by Anna Premoli
Is the name supposed to mean something to me? I shoot him a doubtful look.
“Oh, come on, Maddison! Bung Ha!” he emphasizes, putting his fork down and staring at me incredulously.
“Doesn’t ring a bell. Are we going to a spa or something?” I hazard, as I watch him take a sip of wine. Unfortunately it goes down the wrong way when he hears this. This man has a serious drinking problem.
He tries to pull himself back together, but he can’t stop coughing. “Are you trying to kill me? A spa? Only you could say something that ridiculous,” he scolds, while he tries to regain his cool. “This is the second time I’ve almost choked to death because of you.”
“Is it my fault that you can’t hold your drink?” I ask innocently.
“There’s no spa. Do you remember that metallurgic factory? You wrote the report about the Bung Ha area, and you even classified that factory’s balance sheets,” he says, losing his patience. He gives me a suspicious look.
“Did you really do that report?” he asks.
Now he is going too far!
“Of course I did it!” I answer angrily, crossing my arms. I worked incredibly hard on that assignment, and it was the first time in my life that I’d done anything with such intense commitment. “It’s not my fault that all the bloody towns in this country have weird names! I can’t remember any, ok?”
“Oh, come on, now don’t be childish. I believe you – in your case, it’s normal to do something without even actually reading what’s just under your nose.”
That’s the worst thing you can say if you want me to cool down. How can he not realize he always says the wrong thing at the wrong time? “Mark, can I ask you something, before we go back to metallurgy?”
He gives me a look and gestures for me to continue.
“Do you behave this way with everyone or just with me?”
He looks surprised. “Am I too direct?” he asks.
“No, you’re not direct – you’re downright bloody rude!” I hope I’ve succeeded in communicating all my exasperation.
“I didn’t realize you were so thin-skinned,” he says, in an attempt to defend himself.
“I wasn’t, before I met you. But you are… argh!”
I get up from the stool, with every intention of walking out.
“Oh, come on, don’t leave. Look, I’m sorry, next time I promise I’ll remember that there are certain things I mustn’t say to you.”
He thinks he’s fooling me, but it’s perfectly clear to me that he means he isn’t going to stop thinking those things. But I give up, what else can I do anyway?
“I think we’d better get back to metallurgy,” I mutter, going back to my seat.
“Where were we?” he asks theatrically.
“Tomorrow we’re going to Bung Ha, the paradise of Korean industry,” I answer, without conviction.
“And in fact, I doubt it’s pretty or in any way touristy. I think they’ve booked us two rooms in the only hotel in the area.”
“Let’s hope for the best, then,” I sigh.
“We’ll only be there for two nights, you’ll survive,” Mark assures me, as he chews the last piece of his steak. The food is excellent, but I can’t say the same for the company.
“So basically you’re asking me to work on Sundays, too,” I clarify.
“You won’t have to work, you’ll only need to sit in the car, calm and silent until we arrive there.”
“Can I drive?” I ask hopefully. He pulls a terrified face.
“No offence, but you’re never going to drive a car that has me inside it.”
Now I know for sure: in his past life he must have been a diplomat.
“You’ve never seen me driving,” I remind him. “I might be the new Schumacher.”
“You might be, but I’d prefer not to find out. I’ve never been much of a fan of the way women drive.”
I go silent for a moment. Maybe I didn’t hear that correctly. “If I stabbed you to death after what you just said, I’m pretty sure no judge, not even a Korean one, would condemn me. You do realize that?”
Mister ‘I-can-drive-better-than-you’ laughs. He laughs so hard he’s almost crying. “I bet you’re in the Guinness book of records,” he tells me, “you’re the funniest human being I’ve ever met.”
I can’t do anything but sigh resignedly.
