Silver Stallion (15 page)

“Over there,” said Mansik. “Across the river.”

“Across the river? You mean you're going to Texas, too?”

“Texas?” the boy said. “What's Texas?”

Pushing and pulling the oar slowly with a rhythmic grunt, the boatman stole a glance at the boy once more and grinned. “You should know,” he said cryptically. “I thought you were going there on your mother's errand.”

“What errand?”

“Never mind,” the boatman said. “Maybe you really don't know.”

About ten yards away from the dump, the four boys watched a truck unload garbage into a deep oval pit. At the back of the truck a muscular
bengko
soldier, his soft cap tipped back halfway, grunted while turning a big aluminum dustbin upside down as he emptied coffee grounds, that looked like steaming brown sawdust, into the sloping pit. The other soldier, in a sweat-soaked shirt, placed the emptied dustbins on one side and pushed the next one over to the first
bengko.

Kijun watched closely to see where something he might like to pick up later landed. “I hope we find some meat again today,” he said. “Do you boys remember what I found in a can last time? My uncle said it was ‘ham.' It really tasted good when my mother made a piggie stew with it.”

“What's piggie stew?” Chandol asked.

“You collect everything you can eat from the
bengko
garbage—meat and cheese and chicken bones and everything—and boil them together in a pot. That's piggie stew,” Jun explained. “Some people call it U.N. soup. My uncle saw the town folks sell it on the streets the other day. He told my mother the piggie stew recipe.”

The Yankee soldiers slammed the tailgate shut after emptying all six garbage cans, climbed back into the truck and drove away, waving to Bong and Kijun, who called “hello, hello", “gerrary” and every
bengko
word they knew. Then the boys swarmed into the pit to dig and stir and scoop off the warm wet coffee grounds with sticks and their bare hands, searching for anything they could salvage. They shook and emptied every open can they found to see if anything to eat was left inside. Chandol and Kijun and Bong enjoyed the treasure hunt, their legs sunk in slimy garbage up to the knees, their faces and hands soon stained with brown slops, but Kangho was not as excited as the rest today. Hoping Mansik would show up any moment, Kangho kept restlessly scanning the ferry and the sandy shore.

They were going through the garbage for the second time, more thoroughly now, because they had found few things to take home on the first go-round.

“Look, Chandol,” said Kijun, standing in the middle of the garbage, all movement suspended as he stared at the sandy shore.

“What?” said Chandol without lifting his head to look at anything. He was busy shaking the trash out of a large carton.

But Kangho, who had been turning over wet, dirty papers with a piece of steel pipe, did look up; he knew what Jun's tense voice might mean.

“Over there,” Kijun said. “Mansik is coming.”

“Who?” Chandol said, finally raising himself to look.

“Mansik is coming,” Kijun repeated.

Bong, who had been picking through the garbage with two long broken pine branches, operating them like a pair of chopsticks, looked back over his shoulder, surprised. Chewing a piece of Chuckles jelly candy he had found earlier, Chandol stared at Mansik, who was hesitantly advancing toward the pit.

Kangho had not yet mentioned his invitation to Mansik. Several times he had tried to, but Chandol seemed to be in a foul mood and Kangho did not want to aggravate him for fear he would be ordered to go to the Chestnut House and cancel the invitation. Kangho had decided to let Mansik and Chandol face each other and hope for the best.

Mansik stopped about a hundred feet away from them when he saw Chandol's expression. Then he continued to approach the boys; he knew he could not turn back now.

“Why is that son of a bitch coming here?” said Chandol, his face creasing into a frown.

Now Kangho feared his plan would not work but he had to give it a try anyway. Pretending he did not know anything, he said in a composed and innocent voice, “I think he came to play with us.”

“Play with us? Who says we will play with him?”

“Well, he is here, anyway. Why don't we play with him?” Kangho suggested tentatively. “We haven't played with him for a long time.”

“Are you crazy?” said Chandol, glaring at Mansik who was still walking towards them. “The villagers make such a big deal out of our coming to this island, as it is. Can you imagine what they'd do to us if they found out that we were chumming around with him? Anyway, how did he find out that we were coming here this afternoon?”

