The following is a (very) rough-draft excerpt from my novel, Gyeosunim. If you haven't read my previous novel, Songsaengnim: A Korea Diary, be warned that there are spoilers and you may be missing some context.
And, as a side note, this is barely fiction: though all names are made-up, the interaction between the students and Roland are experiences that I actually faced as an English teacher at Jeonju University.
Friday, June 19, 1998
I had made a one-week calendar with fifteen-minute time slots throughout. Two students were to sign up for each slot. In the week that led to the exams, I brought the sign-up sheet into every classroom and told my students to find a partner and write their student numbers into the provided spaces. All they had to do after signing up was to show up at their scheduled time. I took approximately ten minutes to administer the exam, which permitted extra time for if they were a few minutes late or if they wanted to talk for a few minutes after we were finished.
Because I had so many students to get through, I made one thing absolutely clear in every class, leading up to the exams: I had no extra time to afford to any student who missed his or her time slot. If you missed your time, you would receive an automatic zero and you would be marked as absent, which could also hurt you. The university policy was to award a failing grade to any student who was absent more than five times. And I already had some students who were at their limit.
I had had a couple of no-shows from some of my students. At times, a student would arrive without his or her partner, and so I would be able to finish the exam in less than ten minutes, as some of the exercises, where I would have the two students interact, would be cut out or curtailed, with me acting as the partner. Sometimes, both students would fail to appear, and such occurrences were bittersweet: as much as I hated awarding two failing grades, I welcomed the short mental break that the fifteen-minute gap provided.
But I was shocked and saddened when, after one such break, when I was expecting the twin sisters, Hae-sung and Su-hee, they came in just as my next two students had sat down for their appointment.
“You’re late,” I said as they stood by the seated students.
“No,” said Hae-sung, looking confused, “We meet at ten-pipteen.”
In my hands was a clipboard that held the schedule. “No,” I said, pointing to their student numbers in a time slot, “you signed up in the ten-o’clock slot. You were supposed to be finished at ten fifteen, not start.”
“Huh??” exclaimed Su-hee, who then began whining at and slapping her sister. “You tell me wrong time.”
“I’m sorry, ladies, you’re going to have to take that outside. I have these two students with whom I must attend.”
Tears welled under Hae-sung’s eyes as she realized her costly mistake. And while they backed away from the chairs and table that I had arranged for this exam, they did not leave the office. It didn’t matter to me if they listened in. I had customized the exams based on the proficiency of the students, and had three different sets of questions and activities, based on that proficiency. The students at the ten-fifteen exam time were from my basic-level classroom. Hae-sung and Su-hee were nearly fluent in English. But these basic students were among the top of their class, and we went through the questions and exercises quickly enough that I had more than five minutes to spare before the next two students were scheduled to begin.
I called the twins over and bade them to sit. “What am I going to do with you? You are both some of my best students.”
“I am so sorry, Gyeosunim. It is my fault. I remembered the wrong time and told my sister. Please don’t punish her for my mistake.”
Her English was accented but otherwise flawless. Even my most-challenging exercises for her class level were no match for her comprehension. She and her sister didn’t really need my class but it was a requirement for their programme, which was Education. In the months since our first class, they would often visit me during my office hours, and I learned that their father was a doctor, who had studied in the UK. Their mother was a high-school English teacher. Both girls had been placed in hagwons from an early age, so there really was nothing more that I could teach them in class. They liked to visit me so that we could engage in casual conversation.
To fail them for a stupid mistake would have been heartbreaking. And seeing the sorrow on their faces was pretty hard to bear. “I know that you would have received a perfect score on this exam,” I said, “but I will have to think about what I’m going to do.”
“Please,” said Su-hee, “forgive us. We simply cannot fail English. Our parents would be ashamed and embarrassed for us.”
Again, with perfect grammar, and with a vocabulary that was beyond what the study books offered. Even their accents weren’t as harsh as I had come to expect. Su-hee pronounced forgive as “poh-gib” but not as “poh-gib-uh,” as most of my students did.
“Come to class on Monday,” I said. “I won’t fail you but I have to consider some sort of penalty. And you are not to discuss this with anyone else. I made it clear that failing to show up meant failing the course, and I don’t want everyone who has already missed their opportunity to beg me for another chance. I simply don’t have the time.”
“We understand, Gyeosunim. Thank you,” said Hae-sung.
The next students came through the door, and the twins headed out. Raymond, whose desk was closest to where I was holding the exams and had been marking exams of his own, said, “I know what I would have asked for to give them top marks. Meet me here at the end of the day, after everyone has gone home.”
