The following passage is a rough-draft excerpt from my upcoming novel, Gyeosunim, the sequel to Songsaengnim: A Korea Diary. Be warned that there are spoilers and you may be missing some context. Passages are in no particular order and are subject to change.
June 5, 1998
“Budweiser, han byeong, chuseyo.” I was going to regret this, tomorrow, I told myself. I had already consumed three bottles of makgeolli and two quarts of OB Lager, and was feeling drunk. Not raging, fall-down drunk, but certainly feeling near-invincible. I certainly didn’t need more beer. But Pappy’s was serving American beer and, though it wasn’t great beer, it was better than anything the Koreans had to offer.
We were out in full force. Raymond, Ashley, Russell, Cathy, and Nelson, as well as a couple of other ex-pats, Tina May and Mike Benton. I had met Mike last year at a poker game with Brad. Mike was from Toronto and was in his third year in Chŏnju. He taught at a couple of hagwons but when the Korean economy tanked, he opted to teach privately. He was on a tourist visa, meaning that he could only stay in the country for six months at a time. When his first visa came to an end, he headed for a month-long vacation in Thailand, only to return to Chŏnju and resume teaching with his loyal clients.
Tina had been teaching at Iksan University and knew Jody and Jamie, though not very well and not outside of the university. Her contract was set to expire at the end of this month, and she was set to join our ranks at Jeonju Dae. Another Canadian, from Winnipeg.
The eight of us were seated at an oval table that was surrounded by a sofa that seated four on one side, with four cushioned chairs on the opposite side. A heavy bass beat smothered all forms of sound, forcing us to yell into each others’ ears to be heard. My request for the bottle of Bud came at a volume that made my throat hurt.
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| Chŏnju, now(ish). Photo: Bradley C. |
The nightclub was an open space with high ceilings. The walls and ceiling were painted a deep blue with flecks of multi-coloured, glow-in-the-dark paint that resembled the night sky or deep space. Every once and awhile, an alien planet, with or without rings, caught your eye. Black lighting made everything glow an unnatural hue. The seating area was dimly lit, the black light pointing toward the walls and ceiling. Anything white or neon coloured would still emit a glow, but only faintly so. Tables, chairs, and sofas were arranged around the outer limits of the floor space, with the center reserved for a giant, wooden floor that was filled with young dancers. The actual bar and washrooms were hidden behind cinder-block partitions. Servers would appear almost magically from the darkness.
Raymond ordered two bottles of beer, wanting to make sure that he never had to wait. His tongue was still sore and slightly swollen, but the bleeding had stopped. He had made sure that everyone had heard the tale and seen the damage, as we sat in Cathy and Nelson’s apartment, drinking our quarts of beer, waiting for everyone to gather. The decision to go to the Korean nightclub was Raymond’s idea, and everyone was up for it. We now sat down and watched the action on the dance floor.
Our server arrived with two trays, effortlessly negotiating the surrounding tables and roaming patrons. The first tray held our drinks; the second, a fruit platter, ornately decorated as a giant swan of pineapple, grapes, cantaloupe, and cherry tomatoes. We looked at each other as our server placed the fruit platter in the centre of the table and distributed the bottles among us.
“Who ordered this?” asked Ashley, looking around the table, his voice in a near yell. We all shook our heads. As our server placed a slip of paper next to the platter, Ashley picked it up and read it in the dim light. “We didn’t order this,” he said in perfect Korean to our server. I envied his fluency in the language.
The server responded, also in Hangul. His voice was calm, at first, but as the back-and-forth exchange continued, both he and Ashley seemed to grow agitated. Reluctantly, the server took the platter away and stormed off.
“What was that about?” asked Russell.
“He said that patrons always order food with their drinks. Because we failed to mention food, he thought we forgot and assumed we would like the fruit. He charged us 29,000 won for it.”
“That’s insane,” said Mike.
“He wasn’t too happy that I refused it. He asked me what I expected him to do with it. He said the kitchen wouldn’t take it back. I told him that wasn’t our problem.”
“You’d think he would have asked when he took our drinks,” said Cathy.
“Koreans think we wae-guks are rich,” answered Raymond. “I’ve seen this shit pulled before. With what they charge for admission and the drinks, the food is pure profit.”
“Well, I don’t think we’ve made best friends with our server,” I said, “I don’t expect to see him again.” It was just as well, I thought. It wasn’t as though I was going to need more alcohol.
“Let’s dance,” said Tina, taking Mike by the arm. Looking at Cathy and Nelson, she said, “Come on!”
Nelson gestured to the rest of us. “Let’s go, boys. Everyone on the floor.”
“I’m going to sit back,” said Raymond, holding up a bottle of Budweiser. “I’m in good company. Medicine for my tongue.”
