by Martin Limon
"They'll be watching the trains," I said.
Ernie nodded. "And the bus station."
Lady Ahn's voice was hoarse but her words were strong and clear. "We must hire a car," she said.
"That'll cost money."
"Not much. I know a place."
We walked rapidly, none of us talking, chewing up the kilometers. Red-striped municipal buses roared past us, spewing out diesel fumes. Korean army convoys honked their horns and rolled haltingly past seas of pedestrians and bell-chiming bicycles. We were nearing the downtown area.
At a big circular intersection, we stopped under the awning of an open-front store.
"People who need gas money for a long trip congregate here," Lady Ahn told us. "You wait. I will search for someone traveling to Seoul."
"I'll come with you."
"No. If they see an American face, the price goes up. And they might not even want to travel with you."
"Okay," I agreed. "But stay out on the sidewalk where I can see you."
For the first time since we'd learned of the Widow Kang's murder, Lady Ahn smiled. "I will."
After she left, Ernie sauntered into the store and bought two packs of ginseng gum and three small tins of guava juice. I thanked him when he handed me one, popped open the top, and drank it down quickly. I was more thirsty than I thought.
"Maybe those dudes are watching this area, too," Ernie said.
"Maybe. But I doubt it. They're foreigners like us. They won't know about this place. An unofficial rendezvous for people seeking transportation."
"I hope not." Ernie glugged down his guava. "I heard you last night."
"Heard what?"
"I heard you and I heard her."
"You know Korean custom. You're supposed to pretend that you didn't hear."
"Hey, I'm still a Miguk. Or almost, anyway."
"American, maybe. But you're getting as bad as Strange."
Strange was one of our information contacts back in Seoul. Although a pervert in his personal life, he was the noncommissioned officer in charge of all the Top Secret documents at Eighth Army Headquarters. Appropriate, when you thought about it.
"I'm just looking out for your welfare, pal," Ernie told me. "There's something weird about this Lady Ahn. She hasn't told us everything."
"Maybe not," I snapped. "But she's told us enough."
"Okay," Ernie said. "Just commenting."
I filled Ernie in on what Lady Ahn told me last night while we lay together in the Westgate yoguan. The first thing I asked about was her reaction to the jade amulet the little nun had given Ernie.
"It frightened me," she explained. "Because it proved that many people are now looking for the jade skull."
"How so?"
"Maitreya is the most important saint for the largest Buddhist sect in Korea. On the amulet, he is fighting Mahakala, the god of the Mongols. The Mongols practice a different kind of Buddhism. Some of them are very good. But some of them like to fight."
"And you think that both Buddhist sects, the ones who control Korea and the ones who control Mongolia, are now after the jade skull?"
"Yes. That is why the little nun was in Itaewon. Her temple must've heard rumors about me. And about Herman. The nun was a spy, trying to learn what she could about the jade skull."
"And someone attacked her because of it?"
"Of course."
"Will the Buddhists who rule Korea send men after us also?"
"No. They are much too powerful for that. They will try to steal the jade skull, but they won't kill us. Not out in the open anyway."
Okay. It made sense. But I had one more question.
"If these two important groups of Buddhists are after the jade skull, why did the monks on Bian-do let us go free?"
"Because the monks of Bian-do have lived alone for many centuries. They belong to neither sect, and they are true Buddhists. Not concerned with money."
"And if you retake the throne of the Sung dynasty…"
"Yes," she said. "I will honor the monks of Bian-do and give them the chance to spread their faith amongst millions of people."
While we stood in the little shop, I explained all this to Ernie.
"These religious guys are just as greedy as all the other bastards," he said.
"I don't know," I said. "Maybe they think they have a right to the jade skull."
Before I could explain further, Lady Ahn trotted back into the store. Ernie polished off his guava juice and handed her a tin.
"I found a car," she told us. "It belongs to a gambler who lost all of his money at the casino at Songni-san. We'll have to buy the gasoline."
"No sweat," Ernie said. "Can do easy."
