Buddha's Money (17 page)

Ernie pounded on his chest like a gorilla from the Congo.

"I'm an American, you
alia?
Born and bred in the U.S.A. No, sir. We don't put up with this type of treatment. We're here defending your country and we demand to be treated with some serious respect!"

The line behind us came to a complete halt. People craned their necks to see what was going on and still kept shoving forward. Soon, some of them started to yell.

"I want to see your boss!" Ernie roared. "I want to see your honcho and I want to see him right now!"

The Korean National Policeman was still confused, not sure what was going on. Most people just followed his orders. He wasn't used to some big-nosed foreigner shouting loud English at him.

Other cops yelled at him to keep the line moving. Someone in an office behind the counter with its big plate-glass window finally noticed the commotion. A man dressed in a neady pressed khaki uniform under a brass-braided cap strolled out.

The same officer who had waved us through when we boarded the ferry two days ago.

When the officer saw Ernie, his face crinkled as if he'd bitten into a sour persimmon. The KNP looked at him for instruction.

"Migun itjiyo?"
the honcho shouted. Aren't they GIs?

"Net."
The fat cop nodded.
"Migun ieiyo."
Yes. They're GIs.

The honcho impatiently waved his hand.
"Kurum ka.
Bali ka!"
Then let them go.

The KNP waved us forward. Ernie glared at the cop for a moment, shifted his bag on his shoulder, thrust out his chest, and sashayed past the inspection counter.

Lady Ahn and I stayed right with him.

ON THE MAIN DRAG OF OK-DONG, WE STOPPED IN A NOODLE shop and ordered three bowls of
meiun-tang.
Spicy noodle soup, the broth flavored with a few tiny clams and the head of a mackerel.

Lady Ahn slurped delicately on her noodles. I asked Ernie about the college chicks he'd met on the ferry.

"They're from some university out near Suwon. They gave me their phone numbers, but I don't think I'll call them."

"Why not?"

"Because they only want to go out with me one at a time."

"So?"

"When I meet 'em in a group, I want them to stay in a group. All the way into the sack."

Lady Ann's cheeks turned pink. I changed the subject.

"Looks like rain," I said.

A few drops slapped against the pavement.

"Yes," Lady Ahn said. "We must hurry."

We paid the bill, shouldered our bags, and trooped through the narrow pathways of Ok-dong, heading for the bus station.

LOOKING BACK ON IT, THERE WERE SIGNS I SHOULD'VE Noticed. The local villagers didn't stare at us, as they would normally when encountering foreigners. Instead, they turned their heads away.

Men loitered near wooden carts, squatting and exchanging cigarettes. Nobody loiters in Korea. Especially not in a remote fishing village, where scratching out a living is a full-time occupation.

And the leather-faced monk on Bian Island had warned us. Other people were after the jade skull.

THE REEK OF SALTED FLESH FILLED THE AIR, MINGLING WITH A dry mist of sawdust kicked up by our feet.

We had decided to take a shortcut through the Ok-dong market.

Ahead, huge glass tanks swarmed with fish. On either side, damp wooden stalls wriggled with purple-veined squid and piles of reddish crabs pinching madly into nothingness. Above us, a sea of canvas blocked the sky.

Two men stepped out from behind glass tanks. Three more appeared behind us.

All wore the loose pantaloons and soiled vests of farmers. But in their hands each man held a short heavy club or the wickedly curved sickle used for harvesting grain.

They were sunburned men and not Koreans. I knew right away who they were. Mongols. Ragyapa's thugs.

I pushed Lady Ahn behind me until her back was pressed against a stall crawling with crustaceans. Ernie dropped his bag, unzipped it, and started scratching through it frantically.

Searching for the AK-47.

19

SHORTS AND SOCKS ERUPTED INTO THE AIR. BUT NO MATTER how many of them he tossed out of the bag, Ernie still couldn't pry out the AK-47. As the five men closed in, I snatched up a handful of slimy squid and flung it at them. They backed up for a second, covering their eyes. But when the limp flesh flopped into the mud, they bared their teeth in sinister grins.

I didn't have a weapon. No clubs, no tree branches, no loose rocks lying about. I braced myself, prepared to use my fists and my feet and, if necessary, my teeth.

Ernie tugged and cursed and started to rip the leather bag apart.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Lady Ahn slide behind the crab stall.

Ernie had the AK-47 out of the bag now and was fumbling with the ammunition clip, holding it upside down, twisting it, trying to ram it home.

One of the men near the fish tank raised his sickle, let out a blood-curdling scream, and charged.

The world started to tilt. For an instant I felt as if I was suffering from vertigo. Then I realized that it was the glass fish tank, slowly toppling over.