“Yeah, how come that bastard knew we would be here this afternoon?” Kijun reiterated.

“I guess someone must have told him,” said Chandol, checking the boys one by one with an interrogating glance. “Who was it?”

“I don't know,” Kijun said quickly. “I haven't played with Mansik since the arrival of the
bengkos.”

When Chandol's stare fell on him, Kangho said, “I did.” The three boys gaped at him in amazement. Kangho went on, “I went to his house and told him to come here this afternoon if he wanted to play with us.”

“Who said you could make such a decision for us?” said Chandol.

“Yeah, who said you could?” Kijun chimed in. “You think you're the captain or something?”

“Mansik used to be such a good friend to us,” Kangho said, ignoring Jun. “Why don't you give him a chance and try to understand—”

“We don't have to understand anything about him,” Chandol interrupted Kangho. “And you stay out of this business, Kangho. I'll take care of him myself.”

Chandol beckoned Mansik over. Mansik hesitated for a moment, sensing something was going wrong, then went over to Chandol.

“Stop there,” Chandol said. “That's close enough.”

Mansik stopped.

“Why are you here?” Chandol asked.

Mansik said nothing. He knew he should not have come. He had known all along that things would turn out this way. It was too late now.

“I guess you came here to play with us, but we can't play with you,” Chandol said. “We all know that your mother fucked a nigger. And you still expect us to play with you?”

“Yeah,” Kijun added. “My mother told me your mother will have a black baby because she fucked a black man.”

“You shut up, Toad.” Chandol silenced Kijun and then went on. “I know that Kangho went to see you last night and told you to come here today, but Kangho's words are cancelled by me. I heard your mother is whoring in Texas. Think, boy, think. How can you expect us to play with a whore's son?”

Later, Mansik could not remember exactly what had happened after that. He was running across the sand. He ran like a whipped dog. He did not cry. He was too confused to cry. He just ran. And someone, perhaps Kijun, chanted at the top of his voice somewhere in the distance behind him:

Mansik mommy U.N. lady,

Mansik mommy Yankee whore,

Mansik mommy U.N. lady …

•      •         •

Ollye and Sister Serpent entertained their
bengko
customers in a narrow room illuminated by a red-painted electric bulb. On one wall there was a pinup poster showing a young American girl in short pants doffing a military helmet coquettishly. The bare planks of the opposite wall were decorated with a one-page calendar. Several dresses in bright colors hung from nails on the rear wall.

“You mean beer still tastes bitter to you?” said Yonghi maliciously, maintaining a false snaky smile on her lips so that the Yankee soldiers would not notice that she was berating Ollye in the middle of their drinking party. “You should be quite used to all sorts of strong liquor by now, much less this mild beer. Look, Sis, you shouldn't frown like that in the presence of the customers.” She poured another cup of beer for her soldier and went on, “You should give a smiling impression to all your customers all the time and you have to keep drinking a lot. You can charge them for all the beer you drink, remember? Smile, I said. I've told you a hundred times to keep smiling, haven't I?”

Yonghi's room had a regular door with a latch and a handle, but the room she rented to Ollye had no door of any sort. They had not yet been able to get plywood to make one. A single straw mat was draped over the entrance like a curtain to screen the room from the alley. They were sitting on the board floor around the low plank table loaded with beer cans, bottles, dried cuttlefish, salted peanuts and anchovy mixed with roasted kelp.

“Hey, drink can do?”
said Ollye's customer, whose nose looked like a clenched fist. In Texas Town, the
bengko
soldiers spoke Konglish, Koreanized English.

Ollye understood that the soldier wanted to know if she could drink and she replied with the
bengko
words taught her by Yonghi and Sundok,
“Okay. Can do. Sank you.”

Sister Serpent displayed a satisfied expression at her answer. Ollye could not see Sundok in the room. Where did she go? Where had she … Oh, yes, now Ollye remembered. She had left the room early with Sarging Buffalo, who had preferred to retire to the back room with Sundok after only one can of beer. That terrible Sarging Buffalo would torture Sundok all night again, and Ollye knew Sundok would be too tired tomorrow to get out of her bed until late afternoon.