Before we left, Ernie loaded up with some puffed rice disks and some dried cuttlefish and four bottles of sparkling apple cider. And another pack of gum, just in case.
The gambler pulled his little Hyundai sedan up next to the curb and flashed us a toothy grin. We clambered in, Ernie riding shotgun, Lady Ahn and me in the back.
The gambler told us his name was Mr. Peik. As he wound through the Taejon traffic, he described how bad his luck had been at the roulette table. We stopped and bought gas. When we rolled onto the Seoul-Pusan Expressway heading north, I paid the toll.
Mr. Peik kept up a steady chatter in Korean until Ernie reached into my overnight bag and pulled out the AK-47. Peik's hands tightened on the steering wheel, his head swiveled, and his Adam's apple started to bob while his eyes bulged halfway out of his head.
Ernie pointed straight down the highway and said only one word in English: "Drive "
Mr. Peik, the gambler, stepped on the gas pedal, pressed his nose up against the top of the steering wheel, and kept his bulging eyes glued to the white lines slashing beneath our tires on the pavement below.
We only made one pit stop during the entire trip, this time Ernie bought papaya juice and we drank that down and munched on dried squid tentacles that tasted a lot like beef jerky.
Mr. Peik lived in Seoul, and had no trouble navigating the maze of roads when we crossed the Han River. Ernie told him to take us to Itaewon, so the guy hung a right at the Samgakji Circle, cruised past the Ministry of National Defense, and had to slow for traffic in front of Yongsan Compound, our base camp and the home of the Eighth United States Army Headquarters.
We heard chanting up ahead. I saw picket signs waving. It was then that we realized we'd chosen the wrong route.
"Demo," Mr. Peik said. Demonstration. He was more concerned now with the angry mob up ahead than with Ernie's AK-47.
He kept rolling forward, searching for a spot to make a U-turn, but we were hemmed in by rows of cars on either side. Most of the vehicles were managing to squeeze past the shouting crowd by decelerating and creeping along in the extreme right lane.
The demonstrators were mostly college kids. They wore white headbands slashed with Chinese characters. A few were inspecting each car as it rolled past, peering in the windows, waving each driver forward.
Mr. Peik kept glancing frantically to his left, looking for a chance to turn around, but every other driver was thinking only of rolling past the demonstration safely, before Molotov cocktails started flying. The other cars wouldn't let him turn.
"An dei," he said. "An del" No good. No good.
"What's the problem?" Ernie asked. "We'll creep past 'em like all the other cars."
Lady Ahn was leaning forward now, scanning the situation. "But the students are checking each car."
Ernie swiveled around. "So?"
"So all the other GIs are already back on the compound. We are the only car out here with Americans in it."
I suddenly realized that she was right. That's why the students were searching each car. They were looking for foreigners.
I made out the lettering on some of the picket signs.
"Avenge the nun!" the signs said. "Be the strong fist of Buddha!" "Throw out the foreign louts!"
"She's right," I told Ernie. "They're looking fo
r Miguk faces." In unison the students chanted. A volley of rocks flew over the compound gate, clanging against metal roofs on the far side of the wall.
"Looks like we could use some quick plastic surgery," Ernie said. He shifted in his seat, rolled down the window, and slapped the side of the AK-47. "Or one of these babies."
He stuck the barrel of the rifle out the window.
"Knock off the bullshit, Ernie," I said. "You don't even have any more bullets. If we're peaceful, they might let us by."
But it was too late.
Three burly young men, students with headbands, strode down the line of cars. One of them spotted us through the windshield, yelled at his comrades, and pointed. The students forgot about the other cars: They headed toward us.
Mr. Peik started blubbering loudly, pounding his fist on the steering wheel. "An del An del An del" No good.
Ernie leaned out the window, held the rifle leveled at the students, and shouted.
"Freeze, assholes! Hold it right there or I blow your goddamn skulls off!"
"Damn it, Ernie!" I grabbed for him. He tried to swat my arm and the barrel of the rifle pointed toward the sky.
