"Common
sense is nothing more than the collection of prejudices acquired by age eighteen"
- Albert Einstein
Directly across from
English teacher Marie sat Yoo Gill Me. Gill Me was an average Korean girl
of average Korean stature: Slender, slinky, petite by western standards. She wore
a pair of shiny black skin-tight slacks with a black sleeveless sweater that,
when twisting just slightly, exposed a sliver of skin. Beneath the sweater was
a stiff white push-up bra suggesting a pair of ample cone-shaped breasts. Upon
her feet, fashionable stiletto heels with long, wickedly pointing toes, toes so
long that Gil Me must climb stairways in a semi-sideways position and travel the
city streets with the gaited steps of a Tennessee-Walking Horse. Next to her sat
three girlfriends of a remarkably similar design. Each girl was picking pimples
or preening perms while gazing into tiny cosmetic mirrors. Gill Me's gaze however,
was fixed upon Marie as she chatted lou! dly in Korean. The singularly paranoid
state of first year culture shock had made Korean seem to Marie phonetically repulsive,
consisting of much whining from girls, and much screaming and spitting from old
women.
Marie sat with her hair over her eyes,
hand holding up her hair, painfully struggling to focus on a year old mildewed
copy of Reader's Digest she'd fished out from behind a dust-laden corner of a
grimy, rusty desk in the teacher's lounge. She was overwhelmingly aware of everyone
and everything around her, but there were two more minutes before her final morning
class, and this was her time - no one else's time. She must guard it savagely.
She couldn't enter the teacher's lounge, for there every Korean teacher would
oppress her with endless grammar questions no matter how many times she explain
that her degree was in psychology. Here in her classroom, in order to safeguard
her precious time, she must look as focused as possible upon reading this magazine
and respond to all intrusions with a savage snarl.
Next
to her she sensed the presence of middle-aged bus driver, Bum Suck. I'm being
stalked by a Korean bus-driver named Bum Suck, she thought. But Bum-Suck
was still buzzing from last night's soju, a formaldehyde-laced Korean liquor that
leaves victims fuzzy into the next day and reeking of rubbing alcohol for three.
The reek was intensified because Bum had not had breakfast but had eaten generous
portions of kimchi, or garlic-pickled cabbage the night before, along with
two packs of cigarettes, consumed within an unventilated plastic tent situated
next to an open sewer along the freeway, in the unrestricted industrial armpit
of the city.
On the table in front of him,
Bum Suck fondled a gift for his teacher. A container full of delicious Bullgolgi,
raw beef cured in a tasty mixture of garlic, onion, ginger and soy sauce. Bum
Suck would explain again that his wife was worried about Marie's health. Then
he would ask to come over to prepare it. She would politely reject and later dump
the expensive, lovingly prepared beef into the trash because she couldn't figure
out how to prevent her rice from coming out too soggy. Fuck, she thought, gimme
some fajitas and salsa with corn tortillas. But I won't have that for another
eight months. Good lord, eight months.
Class
began, and Marie, now an expert in milking precious minutes of class time, began
with a simple self-introduction. She gazed past the students with a smile suggesting
nervous breakdown, then stood up slowly and paused, burning each ticking second.
Then she approached the board to write her name. Marie, that was all they needed
to know. She drew a map pointing out her hometown of Dallas. She asked for questions,
and Gill Me's friend, nicknamed Purple, spoke up. "You have such big, beautiful
eyes teacher, and long eyelashes. Oh, I envy you teacher." Another girl, Banana,
said, "yes, you look like an American movie star, with long legs and glamorous
body." Then Gill Me said, "Yes, and you have a nose like a dog, and a hip like
a duck. Your hip really is so big! Really! Your hip is like two Korean
girl hips. Your nose ! is like the white Korean dog, Jin Doe Gae. Do you
know? Jin Doe Gae? It is our national dog." The students nodded, for it was true,
this was the national dog and Marie was a broad, big boned girl and her nostrils
were now flaring.
