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.
August 15, 1998
“Oh, Roland, that explains a lot.”
“How so?”
“One of the secretaries in our office,” Naomi said, pausing to take a sip of the Wyndham Estate shiraz that I picked up in Itaewon, earlier that afternoon. It was a good find, though I paid far too much for the six bottles, even though the shop owner swore he was giving me a good discount. Naomi had been swirling her oversized glass before taking another sip, nodding her head in approval as she let the mouthful move over her tongue before swallowing.
We had had a great day together. I had snagged the first bus out of Chŏnju and arrived on her doorstep, in the UN Village, before ten. Just in time for a brunch of scrambled eggs, ham, and tomato in a fresh croissant from Paris Baguette, and plenty of fresh-ground coffee.
Not instant. Real coffee.
In the afternoon, we took a taxi to Itaewan and wandered the main street, where myriad stalls along the long sidewalks sold endless souvenirs to tourists and American soldiers from the nearby base. Naomi was looking for a gift to send her parents, who were celebrating an upcoming wedding anniversary. She was looking for wedding ducks.
The fifth fortune had already passed Naomi’s parents by. Only daughters graced the Warner family, and two is where Naomi’s parents stopped. Her younger sister, Jennifer, is where Bill and Grace Warner stopped.
But the ducks would be a welcome gift. Naomi was looking for painted ducks, but ones where the traditional colours were reversed. The blue duck was often the male, whereas the female duck was often orange and always had a thread tied around the beak, a symbol that the woman should be seen but not heard. Naomi wanted to reverse that role but was unsuccessful. It wasn’t until she found a shop, away from the sidewalk, where there were ducks yet unassembled. She convinced the owner to glue the threaded head onto a blue body. The woman running the establishment laughed when Naomi, in her improving Hangul, conveyed her intentions for the gift.
It was on the side street that housed this gift shop where I found the small wine store. “If I buy half a case,” I asked Naomi, “would you store them at your place? Just one more thing to look forward to when I come to visit you.”
We also found a butcher shop, where we picked up a couple of steaks, and a small market, where we picked up garlic, oil, herbs, and salad vegetables. That was to be our dinner for the evening.
Now, with our meal out of the way, dishes washed and put away, and the kitchen tidied, we retired to the living room and were finishing our second bottle of Australian shiraz. Naomi swallowed her mouthful and continued.
“We had an office party last night. Small celebration, but we had just secured a Canadian account with Daewoo. They’ll be selling cars in Canada by next spring and we’ll be handling their finances. Anyway, we were popping bottles of sparkling wine—bad, Chinese sparkling wine—and as I was about to hand a glass to one of our secretaries, I asked her her age. She told me she was nineteen but I didn’t believe her. She looked much younger.”
“Chronologically,” I said, “she could be seventeen. If she was born on December 31, she would have been one year old. The next day, January first, or New Year’s Day, she would turn another year older. So, at one day old, she would technically be two years old, according to Korean tradition.”
“How confusing.”
“Yes. When I see a classroom full of students, I see people who seem too young to be in the room. And, of course, emotionally, they are.” I told Naomi about the various interactions that I had with students, how some seemed mature for their so-called age and how others just couldn’t seem to function in a college setting.
“She likes you, Roland. Look how she turns her head slightly to the side as she listens to you but her eyes are locked on yours. Look at that smile.”
It was Kristen’s voice, speaking softly next to me. I could feel her leaning against my back, her head just above my left shoulder, her face so close to my ear that I could almost feel her breath.
“Tanya’s gone, I’m gone. Naomi is here.”
“There’s that bottle gone,” said Naomi, pouring the last drops of our second bottle. “Shall I open a third?”
“Maybe I should have bought a whole case. I just didn’t want to have to schlep it around Itaewon while we continued shopping.”
“So, is that a yes to the next bottle?”
Kristen spoke again. “Say yes, see where it leads. I’d be at peace if I knew you and Naomi found happiness.”
“Why not?” I said, finishing the last mouthful in my glass. As Naomi left the room to fetch the third bottle, I turned to my imaginary Kristen. “I don’t think this would be a good idea. I like Naomi and she’s a beautiful woman, but I’ve only ever thought of her as your best friend and not a potential lover. What if things don’t work out and we can no longer stay friends? She’s one of my ties to you and I don’t want to lose that.”
“You’re both adults. I’m sure you can handle whatever comes of it.”
“I loved that song,” said Kristen.
“I love that song,” said Naomi, returning with an uncorked bottle. She filled both of our glasses, which were on the coffee table, and carried them over to the piano. She placed my glass on the music shelf in front of me and sat next to me, on the edge of the bench.
“She said to leave it till the end of the party,
Do it now, you know there's never a next time,
How come the feeling that it's only just started,
Pull back your cover, I could love you for all time,
But do it now, you know there's never a next time.”
“Do it now, Roland,” whispered Kristen into my ear, “you know, there may never be a next time.”
“The bees are busy,
Now there's gold on the hill,
The branches waving,
But our hearts are wrapped up inside,
And then you leave me, so I start missing you a lot.
No argument, oh do I love you or not?
No argument, you’ve all the love that I see as mine,
Pull back your cover, I could love you for all time,
But do it now, you know there's never a next time.”
My tempo was a bit slower as I moved into the instrumental segment, playing both the saxophone and piano parts at the same time. I was rusty. Kristen and I used to entertain our friends all the time, with me eventually turning to our piano and serenading our guests, with Kristen occasionally joining in.
“You could do this again. Our friends could be in our living room. You and Naomi could entertain them,” said Kristen.
“I wish I had musical talent,” said Naomi. “In high school, I played clarinet in our junior band but I was terrible. I quit after the tenth grade. Did you play piano in high school?”
“Trumpet,” I said. “We had a student who was much better on the piano than I was. I took up the trumpet because I was interested in taking up another instrument. Piano was taken and our music teacher didn’t seem keen on adding an acoustic guitar to his concert and jazz bands.”
“How many instruments do you play?” She leaned in closer to me but I made more room for her on the bench.
“Coward,” said Kristen.
“I play four, but not all of them very well. I picked up the trombone for a while but my music teacher wanted me to stick to the trumpet for the bands.”
“And you can sing.” Naomi took another mouthful of wine. I stopped playing to share the moment with my own glass.
“I’m an okay singer.”
“Well I, for one, love your voice. I know Kristen did, too.”
“I did,” she confirmed in my ear.
“We had a lot of fun singing and playing together,” I said. I returned my glass to the shelf and continued:
“She said to leave it till the end of the party…
How come the feeling that it's always just starting…
The bees are busy
Now there's gold on the hill,
The branches waving
But our hearts are wrapped up inside,
And then you leave me so I start missing you a lot,
No argument, oh do I love you, I love you or not… ohhh…”
“If you turn your face to hers,” whispered Kristen, “I bet she’ll lean in to kiss you.”
“Strength is not the same as anger,
Put the taste back into hunger,
Searching the box, looking for what?
I love you, I love you not.
Strength is not the same as anger,
Put the taste back into hunger,
Searching the box looking for what?
Push the gear back into top,
Put the first back into class,
Lose your bottle break the glass,
You'll wind up high and dry with just this slow cold comfort…”
“Look,” said Kristen.
No.
“Roland,” said Naomi.
I turned my face to meet hers.
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