Russell, Ashley, and I made our way to the dance floor and joined the couples, who opened up so that we could form a large circle. The rhythm orchestrated our motion, and we could feel that all eyes on the floor were upon us. Were we the first foreigners to visit Pappy’s? Were we added entertainment? We didn’t care: we were here to have fun.
Another song started, and Ashley looked around the room. With a motion of his head, his eyes looking past me, he said, “Check that out.”
I followed his eyes and saw that four Korean women were dancing together nearby. They looked to be in their early 20s, dressed in mini skirts and skin-tight blouses, their makeup perfectly applied. They were gorgeous. They were watching us, smiling, and would chat amongst each other before returning their stares.
“Let’s go,” said Ashley, who broke from our group and danced his way to the young women. Russell and I followed suit.
We moved into the girls’ circle, each of us getting in between the women. We managed to dance for about five seconds before the women emitted shrieks and dashed away. Almost immediately moving to replace them, four Korean men jumped into our circle and started dancing.
“Hello,” said a bespectacled young man. His thick, black hair fell in waves down his forehead, getting between his glasses and his eyes. “What is your name?”
I looked around the dance floor and suddenly realized the dynamics in this space. Men were dancing with men. Women were dancing with women. The only couples that were together were Mike and Tina, and Cathy and Nelson. I looked at this young man, dressed in a navy suit with a black turtleneck, his feet shuffling in tan shoes. “Roland,” I answered, “what’s yours?”
“Kim Il-Sun. Where are you from?”
“Hyoja-dong,” I replied.
A hesitation, just as I anticipated. I looked at Ashley and Russell. Ashley shook his head and said “Fuck this,” and moved toward our table. Russell followed.
“Chal ga,” I said, and moved toward my friends. I could hear Il-Sun and his friends voicing their complaints as we moved away from the dance floor, but I didn’t look back.
First the server, then the women, and now some dancing guys. We were definitely not making new friends tonight.
***
Everything moved slowly, as though I was in a dream. I was drunk but still functioning. The music thumped in my head, seeming to control my pulse. I could feel the blood coursing near my ears—whoosh… whoosh… whoosh…—in sync with the thump… thump… thump… of the beat. How many bottles had I consumed? All I knew was that I had to pee, and sitting on the sofa, I felt I had doubled my weight. Getting up was a challenge.
Ashley and Raymond were talking to each other. Each had to lean to each other so that mouth and ears were close enough to comprehend what they were saying. I caught a couple of words: the club would be closing within the half hour and we should leave before the crowds tied up the elevators.
Tina, Mike, Cathy, Nelson, and Russell were on the dance floor. They had been on the floor for most of the night, but they still had drinks that were unfinished. Surely, they would return to the table soon.
“I’ll go tell them,” yelled Ashley, who made his way to our dancing friends. Raymond, who had remained at our table all night, got up.
“I’ve got to take a piss,” he said. “Someone should stay so that the server doesn’t clear the table before our drinks are done.”
“Go,” I said, “but hurry. I’ve got to go, too.” My words were slurred, my East Lothian accent heavy.
“Aye, matey.” Raymond tried a Scottish brogue but his Southern drawl just came out stronger. He was just as drunk as I was.
As Raymond turned around the wall that separated the bathroom with the club space, Russell and Ashley returned to our table. “I’m ready to go,” said Russell, picking up his warm bottle and draining the last drops.
Our server arrived and inspected the bottles that were strewn on the table. He picked up the empties and asked if we wanted any more. Despite the first impressions, he appeared to hold no grudges, though the smile that he had when we first arrived had never returned.
Ashley told him that we were done for the evening, that we were going to finish what drinks remained and then leave. Without a word, the server turned and walked away. “I don’t think we’re welcome back,” Ashley said.
“Considering the price of drinks and the fact that we can’t mingle on the dancefloor with the fairer sex,” I said, “I don’t think I want to come back.”
Raymond hadn’t returned yet but with Ashley and Russell at the table, I pulled myself up from the sofa and made sure I had my balance before making my way to the washroom. As I reached the cinderblock wall, I almost walked straight into Raymond.
“Whoa, fella, watch yourself,” he said.
“Russell and Ashley are at the table,” I said. “As soon as the others get off the dance floor, let’s go.”
Raymond pat me on the shoulder. “Go drain your lizard and we can go. We don’t need to wait for the others, we’re going to need a few taxis anyway.”
“True,” I admitted, “I’ll be right back.”
The bathroom was painted a lemon yellow with grassy-green accents. The urinal was a stainless-steel trough that ran on the floor, along one long wall, with no partitions to separate its users. If there was room, you stood and pissed against the wall. Your fluids ran down the wall and into the trough, which sloped down to a corner, where a drain collected everything.
