Some of the richer families had built small cement pagodas and even statues of the deceased atop the mounds. We heard the clanging of cymbals and the wailing voices of mourners. Two monks with shaven heads and purple robes led the procession, each swinging a censer filled with incense. Behind them walked the chief monk. Behind him were six men carrying a huge red palanquin. It was engraved with gold dragon’s heads, and elaborate Buddhist symbols. A bell atop it rang discordantly.
Behind the palanquin came the mourners. They were wailing and moaning and all of them were dressed head to toe in clothing made of drab yellow sackcloth. Among them was Kimiko, now wearing a sackcloth hat.
The procession continued down the dusty pathway to the other side of the hill and we followed. There was a long chanting ceremony led by the monks, and finally they lifted a body out of the palanquin and lowered it into a waiting hole cut into the side of a mound. Kimiko stood rigid.
The body was placed in a stone sarcophagus, and two scruffy-looking grave diggers began to shovel dirt to rebuild the mound.
The procession reformed with the now empty palanquin and returned along the hill, curving down toward the main road. They trudged silently for some minutes. At the bottom of the hill, the mourners filed on to a large gray bus. There was a generous square door at the rear that was just wide enough for the palanquin. Once they got on the bus, the mourners whipped off their hats and began laughing and talking and lighting up cigarettes.
Kimiko pulled off her hat and handed it to one of the professional mourners. She got into the front seat of the bus. We waited in the tree line. The bus took off leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. It swirled in the chill wind.
We trotted across the road towards the boulders that concealed our jeep.
Ernie got there first and let out a groan.
The jeep had been jacked up on piles of flat rocks and the wheels were gone. Ernie walked around the vehicle, cursing as he went. The spare tire and the can of mo-gas strapped to the back hadn’t been touched, and neither had the chain that immobilized the steering wheel. The innards of the engine also seemed to be intact.
We stared at the useless vehicle for a while, both of us wondering what to do next.
“How much money do you have?”
Ernie checked his pockets. ‘Twenty bucks.”
“I got a little over ten. I’ll catch a ride to one of those villages back there and see if I can find us some tires.”
“Without’em it’s going to be sort of hard to explain this shit at 21 T Car.”
“We were on official duty.”
‘The first sergeant took us off the case.”
‘They couldn’t hold us to that. Even the first sergeant wouldn’t be that much of an asshole.”
Ernie looked at me.
I turned my head.
“Well, maybe we just better get some tires.”
It would be a long wait for the next bus. I was fidgety. Something was bothering me. I walked back to the jeep and saw the lug nuts. Six on each brake drum. We’d been had.
The monks came out of the woods, laughing. They rolled the four tires towards us, and Ernie and I had to jump and dodge so as not to be hit.
Ernie’s neck and face turned bright red until I could even see crimson beneath his light brown hair. He sprang across the road at the monks.
All of them had their heads shaved and wore the same blue robes and leather sandals as their brethren in the monastery. Three of them were very young. Maybe teenagers. But I realized that with a shaved head and fresh complexion, an Oriental man was liable to look much younger than he actually was. They were probably in their early twenties. About the same age as me and Ernie. But they were acting silly. They thought rolling the tires down the hill at us was the greatest joke in the world. Cosmic, I guess you could call it.
The tallest of the monks looked as if he was in his mid thirties. He smiled and remained calm as Ernie charged.
Ernie let loose a big roundhouse aimed at the monk’s bulb head, but the guy just lowered his body slightly by flexing his knees and moved his right foot back. The blow missed his nose by no more than an inch and Ernie stumbled forward, tripping. He went down. Before Ernie could get up, the monk was on him. He twisted Ernie’s arm behind his back and braced a knee on his spine, then lowered his weight. Ernie couldn’t move. He sputtered and cursed. I stood in front of the monk, waiting for him to let Ernie go.
Ernie calmed somewhat when he realized that he was helpless and that I was there. The monk stood up quickly, like a crane rising from a swamp, and stepped back.
I helped Ernie to his feet and he cursed some more and dusted himself off. The monk’s face was calm with just the hint of a smile, but there was no anger at being attacked and no smug flush of victory at having bested Ernie. The young monks behind him were smiling. No malice there. Just sheer… enjoyment.
The older monk spoke. “I am sorry we took your wheels. We will be happy to put them back on for you.”
His enunciation was precise. He must have studied English at the university level.
“Why did you take them off?”
The monk remained perfectly still. “It seemed the easiest way to delay you. You have been following our friend. We thought it best if you didn’t.”
“Kimiko?”
“Yes. I think that is her professional name.”
“You know her profession?”
“Oh, yes. Her life has been very hard. But she is a great soul. I think she is making progress-spiritually-and will probably achieve a more rewarding life in her next incarnation.”
“No nirvana yet?”
“Who can tell?”
Ernie adjusted his clothes, trying to get the dirt off the back of his shirt, and glared at the erudite monk. “The closest she ever got to nirvana was when somebody overtipped her.”
The monk glanced at Ernie but his expression didn’t change. “She has been a great supporter of our temple for many years.”
“How many years?”
“Since the war. The temple and outbuildings were completely destroyed during the fighting. Both sides saw it as a stronghold and a vantage point from which to track enemy movements. After they left, our sister helped us rebuild.”
“She gave you money?”
“Yes.”
“Because of her devotion to religion?”
“Yes. But also because of our master.”
“Your master?”
“Yes. He reestablished the temple and died a few years after the war, after the work was finished.”
“Why would Kimiko want to use her hard-earned money to help him?”
“Because he was her husband.”
Ernie continued his cursing as we sped down the road.
‘Take it easy, GI. It’s not every day that you get a free Zen lesson.”
He glanced at me. “You talking about the tires?”
“Yeah.”
His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “Fuck a Zen lesson!”
Quick learner.
After keeping us in conversation for a few more minutes the young monks had put our tires back on. The elder monk had offered us lunch at the temple and I would have loved to check the place out but I declined since Ernie was still fuming.
The story he’d told about Kimiko had just heightened the mystery of the woman for me. After World War II, when she’d been chased out of Itaewon along with all the other gisaeng girls who catered to the Japanese, she’d wandered for a long time and almost starved to death.
When the Korean War broke out she was on the road, as most everyone was, streaming south to evade the
