Festival for Three Thousand Women (14 page)

Written at the Pleasant Feeling Tearoom again, as I put off going home, hoping that the tearoom's name will influence the darkness of my mood.

Six in the fifth place means: Tears in floods, sighing and lamenting. Good fortune
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B
obby took the night train, hoping to get to Cherry's town early enough to find her house and knock on her door. But as he neared the town he grew tentative. Would she be glad to see him? Were these things reversible, the midnight visits of mourning friends? Was he in fact mourning, or did he just want to see her?

He worried all the way to Chonan, but when he got off the train and came out of the station it was not yet ten, and his mood expanded. He asked a young cab driver if he knew where the American black girl lived, and the driver said that though he did not, he had seen her often enough. He said he knew her tearoom so Bobby got in his cab.

“She's pretty, eh, the black girl?” said the driver.

“Are you sure you know the right tearoom?” Bobby asked.

The driver didn't answer, but in less than a minute he pulled up in front of the DeLuxe Tearoom. “Do you want me to wait?” he asked. “If you want me to I can wait a while.”

Bobby said that waiting would be fine and went inside. This tearoom, despite its name, was shabbier than his own.

“Ah,” said a woman. “You must be Miss Ko's friend.”

Peace Corps volunteers were often given Korean names. Bobby nodded and asked, “Do you know where she lives?”

“I do,” said the woman, “but she's out of town.”

“It's the middle of the week,” Bobby said. “Doesn't she have to work tomorrow?”

“Miss Ko's not working anymore,” said the tearoom woman. “She and her headmistress argued and she quit.”

“Where did she go?” he asked, alarmed.

“I don't know,” said the woman, “but perhaps up to the American base. She and her friend only left this afternoon.” Bobby thanked the woman and hurried back outside. If Cherry had a friend, then who could that friend be but Gary Smith? He imagined Ron's truck, Cherry popping in to say good-bye. The taxi was idling at the curb, and when he got in he asked the driver if he knew the American base, down the coast, near Hongsong.

“Sure,” the driver said.

Bobby asked how much it would cost to go there, and the driver eyed him carefully for the first time. “If we had time I'd take you for two thousand won,” he said. “But curfew is near. I won't be able to get back.”

“OK,” said Bobby. “Two thousand won plus a room for the night. You can drive back tomorrow.”

The driver nodded, but said that he wanted to stop by his farm first and tell his wife. His farm was on the Hongsong road, not far out of the way.

For Bobby's part, though he wanted him to floor it, he had no choice but to agree to the stop. He couldn't get back down the coast by train, and he had to catch up with Cherry before she left the country altogether. He was anxious and obsessed but luckily the driver turned out to be fast. They were only on the road for fifteen minutes when they got to his farm's turnoff. Not seeing any lights, Bobby asked how far it was.

“Up there,” said the driver, “bottom of that hill.”

The new road was flat and in the distance Bobby could see the dark shape of a low mountain, where this driver's farm was presumably nestled.

Though he had ridden in the back of the cab when going from the station to the tearoom, when he came back out he'd climbed into the front. Now he looked at the driver suspiciously. Was he in danger, riding alone with this man? They were already miles from town, after all, and the driver was young and tough-looking. He had a tooth missing in the front of his mouth and was wearing only a T-shirt under his open coat.

“Have you been driving a taxi long?” Bobby asked. “Have you always lived around here?”

“I drive at night,” the driver answered. “Mornings I practice Tae Kwon Do, teach a little, kick around.”

As Bobby looked at the man's hands on the wheel, he made out the rough outline of their calluses. He was driving into the hills with a martial arts man, and he had all his money in his flimsy old wallet. Still, he banked on the man's cheerfulness: surely a mugger wouldn't be so talkative.

The hill was still some distance away, but just as Bobby was about to complain, the cab stopped a few meters off the road. “Be right back,” said the driver, and Bobby's heart eased when he saw a dark house out the window to his left.

The driver jumped from the car and ran into the darkness calling someone's name. In a moment a lamp was lit and a mournfully weak light emanated from the house. Bobby sat in the cab trying to glean meaning from the sounds he heard, but five minutes passed, and then ten, and the house fell silent. What was happening? he wondered. Had this guy been married so short a time that he was in there making love while Bobby waited in the car? And come to think of it, it was unlike a Korean man ever to worry about telling his wife anything. Had Bobby thought of that on the road he would really have been frightened.

Opening the door, Bobby stepped halfway out of the car and called to the guy, who called right back, “Coming!” And since he was out of the car, he took a deep breath and looked around. It was really beautiful territory, a beautiful country, Korea. The hill behind the house loomed magnificently, its menace contributing to the wonder of the place. Mr. Kwak had always said that the sky was high, and for the first time Bobby felt he knew what he meant. The stars seemed farther away than they did in America. They were bright but were made smaller as if by increased distance. And they seemed dashed more haphazardly across the sky, like salt across the surface of a lacquered box.

Bobby stood looking at the sky and marveling at the amazing randomness of things. Who could have predicted, this morning, that he'd be at the home of a cab driver or riding through the unknown hills tonight?

“Hey! OK! Sorry to keep you waiting,” said the driver, and Bobby was brought back from his stargazing when he realized that the driver was not alone. He had a woman with him and she, in turn, was carrying a small pink bag.

“You don't mind, I hope,” said the driver. “But we haven't been to the base in months.”

“Howdy,” said the wife. “You go base? Base number one.”

No wonder it had taken them so long. In the weak light from the cab of the car Bobby saw that this driver's wife was dressed to kill, in tight, tight, pants and a red sweater with huge pink hearts surrounding each breast. And the driver too had changed into a suit, black shirt, white tie.

