The following is a draft excerpt from my novel, Gyeosunim. If you haven't read my previous novel, Songsaengnim: A Korea Diary, be warned that there are spoilers in this post.
Note: in some of the dialog between the main character, Roland Axam, and his sister, Siobhan, I've begun introducing some Scots Gaelic. It's not complete. If you think it's too much, or if the language has been used incorrectly, I'd appreciate some feedback, which you can leave in today's Comment section.
Tuesday, February 3, 1998
No one was happier this week than my mum. She was back in Scotland with her two kids. She didn’t expect for me to be here—I even told her, after the crisis with Kwon but before Tanya left, that I wouldn’t be returning to either Canada or to Scotland for the holidays. I was expecting to surprise her in Ottawa, where I had gone directly from Seoul. Because I knew she had already spent the Christmas holidays with Siobhan and Brian, in Edinburgh, I expected her to be in her Sandy Hill home. Little did I realize the damage inflicted by the ice storm that struck Eastern Ontario and extended all the way to Montreal. After a few days without power, Mum had decided to seek refuge in Edinburgh. Keys to the neighbour, who promised to check on her home when the power was restored, to make sure that everything that was supposed to be off was, indeed, off.
Though the storm had blown over before I touched down at the Macdonald-Cartier International Airport, evidence of its presence was apparent in the aftermath of broken trees throughout the city. The red maple on my front lawn was missing some of its larger, older branches, luckily missing my house. My mother’s tree, having been planted much longer and had grown to a ripe-old age, hadn’t fared as well. Most of the main structure had given way under the thick coating of ice and had fallen onto the street, taking three cars with it. When I arrived at the Blackburn Avenue home to surprise my mother, city crews were carving up the remainder of the old tree. It was then that I learned that Mum was not at home, but in Edinburgh.
I spent a couple of days in Ryan Farm, my Nepean neighbourhood, filing taxes, purchasing supplies for my second year in Korea, and contacting the few friends I had left behind, nearly a year before. Many of them had been neglected after the funeral and I was hoping to touch base before I was written off altogether. I purchased a round-trip ticket to Edinburgh, fully intending to return to Ottawa to collect my supplies, which would not be coming with me to Scotland, before continuing on the second leg of the round-trip ticket I had bought in Seoul.
The surprise I gave to my family was completely unexpected. I hadn’t even told Brian (there was no telling Siobhan, who couldn’t keep a secret to save her life). I had arrived at the Edinburgh International Airport at lunchtime, and was tempted to head straight to Siobhan’s house, but knew that both she and Brian would be at work. Instead, I took the shuttle bus to Waverley Station and caught the first train to North Berwick. I needed to drop off my bags and freshen up, anyway.
Though it was about 2:00 and the weather seemed unsettled, I decided that I wanted to climb Berwick Law. For me, it was a morning ritual when I lived here and on subsequent visits, and I didn’t want another day to pass without getting the best view of my town and its surroundings. But it wasn’t long after my chilling climb to the summit that I saw a coming storm, blowing in from the east, and I made my way back into town. There was no telling whether the precipitation was coming in the form of a soaking rain or pelting ice, and either way was unappealing.
I managed to beat the storm and make my way to the Auld Hoose, and as I sat and nursed my whisky and beer, I pictured how I would surprise my family when I showed up on the doorsteps. I quickly finished the last of my drinks, thanked Katie, and headed to my house, which was on the way to the train station. Because the weather was turning worse, I fetched a better coat and a hat to protect myself from the elements.
“Can I come in?” I asked. “It’s cold, dark, and I’m absolutely drookit.”
Siobhan shrieked, sounding more like she was being robbed at gunpoint than she was being greeted by her older brother. Brian came quickly to the door, ready to defend his girlfriend, followed by Mum. It took even longer for her to recognize the man that Siobhan was embracing. She could only see part of my face and my arms, wrapped around Siobhan. When she recognized me, her hands went trembling to her mouth and the tears flowed freely. And then she lost her balance. I panicked, fearing she would hit the hardwood floor, but Brian had lightning reflexes, put his powerful arm around Mum’s shoulder and helped steady her, helped guide her to her son, where I received another warm embrace.
We retired to the kitchen for tea, to help steady Mum’s nerves. She was speechless, could only look at me, stroke my cheek, and whisper “Ma Roland,” over and over again.
I was home.
