up behind a truck and riding on the back. The winner of truck surfing would be the one who went the longest without being noticed. It’s dangerous, no doubt. A friend of Joaquín once fell off at high speed and got smashed to a bloody pulp. But the danger is what made it exciting. The longer you went, the higher the speed the vehicle would pick up and the bigger the rush.
On that particular night, Joaquí
n went in the back of a garbage truck all the way from Itaewon to Gyungnidan without being noticed. He had to cab it back to Itaewon after he was kicked off the truck by the waste disposal engineers.
Turbulence
I again awoke from my daydream, this time thanks to the captain instructing us to buckle up because of turbulence. We were close to Kingston. I had no idea how to find Bubba. I assumed he would arrange for a meeting using our satellite phones. Besides the million quid I had paid a money launderer to deposit in several offshore banks, the most important thing in the world to me was the encrypted satellite phone Joaquín had left for me.
It was as if everything of value to me came from Joaquín in one way or another. At first I expected money to fulfill me. I believed that having that much would allow me to be free, but it was not the case. I had saved 20 grand in Korea. I was originally gonna splurge on plastic surgeries but became disanimated after seeing a gory video of a botched surgery on LiveLeak. There was really nothing more I wanted in life. I felt unfulfilled. I guess my childhood dream of being a princess couldn’t come to fruition as I had planned.
Arrival
People on the ground started clapping when we touched down. That was typical in planes packed with Caribbeans. Dominicans are perhaps most notorious for breaking into wild applause when a plane lands. In all the times my friends have traveled to the DR, the crowd always broke into a frenzy when the plane landed. I guess it was that 21st century element to being an immigrant. When people went to America from Europe a century ago, they knew they would most likely never return to the old continent. Immigrants now return on a regular basis.