*
The journey has been quite long: three hours of driving, during which Mark talked exclusively about work. I wanted to shoot myself. And the most depressing aspect of all this is that today is Sunday. The weekend was made for idling, not for jogging or, worse, working. Someone should tell him, sooner or later. I tried to distract myself by admiring the view, but there wasn’t much to look at to tell the truth. Suddenly the skyscrapers disappeared and an almost empty and vaguely sad moor took their place, and then the scenery didn’t change for over two hours. When I’d almost died of boredom, Mark took a secondary road that the satellite navigator suggested, which led us to what I suspect must be our hotel. The structure vaguely reminds me of an ancient Chinese pagoda. Everybody knows I know nothing about architecture, though, so this building could well be anything at all.
We park in the area in front of the entrance and carry our bags to the little wooden reception office, decorated with strange flowers I’ve never seen before. A nice old lady greets us and invites us inside. I reply with a simple smile, as I haven’t learned a single word of the language yet, not even ‘Good morning’. Mark immediately starts talking to the lady in Korean. It shouldn’t be complicated: he should just introduce himself and ask for the keys to our rooms. I have a feeling this place won’t be using any key cards for quite a few more years to come. The lady starts talking, and her long monologue is interrupted only by a few bows and Mark’s guttural noises.
I don’t understand a word, but I’m a specialist in non-verbal communication and Mark’s perplexed look confirms my impression: there’s something wrong.
“What’s going on?” I ask. He organized everything, and he never forgets anything – Mark always plans everything to the last detail.
He sighs. “Last night’s storm caused some damage to the roof, which is now leaking, and for that reason they only have one usable free room.”
I don’t see the big problem. “So we go back to Seoul?” I ask innocently.
He hesitates. “It’s not that easy – tomorrow morning we have to meet the owners and the manager of the steel plant. At eight o’clock.”
“Yes, but we have only one room, what’s your plan?” I ask, starting to feel worried.
“The lady suggested that we sleep in the same room,” he replies seraphically, as though the matter wasn’t his problem. But he’s uncomfortable enough to need to put his hands in his pockets. At the counter, the lady continues smiling at me, hoping that we’ll accept her proposal. But wasn’t this supposed to be the most prudish country on Earth?
“This old lady can’t seriously think we should share the room,” I answer in fear. “And if I could speak Korean I would tell her that myself. But I can’t, so it’s up to you to make it clear. Come on,” I urge him, worriedly.
Mark sighs. “You know very well I’m not happy to share the room with you, don’t you?” he asks, the volume of his voice rising slightly as though he is the one who might get into trouble for this situation.
What the hell is he thinking? That I might assault him in the night?
“How should I know what’s in your mind…” I defend myself.
“What could there be in my mind… Nothing!” he says, frowning.
“Ha, ha! I don’t buy it. Your stubborn mind is always thinking of something.”
“Please, Maddison. This situation is exasperating enough, don’t make it worse. I’m asking you nicely, please shut up.”
His tone is pretty authoritarian so maybe this time keeping quiet might be the best move. Mark thinks for some time about what to do, then starts talking to the lady again, who’s going to do her back
an injury with all this bowing. He gives her a document and takes the key she gives him. “Let’s go,” he mutters to me, before setting off behind her. I’m astonished: did he really decide we have to share?
We are taken to a big room with a beautiful wooden floor. In the middle of the room there’s a small, low square table and by its sides there are two cushions. The minimal furniture includes a few built in wardrobes, three shelves and some paintings on the walls.
“I must be missing a piece of information here… There’s only one room, but where’s the bed?” I ask, putting my bag on the floor.
“There’s no bed,” Mark answers without looking at me. But he’s wrong if he thinks that I’m going to settle for that as an answer.
“I can see that. And why, exactly, is there no bed?” I ask peevishly.