***
Tanya was gone. It was over. There was no chance of our ever getting back together. After she left our bed on that fateful day, when she learned that I could never produce a child with her, I never saw her again.
When I returned to Ottawa, after the ice storm had left its mark across Eastern Ontario and South-western Quebec, I tried to find Tanya through her sister, Nancy. Nancy lived in Montreal: I had her phone number from one of the many long-distance phone bills that Tanya had racked up while we were living together. Tanya would call her several times each week. I didn't care about the expenses—whatever made Tanya happy.
“Tanya’s left Korea,” Nancy told me. She wouldn’t provide Tanya’s current location. Only that she was travelling throughout South-East Asia. Possibly Thailand, I surmised: we had often talked about going there together. Was Tanya alone?
Surely, she was. It was far too soon for her to be with another man. But perhaps with one of her friends.
“Tanya isn’t taking the job at the university,” Nancy offered, knowing it was on my mind. Chŏnbuk National University: she had been offered a job teaching in its International Languages department. One of her private adult students was married to the director of the department. When Tanya’s and my job at the hagwon—independent language institute—crumbled under the strain of the financial crisis, her after-hours student stepped up. Just as one of my hagwon students stepped up to help me find a teaching position at Jeonju University—Chŏnju’s equivalent of a community college.
I thanked Nancy for the information and asked her to pass my love on to Tanya. I wanted Nancy, as well as Tanya, to know that I still loved her. That I always would.
“Tis ower,” I said to Siobhan, stressing the Scots word for “over” so that it sounded final. It was the first time I had said it out loud, and in the dialect that my sister and I reserved for when we conversed together, in our meagre attempt to keep our native tongue alive. It hurt to say the words aloud, but after nearly a week after my call to Nancy, I accepted the fact that unless Tanya had plans to return to Chŏnju, I would never see her again. “Once again, it’s time for me to accept a loss and move forward.”
“There are plenty more wummin out there, mah bràthair,” said Siobhan. “Think of Tanya as an amuse bouche in the buffet of women. You’ll find someone who you can really sink your teeth into.”
“Ye hae tae wirk on yer metaphors, sis’,” I said. “Tanya wisnae meal. Though, a tasty morsel she was.” I swirled the nearly empty tumbler of 25-year-old Lagavulin, realizing I had had more than my fair share of Brian’s bottle. Not that the successful architect couldn’t afford it. Not that any of us couldn’t afford it. The Axam family’s loss had brought significant financial gain, through inheritances, insurance, and divestiture of investments.
“What say you bide in North Berwick? I hae a friend, Fiona. I think the two of ye would hit it off.”
I remembered meeting Fiona at a party when Siobhan was attending the University of Edinburgh, in 1988. Fiona had hit on me that evening, even though she knew I was with Kristen, who was in Canada at the time. I was visiting Siobhan on a business stopover: I was actually heading to Berlin but had been instructed to fly from London, rather than directly, with a few days in the UK. I decided to take a couple of days in Edinburgh during this furlough. I had told my department head, Charles Townsend, about my North Berwick home and how it would be great to check in on it before flying from Heathrow to Tegel. Siobhan’s party was my last evening in Edinburgh before the start of that fateful mission.
“She seemed a little wild to me, last time I saw her,” I told my sister, remembering that party, the way Fiona would sit next to me on one of the sofas, leaning into me, putting her hand on my arm or on my leg; how she cornered me in the hallway, as I came out of the washroom, pretending she wanted to dance with me but only rubbed her body up and down me, in time with the music. She was obviously drunk, so I wouldn’t have put any moves on her even if I was single. “I hope she’s settled down.”
“Not much,” Siobhan admitted.
Even though I was newly married at the time, I found Fiona to be a sexy firecracker, but I was completely in love with my wife. In another life, perhaps something would have happened. In another life. And now, I was living another life, except this time, it wasn’t a partner that would keep my interest in Fiona at bay: it was the distance. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going back. I made a commitment to the university. I cannae let Mrs. Kim down—she went out on a limb to get me that job.” Mrs. Kim: my student from the hagwon. Lots of my students had my back, but few looked out for me as she had. Or as Mr. Lee had. “And besides, I’m not ready to come back. I might have made strides in ma first year, but I’m without all of ma friends. I need tae ken that I can stand on my own feet.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I dinnae ken,” I confessed. “But what I do ken is that I feel not only obliged tae return to Korea, but that I really want tae go. I need to prove once again that I can move on.”
