“Do you have any close friends in the Canadian embassy? Do you think they’d be able to get me out of the country at a moment’s notice?”
Naomi worked in a building in Myeong-dong that held the offices of the Australian and Canadian embassies, as well as the First Canadian Bank. Every Friday, after work, the Australian Embassy held a party and opened up a bar, where the beer and spirits flowed freely. Naomi had invited me, once, and I saw Canadians and Aussies mixing and mingling. Naomi had suggested that I subdue my Scottish brogue, as a few of the older Australian staff had strong feelings against the U.K., Scotland included.
Generally nice folk, though.
“Have you killed someone, Roland?”
“Of course not.”
“Relax, sweetie, I was only teasing. What’s got you wound up?” She had answered her phone in the office, which I had never called before. That was her first alarm bell. The two questions I asked, in quick succession, were bells two and three. Naomi knew something was wrong.
“I’m being scammed and the police might become involved. I haven’t broken any laws but before the shit starts flying, I’d like to be out of here.” I explained to her what had happened since my accident, which was also news to her.
“How soon were you thinking you wanted to leave?”
“As soon as I finish teaching my last class, this afternoon, I’m catching the first bus to Seoul. I know you weren’t expecting me until tomorrow but I’m hoping you’ll let me stay with you tonight.” I visited my friend—Kristen’s best friend—at least once a month. Though she had colleagues and acquaintances in Seoul, she admitted that she hadn’t formed any strong relationships, and counted on my company whenever I could spare a visit. She had asked to visit me, in Chŏnju, but with a one-room apartment and a bed on the floor, I really didn’t have appropriate accommodation for her.
“I can drop my plans,” she said.
“Don’t be silly. I probably won’t get to your place until after ten. If your plans run later, I can find something to do until you’re free.”
“My plans will be done before ten,” she said. “I’ll be home, waiting for your arrival. In the meantime, did you want me to contact someone at the embassy?”
“Maybe not just yet,” I said, “but if you know someone you can call on the weekend, have his or her number handy.”
“I’ll call my friend and let him know your story. He can advise me and be ready, if need be.”
“Thanks, Naomi, you’re a godsend. I’ll see you tonight.”
***
The husband called the office while I was preparing for my final class of the week, if not for all time. “He says he’ll accept two-million won for the hospital bill and the lost contract,” said Chul-won, who was holding the handset of the phone.
“He’s negotiating? Is his wife still there?”
After some translation, Chul-won said, “No, they are at home. He says he paid the bill.”
“Strange how they couldn’t afford the original ninety thousand but could pay ten times the amount.” On the ride in the taxi, I had told Chul-won of my conversation with the doctor and my suspicions of the scam. At the time, I voiced how she was the only patient who was wearing street clothes, rather than a hospital gown, and how her bed had been made. She had been reading a book while her husband was watching TV, as though they were simply killing time until I had arrived. Had they only just arrived before me, I wondered.
My final class was in the library building with a couple of advanced, fluent English students. We worked from a conversational English book, similar to one I had used with advanced students at the hagwon. Today’s subject was Work Ethics, and one of my students, Pak Jae-hyun, who was previously a student of mine from Kwon’s hagwon, was familiar with this subject, having discussed it with me before. But today, he seemed to be in a mood to stir up controversy.
“Would you say, Lolan-duh Gyeosunim, that Koreans are the hardest workers in the world?”
“Why would you say that?” I asked.
“Because Koreans arrive to work early and stay late.”
“Arrive at work,” I corrected, “but all that means is that they stay in the office for a long time. That doesn’t necessarily mean that they work harder.” I thought of two of the faculty in my department, mainly some of the teachers who hung out across the hall from my office, with our secretary, Kyeong-eun, and seemed to simply read newspapers all day; that is, when they weren’t listening to Korean radio or napping. I knew Kyeong-eun was busy but I honestly had no idea what they did or even if they taught any classes, as they were always in that room, near the central heater, whenever I dropped by. They spent a lot of time on campus, but how productive were they?
“Oh no, they work very hard,” persisted Jae-hyun.
“Are you saying that I don’t work hard?” He knew my work ethic from the hagwon and he knew of the long hours I had spent during the mid-term exams, when I had met with a steady flow of students from morning to evening, with my only breaks being for lunch, bathroom, or when students didn’t arrive at their allotted time.
Jae-hyun laughed.
“Be careful,” I said, wagging a finger at him. “Your grade rides on your answer.”
He knew I was joking, of course, but I couldn’t get the feeling that he was trying to provoke me. What sort of conversation did he want to engage in?
The other student,Choi Ji-woo, intervened. “It doesn’t matter if you are Korean or Canadian. It’s your character that determines if you are a hard worker.” Ji-woo had lost her job due to the economic crisis, and if her diligence at studying was any indication, she didn’t lose her job for not working hard.
As with most of the topics in the textbook, we used them as a jumping point to start all sorts of conversations. We talked about the International Monetary Fund and speculated on how long it would take South Korea to recover from the financial meltdown. Both of my students were optimistic, citing the still-strong automotive industry. Hyundai was still solvent and would likely lead the country out of ruin. The same with electronic giants LG and Samsung: these two companies had long-standing family ties, and would help each other survive, according to Ji-woo.
The conversation was a good distraction from my own crisis. Would I be leaving Korea this weekend or would I stay and defend myself from the scam that the doctor, the woman, and her husband had devised?
Running seemed the easy way out, especially if I had help from Naomi and the Canadian embassy. It won’t be like 1988, when I had to get out of Berlin. On that cold, wet night, I didn’t know who I could trust. Canadians or Brits, alike.
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