I didn’t respond. I knew he was joking; at least, I hoped that he was joking.
The exams continued into the afternoon with their ups and downs. Two students from my evening class, who were at a basic level of English and had signed up for the same slot, were Hong Sang-woo, the retired television news anchor, and Lee Ha-nui, the young woman who always sat beside him in class and was always helping Hong with classroom exercises. As the months progressed, I had often wondered if Hong was suffering from some mental deterioration, as his responses in class were slow and he often appeared confused, not only as though he didn’t understand the lesson but also as though he wasn’t exactly sure where he even was. But when the two walked into my office, he was speaking to Lee excitedly and rapidly, albeit in Hangul. It was sheer nervousness, for as he sat down across from me, the confused look and slow responses returned.
Throughout the exercises, Lee continued to prod Hong and would even whisper the answers to him, though I constantly told her, “he can do this, Miss Lee.” At one point, I leaned forward and placed my face close to Hong’s. I smiled. “How are you, Mr. Hong?”
His face brightened as the most basic answer came to him. “I am fine, thank you. How are you?”
“I am good, Mr. Hong. Very good.” I held up a laminated card that I had made for the exams and turned it in a way that Miss Lee couldn’t see. It was a drawing of an umbrella with drops of water falling above it. “How is the weather?” I asked him, my face still close to his, still smiling.
The fear returned. He studied the picture but no answer came readily.
“Is it sunny?”
Some hesitation, and then a shy “No.”
“No, it is not sunny,” I said. “How is the weather?”
More hesitation. “Rain.”
“Good, yes. Is it raining?”
“Yes… yes… it rain.”
“Yes, good, it is raining?”
“It is raining,” he repeated.
When our time was up, Hong returned to his more lively state. He stood up and, with another rehearsed line, said, “Thank you. Have a good day.”
I gave him a passing grade. Barely.
Yi Shin-hye, the student who I told was beautiful on our first day, had scheduled a slot on her own. She arrived with a plastic container that was wrapped in a handkerchief that was pattered with red hearts and puckered lips. The clear container, still a little warm, was packed with rolls, like sushi, but were called kimbap. And although the Korean and Japanese dishes looked similar, the flavour profile was different. Kimbap was somewhat sweeter and the filling typically tended to use ham or marinated beef, rather than seafood, along with thin strips of carrot and cucumber. The kimbap in the container was decoratively displayed with the outer wrappings both in traditional seaweed and also a thin wrapping of fried egg, and each was staggered in a way that looked like a checkerboard.
“I made myself,” she said as she presented them to me, with both hands, her eyes never leaving my own.
“A-plus,” I said. “Thank you, you can go.” The confusion on her face was worth the joke, but I stopped her as she began to rise from her seat. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. This was very nice of you to do, these look delicious. I will eat them for lunch.” Luckily, Cathy had yet to ask me for my lunch order so the kimbap was a welcome offer.
“You can eat them now,” said Shin-hye. I could see in her eyes that she wanted me to taste them and give my approval. I opened the container, which had a pair of wooden chopsticks in a criss-cross across the top of the rolls. I picked up an egg-wrapped roll, with a ham centre, and popped it in my mouth.
“Mmm,” I said, “Masissayo.” Delicious. In truth, it was the best kimbap I had ever eaten.
“Try the other one,” she said, her smile beaming. “It has bulgogi.” Again, it was superb.
“We must start the exam,” I said, but like the twins in her class, she was fluent. Her grammar wasn’t perfect and she would sometimes leave out prepositions and articles, but her vocabulary was sound and I could always understand her. I had some exercises for her level of comprehension but I thought we would just chat. “How are you doing?”
“I am fine, thank you. How are you?”
“I am doing much better, now that I have these,” I said, holding up another roll. “Tell me about your other classes.”
She was an economics student and she proceeded to tell me about her other classes and the teachers. She had a best friend, Bae-eun, and they were in every class, together, except for English, in which Russell was her friend's teacher.
Shin-hye turned the tables on me and began asking me questions. “Are you married?”
“No,” I said, keeping my answer short.
“Do you have girlfriend?”
“That’s a personal question,” I said, “but no, I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“A girlfriend, yes. Sorry.”
“Sorry about the grammar mistake or sorry about not having a girlfriend?”
She laughed. “A-ha, yes, both, I think.”
“You must have a boyfriend,” I said and immediately regretted it. I was making the same mistake as I did in our first class. There was no doubt that Shin-hye had a crush on me and it was foolish for me to do or say anything that would encourage her.