“I think you should meet Fiona again. She still talks about you, is always asking me how you are doing in Korea. I think she was a bit disappointed when she found out that you and Tanya were together. Ooh, I bet she’ll want tae see ye when she finds out that you’re single again and are here. Yes, I’m going tae speir her o’er for dinner.”
“Siobhan, I’m going back tae Chŏnju. It’s settled.”
“I’m sure that Fiona could persuade you tae bide.” Siobhan moved over to the phone that was on a small table at the end of the sofa.”
“Shiv!”
“He’s not ready, love,” said Brian, his voice soft and caressing, knowing how to appeal to my sister without sounding like a reprimand. Though he was a tall and muscular man, almost resembling my dad in stature, Brian was always soft-spoken. Always the voice of reason. It was that soft yet assertive Welsh accent. Rising from his seat on the sofa, next to Siobhan, he leaned forward and poured me another measure of whisky. “Let him follow his own path.”
“Well said,” I responded, raising my newly filled glass.
Siobhan grunted, not used to not getting her way, removed her hand from the phone handset and pouted at her boyfriend. I’m sure there would be words to Brian, after I was gone. Would his soothing Welsh tone remain?
Not my problem. This year, I had to think of myself. I needed to be a little selfish. Last year, at the hagwon, I had become too involved with my students and fellow teachers. Too involved with Tanya. I hadn’t gone to Korea to find love; I had gone to forget a love that was violently snatched from me. Not to forget Kristen, nor Laura Elizabeth, nor Dad. I had gone to forget the pain associated with the loss of them. They were gone, all died in that car crash on that fateful day in July, more than two-and-a-half years ago. Staying in Ottawa, the memory of them, the pain of their passing, was too close for me and too much to handle. Staying in Ottawa, the only way that I could suppress the sorrow was found at the bottom of a bottle. Of several bottles.
It had been Siobhan, with the help of our mother, who had shaken me from my sorry state of self-pity. She ventured from her busy career—she, the administrative assistant to Edinburgh’s Lord Provost—to Ottawa, to sober me up and get me to move forward. Siobhan was the one who suggested that I teach abroad, to go to Japan. It was I who had settled on South Korea after talking to a friend’s sister, who had, herself, taught in that country for a year.
But I had chosen a bad year to go to Korea, though I didn’t know it at the time. Economic corruption had fuelled the financial crisis that was spreading across South-East Asia. Thailand, the Philippines, Malaysia, Indonesia, and Singapore, along with South Korea, were the worst-affected countries. Ironically, the offer made by the International Monetary Fund to help South Korea out of its slump made matters worse: over fears that tough restrictions would be placed over the money that the IMF was willing to offer, the Korean Stock Exchange dropped lower and lower. The won, Korea's currency, plummeted.
My employer took a financial bath. Because he was paying his teachers based on the American dollar, he found himself paying us more and more won, to the point where he was paying nearly twice the amount of won as he had been when I first started working for him. And his second business, a trading company, was not doing so well, either. Business was dropping off. Contracts were not being won. And the hagwon was sucking him dry as student enrolment was dwindling.
I said the hagwon director took a bath, and that was true, at first. But his solution to his financial crisis was to not pay the teachers. At the end of December, on payday, after his three teachers had worked a full month for him, Kwon Tae-ha informed us that he couldn’t pay us and that he was closing the language institute. He instructed us to leave the country. I had managed to get some money from him and was able to ensure that one of the teachers received a paycheque, but Tanya and I hadn’t fared as well. Kwon owed Tanya for the month of December and owed me that month in wages as well as a stipend. I never saw a cent.
But I also didn’t leave the country. Not permanently.
I had no plan on how to deal with Kwon. Once I had my new work visa in hand, I would have stable legs upon which I could stand. But I’d have no power. The labour board had already told me that they couldn’t intervene. Because the three teachers and only one secretary were on Kwon’s books for the hagwon, the company was considered too small for them to pursue: five employees was the minimum number. And so Tanya and I were cut loose.
Not that I needed the money. I hadn’t gone to Korea to earn a living. I was already considered a millionaire. But that financial gain had come at too great a loss for me. I would gladly give back every penny if, in doing so, I could turn back the clock to July 2, 1995. I would tell Dad and Kristen to hold off on their trip to Westport. Tell them of the coming storm.