Yellow was an appropriate colour.
I struggled to maintain my balance. Aiming wasn’t a challenge, though it mattered which angle you sprayed. You didn’t want any backsplash hitting my pants or shoes. Point downward. Take one step backward. Don’t fall.
There was no soap at the sinks. The water was cold. I gave my hands a thorough rinse and patted my face, hoping that the frigid water would perk me up. It didn’t.
I looked at myself in the mirror. I was beginning to get some of my weight back. My weight had gone down and up over the past few years. I lost nearly sixteen pounds in the months following the loss of my family members but gained some of it back in the months in which I searched for teaching jobs in Korea, thanks to the help of my mother and sister. I lost weight over the first few months in this country, as I ate healthier, relying more on vegetables than meat and going without dairy.
Sharing living space with my fellow teachers and having brought a toaster oven and western baking ingredients from Scotland, I started to put on more weight. I had also learned how to order pizza over the phone, and would call for delivery at least once a week.
Drinking as much alcohol as I had this evening didn’t help, either.
Still, I hadn’t gained more weight than my frame could handle. I looked fine. I removed the remaining drops of water from my hands by running my fingers through my hair, putting a few errant strands back in place. It would almost be time for another haircut. Time to pay my respects to Kim’s Hair.
Making sure I had my balance, I turned to leave the men’s room. I was looking forward to making it to my bed. I was going to enjoy a good night’s rest.
I passed two young Korean men who were standing at the doorway to the washroom. One reminded me of the bespectacled dancer, with long hair in the front and thick-rimmed glasses. He wore a white and plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled, and denim jeans. His friend wore a snug-fitting suit, dark grey or black, with what looked like a white t-shirt. His dark hair was slicked straight back and was short.
As I got between them, I supposed that they were talking to each other, but it was the way that one of them said “chingu,” friend, that made me look toward him. I was right: he was talking to me.
Our eyes met, and he gestured toward the exit. He continued to speak, repeating “chingu,” and I understood that he was telling me that my friends had headed to the exit.
Exiting the washroom, I was faced by the wall that separated this area from the club area. To return to the table where I had left my friends, I would need to head to the right, but these Korean lads were gesturing toward the left, where we could clearly see the way out.
The Korean who was speaking to me gesture with his arms that he would escort me out. His friend, standing to my left, accompanied us.
Stepping out of the club, the light was brighter, forcing me to squint. Already, there were lines for the elevators. Bouncers were directing patrons to awaiting cars. I searched for Raymond and the others but couldn’t see them. It’s possible that they took advantage of an available lift down, not wanting to continue waiting in the queue for me.
My escorts gestured toward the stairwell. Judging by the line, it seemed much faster to descend the stairs than to stand. Though I was sure that Raymond and the others would wait for me to take a cab, I didn’t want them to wait any longer than necessary. I followed the advice of the Koreans and started toward the stairs. To my surprise, the Koreans followed.
As we reached the top of the stairs, each man supported an arm. How nice, I thought, these young lads were making sure that this drunken wae-guk wasn’t going to slip, fall, and break his neck. It was five floors and concrete all the way down, after all.
I was hungry again. We should have ordered food. But judging by the price of the food platter, even the price of each bottle of Budweiser, other bites would have cost more than they were worth. I didn’t like throwing money away. Too late to think about food now, anyway: it was just after 1:00 and nothing would be open.
I was grateful for the help of my new friends. My head was becoming foggy and I wasn’t sure on my feet. Though these young men were about my size, they seemed strong, their footsteps sure as we made our way down the stairs. At about the second floor, the lights went out and we stopped our descent, finding ourselves immersed in total darkness. As the Koreans expressed surprise, strong but isolated emergency lights snapped on. Had the power gone out? It sounded quiet as the ventilation system hushed. Was this how Pappy’s got their patrons to leave when closing time was reached? Doubtful: as a business on the top floor of a building, you’d want your elevators running. Perhaps this was just the stairwell conserving electricity.
We reached the main floor and walked out into the foyer of the building. No one was standing around. I didn’t see my friends, though they might be standing in the alley. As we headed to the doors, I could see a Hyundai pulled right up. It was idling and the rear passenger-side door was open. I could see a woman in the front passenger seat, her long, straight dark hair masking her profile. Her head was tilted downward, as though she were reading.
I looked around for signs of Raymond and the others. We were just coming through the front doors, which were wide open, and I was just about to thank my Korean helpers when they both twisted my arms behind my back and tightened their grip. The Korean to my left swung in front of me, still holding on, and pulled me as he stepped into the back seat of the Hyundai. The fellow to my right put a hand on my head and pushed me down as he followed us into the car.
Just focus on breathing, I told myself.
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