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My days are only motions leading to my nights with Jack. I have barely hugged or talked to
my son. A devoted mother, I am too absorbed by the pull of this man to notice.
Miss Lee is faithfully filling the gap, playing games, proudly watching him at the park, and
guiding his little bike down the path with ready arms for spills. Tonight, Jack and I are
shopping in Itaewon . I have to hurry. Jack is waiting outside the Hamilton already as I race down the stairs. Itaewon is a bargain hunter's paradise. Colorful shops and open-air markets crowd the streets and alleys for eight blocks. They cater to every desire, from bars
and little Kimchee stands to custom-made clothes and Adidas tennis shoes. The sidewalk consists of broken blocks of cement, careening up and down, threatening every walker. Jack needs to pick up some custom made shirts; we bargain shop along the way. The shopkeepers know me. I speak the Korean language and greet them as we move along. I see them whispering and pointing as I cling to Jack to keep from tripping, trying to stay together in the crowds.
The city is always teeming with crowds, a mass of humanity moving in this direction
and that in every form. A man with no legs is carried by a friend or porter on a wooden backpack; bicycles loaded with enough boxes to fill a small U-Haul Truck teeter down the
road; women with babies on their backs and bundles on their heads haggle with the shopkeepers; and then, the ever present urinating around corners since public bathrooms are nonexistent. The hawker of fresh meat has cats and rabbits today. The dogs lolling by the
shop better beware as well. Kagogi, barbecued dog meat, is a special delicacy. I often
wonder if the beef I eat "on the economy" really is. I give up beef. There goes a man with a blanket chest strapped to his back.
While we stroll along, a fortuneteller is just ahead, settled for the day on the sidewalk. Regal and ageless in pith helmet, he gravely accepts the coins of passers-by, and then opens
the birdcage door to encourage his sparrows to hop out onto a box of tiny envelopes. With seeming deliberation, the bird chooses a packet and presents it to Jack. He opens the tiny
rolled paper, but it is in Korean. I translate as best I can, "You are laughing with happiness on the one hand, while in agony on the other during January and February. Be patient, for your
luck will come from the direction of West in April. If there are no changes for you, there
may be some for other family members. In May and June you will earn a great deal through
your own efforts, but it will also be your fate to spend as much as you earn. Stay private in September and October because there may be suffering and unexpected bad fortune. By November and December, all bitterness will have gone and sweet good fortune is on its way to end the year for you in delight."
"Whew! It is a lot to translate; fortunately, the words are not complicated and it is not
full of Chinese symbols, which I have not learned. There you are, Jack, the sparrow
knows." I tease him.
Jack puts some coins in the man's palm, rolls up the little fortune, and puts it in his pocket. We wander into some other shops, try on jackets, and examine bolts of cloth. The carved Korean jade is exquisite with its milky, pale sea foam green. The vendor is anxious for Jack to buy some for his "beautiful woman." Ah, the ever present "for foreigners" smile.
Anxious to please and so close to doing so. My habit is to lower my eyes when we reach the end of town. A mountain there is fenced with boards. On the slopes are hundreds of scantily clad Korean men with pick axes literally tearing down the mountain by hand. From a
distance, it looks like an anthill. A fence is around the bottom, no one really sees the men on
the mountain. That would be impolite.
I love this country and the simplicity of its people. I regret their lives are often as beasts of burden; all activities so labor intensive with only the crudest equipment. Yet, the people are proud. They know their station. It is their karma, their place in the never-ending circle of life. They are fulfilling their destiny. Only those contaminated by Western thought or universities are restless with the harshness of everyday living, the constant battle to be fed, housed, and clothed. I have learned, as a Westerner must, to put aside my guilt from my world of excess in contrast to the lives of the Koreans; yet, I avert my eyes at the end of town. Pick axes on a solid mountain of rock to make way for a modern highway is not something I want to see, polite or not.
Time, the enemy, is passing. We have finished our shopping and
start toward the Hamilton. We stop in the restaurant for a bite to eat. It attempts
glamour, but does not succeed. Yet, tonight it is the loveliest restaurant in Seoul. We
linger at dinner until the band starts playing in the lounge. As much as we treasure our
private time together, we enjoy the dance of love we share, moving effortlessly to the
various rhythms of the band. We reluctantly leave the dance floor early because we
cannot dance 'till curfew, make love through the night, and work. I am no longer shy, but
eager for our intimacy, the heights of our passion as yet unreached.
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