The students saw their chance. One yelled back for reinforcements. The others charged toward us.
Before Ernie could turn, someone had snatched the rifle, yanked, and jerked it out of his hands. Ernie cursed and leaned out the window, but it was too late. The AK-47 had vanished.
In a moment the students were kicking the doors of our car, rocking it back and forth on creaking springs. With a mighty lunge, the car teetered and almost tipped over. Lady Ahn cradled the jade skull tightly. Miraculously, at the last moment the car rolled back and crashed firmly onto all four wheels.
I started to breathe easier.
Until a baseball bat smashed the front window.
20
"Try to drive!" I shouted, "Get this thing moving."
I figured our best chance was to stay in the car, keep it rolling forward, try to break loose from the crowd. But Mr. Peik was a complete wreck. He was crying and moaning, and the little sedan still idled in park, a stationary target for the enraged students now surrounding us.
Ernie reached across Mr. Peik, popped open the door, and began shoving the gambler out of the car. "Move!" he shouted.
Mr. Peik clawed at Ernie in terror. Ernie propped his back against the far side of the car and, using the soles of his dirty sneakers, kicked the gambler out onto the street. The protesters pounced. But when they realized their prey was Korean, the punches and kicks stopped. By then Ernie had slammed the door and slid into the driver's seat. He popped the clutch: The little Hyundai sedan lurched through the sea of students. We moved like a giant frog, leaping a few feet forward whenever Ernie found a small opening.
Demonstrators swarmed toward us. We were the center of attraction for the mob now. Ernie gunned the engine, ground the gears; swerving, slamming on the brakes, and cursing all the while.
Lady Ahn sat rigidly still, the bag containing the jade skull strapped around her neck.
Glass splintered into the car. Lady Ahn let out an involuntary murmur but quickly composed herself.
"Get down on the floor!" I shouted.
She sat up even straighter. "No. I will not kneel to these people."
The road ahead was clogged with students. Those in front-even if they wanted to-would be unable to move because of the surging crowd pressing behind them. Ernie swerved again, a confused bull surrounded by picadors.
Like a tidal wave, the bodies engulfed us. More windows smashed; hands reached into the car. I slapped at them, punched them, twisted them, broke them, but still more hands seeped in. Tentacles from a thousand-armed beast.
Fingernails scratched me everywhere. Blood started to trickle down my forehead into my eyes. Blinded, I felt Lady Ahn being pulled from me. I hugged her waist but there were too many arms pulling against me. She was dragged across the jagged shards of broken glass and out through the window.
That's when I got pissed off.
I jumped out of the car and started punching and kicking, feeling the hard rock of skull and bone against my flailing fists. A few demonstrators backed off. That gave Ernie enough space to back up the Hyundai. While he did, I leapt at the students holding Lady Ahn. I was scream- ing, clawing, slavering at the mouth, insane with panic and anger.
They let go of her for just a second. I kicked one, he went down, and I yanked her back toward the sedan.
Ernie had managed to clear some space and was driving in a tight circle. We moved into the center of the circle and Ernie kept moving around us, gunning the engine fiercely, widening the gyre, backing off the sea of shouting students until Lady Ahn and I stood in the center of a human whirlpool.
Ernie screamed for us to hop in.
"Oddiso?" Lady Ahn said, patting her chest. Where is it?
The grain bag with the jade skull was gone. Before I could stop her, she sprinted into the crowd. The mob watched Ernie spinning the Hyundai sedan like a mad top. Lady Ahn darted from person to person searching for the bag. Finally, she found it.
A couple of loud punks had turned the heavy burlap bag upside down, were grabbing handfuls of grain, and tossing them mindlessly into the crowd. In a few seconds, I knew, the jade skull would come tumbling out.
Lady Ahn charged the two men, shoved one back, snatched the bag from the other's grasp. Someone grabbed her by the arm. Without a second's hesitation, she whistled her small fist through the air and smacked him in the chops.