Tanya also wasn’t hurting for cash, and not just because she had been living with me. She had taught enough students privately to keep herself financially afloat. Her income from these students had more than equaled her pay in less than half the time it would have taken to earn it from Kwon. As much as she deserved her pay, she hadn’t suffered from the lack of it.
When I returned to Chŏnju and got settled, I would set my sights on Kwon.
“So, what is your plan?” Brian asked me. I liked Brian. He was a good man, was good for Siobhan. She was always career-focused, always serious. Only at home, after a couple of drinks, she would relax and let her guard down. Brian helped to keep her relaxed at home. Would always remind her that there was more to life than a job. Life had to be enjoyed. Not that he wasn’t a dedicated, hard-working man. His job at an affluent architecture firm was taken seriously. He was on a team that was working on designs for the proposed Scottish parliament buildings, should they ever come to be. Brian's firm was among the top contenders, and Brian was putting in many hours of overtime on the project. But when he was at home, he was at home: a clear division from the office was drawn.
“I’m excited about teaching at the university,” I said. “I’m going to give it my best effort, use all the skills that I learned at the hagwon to the fullest. And I’m going to continue teaching my private students, if they still want me.” I had three students that I taught after hours, but hadn’t seen them since the end of December, when everything was turned on its head. I spent most of January figuring out the year ahead, and dealing with Tanya walking out on me because she wanted to have a child with me. A child I couldn’t give her because Kristen and I had made the decision to stop at one child. My vasectomy was permanent.
“What about friends?” asked Siobhan. She knew that my two closest friends, Brad and Wilma, had left Korea when their hagwon had closed—another victim of the economic downturn. Wilma had been laid off more than a month before Brad was let go. Brad followed Wilma to her home country, Australia. I had vowed to myself to make some time in the year to visit them. I missed them; even more so with Tanya out of the picture. It was hard to imagine the year ahead of me without any of them.
“Friends will be secondary,” I said. “This year, I’m keeping to myself. I know the city like the back of my hand. I can speak the language enough to get by: take a taxi anywhere; order food in a restaurant; ask for simple directions; explain that I am not an American—meegook sarahm, ani-nibda!” I emphasized the statement with a negative wave of the hand.
I took a slow, long sip of the Lagavulin before I continued. “I hope to improve my comprehension. Maybe, I’ll take a language class. I think my university offers a class to the teachers.” In fact, the university administrators wanted me to enroll in a Masters program: Korean studies seemed like the only choice, but in all honesty I don’t want to take the program. According to Jody and Jamie, two of my few remaining friends left in Chŏnju, no Korean Masters degree would be recognized in North America. I’d have no accreditation for it when I returned to Canada. So any courses that I would take would have to serve me there.
“Isn’t that what you said before you left a year ago? That you would keep to yourself?” teased Siobhan. “I ken ye, big bràthair.”
“Only brother,” I corrected her, in English. Along with our mother, Grandpa MacInnis, and now, Brian, we were the only family she had left.
“You wanted to focus on the culture, learn about Korea. Not make any friends. What happened there?”
She had a point. My closest friends had been Brad, Tanya, and Wilma; later, Jamie and Jody. There were the regular ex-patriots—ex-pats—at the local bar, Urban. There were precious few Korean friends. Hoon, the owner of Urban Bar, who I never saw outside business hours. Mr. Lee, my hagwon student, who would often take Tanya and me out on day trips to nearby temples and fortresses, and who would often treat us to dinner. One night, he joined us, with Brad and Wilma, at Urban Bar, and he picked up the entire tab. He also helped Tanya and me move out of the hagwon apartment when everything fell apart. He was a valued student and a good friend.
But the Koreans that I considered to be friends weren’t the same as my Western friends. They weren’t as close to me. And sometimes, I felt as though our friendship was based on a service: I taught them English and in return they paid my way when we socialized. Right or wrong, it just seemed to be the way things worked.
“Face it, Roland: you’re a social creature. You need to be around people. You’ve always been that way. When we first moved to Canada, you had no trouble making friends at school. You and Stuart are a’ charaid as fheàrr. You’ll be that way again when you return to your wee Korean town.”
“We’ll see,” I said, noticing my empty tumbler and rocking it from side to side, in front of Brian, who took his cue and reached for the nearly empty bottle. “We’ll see.”
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