Martin Limon - Jade Lady burning

There was only a commode and a small sink clinging to the wall. The mirror had been torn off ages ago. I took off my jacket, placed it atop the commode, and tried to turn on the water faucet. All I got was a dry hiss. I turned back to the commode. The water looked clean. What the hell.

I flushed the commode and, when it refilled, I leaned down and washed my bloody hand. The blood was caked over the torn areas but there didn’t seem to be any glass inside. As I washed, the wound started to bleed a little. I let it drain and continued to ladle water until the contents of the little toilet turned the color of beets.

A blast of music hit me, followed by cold air, as a GI walked in.

He stood at the door with his mouth open.

I looked up and smiled. “I’ll be finished in just a minute,” I said.

He backed out of the room and shut the door.

I flushed the toilet again and rinsed off the hand one last time. When I had finished, I stood there letting it drip dry. There were no towels.

I managed to get my comb out of my left hip pocket with my right hand and ran it a few times through my short hair. Then I flushed the toilet once more and rubbed a splash of the fresh water on my face. What with the beer and a little freshening up, I was starting to feel okay again.

My hand was dry and no longer bled. It looked a little bit better. I still needed an aid station and some stitches, but I wasn’t anxious to go on an Army compound at the moment.

Carefully, I put my jacket back on and tucked in my shirt. When I turned to check myself in the mirror all I saw was a blank wall.

Back in the club, my girl was still sitting in the same chair, same position, and still pouting. I winked at her and gave her a big smile on the way out. She turned her head and gave a little snort.

There were business girls and GIs and neon lights and little old ladies in front of wooden pushcarts full of snacks and gum and sundry items, but no patrol visible anywhere on the street. I turned away from the large street and headed toward the darkened alleys.

A vehicle pulled up next to me and stopped just a few inches in front of my feet. It was an MP jeep and the youthful corporal in the driver’s seat leaned over toward me across the passenger seat.

“Yo, Sarge. We been looking all over for you. Get in. I got to take you over to HQ.”

I hesitated.

“Come on now,” he said. “I know it’s you. I saw you over at the Officers’ Club the night the general got kicked in the nuts.”

I looked at him and shrugged and got in.

He popped the clutch and took off down a narrow alley.

‘They been expecting you to come in on your own,” he said. ”Everybody sort of assumed that you’d report in to somebody and get in touch with your unit.” He had to slam on the brakes for a turn and then he squealed into the next alley.

He looked at me but I didn’t say anything.

“Well,” he continued, “whether you knew it or not, they were getting sort of worried, what with you continuing some investigation and all. Just stirring up a bucket of night soil that didn’t need to get stirred up.” He smiled again. “You know what I mean?”

We had come to a virtual standstill in the narrow alley behind two old women carrying huge bundles of laundry atop their heads. We were in back of one of the rock and roll clubs and a few of the girls were looking out the windows.

One of them squealed suddenly and waved and yelled at the top of her high-pitched lungs.

“Jerry!” she yelled.

She disappeared from the window and in seconds she had scampered down the stairs and was practically inside the jeep throwing her arms around the neck of the young corporal. He was laughing and trying to get her off and he brought the jeep to a halt.

“Jerry,” the girl said, “why you no come? I wait for you taaksan long time.” She pouted and then started to kiss him again. A bunch of the other girls had gathered around the jeep and they were laughing and some of them were makeing eyes at me.

“Now, now, Oki,” Jerry said. “You know I been taaksan busy.” He was laughing and trying to get her arms from around his neck. “But Jerry’s got to work now. I got to take this feller back to HQ.”

Her face was a portrait of cherubic disappointment. “You come tonight Jerry? See Oki?”

“Sure, sure,” Jerry said. Still laughing, he disentangled himself from Oki’s grasping arms.

He started the jeep back up, threw Oki a kiss, and we moved slowly forward again down the alleyway. The girls shouted and vamped and waved behind us.

“Jerry,” I asked, “am I under arrest?”

“Huh?” He was still disoriented from his recent encounter. “No. Oh, no. They just told me to find you, make sure you knew that your investigation was cancelled, and bring you into HQ. I’ve been out all night.”

“Well, Jerry, I’d like to ask you a favor-for you to tell HQ that you never found me.”

“Oh no. I couldn’t do that.”

“But instead I’m going to do you a favor.”

“Huh?”

“You see, Jerry, being CID, I’m what you might call an expert liar. And it would be easy for me to tell your people about that MP jeep I found behind the Rock and Roll Club, and how when I went to investigate I found a certain young MP, who was supposed to be on duty, in flagrante with a certain young lady named Oki, catching a short-time on duty. That’s strictly a no-no, Jerry.”

“Hey!” The young man jerked his head toward me. “What’s with you? That never happened.”

“And it doesn’t ever have to happen, Jerry,” I said soothingly. “If you just tell ’em that you never saw me. Ignorance is bliss, Jer, but getting laid on duty… with an unsecured jeep out back-”

“Hey! You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

I just looked at him.

He pulled over and I got out.

I said, “You-all have a nice day now, ya hear?”

Jerry gave me a big smile and waved, popped the clutch, and zoomed away.

I leaned against a wall for a moment, trembling, then turned down an alley. In a few blocks I was in a residential area again. There were older children, some with packs, heading purposefully toward home.

The number of clubs and GIs faded. I was getting a little lost but finally came out onto a larger road and saw a neon sign: the Rose Club. I trotted out into the traffic and dodged the careening kimchi cabs. Just as I got past the glare of the Rose Club’s neon, two white Korean National Police jeeps pulled up to a screeching halt out front. Policemen jumped out of the first and the other jeep pulled up alongside. I heard shouted instructions but couldn’t make them out, and then the second jeep peeled off down the road.

A small neon sign up ahead had an arrow pointing down a narrow alley. The sign said “THE KEY CLUB.” Some of the KNPs looked over the GIs walking into and out of the Rose Club but they didn’t go into the club itself. It was an unwritten law-KNPs didn’t go into GI clubs without MPs along with them.

Two of the policemen had left the group and were coming in my direction, trotting. As soon as I got into the shadows of the narrow alley, I ran. The surface of the alleyway was uneven and I had to be careful not to twist my ankle. The alley wound around at weird angles and then took a sharp left. I was in front of the brightly lit back door of the Key Club and slowed to a walk to get my breath back before entering.

Something leapt out of the shadows and grabbed me.

“Jesus!”

“Yoboseiyo,” it said. A young girl. She couldn’t have been over eighteen, heavily made-up with mascara and powder, and rouge rubbed all over her cherubic face.

“You wanna catch me?” she said. She wrapped her arms around my elbow and bicep. Bleary-eyed, eyelids half closed, she waited for her answer.