by Anna Premoli
“What a shame. You know that now you’ll have to sleep without it, right?”
And so saying, he puts my pillow under his head. Yes, I knew I would lose it even before I threw it at him, but I couldn’t resist it. I turn the other way and, in spite of him, I end up falling asleep.
The most depressing memory of this journey won’t be that I had to share my room with Mark, nor that I had to sleep on the floor without a pillow… What will definitely be the most horrifying memory of this journey is right there in front of me – it’s our breakfast. I swear that in this precise moment, at seven in the morning, on our table there’s a huge grilled fish, staring at me with its horrible white eyes. They can’t do this to a nice girl who loves French breakfasts. This would be considered torture by the UN. Even political prisoners are entitled to be treated with respect.
I paled as soon as I saw the nice owner of the place bringing in the tray. And if the smell alarmed me, seeing it totally freaked me out. Fish for breakfast. Oh, Lord, how have I incurred your wrath? I’m sitting here, starving, while my stomach groans with horror. I peer into the other bowls, but the first thing I recognize is kimchi. The idea of eating fermented cabbage just after waking up is not really what I would call a remedy for a bad night. I take my eyes off the food, which is not exactly comforting, and glance over at Mark, who is observing me severely. As I suspected, he looks as fresh as a daisy, his complexion is perfect and there are no dark rings around his exotic-looking eyes. I, on the other hand, look like a zombie.
I’ve spent half an hour putting on foundation and face powder this morning, but it wasn’t enough – I still look awful. I can even feel a stupid pimple about to appear on my chin.
“Don’t you approve of our breakfast?” he asks, feigning surprise.
“Please, tuck in,” I say, gesturing to the food. “I hope one of this fish’s bones gets stuck in your throat.”
“Oh, yes, you’re always in a bad mood when you wake up, I’d forgotten,” he says, sighing.
“Not always, I’m just in a bad mood when I see you and that fish as soon as I wake up,” I answer crossly, baring my teeth and indicating the breakfast in front of us.
He smiles at me, as false as bloody Judas, and starts eating some white rice. I know perfectly well that neither of us likes to eat this kind of food for breakfast, but he doesn’t want to miss an opportunity to demonstrate his superiority, so he manages to eat something. Because to be honest, eating some rice is enough to win this challenge, anyway.
“Delicious, isn’t it? Don’t eat too much, though,” I tease him.
“I promise I’ll find a coffee for you later,” he reassures me at some point. For a moment he’s not being sarcastic – quite the contrary, he sounds almost serious. “As soon as we’re out of here,” he adds, swallowing a single grain of rice.
“You mean you’ll find a coffee for us. Thanks anyway,” I reply, leaving the table without having touched the food, and not long after he follows me.
We find a place that serves coffee by chance as soon as we’re out of the hotel door. Apparently this is some sort of miracle, since in Korea coffee is considered something you drink in the evening as opposed to being a breakfast beverage. A few drops of the worst coffee ever are enough to cheer me up though – it must be the secret healing power of caffeine… We have just enough time to wake up properly, then we start walking towards the steel plant. Once we’re at the building, whose grey exterior matches today’s sky, we’re taken to an anonymous meeting room. We haven’t even started work yet, but I’m already dreaming of going home. I’m absolutely exhausted and my head feels like it’s about to explode.
Everyone is very kind and they all try to speak in English while we are discussing the company’s re-launch plan, but I still have a hard time following it. Mark, on the contrary, is completely comfortable, and everyone listens to him very attentively. He is, without a doubt, incisive and informed, but it’s not just that, it’s the way he talks: you can just tell that he knows exactly what he’s doing and that he can explain what he means perfectly. And his physical presence helps him too although he doesn’t take full advantage of it. He uses only the necessary amount of charm. The secretary of Mr Lee, the owner of the company, can barely take her eyes off him. She’s a petite, pretty girl, with beautiful big brown eyes. I can picture her preparing nice Korean breakfasts for Mark, and even sleeping on the floor without complaining.