Mark finally turns towards me and looks at me with threatening eyes. “Because this is a goddamn traditional Korean hotel – you’re supposed to sleep on the floor,” he informs me, his eyes full of thunder and lightning. I had been hoping for a more reassuring answer…
The lady opens one of the wall wardrobes and shows us the blankets and pillows we can use. So we really do have to sleep on the floor. Unbelievable, if you think we’re living in the twenty-first century…
She goes away for a moment, only to re-appear with a giant tray bearing a thousand bowls which she puts on the table. It’s our dinner, apparently. Even the food has to respect good Korean tradition. The old lady says goodbye to us with a timid smile and endless bows. Even though he is not very happy with how things went, Mark bows, too, to say goodbye. Good manners are important. “You need to thank her, too,” he instructs me harshly, so I join in with the bowing and thank the lady in English. The lady goes away, satisfied at having solved the problem, and closes the door behind her. We don’t dare say a word for a long time. Mark is busy checking the horizon from the window, while I collapse on one of the pillows by the table. After only a few seconds, though, my backside starts aching, so I sit on my knees, but soon realize the pain is even worse. Are they so far from the ultra-efficient capital that they don’t even know about the invention of the chair?
Since the atmosphere is quite tense, I try to think about something else. At this point, I could probably eat something. Using my sticks, I clumsily take what looks like a tomato. I taste it and happily discover that it actually is a tomato, though cooked with some strange spices. Better not think about it too deeply. I continue my sampling, trying some rice with green herbs. It’s really not that bad and I’m starving. I’m so lost in my thoughts that I almost don’t notice Mark’s presence until he joins me at the table.
“What?” I ask him, raising my eyes.
“I thought you didn’t eat this kind of food…”
“I don’t usually, but you know what they say, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” I reply sagely, stabbing a strange yellow vegetable that looks like a pumpkin but tastes like a green bean and stuffing it in my mouth.
In the meantime, Mark gets comfortable on the pillow in front of me, takes off his jacket and tie, rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt, which is now all wrinkled, and sits perfectly straight with his legs crossed. I am practically lying down. I really don’t know how he can sit that way.
“Elegant as always, Johnson,” he scolds me.
“A pain in the neck as always, Mr Kim,” I reply rudely, while I continue eating, unperturbed.
“You don’t care much for criticism, do you?”
Well, that’s a weird question.
“Correct – I don’t care about it at all. I don’t let it bring me down.” I give him a sly smile. “If you can’t change things, why bother trying to?” I conclude.
Mark lifts his sticks up and takes some strange pieces of marinated meat from a bowl. Soon after he smiles in a way that looks genuine.
“What is it?” I ask, worried.
“You’ve got some rice on your face,” and he waves his chopstick at an area over my mouth.
“God, for I moment I thought I had a tarantula on me. Rice is ok…” I mumble.
“For your birthday I’m going to buy you an encyclopaedia of good manners. When were you born?”
“The fifteenth of April, but don’t waste your money: I already have perfectly good manners. Sometimes though, I intentionally decide to put them aside.”
Let him think whatever he wants.
“And does that always happen when you’re with me?” he asks, resting his shapely arm on the table.
“Yes, always. You’re my favourite,” I reply with a wink. He watches me gloomily whilst I resume eating.
*
This night will never end. I’ve been counting everything I can think of: sheep, cows, clouds… I just can’t seem to keep my eyes closed. Sleeping next to Mark makes me nervous and I don’t know why. I am completely safe with him, I know he wouldn’t deign to give me a second look even if I was the last woman on Earth, but although I’m aware of it I can’t relax enough to fall asleep. This so called bed, moreover, is very uncomfortable; my back and my bottom ache and I’m cold. In Seoul it is still warm in September, but we’re apparently on a hill here and it’s bloody chilly. And of course there’s no sign of a heater in the room.
God what an idiot I was to bring such a skimpy nightgown with me! I thought we would be staying in a fancy hotel, so I left the baggy pyjamas mum gave me at home. But now I’m regretting that decision. Moreover, I was so embarrassed when I had to come out of the bathroom to reach my improvised bed. Mark gave me a very severe look, but he didn’t say anything, and I blushed as red as a beetroot. I’m a shy girl, I absolutely hate being embarrassed! I get up from the pallet and sit there, observing the dark room. If drowsiness doesn’t come willingly, there’s no point trying to sleep.