Students laughed openly,
slapping Gill me on the shoulders or clapping their hands, apparently unaware
of her remarks being tactless insults in the eyes of a foreigner. She felt the
acid boil in her belly, an intestinal problem she supposed came from eating pickled
cabbage. Impulse pulled Marie towards the classroom exit. But she fought it. She
was a teacher, an adult, and would behave as such. But no, this blatant slight
deserved verbal vengeance. Yet, it was not uncommon for Marie to hear Korean couples
shamelessly point out each other's most embarrassing handicaps. So maybe it wasn't
an insult at all. Then again, maybe it was okay to speak up. Maybe she had nothing
to lose. They wouldn't fire her. They needed her. So Marie said smiling, "Yes,
thank you Gill Me, and your face is pushed in like a pug dog, you have small eyes
like a rat, your hips a! re too small to bear children, you have bad skin and
wear more makeup than a clown. Do you know clown?" She drew a picture of a clown
on the board and mentioned Ronald McDonald in case someone misunderstood. Again,
the students all nodded and laughed. Others verbally agreed. "Yes. Gill Me is
ugly." Gill Me smiled too. She was not ugly. Marie knew that any white boy close
enough would ignore Marie and pursue Gill Me without hesitation.
*
* *
Marie made it through another class.
After a quick nap she would go out to lunch with her boss, Miss Kwak, and coworker,
George Smilen. George, or Smiles, was a friendly guy, a tad better looking than
the average expat dork. But he'd not given Marie a singular sidelong glance. His
mind was clearly focused upon the Asian persuasion. His gaze darted in the direction
of any visible Asian female under fifty. This made conversation difficult. He
treated Marie not as a feminine beauty, but as a co-worker. She found it insulting.
Marie vented her frustrations openly, assuming
her boss could not understand English. She said to Smiles. "Isn't it ridiculous
how these people actually drink the soup from their bowls? It's disgusting if
you ask me." Smiles picked up his bowl and slurped. He set it down and looked
at her, "Why would anyone finish off the broth spoon by spoon? It's a clear sign
of anal retention. Do you drink your cereal milk or use a spoon?"
"Well,
if I'm alone, sometimes I drink it. But I wouldn't want someone to see me do it.
It's disgusting."
"Why? The only reason we
don't do it back home is because our mothers told us not to. It's Insignificant."
"Well,
in India people clean their butts with their fingers. That's okay?"
"When
you drink from a bowl, do you get shit in your fingernails? Do your fingernails
touch your soup? Do your fingers stink?"
"I
just think its poor breeding to behave so crudely."
"Poor
breeding! Come on, let's leave the breeding for pedigreed poodles."
This
was how conversations went with jackass Smiles. He would defend anything Korean,
as if this place was somehow better than America. The guy was obviously a misfit
back home. Here he was pampered. He seemed to get off on the excessive attention
foreigners received, responding cheerfully towards every horde of school kids
following behind screaming "Oh hello! I am Korea, and you? Do you like kimchi?"
She despised the rude little brats and refused to acknowledge them.
*
* *
Marie now stood in a monsoon down poor,
waiting under an umbrella, for a bus that would take her to some private children's
classes in an apartment complex full of mothers that paid excessive sums to ensure
their children learned pure Midwest American English pronunciation. Her sandaled
socks squished beneath the flow of shallow waterfalls rushing down stairways and
hilltops. Next to her was a man who looked about forty. He wore a light suit in
the steamy heat but did not seem to sweat. His hair was greased back and balding
on top. His face was pinched and pressed with wrinkles accumulated through years
of chain smoking, soju binging and mandatory six-day workweeks. He smoked a cigarette
while hawking phlegm on the pavement directly before Marie's feet. She grunted
loudly and eyeballed the man, who watched her indifferently. His eyes lingered
on her c! hest and then her eyes before he hawked once more, watching once more
as Marie sneered at him. When the bus arrived Marie placed one foot on the stairs
but was suddenly knocked to her knees by a horde of old women with packages on
their heads and babies tied to their backs. The women elbowed each other whilst
struggling to be first on the bus. As Marie pulled herself up, the old women knocked
her back down, using her fallen body to help hoist themselves up the stairs. "Pock!
Pock! Pock! Pocking Bitchie!" They cackled, mimicking Marie's failed attempt at
castigation. Then the son-of-a-bitch who'd spit at Marie attempted to help her
up the stairs. She pushed him off with flailing arms and scuttled to the back
seats, hissing at the staring passengers.
