kick my metabolism into high gear. I told her to bring me one.
While the hostess was gone I fumbled with the metal screw that latched the two sliding windows together. The windows were opaque, made of some sort of heavy plastic. I got the screw undone and slid the window open a crack. Bitterly cold air rushed into the warm room. People turned around and looked at me, stared for a moment, and then turned back to their coffee.
My hostess returned with a porcelain cup on a metal tray. I slid the window shut. Using two hands, she placed the tinkling cup and saucer in front of me. I pulled out a thousand-won bill and she left to get the change.
I sipped the tea. The production of ginseng root has been a Korean monopoly since ancient times. Proper ginseng grew nowhere else on earth except this mountainous peninsula. The tea was light brown and tasted bitter. There was no caffeine in it, but I knew from past experience (when Ernie used to carry a raw root in his pocket and would break off a chunk for me every now and then) that it would get your body churning until you actually developed a slight fever.
The waitress brought me my change. I smiled, thanked her, and pocketed it all. She stood there for a moment, waiting to be asked to join me. I played the stupid Gl until she bowed and walked away. I took another sip of the biting herb-it grows on you-and cracked the window open.
There was an outside stairway on the gisamg house. Guys in suits walked up it, escorted by women in brightly colored formal dresses. When the double doors were slid back and everyone bent over to take off their shoes, I could see inside. Lindbaugh and the Korean who brought him were seated cross-legged on the floor in front of a large table filled with plates of food and bottles of clear rice wine. Two girls sat next to them, smiling while another, off to the side, fiddled with some musical instrument that I didn’t recognize.
More men came up the stairs. All bowed and shook hands with Lindbaugh first and then bowed more deeply and shook hands with his Korean comrade.
I felt a soft hand on my shoulder.
“Yoboseiyo. Nomu cbuwo.” My hostess hugged her arms around herself, chilled, and looked at me pleadingly.
I glanced back at the gisaeng house. The big sliding doors had been closed. I smiled at the girl, slid the window shut, and finished my tea. When I got up and walked out, the patrons of the tearoom were no doubt relieved to see the dragons on my back.
Snow began falling, making the pathways through the hovels appear clean and untouched. Patches of white fluff gathered on the slender branches of a little tree like epaulets.
I heard the steady crunch of feet moving up the narrow alleyway. I leaned back farther into the shadows protecting me. When the footsteps passed I poked my head out. It was Kimiko. She was bundled up in a warm coat but her hair and finely shaped buttocks gave her away.
She followed the alley and was quickly out of sight. I followed. Her footsteps were outlined clearly in the fresh dusting of snow. She had gone into the gisaeng house.
All the gates lining the back were shut tight and no lights shone in the houses behind them except the one.
I had to get closer. The cement and the brick walls blocked the sound of her steps. The ground was unpredictable. Not the flat, hard pavement on the roadway but bricks and stones placed haphazardly in the frozen earth like cobblestones.
I held my breath and stood perfectly still. She was just a few yards away from me. I knelt down carefully and lowered myself so my chest was just above the ground and, like a huge, cloth-covered salamander, I slowly inched forward until I could see. It was a double wooden door. Kimiko was rapping on it and calling out softly, “Ajima. Ajima.”
Finally a piece of wood slid aside and the back door opened. An old woman held it for her, she entered, and then the door was shut again. I heard the wooden crossbar slide into place. I stood up and waited a moment, then went to the gate and tried to find any openings in the wooden slats that I could see through. There were none. It was well built and heavy and sat flush up against the brick wall. The wall was about eight feet high and shards of jagged glass, imbedded in the mortar, stuck up along the top. Coiled and rusted barbed wire wound through the glass, completing the compound’s defenses.
I carefully placed my hands atop the wall, between pieces of glass, and pulled myself up until I could just see into the courtyard. It was set up like a typical Korean house. Four hooches were arranged in a U shape against the back wall facing out toward the front gate. In the center of the courtyard was an old hand pump with a lot of plastic pans and two rickety-looking wooden benches nearby. A small circular planter held the stems of what was left of a few sturdy bushes. Earthen kimchi pots lined the walls on either side of the house, most of them covered with a small inverted cone of snow. Directly below me and to the left was a small solitary building. The odor left no doubt as to its function.
The old woman puttered around on the wooden porch running the length of the four hooches. Finishing her chore, she padded along in her stocking feet and entered the small hooch off to the right.
There were lights on in the two central hooches and I could see a shadowy figure moving back and forth behind the paper windows of the wooden panel doors. From the height and general size there was no doubt in my mind. It was Kimiko and she seemed to be very busy.
I looked beneath the porch to see how many pairs of shoes were down there, and what type, There were outlines of shoes in the darkness. I couldn’t make them out.
I stayed there hanging from the wall as long as I could, but my muscles were beginning to give out. I was just starting to lower myself when I saw a shadow walk toward the open door. It was Kimiko. She stood there for a minute directly in front of the opening and I could see her face clearly. She was looking up at the sky, at the stars, or maybe something even farther away. She was beautiful and wistful and I felt a longing for her and maybe for all of us. She turned suddenly, as if she had been startled out of her reverie by a sound and, without looking back, she slammed the door shut.
My arms were cramping up and I wasn’t even sure I could unfold them. I just let go of my grip on the cold brick and dropped back down to the slippery pavement. I lost my footing, gyrated for a moment, arms flailing, and then fell flat on my ass.
I hit flush and wasn’t hurt but I just sat there for a moment, taking inventory of my chilled limbs and slowly unfolding the knotted muscles of my forearms and biceps. When the cold moisture began to seep through the seat of my pants I jumped back up and swatted the snow off my rear end.
I walked back to the recessed doorway across the street and stood in the shadows to think for a while. To warm my hands, I placed them over the bulge in my Levi’s and rubbed my snug genitals.
Kimiko had been wearing black silk stockings with a black garter belt and a black brassiere with openings to show her nipples. When she looked up at the sky, I had been staring at her jet black pubic hair. Further back in the room was sprawled Mr. Lindbaugh in equally scanty attire.
Two hours later she came out and hailed a taxi on the main road. We followed it back to ltaewon and the Lucky Seven Club.
Kimiko wore a bright blue low-cut dress and sat by herself at a table near the stage. She ordered a big liter bottle of OB and a bottle of Suntory whiskey with a small bucket of ice. A young boy arrived carrying a square metal box. The boy squatted next to Kimiko’s table and slid back the walls of the box, revealing two steaming plates of food. One was mul mandu, boiled meat dumplings, and the other was cbapcbae, rice noodles mixed with beef and vegetables. The boy placed the plates on Kimiko’s table, along with a few small side dishes and a short bottle of soy sauce. He closed the box up, bowed, and trotted through the half-full tables and out of the club.
Kimiko split apart her wooden chopsticks, rubbed them together to get off all the splinters, and dug in. She didn’t notice Ernie and me standing in the back of the room.
“She’s rich,” Ernie said. “A catered feast.”
“Didn’t take long.”
“And she couldn’t have made it entirely on her charm. What’s she celebrating?”
We backed out of the club and I almost jumped when I saw him but managed to keep my eyes straight ahead. At the bottom of the hill, we turned towards the King Club.
“Did you see him?”
“Who?”