Yonghi's tall sarging, who was too tall even for a Yankee, scooped a spoonful of jam from a glass bottle and offered it to her smiling red lips. Yonghi asked her tall sarging,
Where your homutown?
The tall sarging said
Omaha,
and Yonghi asked Fist Nose,
Where your homutown?
Fist Nose also said
Omaha,
and they laughed.

“These sargings are funny guys, Sis,” Yonghi said. “I asked them where is their hometown and both of them said they're from Omaha.” Ollye could not understand why that was supposed to be funny and Yonghi explained, “They're saying their home is here, Camp Omaha,” and Ollye still could not find anything funny about that and Yonghi said, “Why don't you smile, too, once in a while, Sis, when they seem to be enjoying themselves? Just give a cute little smile when they laugh even if you don't understand what they are talking about, will you?”

Ollye simpered belatedly and resolved to try to smile now and then. But she found it extremely difficult to control the timing of her smiles, control herself, or control anything when she had taken a drink. She tried to be a good U.N. lady, although it was difficult. But that was the only way to pay back Sister Serpent for all she had done to help her. Yonghi was, so to speak, her guide and mentor. Yonghi trained and educated her, provided her with a room, brought men and introduced them to her, and even coached her in the tricks and skills which would please the foreign soldiers. In addition to teaching her so many basic things, Yonghi sometimes helped her communicate with the customers, and it was also through Yonghi that she exchanged military payment certificates for real money. Ollye was totally hopeless without Yonghi, and she knew it, so it seemed fair that Sister Serpent took half of her earnings.

Sister Serpent seemed to know everything there was to know about this Yankee wife business. Ollye listened attentively to her lectures every day, but there were always more things for her to learn. “You have to be prepared for the venereal diseases, Sis,” she said one day. “You must have heard about ‘social diseases' or ‘pleasure diseases,' haven't you? The most common ones are clap and pox.
Gonorrhea
and
syphilis
in Yankee words. Be careful not to contract them. If you get one of those horrible diseases, you could give birth to a harelipped baby, and I saw a girl with pox who lost most of her hair. So you have to use this rubber sack all the time.” She showed the white transparent balloon to her. “You wrap the male tool with it like this.” She showed with her fingers how to fit it and Sundok laughed and laughed during the demonstration. “If your soldier uses this, it will prevent not only diseases but pregnancy, too. Some of them prefer not to put anything on their instruments, so you'd better ask ‘Condom okay?' when you have a new customer. If he says okay, you are okay, too.”

Ollye noticed they used the word “okay” surprisingly often in the
bengko
language. The
bengko
words Sundok and Yonghi and their soldier friends used most often in their conversations were
“okay, okay” “hubba-hubba,” “namba wang,” “namba teng,” “gerrary,” “drink,” “kiss kiss” “cock,” “cunt”
and
“fuck.”
These were the first American words she learned.

Yonghi taught Ollye the phrases she would need to communicate with and entertain her Yankee customers. “When a
bengko
says
'Slip with me?'
he wants to sleep with you.
'Slip with me'
means the same as
'fuck.'
Then you have to ask
''Long time, short time?''
Long-time customers sleep with you all night but short-time customers have just one fuck and leave.”

Ollye had not had a long-time customer yet. At first she had thought it would be too embarrassing for her to hail the boatman from across the river early in the morning to go back home. And she was afraid to stay with a
bengko
all night. Yonghi knew this and assigned only short-time customers to her.

The beer upset her stomach so much that she felt her entrails twirl like eels on a frying pan every time she moved. But she did not feel as nauseated now as she had with her first drink. When Ollye had had to entertain her first customer, Yonghi gave her a shot of clear apricot-colored liquor, telling her it would drive away fear and anxiety. It did make her feel less nervous, but unbearably queasy too. She dreaded what she was doing during the actual sex, even confusing the customer with the
bengkos
who had attacked her that night, and shuddering in abhorrence and terror. But she could not resist because she felt too weak, her head swimming as if she was stricken with malaria. She passed out in a drunken stupor. When she came to, the
bengko
was already gone, leaving only a pool of slippery fluid in her groin.