The
foggy windows of the bus were closed against the rain and the dense reek of garlic
and soju hit Marie in the face, like a bucket of chewed up salami. By then the
bus driver had gained enough speed to keep the bus rocking from side to side,
swerving through an erratic throng of accelerating motorized anarchy, barreling
into the next blind curve directly beyond which would be the next red light. The
bus driver saw at once that nothing stood between him and the red light, so burst
through crooked rows of cars, nearly swiping three school kids that were pushing
one another into traffic as their mothers stood pricing melons. On the bus, old
women groaned while swinging from side to side. Bundles of vegetables spun across
the floor. High school kids held fast, sleeping through it all with heads swiveling
violently from side to side.
To maintain
speed the bus veered onto the wrong side of the street, barreling into the oncoming
traffic. Maria closed her eyes and felt the familiar prickles crawl up her spine.
She gasped, sucking in breaths as the oncoming cars swerved from lane to lane.
Then she sat down and tried reading a book but became nauseous and exited the
bus early. She hit the red button, a signal to stop. The driver jerked the bus
to the right, cutting off three lanes of traffic to reach the bus stop on time.
Staggering off the bus, Marie stepped into a puddle of oily muck. She closed her
eyes hard and sucked in the pungency of another smoggy afternoon. Thankful the
rains had stopped, she could now walk to her private classes. Loud motorbikes
belching noxious fumes that shimmered in the heat forced her off the sidewalk
with squawking horns and threats of more mud. She stumbl! ed off the rutted sidewalk
and turned a corner, running headlong into a massive machine used to pull down
buildings. Her options were so utterly ridiculous. She could crawl under the swiveling
tank, or risk the mercy of a thousand mindless bali bali - hurry hurry,
drivers in the narrow street.
Eventually
Marie reached the apartment building, but could not use the elevator because someone
was using it to move an entire house load of furniture up to the eighteenth floor.
Whomever it was that was moving had stacked the new furniture in front of the
stairway she needed to climb. To ascend the stairs she'd have to climb over the
furniture or move it. She picked up what she could, smashing what she could, before
attempting to climb 22 flights of stairs in the monsoon heat. On the 18th
floor she found the movers, a pack of old men. She screamed at them, repeating
the Korean insult, "aeesh!" while shaking her head and rolling her eyes, calling
them stupid in English and Korean. The old men responded with confused chuckles,
low bows and soft apologies. Then a young college boy stepped out, his eyes narrowing,
reflecting both shame and in! dignation in the face of more western criticism.
Marie's voice shrunk, recognizing a look that implied, "you hate Korea? You come
here and tell us what is best way? You are guest here!" But his English was less
cultivated. He said, "Go. Go. Go!" She replied, "fuck you!" because that was all
she could think to say.
"Oh my God," said
one student's mother as Marie walked into the apartment hyperventilating, "You
look so terrible. You sweat like pig. You okay?" The comments, though compassionate,
were another slight to Marie. The woman held her by the hand and took her to the
kitchen table. Marie sobbed uncontrollably. She said, "I don't understand this
country!" The women recommended Marie skip class and eat with them. Everyday,
in each private class, Marie was fed fruit or dumplings, with orange juice or
green tea. But today the mothers called for a double order of pizza. The children
saw that Marie was upset so took turns sitting on her lap, innocently whispering
fur in Korean while stroking the hair on her wrists. Others were amazed
at the amount of sweat produced by one white woman and touched the beads on her
forehead.
Through the meal Marie thought
of that angry college kid. She vaguely considered her own thoughtless temper instead
of the trivial obstacles, the inconvenience of the old men's haphazard moving
methods. As she ate, slowly savoring each slice of pizza, she managed to regain
composure, her ability to act precisely. A mother said to her, "I think you need
Jesus Christ, Marie. You should come to my church Sunday. Christ will love you
there." Marie said, "Oh, I'm a Catholic. I go every Sunday." The woman said, "but
Catholics are idolaters, not Christian. You should come with us to feel peace.
You must be Christian." Marie looked into the woman's eyes and explained, "My
mother is very, very sick. I came to Korea because my family needs the money I
make here. But it hasn't been enough. I'm paid well but don't have enough this
month for her hospita! l bills. They're threatening to throw her out of the hospital."
She looked down, squeezing out a few more tears.