The man's head snapped back, his eyes filled with rage, and he reached for her. I attacked.
I ran full force into him. Cursing, he went down, Lady Ahn screamed, and about a million paws reached out of the crowd and clawed at me.
I punched and kicked and head-butted anyone who came near but it wasn't doing any good. There were just too many of them.
A wave of shouting rippled through the crowd. The pec- pie around me slowed their assault. Lady Ahn grabbed me, holding on.
"Bikkyo!" someone yelled. Make way!
Male students sliced like a phalanx through the mob. People backed up for them, and miraculously, attention shifted away from us.
A dozen bald-headed monks emerged from the chaos, all garbed in loose robes the color of red rust. In their midst was another bald person, a woman, draped in dirty white hemp garments. The hue of mourning.
When the woman in white came closer, I recognized her: Choi So-lan. Small Orchid Choi. The little nun Ernie and I had rescued in Itaewon.
The crowd hushed as she approached. Most people took an involuntary step backward. Many bowed.
I'd never seen Koreans show such reverence to anyone.
The engine of the Hyundai was still churning, Ernie still making his tight little circles, still trying to keep the mob at bay.
The little nun and her entourage reached the edge of the crowd and watched Ernie making himself dizzy. Finally, Ernie realized that no one was attacking. He slowed, stepped on the brake, and turned off the engine.
When no one charged, Ernie climbed out of the car, set one elbow on the roof of the sedan, and smiled over at the little nun.
"Thought you'd never get here," he said.
She turned to one of the monks. "Mullah gu?" What'd he say? The monk leaned down to whisper in her ear.
I pulled Lady Ahn closer to the little nun.
The crowd seemed to come alive, and many started shouting again. "Kill the foreigner!" "Avenge the little nun!"
The monk next to the nun raised his naked arms in the air, slowly turning in a circle. Again, the crowd grew quiet. The monk shouted in Korean.
"These men helped the good nun. These men are not our enemies. Choi So-lan says they must be protected!"
A murmur of confusion rippled through the mob. The monk shouted again.
"They are the ones who saved her from her attacker!"
This time heads nodded and the murmur was higher pitched. Approval.
Like magic,
small towels were offered out of the crowd. I took one, handed it to Lady Ahn, and took one for myself. The cuts on my forehead stung as I wiped them down. A woman in a light blue smock with a red cross on her vest emerged from the forest of torsos. She produced a bottle of purple ointment and dabbed the stinging potion onto our cuts.
Ernie hadn't been hurt at all. He sauntered over to the little nun and offered her a stick of ginseng gum. Smiling broadly, she accepted.
Over by the main gate, the chanting began again. "Down with the foreign louts! Avenge the nun! Go back to America!"
Ernie kept smiling. Lady Ahn clutched the grain bag to her chest. I spoke in Korean to the little nun. "You have become very famous."
The monk standing next to her ignored my Korean and answered me in English.
'Yes. She is a symbol now to all Koreans. Of our resistance to an American occupation that would allow one of your soldiers to brutalize one as innocent as this."
He sounded like a propaganda recording. "We did not allow it," I told him. "The man who attacked her is a criminal."
"But you haven't turned him over to the Korean authorities yet."
My surprise must've shown on my face. The monk started to smirk.
There was no reason why Eighth Army CID couldn't have picked up the culprit by now. Ernie and I had left all the information any good investigator would need. What was holding them up?
"I'm sure he'll be turned over soon," I said.
The monk shook his bald head. "No. Your superiors claim they haven't even captured him yet."
Haven't captured him yet! No wonder the Korean students were mad.
The little nun was paying no attention at all to us. She kept chomping on her gum and smiling up at Ernie. For his part, he scanned the crowd, occasionally pointing at somebody with their hair tied up by their white headband or their face smeared with paint, making faces, imitating them.
The nun laughed like a little girl.
"Why is she wearing a hemp robe?" I asked.
The monk crossed his long arms. 'You know nothing of Korean custom?"
"Hemp robes are the sign of mourning," I said.