A few hours later our presentation is concluded. Now it’s time for the coffee break they’ve organized for us.
“I’d say everything went pretty smoothly, right?” Mark sidles up to me without me noticing and I almost jump when I see him just in front of me.
“Errr, yes. Everything went fine.” It’s hard for me to tell him he did a good job. I’m sure he has already congratulated himself anyway.
“And guess what: Mr Lee was so impressed that we don’t even need to come back tomorrow. So tonight we can go home.”
“Yeees!” I can’t avoid exclaiming. It’s impossible to hide my enthusiasm at the news.
“I can tell that you’re very upset at the idea of not being able to spend another night in my bedroom…” he says quietly, chuckling.
I look daggers at him.
“Nothing personal, but I won’t be sleeping on the floor and with no pillow ever again. If you want to share a room with me, you’ll have to find something that resembles a bed for us.”
“Is that an invitation?” he asks, with a curious expression.
“Absolutely not, not at all!” I specify immediately.
Ok, I used the wrong words, but how can he possibly have thought that I was serious? I elbow him in the ribs to cover up my embarrassment, and he starts in pain. That serves him right, he shouldn’t tease me. The secretary observes the scene aghast: I’m sure she’s never elbowed anyone in her entire life.
Mr Lee approaches us, smiling, and says to Mark, “My congratulations, your partner is very beautiful.”
Mark seems doubtful for a moment, but then he manages to smile. It’s clear even to him that Mr Lee is not interested in my professional expertise, but only in my appearance. My boss must be really annoyed by that, but he can’t say anything offensive to the person in front of him. I am so surprised by the sight of this internal struggle that Mr Lee’s words don’t particularly irk me. On the contrary, for the first time since I’ve known him, I’m positively impressed by Mark. I give him a quick glance, which he notices, and he replies with a vague smile of apology.
“Maddison is not only very attractive, she’s also extremely good at her job,” he points out. I’m not sure he really thinks that, but it’s always nice to hear anyway.
“Of course, of course…” Mr Lee apologized immediately. “That goes without saying.”
I would like to reply that it doesn’t really go without saying, but I decide that it’s wiser not to. The day has gone well, there’s no reason to create any tension. And once we’re in the car on our way back, I discover that I have actually forgotten about the incident.
“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t say anything more without openly offending him,” says Mark.
I turn to look at him: he’s focused on driving, and the sky is about to turn dark. It’s silent and cocoon-like in here, and we’re still a very long way from the chaos of Seoul.
“I appreciated your efforts, really. And I’m not offended, I have too much self-respect to take these things too seriously,” I answer honestly. Since I moved away from London I’ve been feeling different. Sometimes I ask myself what happened to my past personality, how come I’m not always on edge and afraid of everything any more. Evidently unusual situations create new motivations.
“I imagine that you’re used to compliments like that,” Mark adds, interrupting the Freudian flow of my thoughts.
Why would he think that?
“To be honest, no. I’ve never been considered ‘beautiful’ and I’m too tall and too ordinary looking to be pretty.”
I’m not sure what he’s getting at with these questions, so uncharacteristic from a man like him.
“Don’t you think you’re a pretty girl?” he asks in surprise, glancing at me quickly.
“No, I don’t. Do you think you’re a handsome man?”
He laughs in amusement.
“I know I am,” he says without hesitation. What a smug thing to say. But then, that doesn’t really surprise me. “And I’m also aware that all women notice me,” he concludes.
“Not quite all women, actually,” I point out loftily. He turns towards me again and winks.
“You’re right, blondie – you don’t look at me that way. And that’s why I feel comfortable joking about certain things with you.”
“Mr Lee’s secretary, on the contrary, seemed to be very interested in you. You should have asked for her phone number.”
“Come on, don’t – I’ve already got my mother constantly trying to organize dates for me,” he snaps, his voice instantly becoming more severe.