The
women fell into absolute hysterics, clearly concerned over this poor creature
whose country had such a blood-sucking medical system. After a few minutes of
noisy conversation the women pulled out their purses and made a collection. Marie
knew this was payday. For eight hours of work each month at this one house, she
was paid the equivalent of 500 dollars. Overall, she worked four hours of privates
every day, six days a week on top of her school classes. At twenty-seven, with
a bachelor's degree in psychology, she was making about 7000 dollars a month teaching
English in a country where meals cost about four dollars. The women gave her an
advance, 300 dollars on top of her regular wage. Then they sent her home, calling
a taxi to pick her up and giving her more than enough taxi fare.
*
* *
Of all the English teachers that Miss
Kwak had employed in over ten years as an English school director, Marie was most
certainly was Miss Kwak's favorite. Marie was also Miss Kwak's first woman. Financially
it was a big boost. Adults and children, both male and female, preferred a female
teacher. Parent's wanted a mother figure in the classroom. College girls and house
wives were glad to be rid of the typical, lecherous middle-aged desperado or geeky
outcast looking for Asian brides, breathing heavily and staring into their blouses,
using sexual positions as Friday's conversation topic. Having a white girl gave
Korean men something more exotic, a bit of Western eye candy. Marie had large
pendulous breasts, and hips virtually nonexistent in the Korean gene pool. She
had big green eyes and long curling lashes. Unlike the foreign men, Marie di!
d not come to class in the morning drunk, stinking and unkempt with uncombed hair
and dirty jeans, dazed from the previous night's soju trip. Not once had she slept
with a fellow Korean teacher, and the landlady never called to complain of her
bringing boys home on weekends.
But Miss
Kwak noticed Marie was hitting depression earlier than most men. Usually they
hit the wall after eight months. This was Marie's fifth. The typical signs of
fifth monthers; expressions of neural overload and stupefaction; face shifting
from fascination to hilarity to resentment, then finally to the expat's last resort;
verbal or physical aggression; teachers laughing themselves to tears until angry
enough to slap a ten year old on the mouth or tell a decrepit old woman to fuck
off; all of this seemed to have missed Marie completely. Marie looked as if she
had been here two years. She was withdrawn. She said hello only on payday, which
was today. So Miss Kwak would try to help her out, show concern. Give her a pat
on the back. But Kwak knew better than to invite her out or try to spend time
with her. Westerners were very sen! sitive about the issue of personal time. Usually
if Miss Kwak gave foreigners much attention they explained they wanted space,
did not need hospitality from boss or coworkers. They could figure out Korea without
an escort. But if Miss Kwak left them alone they complained that Koreans were
poor hosts, and they felt helpless because of Korean xenophobia.
It
seemed impossible to keep any foreigner happy at all. If Korea is a developing
nation, it'd better be good and developed by next week. This was the message Westerners
suggested to every Korean speaking English. Even those who couldn't speak English
could easily understand what foreigners must be saying, every conversation peppered
with fuck, a word implying discontent or hatred, a word implying that Korea
was somehow inferior to the West.
* * *
Marie
sat down in the office and was cordially offered coffee or green tea. She was
asked how she was by the smiling Miss Kwak's lackey translator. Marie got through
the formalities by remaining still and answering questions with yes, no or any
one-syllable answer appropriate. Then the translator began Marie's prepay lecture
as such. "Marie, Miss Kwak says you look very tired and a little bit ugly lately.
She wants to know if there are problems and she would like you to do better and
look prettier. She says you are a good teacher but must be better. You must smile
more, and move around the class. She wants to know why you have been wearing more
black. The college students like colorful, healthy, smiling teachers. They want
you to go drinking with them occasionally. Also you need to loose weight. You're
little bit fat. Here is a gift fro! m Miss Kwak." Miss Kwak handed Marie a large
bouquet of yellow roses, and a box full of bubble bath she'd bought in an airport
duty free shop. Even as Marie accepted the flowers, Miss Kwak saw Marie's cheeks
color, her nostrils flare and detected that she might be grinding her teeth. Somehow
Miss Kwak offended Marie. Miss Kwak smiled, a smile that Koreans call a Japanese
smile, a forced smile that does not extend into the eyes. She said "Good teacher
Marie. Good teacher."