Before the man with the sickle could reach us, a tsunami of water and fins exploded out of the top of the tank. The wave crashed onto his back, followed by glass and metal rods and about a jillion shimmering sardines. The attacker was swallowed up in the deluge.

Lady Ahn stood behind the tank, still shoving, her face glowing with rage.

The men behind us closed in.

I grabbed a handful of crab, flung it, and hopped forward, kicking with the upturned toe of my sneakers. A swooshing club missed my forehead by an inch. My foot caught rib, the man grunted, and I followed with a left jab. The punch landed on his chin.

Something slammed into my arm. Fire exploded from my elbow to my shoulder blade. The canvas above me swirled madly. I remember punching and gouging, but I'm not sure who all this fury was aimed at.

Again something rammed into my back. I realized it was one of the stalls. It was flattened, and I was lying on top of it. Crabs pinched my neck.

Above me a sickle whistled through the air. I rolled. The curved blade slammed into the dust.

And then a blast filled the air. An unmistakable rat-a-tat-tat and a sinus-cleansing burst of gunsmoke.

Suddenly Ernie stood above me, his face red, cords bulging in his neck, screaming, spraying the poles and canvas rooftops of the market with a stream of lethal AK-47 pellets.

Just as suddenly as it began, the firing stopped. Ernie's hand reached down, I grabbed it, and he yanked me to my feet.

"Out of ammo," he said. "Let's un-ass the area."

"By all means," I said.

Amidst the splintered stalls and tattered canvas and flopping fish, Lady Ahn appeared at my side. I grabbed her and pulled her close.

"Let's go!"

We ran out of the market, away from the bus station, through the narrow pathways of Ok-dong. Not sure where in the hell we were going.

Near the edge of the town, where the vast expanse of green rice paddies began, we finally stopped, panting for breath.

"Did I lay it on 'em, pal? Or
what?"
Ernie yelled.

Lady Ahn peered around nervously, at the rickety shacks behind fences of splintered slats and rusted chicken wire.

"Quiet down, Ernie," I said. "The assholes might still be in the area."

"No way," Ernie said. "We lost 'em. Once I pulled out this baby . . ." he patted the AK-47, ". . . no way they were going to follow."

I wasn't so sure about that. "You didn't kill any of them, did you?"

"Naw. Shot over their heads. But I should've blown a few of them away." He mimed firing the automatic weapon once again. "Rock and
rolll"

What Ernie needed was a sedative. Or a couple of shots of bourbon.

Lady Ahn tugged on my arm. "We must leave. Quickly!"

"Yes," I agreed. "But they'll be watching the bus station. And there aren't any taxicabs way out here."

"We will find a way," she said. "I will show you."

_____________

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, WE STOOD INSIDE A TIN-ROOFED shack peering at a small tractor with a square wooden platform bolted behind the driver's seat. Designed for transporting fifty-pound bags of grain.

A snaggle-toothed farmer grinned at us. He'd never in his life seen such an entertaining display as the three of us. "How much does he want?" I asked.

"Ten thousand won," Lady Ahn answered. Twenty bucks.

"And he'll take us all the way to Taejon?"

"On the back roads only. He'll let us off near the outskirts. Not in the town itself."

"Okay," Ernie said. "It's a deal."

The farmer also threw in three bowls of rice gruel and some turnip kimchi, which we ate while hiding inside the tin shack.

When night fell, the moon rose almost full but not quite. If we were going to save Mi-ja, we had to reach Seoul by tomorrow. The three of us crammed ourselves into the back of the tractor, the cackling old farmer at the wheel. The farmer fired up the engine and we drove off down the bumpy country road, heading once again toward the provincial capital of Taejon.

MY LEGS HAD CRAMPED INTO KNOTS AND MY BUTT WAS AS SORE as a bad boy's rump at a corporal punishment convention. The ancient tractor bounced up and down with every rut. The straw-hatted farmer stared straight ahead into the night. Ernie kept up a steady stream of cursing.

To make matters worse, the heavens opened up as if they had only one last chance to water a parched planet.

Lady Ahn snuggled up against me, clutching the skull in the soaked burlap bag, and I held a plastic sheet over our heads. Ernie had lost everything in the fight in the fish market and sat with his arms crossed, hugging the AK-47. Rain ran in rivulets down his straight nose and puddled on cursing lips.

I had offered him the use of my shirt or the underwear in my bag but stubbornly he had refused. Finally, he gave in and grabbed my overnight bag and set the whole thing atop his head. It didn't provide much shelter.

I thought about the Mongols who had attacked us, trying to bring the memory of their faces vividly into my mind.

They were tough rascals. Dark-skinned and wiry and with an apparent relish for combat that only men long used to violence could attain. They held Mi-ja, and she was totally at their mercy.