“I can't believe, really,” said the wife. “I used to live that base. To go back will be fine, what good luck.”

She smiled and slid in the driver's side, so all three of them were in the front seat of the cab. Her hair was cut like Cleopatra's, straight across her forehead and straight across the back of her neck.

The driver wasted no time getting back to the main road again. His wife was carrying a floppy hat and she put it on now, holding it down with the hand nearest the driver while pinching Bobby's thigh with the other. “Slow down, honey,” she said, but Bobby was just as happy with the speed. Maybe they really would get there before curfew, and maybe this Tae Kwon Do guy wouldn't see his wife's right hand on his leg.

As they flew down the road, the stars and the looming mountain receded and the June dust ballooned behind them and all around. The wife was chatty and the driver was fast. “Don't worry, honey, he don't speak English,” she said.

By train the trip would have taken two hours, but by cab it was far faster. And though he had spoken on the way from town, the driver seemed content now to let his wife do the talking. “I miss it, you know, the life,” she said. “Lots of beer and money, sleep late every day. I almost marry G.I. two time, one black, one white. I never in my life thought I end up with Korean.”

She was lost for a while in how wonderful her old life had been, but then she laughed and, turning to her husband, actually translated for him what she'd been telling Bobby. He laughed too, glancing around with his cheerful eyes.

“Can you believe?” the wife continued. “I used to be Gloria, now Mrs. Kim. Life fucking strange sometime.”

Lord, yes, thought Bobby, and then the driver rolled his wife Bobby's way by sharply turning left. They were past Hongsong in a flash and onto the missile-base road. Ron's truck made the trip in about twenty minutes, but Bobby had the feeling they'd be there in five. It was only eleven o'clock. They had curfew beat by a mile.

Mrs. Kim, the Gloria of old, was too excited to talk once they got near the Vil. And when they stopped she jumped from the cab and held both arms up in the air. Bobby expected her to yell, “Gloria's back!,” but she stretched, turning the gesture into a yawn when no one noticed her.

The Vil was Bobby's true destination, for he was sure that Cherry couldn't be on the base. That Thanksgiving dinner had been a special occasion, and he knew that even as Gary's guest she wouldn't find such easy access again. But though Bobby could have found the hooches during the day, at night he wasn't so sure. He had expected the Vil to be quiet on a weeknight but it was raucous. They were in front of a bar called the Lucky Seven Club, which was packed.

Mr. Kim locked his taxi and joined them on the boardwalk and Bobby gave him two thousand won.

“Wait,” said Gloria. “Let's have a drink first. See the town. The three of us.”

She was smiling so happily that Bobby thought it wouldn't hurt to settle them inside the bar and then ask around for the hooches. It was a small place, after all, and he should be able to find Cherry in a second.

Inside the Lucky Seven Club, all the tables were taken and a three-man band was playing in the corner. The customers were mostly American soldiers, but they were celebratory, no sense of Robert Kennedy's death anywhere.

“Order some beer,” Bobby said. “I want to look around.” But before he could get away Gloria slipped her arms around his waist, grabbed the loose skin that was there, and pressed into him down low.

“You good guy,” she said. “Forgive my always touchy before. Old habit die slow.”

Bobby quickly forgave her. She really was great-looking, especially in this light, and he could tell she'd been disappointed that no one had recognized her. “I'll be back,” he said. “I just have to find someone.”

“What's her name?” Gloria asked. “Maybe I know her, remember from before.”

“Her name's Cherry. But she wasn't here before.”

Gloria thought back, trying to remember whether there had been a Cherry or not and Bobby left, mumbling again that he would return and stepping out the door.

Immediately an old madam saw him. “Nice girl everywhere,” she said. She looked at her watch, giving the first indication that anybody was thinking of the curfew. “Getting late,” she said. “All night ten dollar.”

“I'm looking for someone,” said Bobby. “Do you know Gary Smith's hooch?”

“Gary Smith hooch? Sure.”

“Where is it?” he asked.

She sighed and pointed up toward the base's gate. “International Club,” she said. “Turn left, down alley.”

Bobby started toward the International Club, but then looked once again at the madam. “Gloria's back,” he said. “Did you see her? She's inside the Lucky Seven Club right now.” The woman didn't speak, but her expression lightened, and as Bobby left she was walking back through the Lucky Seven Club's door.

It was only a block to the International Club, but girls came down off the boardwalk, some of them only whispering but others trying to grab Bobby and drag him home. It was late and hunting season was almost over.

When he got to the club and turned into the row of hooches things got worse. Here there were lots of low doorways with girls in front of every one. These were awful places, really, and some of the girls were made up to look like walking versions of their rooms, with green makeup if the hooches were green and psychedelic swirls on their faces if the walls of their rooms were wild. Some of the girls called out, but Bobby didn't respond. At least he knew he was near Gary's place when he heard Mississippi John Hurt again, singing Cherry's old song.

“Got to go to Memphis,
From there to Leland.
Got to see my baby,
‘Bout a lovin' spoonful.”

Bobby had become so involved with Mr. Kim and Gloria that he'd neglected to consider what he might find here. It was late, maybe he shouldn't have come. Gary had as much as told him he was interested in Cherry too. Feeling like an intruder, that he should go home, he hesitated in front of the hooch. He then knocked quickly, four rapid taps.

“Yeah?” called Gary. “Who's there?”

“It's me, Bobby. May I come in?”

Bobby couldn't hear anything over the music, but in a moment Gary opened the door. He stood in the half-light with a newspaper in his hand, and though Bobby could not see past him he was immediately sure he was alone. “Bobby,” said Gary. “What the hell? What's going on?”