Marie smiled the same
and bowed, then took the money, a breath, and allowed herself to calm down. Then
she turned to the translator. "Could you please tell Miss Kwak that my mother
very is sick? I need to send extra money for hospital bills. I need a month and
a half advance in pay. I know it is inconvenient, but I have school loans to pay
and my mother's hospital bills. I am sorry." Miss Kwak immediately pulled out
a wad of bills and stuffed it lovingly into Marie's pockets. This appeared to
be another 2 thousand bucks. Then Miss Kwak told Marie not to mention any of this
to George Smilen. Marie smiled, nodded, thanked the strange women and left the
building.
* * *
The
next day after morning classes Marie went jogging at the local park. Eden Park
was a knobby little knoll popping up between the twisting streets of the fish-markets,
like a wart from the whorls on one's finger. It was an adequate hide-away,
roofed in by trees covered in pumpkin vines, which blocked out the clatter of
construction and the unending assault of car horns. It also had a running path
that looped all the way around the hill. Marie bounced her way to the park through
the narrow streets of the local produce markets, or shijang. The shijang
was full of squatting old women, ajumas, with dried apple faces and sun
freckles, selling live or salted eels, dried squids and buckets of dried anchovies.
She was aware that the ajumas, were poking each other and nodding towards the
white girl with the large hips and bouncing b! osoms. Then she was up in the park,
hoping to work off calories from frequent pizza binges, her weekly fix of Western
food.
The park was empty aside from a few
retired couples playing badminton and grandmothers foraging in bushes, picking
out herbs for dinner's side dishes. Eventually there was an obstacle, a wall of
six Korean girls walking arm in arm. Marie noisily stomped her feet and cleared
her throat. But the girls remained unaware, loudly chatting about teachers and
friends. She jogged from one side of their wall to the other, eyeballing the girls
and shaking her head, making it clear she wanted around. But the girls were clueless.
They'd never been trained in the finite details of another country's unspoken
etiquette. Marie then lunged into the great wall of girls in an attempt brake
through. The girls abruptly parted and let her pass. She turned back to see the
girls wave at her, smiling and yelling "hello foreigner!"
As
Marie approached the entrance of the park she saw a group of screaming ajumas
blocking her way. A rat, no doubt, had attracted these women's attention. She
pushed through the crowd and ran straight into a large macaque monkey with its
teeth bared. The monkey squatted on its haunches whining and hooting and glowering.
Marie froze. Then in a snap decision she threw her hands over her head, bouncing
up and down, bow-legged and beating her chest. She shouted out grunts, "Ugh! Ugh!"
Like a great silver-backed ape defending her young, Marie lunged at the terrified
monkey. She was well trained in the art of monkey self-defense. Before coming
to Korea she'd been a volunteer in the city zoo. This monkey did not retreat but
pulled into itself, showing its impressively well-honed canines.
How
did this monkey get here? There were no zoos anywhere near this area. Marie knew
from training at a zoo in Dallas that monkeys were not native to Korea. This particular
monkey, a macaque, was found in Japan at the famous snowy hot springs, and all
over Southeast Asia. Macaques lived fairly close to man without problem. She suspected
that this monkey had escaped from a restaurant where old men prepared for an exotic
feast promised to boost their sexual stamina. This was the reason for the restaurants
serving clubbed to death dog, as well as why Koreans ate snakes, eels, sea slugs,
worms, centipedes and an occasional cat. So why not monkey?
This
was a large male, probably 35 pounds. It was mangy, poorly cared for, clearly
more confused than the women crowding around ready to pummel the beast with sticks
and stones. Marie felt now as if she truly shared something with this lost and
cornered primate. She certainly could not let them hurt it.
Marie turned to the women, telling them not to hurt it and to get
the police. She was asking where it'd come from when a woman screamed and pointed.
Marie turned just in time to see the monkey sink its fangs into her calf, then
bolting up the hill. There it sat mocking Marie with lips curled in a doggishly
fanged grimace.
* * *
George
was sitting at the coffee table browsing Marie's Southeast Asian tour guides when
Marie staggered into the room grasping the wall. She gulped in air and sobbed
convulsively. She stopped suddenly to stare at George. Then George said, "Are
you okay? Why are you crying?" She ! resumed sobbing and collapsed in an armchair,
stammering through explanation, "I--was—uh—uh-attacked-by-a--monkey-in-Eden--Park!"
