Simple America

The night was long for me. I was unaccustomed to sharing a bed. The warm body next to me was arousing and distracting. I spent a lot of time memorizing her face. She had the high prominent Korean cheek bones. Except for the scarring, her face was smooth with no lines. I must have been an annoying bed partner as I remember her waking once and spitting out some Korean vindictive.

 

Morning arrived and we dressed. I paid her and then she called momma-san. They spoke in Korean and then Miss Park handed me the phone.

 

“So she good girl?

 

“Yes, momma-san.”

 

“You likey?”

 

“Yes, momma-san.”

 

“You want, see her again?”

 

“Can she stay one more night?”

 

“Yes. Let me talk to her.”

 

So I handed the phone back to Miss Park and they chatted. Park kept looking in my face and she smiled a bit. She hung up the phone. “I come back,” she said to me. And then she left. I went down to the restaurant and had some breakfast. The Spec 5 came downstairs and then a little later Sarge joined us. They planned on shopping a bit in Itaewon and asked if I wanted to join. I told them I expected some company. They understood and we went our separate ways.

 

I was a smoker at this time. Back then I smoked a couple of packs a day and I had run out of smokes. There was a nice gift shop right off the lobby and I entered. The girl behind the counter smiled as I approached her. She was a little taller than Miss Park. I read her name tag, which was in English and Korean, Kim Kyong-Ock. Miss Kim had a lovely smile and the twinkle in her eyes backed it up. Her thin black hair was cut short, just barely brushing her shoulders and with evenly cut bangs atop her forehead. Her face was not as broad as Miss Parks, and she had very slight pock mark scars. She was slender, but not as thin as Park.

 

“May I help you, sir,” she asked?

 

“You speak English very well. Good. I need some cigarettes.”

 

“These are what we have, sir.”

 

She pointed at several packs of Korean brands. None of which I was familiar with.

 

“I’m sorry. I have only been here three days. What do most folks smoke?”

 

Kim smiled her twinkling smile and pointed toward a white brand that had some predominately golden looking object on it. “Geobukseon. This is very popular, sir.”

 

“Don’t call me sir, I work for a living.”

 

She looked puzzled at my statement. No way she would understand the GI joke. Officers were called sir in the Army. Officers did not work from the viewpoint of an enlisted man. To lighten the mood I tried to repeat the cigarettes’ name and butchered it. Kim smiled, twinkled, and spoke the word once more. Right then a small bond forged between the two of us. Teacher and pupil. Kim would always be willing to help me understand Korean language and culture. She taught me that the Geobukseon was the “Turtle Ship” which Admiral Yee used to defeat the Japanese invasion of Korea. In the few moments of buying the cigarettes she armed me with the words that would help me a great deal. From her I learned:

 

Kamsa hamnida thank you

Chon manayo Your Welcome

Anyahasayo Hello (to an equal)

Anyahasamika Hello (to the boss or your parents)

Anya Hello (to a child)

Yobosayo Hello (to your lover or wife)

Ya Hello (very rude)

 

This was just a start for the two of us. Too bad my actions probably limited us to being just chingu. If I had been thinking with the “correct head” I would have stopped the whoring and wooed Miss Kim. She was educated in a Korean college, the youngest child, and her father was in a frail status after working for years as a bureaucrat. There are no secrets in a hotel and I surely created a lot of gossip for the workers with all of my escapades in the nearly 40 days that I lived there. A foul reputation that a proper Korean girl would never risk, no matter how much she liked chatting with me. Too bad I was focusing on Miss Park’s return and imminent fireworks.

 

So I took my new words and paid for my cigarettes. I tested my new language skills at the front desk and then went up to my room. I read for a while. Cannot recall the book’s title. Finally, a knock resounded at the door. Park returned.

 

She had changed clothes to a light cream colored sweater and white corduroy trousers. What changed the most was her hair. She ‘froed her hair and it just did not appeal to me. I did not express this, but I thought she looked better with her hair down. She turned on the tube and I read my book until around 4. I was really wasting a good Saturday. I convinced her that we needed to go eat. So we put on our coats and headed out.

 

Park was very conscientious of being out and about with me. I tried to hold her hand. Aneyo. That was not to be. The cool air made me feel quite chill, but Park seemed comfortable in her sweater. I offered my jacket, but she refused. We did not walk too far down the street, when we stopped in front of a small restaurant.

It was not even as far as the store where I bought the coat

 

We entered and had a seat. This was my first fishbowl experience in Korea and it would not be my last. My entry interrupted every conversation in the room. Every brown eye was locked on me. I felt as if I was the first American to ever patronize the place. A few seconds passed and the chatting rekindled. I still caught a curious glance now and again. The food was not memorable and I cannot tell you what Park ordered for us. We ate it and paid for the both of us. I thought of walking with her in the ville, but she wanted no part of that. Thus we returned to the Hotel Crown.

 

Then the evening started as a repeat of Friday night, watching TV and such. Baths too, though this time I started her water. This time when the lights went out she rolled over. I’m thinking what the hell. I was persistent at trying to get things going and she was just as persistent in not doing anything. When persistence failed I whined. I was quite the good whiner too. Then Park taught me a new word. Agi or baby. And it was fitting in retrospect, but I was not there to be chided or a foot warmer.

 

Eventually, she earned her money, but I was pissed. So in the morning when she called mama-san I told the woman I had other plans for Sunday and that she did not need to call me again. I paid Park and never saw her again.

 

Sunday was a day in which the “Law of Gravity” applied. If you read JoMel’s post you know of what I speak. The highs of my conquest (if paying for a whore can be called such a thing) was beset by the depression and thoughts of why did Park have to spoil the evening. The subconscious mind was probably trying to kick me in the ass, but I sat moping in full scale denial of the problems I had earned. No, I planned to prove the stereotypes of Korea that I had learned from the others that had preceded me.