How the hell did I end up in this bloody place? Some part of my perfect post-graduation plan must have gone wrong. And I thought I had done everything right! Not far from me, on a pallet just like mine, another person seems to be sleeping blissfully. I really envy him. I’m observing the shadows of his body, when he suddenly turns in my direction, making me almost jump with surprise.
“What’s the matter, Maddison?” he asks seriously. He always sounds annoyed when he says my name, even when he’s supposed to be sleeping.
“I just can’t sleep,” I answer miserably. He sits up revealing a perfectly sculpted chest, which I notice from a distance thanks to the dim light of the moon. Luckily the darkness hides my blushes – I hadn’t expected him to be the kind of guy who sleeps without a shirt.
“Did you eat too much?” he asks sarcastically.
I reply with a smirk. “No, it’s just that I’m not used to sleeping on the floor. And I’m cold.”
I see him smile in the dark. “Of course you are, if you wear something like that…”
“You’re no more covered up than I am…” I reply.
“But I’m not complaining, I’m perfectly fine like this,” he points out.
“Maybe, but you’re not asleep either. For all I know you’re freezing cold, too.”
He snorts, then stands up and starts rummaging through the wardrobe. Even though the room is dark, I can clearly see that he has beautiful shoulders.
Before I can see anything else, though, he finds a blanket and throws it at me.
“Cover yourself up,” he says, then goes back to sitting on his improvised bed.
I do my best to place the blanket properly and I’m about to go back to sleep when I decide to ask magnanimously, “And what about you? How come you’re not sleeping?”
“Because this bed is too hard. Believe it or not, I’m not a huge lover of traditional Korean style.” And he starts laughing at himself before continuing, “And I’m not used to hearing another person breathing in my bedroom!”
This is too tempting for me not to take advantage. “Why, do you usually do a runner immediately afterwards?”
“What do you mean?” he asks, surprised.
“I mean… Are you one of those guys who doesn’t spend the night? You run off back to sleep in your own bed?” I ask curiously. Is he pretending not to understand what I’m referring to?
“Maddison, there are some things respectable girls just don’t talk about,” he scolds me. But he’s amused by my question, I can sense. “But anyway, since you’re so curious… Korean girls are more inhibited than English girls.”
“So are you telling me that you haven’t had sex since you’ve been here?” I ask abruptly.
“What kind of question is that?” he exclaims. He doesn’t really look shy, but I’m guessing he wasn’t expecting a question like that from me.
“Relax, I’m just teasing you! Good night!” I say and turn over, hoping to fall asleep. I’m trying to think about snowy mountains and green fields. Aren’t those the things psychologists suggest concentrating on if you want to relax? If the sleepiness takes too long to come, tomorrow I will be in pieces.
“How about you?” I hear him ask, all of a sudden. Annoyed, I turn over towards him, only to see his completely expressionless face.
“What about me?”
“Do you usually sleep alone or…” He doesn’t conclude the question, preferring to leave it hanging there.
“You’re crazy if you think I’m going to answer that question,” I chuckle.
“I wasn’t actually expecting a real answer. But even though it’s dark I can see you blushing, and that is enough for me to understand everything anyway.”
He stretches out, leaning on one elbow.
“To understand what?”
He shrugs like a know-all.
“You think it’s funny to embarrass me.”
“What can I say, I’ve discovered it’s really funny…”
I must admit, this guy really has got some nerve.
“Do you know you’re the only ill-mannered Korean person I know?” I say, as I sit back up. Apparently I won’t be able to sleep for some time.
“I only try to go down to your level.”
At his answer I grab the sausage-like-thing Koreans call a pillow and try to hit him with it, but he blocks my move and seizes it.