Smilen came to her side and said "calm down, here is some hot green tea. Now take
a sip, relax, and tell me what happened.
After
some sips she said, "It was running around biting locals and, (sniffle, sniffle)
they're all screaming and running around too, but since I had monkey defense training
from a zoo in Dallas, I went to help. But when I grunted, like this - Ugh! Ugh!
- And beat my hands on my chest and over my head like this," she jumped up and
down with her arms over her head, "the women laughed, so I turned to look at them
and the monkey bit me!" she showed her calf to George. He said, "But monkeys aren't
native to Korea and there are no zoos around here. Marie said, "They told me it
was a large squirrel or maybe a dog or even a pig! Like I don't know a dog from
a monkey!" She blubber! ed some more. George lamely tried to calm her. He mentioned
rabies and she broke down again, telling George, "Cancel my afternoon classes.
I'm going to get shots."
* * *
That
evening as George, penniless, prepared to go out and get pickled on dollar bottles
of soju. He heard the busy rustling within Marie's bedroom and despised her incessant
Korea bashing. It'd been a bad day for her but she'd get over it as he did, with
soju and bad beer. He asked her to come out to drink. She said she'd meet him
later. He shrugged, slipping out the door and into another neon night.
Marie
packed necessities. Everything went into plastic bags to keep dry. Other stuff
went home via slow boat, sent by her Korean girlfriend down the street. She packed
boxes for home but stopped to once more shuffle through pictures of students she'd
sometimes thought loved and respected her. She'd thought at times that these students
understand the confusion she felt, but now she could not share it. They were Korean,
and she was an American enveloped in culture shock. Everything Korean seemed to
slip inside her brain and being, seemed to infringe upon what it was all made
up of. Every detestable habit of any Korean seemed aimed at her alone. Every glance
told her they despised her - and she them. She'd tried so hard to understand but
the constant bombardment of this other, this Koreaness, had shocked her system
for so many slow months.
But still, she
packed up small memories, notes and pictures from affectionate students, mothers
and Korean English teachers. She looked at the faces of college kids that's asked
her out, ajumas that's offered her to guide her through the city, brought gifts
for her and paid for expensive weekends, dinners and beers. Back then she's spent
time each night planning classes, cutting and pasting poster boards and laminating
word cards for various games, rummaging through magazines for pictures to describe,
studying grammar book games and wracking her brain for conversation topics that
would neither bore nor offend the students. She studied the Korean alphabet and
learned decent pronunciation of syllables. Suddenly though, the lucrative demand
for private English teachers got in the way of more scholastic pursuits. She had
debts, more expensive dreams, so ! the private classes became her priority.
Soon
only the good memories would remain. Quaint and quiet scenes of dignified old
men playing Chinese chess. Bent old women with moon-faced babes on their backs,
bald Buddhist monks and elegant green tea ceremonies she'd never really seen at
all. She'd show friend pictures of markets filled with nameless sea creatures
and chuckle over her first experience eating dried squid. She packed coffee table
conversation books with photos of Korean porcelain or black and white calligraphy;
bamboo, magpies and lotus blossoms. She looked forward to displaying these back
home.
* * *
George
remained in his bedroom most of Saturday and Sunday, coming out only for meals
and showers before returning to the streets at night. He did not see Marie all
weekend. This was normal. It was easier to stay with a friend. She'd probably
left Pusan for the weekend. She'd sleep on the midnight train and arrive home
in time for Monday's first class of sleepy salary men. George thought nothing
of it as he walked to class Monday, his mind as blank as any other morning,! scraping
his hung-over way through mutually hung-over classes. He tossed down cups of nerve-grinding
machine coffee, mellowed with cups of green tea or hot powdered milk. He didn't
bother to glancing into Marie's classroom. Eventually students came to George
and said Marie was missing. George explained that her train must be late. They
insisted George go to Miss Kwak's office. But she would not be in until noon.
George peered through the glass doors of Miss Kwak's office and saw a fax. It
was a message from Marie.
Dear Miss Kwak,
I am sorry. I had to return home. My mother was so sick that I could not wait
longer. I am sorry about all the money you loaned me. Thank you. . Please tell
my students I miss them, Love Marie.
At
the top of the page was a formal heading, Paradise Island Tours, Phuket. Thailand.
George welcomed his new students.