Oops – I guess I must have touched a sore point: he clearly doesn’t have a good relationship with his mother either! “What’s so wrong with it? Everybody needs to go out and have fun every once in a while.”
“Look who’s talking! I imagine your calendar is just overflowing with dates,” he teases.
“It’s not the same thing. I’m in a foreign country, and I don’t know many people… and, to be honest, I don’t think that there are many men around who would like to go out with me.”
“You don’t notice them because you scare them off, so they don’t dare approach you. You can come across as pretty aggressive.” Me? Really?
“Well, I’m not. All they need to do is try asking me out – I’d quite happily say ‘yes’,” I reply. It’s more or less true.
He remains silent for a moment, before saying doubtfully: “In that case, come out with me one evening.”
I’m sure he’s just trying to be funny but there’s definitely something weird in the air. I laugh to break the tension.
“Oh, you’re hilarious.”
“Is that a ‘no’?” he asks, his eyes on the road.
“It’s a ‘don’t make fun of me’.”
“Ok, fine, forget I asked…”
We choose only the most innocent of topics to talk about for the rest of the journey. As though we’d just got burned by touching the fire, we daren’t say anything else even vaguely personal.
Finally, we’re on our landing, getting ready to take shelter in our respective apartments, but we don’t really know how to say goodbye to each other.
“Well, that certainly was an unusual business trip,” I say, a little embarrassed. He nods and manages a slight smile. Oh God, please, don’t put yourself out!
“Goodnight,” I say, then tap in my usual door combination. I swear, sooner or later I am going to search for the instruction book and find out how to change it.
“Goodnight,” he replies. “I’ll miss not being able to sleep with a second pillow.” And so saying, he enters his apartment.
Confused, I watch him while he disappears from my sight.
Chapter 5
A Tourist’s Life
This time I’m almost expecting it. I mean, Mark is somewhat predictable, and just like all men, he behaves according to well-structured patterns. That’s why, when I hear someone knocking at my door the next Saturday morning, I can’t say I’m surprised. It was obvious he wouldn’t let me sleep in. He thinks that wasting your time is a crime against nature.
“Go away! I’m not coming running, not for any reason!” I shout, putting my head under the pillow. But, instead of stopping, he knocks more insistently.
“It’s useless. And for your information, I’ve changed the door combination!” I shout with a hint of pride. Before going to bed yesterday, I had a flash of inspiration – it took me a bloody long time to understand how to modify the access code, but given today’s results, I’d say it was worth it. An hour well spent.
“Well done, I’m very impressed!” he says from the other side of the door, “but I promise this time it’s nothing to do with sport.”
Never trust a sportsperson, they always have the awful habit of considering unsporty types as potential converts to their cause. And I can’t understand why: I’m not stopping him from carrying on with his stupid jogging, am I? I am not arrogant enough to think I ought to make him change his mind. So why doesn’t he do the same with me?
“Mark, it’s only eight thirty,” I moan, though I suspect he knows perfectly well what time it is.
“Exactly! I’ve let you sleep in long enough, don’t you think? Come on, open this door – we have a very busy day ahead of us!” He shouts in what is an almost joyful voice. So he’s not just a sportsman, he’s also one of those weirdos who wake up happy. God, he’s just unbearable!
“Ok! I’m coming!” I shout, resigning myself to the inevitable. The sooner I get rid of him, the sooner I’ll be able go back to sleep, I think. I reach the entrance and open the door only slightly.
“What do you want?” I snap.
Mark, who’s wearing dark jeans, a blue shirt and a grey pullover is staring at me, looking almost amused. He closely examines the embarrassing new pyjamas I’m wearing and then bursts into laughter.
“Are all of your pyjamas like that?” he asks, leaning against the door jamb.
“Ha, ha, very funny. I happen to love cute pyjamas. So what? Have you got a problem with these darling little monkeys?” I ask threateningly, looking down at myself.
“Oh no, of course not, they’re adorable! Listen, given that it’s the beginning of October the day is unseasonably warm, so I was thinking of taking you to see some parts of Seoul that you really shouldn’t miss. I mean, since you’re here anyway, why not live like a tourist for a bit?”