The tractor slammed down hard into a pothole. Soil reeking of septic tank splashed up and engulfed us in a rancid wave. Ernie emitted a particularly colorful series of expletives but the old farmer just kept churning forward.

Soon the rainwater had washed much of the mud off of us. Through it all, Lady Ahn sat next to me. Uncomplaining. As long as she held the skull in her hands, she seemed happy.

Streetlamps started to appear at the side of the road. And then huts and buildings and even a two-story
yoguan
with a rain-soaked wooden sign over its door.

The farmer stopped the tractor, turned off the ignition, and the engine coughed, sputtered, and died.

"Yogi isso,"
he said, still smiling. Here you are. "Taejon."

I unraveled my legs in sections, stepped out onto the pavement, and shakily brought myself to the standing position. Ahead in the distance lay a sea of more lights and even high-rise buildings. Bright blue and yellow neon sparkled through the rain and I could make out the tiny letter- ing atop one of the skyscrapers. The Pyong-an Tourist Hotel.

Luxury. But much too far away. We'd settle for this small establishment in front of us. The Somun Yoguan. The Westgate Inn.

I paid the farmer. He started up the engine of his tractor, and waved to us as he drove away. Still grinning.

Easy money, he was probably thinking. If we were foolish enough to offer it, he was damn sure going to take it.

We pushed through the heavy oak door of the inn. After a couple of minutes, the chubby woman who owned the Somun Yoguan overcame her shock at seeing two rain-drenched Americans accompanied by a soaked-to-the-skin Korean woman of regal beauty. We paid for two rooms. The owner led us down creaking wooden hallways. Rounding a corner, she slid back a paper-paneled door.

It was a little square room with no beds, just folded sleeping mats and wood-slat floors heated by steam ducts running beneath the foundation.

The owner left Ernie and me, guiding Lady Ahn to her quarters. She returned a few minutes later with a metal tray piled high with hot rolled hand towels and steaming cups of barley tea. When I rubbed the towel on the back of my neck and sipped on the tea, a semblance of color started to return to my shriveled skin.

Ernie was the last to use the
byonso.
While he was gone, Lady Ahn tiptoed down the hallway. Without a word, she took me by the hand and led me to her room.

We slid the door shut and turned off the light. The rain had stopped and the clouds were beginning to disperse. Beams of moonlight drifted through an open curtain. Instead of appearing beautiful, the light from the almost full moon filled me with dread. Dread for what would happen to Mi-ja if we didn't reach Seoul soon.

Lady Ahn sensed my discomfort. She undressed me and wiped my cold skin with a warm towel. I forgot all worries and did the same for her.

I knelt in front of her. Ministering to royalty. Ministering to beauty.

THE NEXT MORNING ERNIE WASN'T EXACTLY MOROSE, BUT HE wasn't happy either. Usually, he's the one who makes it with the chicks. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because he doesn't try. He just does whatever crazy thing comes into his demented mind and women find it exciting. Unpredictable.

Personally, I could live without the unpredictable part.

We ordered breakfast in the room:
jiggei peikpan,
white rice with kimchi and bean curd soup. After we ate, we stuffed the AK-47 into my overnight bag and stepped out into the already bustling city of Taejon. Our clothes were still damp.

We waved down a cab, clambered in, and Lady Ahn gave directions. The Rising Phoenix Antique Shop in the district of Chungku.

When we pushed into the shop, the familiar bell tinkled above us. The same young clerk Ernie and I had frightened last time stepped out from behind the still-splintered glass counter. Wide-eyed, she bowed at the waist.

"Kang
oddiso?"
Lady Ahn asked. Where's Kang?

The clerk stood upright and raised her fingertips to her lips. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"Mullasso, onni?"
You don't know, older sister?

"What?" Lady Ahn asked. "What is it I don't know?"

"The Widow Kang was found in her apartment." The young clerk turned her face, tears streaming easily down the soft skin of her cheeks. "She had been tortured. And cut many times."

"Cut? Is she still alive?"

"No, older sister. They cut her throat." The young woman clutched at her thin neck convulsively. "Cut it so deep the policeman said they carved into the bone."

I translated for Ernie but somehow he'd already figured out what was going on. "It's Fifi, right?" I nodded. "I think we'd better get out of here," he said. "Now."

Lady Ann's face was blank from shock. I grabbed her and the three of us slipped out the back door and down the alleyway.

No one followed. At least I don't think they did.

WE PUSHED DOWN THE SIDEWALK, PAST CHILDREN IN BLACK uniforms carrying heavy book bags over their shoulders. In the street, men in loose pantaloons wheeled carts piled high with giant cabbages.

"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."