“No, no boyfriend. Not yet. Do you think you will marry some day?”
“I don’t know,” I said. I thought of Tanya and how she could have been the one. But it was my inability to have children with her that killed that possibility. “Some day, if I find the right person,” I said, absently, still thinking of the happiness that Tanya and I once enjoyed.
I changed the subject and asked her about her family, about whether she had travelled, and her career plans. She had an older brother and her family once went to San Francisco to visit an aunt and uncle, but she really hadn’t travelled much outside her province.
“I want to marry a Canadian and move to Canada. I can be an economist.” Again, she looked at me with lustful eyes.
Good thing I’m a Scot, I told myself.
***
Kim Kyu-jong, the student whose phone I confiscated at our first meeting, came to my office mid-afternoon. His exam time was scheduled mid-morning.
“I sick. I have note.” He passed me a slip of paper that had a letterhead and a handwritten message, all in Hangul. I saw a word that piqued my curiosity, so I took the note to the back of the office, where Choi Chul-won was working at his desk.
“Can you please tell me what this is?” I said, handing him the note.
He read the letterhead and then the handwriting. “This is a receipt for the installation of a car stereo system.”
I pointed to the letterhead. “That’s the name of the service centre?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.” I carried the slip back to the student, who saw my exchange. “I hope it’s a very good sound system,” I said, handing him back his receipt. “Why don’t you spend the rest of the day in your car, listening to music and thinking about your F?”
***
Another student who failed to show up to his exam time. He was an obscure student, one with whom I hadn’t taken much notice during the semester. He was neither eager nor disruptive, and blended in with his classmates. But he came to my office an hour late.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I was sleeping late. I stay awake all night.”
“What were you doing all night?”
“Watching FIFA World Cup.”
The world-championship football event had started more than a week ago, and it was what so many were talking about, especially because South Korea was doing so well and the country was vying to host the games in 2002. Indeed, signs were posted all over Chŏnju, one of the cities that was hoping to bring the games to its doorstep. Though I had been stuck in the office all week, we would occasionally turn on the television to watch some of the highlights.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that you have your priorities straight.”
“Can I have one more chance?” he asked.
I paused, then said, “Wait a minute: Korea wasn’t playing last night.”
“Sorry?”
“You see, if Korea had been playing, last night, I could understand why you would have wanted to stay up all night. I would have given you another chance.”
“Really?” his eyes went wide with hope.
“No, not really. Get out.”
***
Another disappointment from a top student. Kim Jung-eun, who had attended every class, who was keen to participate, who had done well on assignments, came rushing into my office just as I was finishing with his exam partner, who had also been dismayed at Kim’s absence. Kim was out of breath and sweating.
“Forgive me,” he said, panting. “Bus crashed.”
“Crashed?” I said, “Is everybody all right?”
“No, sorry, not crashed. Uh… engine stopped.”
“Ah, you mean it broke down.”
“Yes, broke down. I ran all the way here.”
“I appreciate your efforts to get here, Mr. Kim, but I have two more students who will be here any minute. I’m sorry, I have no time for you.”
“But I must have my exam. I must.”
I held up my clipboard, which had the schedule for the rest of today. I was reluctant to show him up close, as I had written grades next to the students who had either completed their oral exam or had missed their appointment. I had already written an F next to his student number. “I am completely full,” I said. “I don’t have time for you.”
“After everyone is finished?” he offered.
I was already tired and hot, and feeling irritable after I had had other students, who had arrived late, give me lame excuses and begged for second chances. While Kim’s excuse was reasonable and he had made an effort, I wasn’t in the mood to hear it. “So, what you’re asking me, is that if everyone else comes to their allotted time slot, at the end of the day, when I’m tired, hungry, and just want to go back to my apartment, and maybe enjoy an evening with my friends, I should postpone those plans because you were late for your exam?”
“Yes,” he said, and then after a pause, added, “please.”
The next two students were at my door. “You’re going to have to go.”
Jung-eun dropped to his knees at my feet. “Please.”
“You’re embarrassing yourself. Please leave.”
“I will not leave.”
“You are now taking time away from my other students,” I said. “There’s nothing to be done now. Please get up.”
He remained in place. I motioned to the other students and directed them to the chairs opposite mine. Reluctantly, they came in and sat down.
“Get up, Mr. Kim.”
“I won’t.”