“I’m usually the kind of tourist who spends her holiday lying by a pool with a nice drink in one hand,” I admit candidly.
He smiles with satisfaction.
“Exactly what I suspected, and that’s why I feel a responsibility to drag you around town. I’ve been working for my place in Paradise lately.”
“Sooner or later all of your sarcasm will be used against you,” I sigh, deciding to open the door completely and moving aside enough to allow him to enter.
“Johnson, coming from you, that almost sounds like a compliment. But, anyway, come on, get dressed! We’ll get you breakfast on the way,” he orders, making himself comfortable on my sofa.
I grunt in annoyance, but obey. When I come back from my room I’m wearing my tight jeans, a white cotton t-shirt and some flat ballerinas. I’d better not wear high heels, seeing as this man is quite capable of making me walk for ten kilometres.
“Are you ready?” he asks, looking satisfied.
“I was born ready,” I mumble without much enthusiasm. Mark bursts out laughing and opens the door for me. Let’s hope for the best.
This time the journey by metro is longer than usual. We take the purple line eastwards, then get off at Jongno 3(sam)-ga station and take the orange line, which takes us to Gyeongbokgung, exit 5. Everywhere else on Earth, if you leave the metro by the wrong exit it’s not a big deal – here, it means you’re lost forever.
*
“Where are we going?” I ask, as we leave the metro.
“We’re in Gyeongbokgung, I thought that was obvious,” he answers, sounding surprised. Maybe it’s obvious for him, who has Korean ancestors, but I’m not as perceptive.
“Never mind… How about this breakfast you promised me?” I remind him, as I hear my stomach rumbling. Mark looks around and takes me to a small kiosk by the street, where they sell little sweets and stuffed donuts. He buys a few of them and gives me one. “I would have never guessed you liked street food…” I comment, a little taken aback. I’ve never had any problem with it myself, so I bite into my donut without waiting for his explanation.
“Don’t you even want to know what it is that you’re eating?
” Mark laughs, watching me enjoying the food. “There might even be your beloved Chinese cabbage in there…”
“You can’t fool me,” I answer between mouthfuls. “Whatever it is, it’s nice. Another one, thanks,” I say, stretching out my hand.
“They’re called ‘hotteok’, if you want to know,” he informs me.
“They’re stuffed donuts, Mark. Let’s not make life more complicated than it needs to be. Tell me what’s inside them instead.”
“Usually a mixture of honey, cane sugar, cinnamon, walnuts and nuts.”
“This is the first Korean dish I’ve had that I’ve liked.”
“And that’s not all. Look over there…” I look around us carefully and almost burst out crying for sheer joy. “A Starbucks!” I exclaim, as though looking at a beautiful mirage. Almost without realizing I’m doing it, I grab Mark’s hand and drag him off towards the shop.
“Can you imagine? I can have a soy cappuccino!”
“Well, you can try…” Mark warns me. “I don’t know why, but in this country soy milk has never been a big thing.” And the killjoy is apparently right, because I have to settle for another of the watery coffees that seem to be a very trendy beverage in this area of Asia. My disappointment is clearly visible, so much so that Mark feels it’s his duty to cheer me up. “Come on, don’t be sad. You’ll see that the day will be interesting anyway. Donut?” he asks, handing me another one. I sigh and accept it: I might as well eat at this point. We walk between tall buildings for another few minutes until we arrive in a square, a really huge one, which gives me the impression that it has been teleported in from another planet.
“Gyeongbokgung is the name of the most famous royal palace in Seoul, and this, Gwanghwamun, is its main entrance,” Mark reveals to me while we’re approaching it. The square is pretty crowded, with people moving between ancient statues and a very modern fountain, which sprays water directly from the ground.
Once we are standing in front of the palace entrance, I’m gobsmacked with amazement. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly was not such a unique building. I have never seen anything like this.