Martin Limon - Buddha's money

We pulled her out of the King Club and down the street to a little bistro where it was darker and quieter. In a secluded booth, I sat her down next to Ernie and made her tell us what was going on.

"I quit," she told me.

"You quit being a nun?"

"Right."

"Why?"

"I don't know." She squirmed in her seat. "I want come Itaewon. I want see Ernie."

Her English was rudimentary, but better than either Ernie or I had suspected. Ernie finally overcame his surprise and even started being a little nice to her. He handed her a stick of ginseng gum and she chomped on it happily. When he bought her a cola, you would've thought he'd just presented her with a diamond ring.

After a while, they were sitting close to one another and chatting, and I decided to leave them alone. I tossed back a couple more shots and wandered off into the neon alleys of Itaewon.

After she had decided not to burn herself to death, the loss of face for the little nun-and for the Buddhist church-must've been difficult to bear. That plus the world she had experienced in Itaewon-and Ernie's hold on her-had been enough to make her decide to quit being a nun.

What would she do now? If she was relying on Ernie to provide for her happiness, she was in for a rude surprise.

I kept drinking and soon forgot about Ernie and the nun. I had problems of my own.

A vision of Lady Ann's face started to float in front of me. Just out of reach. I stumbled after it. The face kept laughing at my foolish antics.

The next morning, Ernie beat me into the office, I came in red-eyed and hungover, my head pounding.

"Where the hell did you run off to?" Ernie asked.

"I wanted to be by myself," I answered.

Ernie handed me a cup of coffee. I sipped on it. "How'd it go with the nun?" I asked.

Ernie shrugged. "So-so."

I knew what that meant. If Ernie hadn't gotten what he wanted, he'd be complaining.

"Did you take her to a yoguan?"

"Shit, no. Too expensive. I took her back to the barracks."

I nearly spit out my coffee. "Choi So-lan, the most famous Buddhist nun in the country, spent the night with you in the barracks?"

"She's not famous anymore," Ernie said.

I shook my head. "Not a nun anymore either," I told him.

Ernie grunted.

For some reason it depressed me. Talk about a long dismal fall.

Before we could finish our coffee, the First Sergeant called us into his office. He informed us that he had filed the paperwork with Eighth Army Finance to dock us for Lady Ahn's hospital expenses.

"It'll come out of your pay," he said. "Medical care for an unauthorized civilian." He almost yawned before he added the next sentence. "If it causes you any hardship, go see Army Emergency Relief."

Neither Ernie nor I saw another paycheck for three months. And neither of us went to Army Emergency Relief.

They could go fuck themselves as far as we were concerned.

The student demonstration was reported in the western press; there was even a blurb about it in the Pacific Stars amp; Stripes. But the articles didn't get the number of students killed right. Not by a long shot. Nor the number injured. They relied on government press releases which mainly told about the riot police who were hurt.

None of the soldiers of the White Horse Division were injured.

Except two.

There was a lot of negotiating going on back and forth between the Koreans and Americans. Neither side really wanted to see Pfc. Hatcher burned. The Koreans because they didn't want to endanger the millions of dollars in military aid they received from the U.S. every year. And the U.S. because, in the eyes of the Eighth Army honchos, what Hatcher had done wasn't so bad. After all, the nun hadn't even been raped or permanently damaged. Not physically, anyway.

But both sides had to go through the motions to assuage Korean public opinion. Everyone at JAG figured Hatcher'd be slapped with a pretty long sentence, but be let out after a few months for good behavior.

The Korean national police charged slicky girl Nam with assaulting a police officer, but didn't implicate her in the kidnapping and murder of her daughter, Mi-ja. We told them that everything she did was simply the performance of a good wife taking orders from her husband.

Even the assault on the policeman was a filial act: a faithful wife avenging her dead spouse. Captain Kim listened to that argument, but he wasn't going to take a chance on allowing any disruption of public order. Especially when that disruption took the form of an attack on a police officer.

Slicky Girl Nam was sentenced to ninety days in the Kyongki Provincial Prison in Suwon.

If we hadn't put in the good word for her, it could have been worse.

I made arrangements at the Eighth army morgue to obtain Herman a brass plaque issued by the Veterans Administration upon the death of any honorably discharged veteran.

Herman's coffin was too wide for the narrow Korean vans usually used as hearses. Instead, we hired a truck.

Ernie and I rode in the truck into the countryside to the place GIs call Happy Mountain. We had no clue what religion Herman believed in-probably none-so we paid a Buddhist monk to wave some incense over his grave.

We buried Herman right next to his adopted daughter. I figured it was too late for her to mind.

Nobody else was there and nobody said a eulogy. Both Ernie and I knelt and touched the sod atop Mi-ja's grave.

As we walked away, Ernie stepped over to Herman's eternal resting place. He gazed down at the fresh soil. Then he spat on it.

Ragyapa and what was left of his thugs were picked up by the Korean National Police. Charges were filed concerning the murder of Mi-ja, and they were awaiting trial in less than a week. Both Ernie and I would have to testify and Ernie, especially, was looking forward to it.

"They have all those cute chicks taking dictation."

The Korean prosecutor told us we didn't have to worry about Ragyapa getting off. "The last Korean citizen tried for a major crime in Mongolia was given fifteen years."

"What's that got to do with it?" I asked.

The prosecutor's eyes widened. "We'd lose face if we gave one of their citizens any less."

He had a good point.

That night Ernie and I hopped from one bar to another throughout Itaewon. Even though there was much laughter and many business girls and rock and roll blaring so loudly that it rattled my skull, I still could think of nothing other than Lady Ahn.

We sat at a cocktail table in the UN Club, a little candle flickering between us. Ernie slapped me on the shoulder. "Get over it, pal. If she don't want you, she don't want you. There's plenty more."

I nodded dumbly and sipped on my shot glass full of bourbon.

"I've made my decision," I told Ernie.

"What's that?"

"Tomorrow we drive out to the jail in Suwon."

"To see Slicky Girl Nam?"

"Right."

"What the hell for?"

"There's still something missing."

Ernie thought about that for a moment, sipped on his beer, and peered at me cagily. "The jade skull of Kublai Khan," he said.

I nodded. "You got that right."

Choi So-lan, the former nun, entered the club, found Ernie, and clung to him fiercely, warding off all the business girls. It would be a long night.

The monsoon rain had let up, the blue sky was clean, and blue jays chirped in the rustling elms that lined the road to Suwon. Ernie downshifted the jeep's engine as we pulled up to the chain-link fence surrounding the cement block walls of the Kyongki Provincial Prison.

When we entered the visiting room, Slicky Girl Nam was already sitting on the other side of a flimsy wooden partition. She wore a shapeless gray smock, her face was scrubbed clean, and her hair was tied back in a neat bun. We sat down on the splintered bench opposite her.