I placed a hand on his shoulder and tried to move him, but he wrapped his arms around my legs. I feared that I would lose balance and fall backwards, so I grabbed him by the hair and tried to pull him up.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I said, “but I will remove you by force if you don’t leave.” He was sobbing, partly in surrender and partly because my pulling on his hair must have been starting to cause him pain. He did get back on his feet but he refused to move. I released his hair, placed the hand on his shoulder, and looked him in the eyes. “Come on, now,” I said in a soft voice, “it’s over. Time to go. Let these students have their time.” I led him out of the office and closed the door. I felt like shit at my behaviour, at pulling on his hair. I conducted the oral exam with the other students but my heart wasn’t in it and they looked at me in fear. Because the commotion had cut into the beginning of their time slot, we went right until the end of the fifteen-minute period. As they left, the next two students came in, and I could see Kim Jung-eun in the corridor, looking at me. He remained until after six o’clock but I lost sight of him after then. Perhaps he was around the corner; perhaps he was gone.
As my final students finished their exam, I walked them to the door to show them out and I saw no sign of Kim in the hallway. With all of the teachers already gone for the weekend, I turned off the light and closed the door. There was ample light coming through the windows but because the sun was on the opposite side of the building, dark shadows were cast throughout the room. Back at my desk, I looked at the signup sheets and began transferring the marks to the official class records. I had done this every evening this week so that I didn’t have an overwhelming amount to do in one go. Comparing the actual marks with the bell curve that had been suggested by our department head, things looked like they were falling in line. I had about thirty students who didn’t show up for their exam; twice as many were in the A-plus category. The bulk were in the middle of the road: good enough to not have to worry about passing the course.
I didn’t hear her come in and didn’t notice her until she was nearly at my desk. It was Bak Hae-sung, one of the twins. She was wearing her backpack and looked like she was ready to go home.
“Oh, Miss Bak, what brings you here? I’m just about to leave.”
“Please, Roland Gyeosunim, I want to talk to you. Please don’t give my sister an F. It was not her fault, it was mine. You can give me an F but please don’t give one to Su-hee. Please, I’ll do anything.”
The straps of her backpack were snug against her shoulders and pulled on her grey t-shirt, making it tight across her chest. She was not wearing a bra and even in this low light, I could detect the contours of her nipples on her small breasts. It wasn’t surprising that she wasn’t wearing a bra, as I had on a couple occasions unintentionally noticed the absence of the undergarment. Hae-sung had a habit of sitting at her desk in such a way that when she was either reading from her workbook or working on an assignment, she would lean into the desktop, which would pull her shirt tight and leave her breasts resting on the desktop. When she did this, and particularly when she was engrossed in a test paper, her right hand would be holding her pen while her left arm was bent across the desktop, and her left hand would absently play with her right nipple.
She wasn’t aware of what she was doing and I didn’t think it was an erotic gesture, but it had certainly caught my attention as my eyes scanned the room, making sure that no one was cheating. And now I could make out her nipples again and I felt uncomfortable. Her hands moved down to her yellow skirt, which was cut above the knees, and she began to raise it so that I could see the triangle of her underwear. “I’ll do anything.”
“Miss Bak, no!” I exclaimed, jumping up from my desk and backing away. “Please stop.”
She dropped her skirt and began to cry. “Please.”
“I’ve already told you that I won’t fail you. Why are you doing this?”
“We must have perfect grades,” she said. “We are applying to Chŏnbuk National University for next year. They accept only so many students. We had good marks last year but not good enough for Chŏnbuk Dae. That is why we are here. If we have perfect marks this year, maybe they will accept us next year.”
“I wish you had explained that to me before you offered yourself,” I said, somewhat calmer. “I understand. I know you are smart students. I know that if you had made it to your exam on time, you and your sister would have earned a perfect score.”
I gave a deep sigh as I weighed my options. I had already failed many students, but those who came to me with poor excuses or tried to fool me deserved to fail, as did the ones who didn’t show up at all, with no explanation. And then there was Kim Jung-eun, another good student who had a better excuse for his tardiness but who I threw out of my office. Should I make an exception for him, too? If I was going to make an exception for the Bak twins, I had to make one for him, too. Assuming, of course, that I’d see him back in my class again.
“Tell your sister that you both will have an A-plus grade in my class. But you must come to every class: not even one absence unless you are sick and have a doctor’s note. And you must continue to get excellent grades for the remainder of the year. But this will be between you, your sister, and me. Do not tell any other student.”
“Thank you, Gyeosunim. I will tell her and no one else. And we will come to every class, and we will work very hard.”
“And,” I added, “you will keep your clothes on.”
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