Hwang Sok-Yong - The Shadow of Arms

“See you later.”

After the sergeant left, Yong Kyu sat down on his helmet along the asphalt curb next to the sentry post. The American military base extended down along the shore. Nobody paid any attention to him. Military vehicles passed by and once in a while a kind-hearted driver paused to ask if he needed a ride. Everything was quiet except for the occasional sound of a helicopter taking off and landing.

A Jeep — yellow and black instead of olive green — came speeding up. As it passed, Yong Kyu saw “Philco-Ford Co.” written on the door. The Jeep drove into the heliport, then circled around and headed back out towards Yong Kyu. It stopped in front of him.

“Korean CID?”

“Yes.”

The American made chin and hand gestures as he spoke. Yong Kyu looked puzzled, so he grumbled, “Christ’s sake, get in. Don’t you speak English?”

Yong Kyu picked up his helmet and climbed up to sit beside him. In his head he was forming simple English sentences in his head, along the lines of: “I-am-a-boy.”

“You are CID, too?”

“That’s why I’m here to get you.”

“You are a soldier?”

“Marine Corps, Sergeant,” answered the American with a grin. “Call me Beck.”

“I am Corporal Ahn.”

“What’s your story? Been in battle?”

“For six months.”

Beck whistled in surprise. They drove by a bridge. The soldiers guarding it were shooting at some kind of wreckage floating down from upstream.

“Hot out. What’s the cover?”

“We aren’t in on that. We’re not in field operations.”

Beck made a quick radio transmission over the noise.

“This is a CID Jeep?”

“Yeah. We play civilians. This Jeep looks just like one of Philco’s or Vinelli’s.”

“Where do the Koreans stay?”

“They’re at a hotel.”

“Hotel?”

Turning towards Yong Kyu, Beck burst into a hearty laugh.

Palm trees flew by. On both sides of the road clean white French colonial-style buildings came into view. The city was spacious and geometrical and looked like a resort in a postcard. The wooden latticed window shutters were a blinding white under the beating sun. Vines of a deep green crept up the walls of the buildings. An armored personnel carrier stood in one corner of the intersection. Judging from the wire barricades around the armored car tank and the sandbagged sentry post, some sections of the city become off-limits at night.

Along both sides of the street, schoolgirls in white ahozai were walking in lines. School seemed to be out for the day. Their long hair and the ao dai clinging to their slender figures made for a beautiful sight.

“Pretty, aren’t they?”

Beck sped up, honking loudly. Yong Kyu did not respond but Beck went on talking.

“You’re a Korean, aren’t you? Your girls are also nice. There were two Korean girls in the strip show at the club last night. Both of them looked exactly like American women.”

“You mean an American army club?”

“Yes, but Koreans can go there if they’re working for investigation. No gooks, though.”

“What are gooks?”

“Vietnamese. They’re really filthy. But you’re like us. We’re the Allies.”

The Jeep made a circle and came to a stop in front of a five-story building. A long balcony and colorful awnings hanging from it provided shade. The structure itself looked old but, like bank buildings in Seoul, it was a dignified edifice with solid marble walls adorned with leaf and flower carvings. Yong Kyu hesitated.

“This way,” Beck said, gesturing.

As they pushed open the large glass door to enter the building, a Vietnamese guard with a gun at the ready glared at Yong Kyu. Beck told him as they walked past, “He’s an agent with the investigation division.”

The guard nodded. Men in suits and white shirts walked through the hallways. Walking up the spiral staircase, Beck said, “There’s only one elevator, reserved for officers. Lower ranks take the stairs.”

The two men hurried up to the fifth floor. Beck came to a door and knocked.

“Come in,” said a voice from inside. Beck opened the door and pushed Yong Kyu in first. There were two bunks side by side, and room seemed to open into an adjoining room. An obese man with nothing but a huge towel covering his naked body was enjoying the cool breeze from an air conditioner. Beck grabbed his nose and yelped.

“Geez! That stink! You cooked those noodles again.”

Yong Kyu recognized the smell of kimchi. On an unplugged hotplate there was a pot and a K-ration can. It had to be walsunma ramyon that the man was cooking, instant noodles supplied to the Korean forces.

“Here’s your man,” Beck said.

Without getting up, the fat man murmured, “Thank you, thank you.”

Beck gave Yong Kyu a pat on the back and left the room. Not knowing the rank of the man he had woken from a nap, Yong Kyu straightened his posture. Grabbing his rifle’s strap he struck his helmet with a crisp salute. Then, according to regulations for reporting, he began to shout.

The man scratched his head, then said in an annoyed tone, “You, shut your mouth up. Why the hell are you screaming like that?”

Embarrassed and unsure what to do next, Yong Kyu began his report again, this time in a quiet voice. But the man lazily interrupted, “Cut it out. And take off your helmet and put it over there. Also get rid of that ugly M16.”

“Yes, sir! Understood, sir!”

“Bastard, there you go screaming again. This whole hotel will be on emergency alert because of you.”

Yong Kyu was in fact much too loud.

“This is not a brigade,” the man said as he sipped what was left of the Coca-Cola in his glass. “This is the Grand Hotel, a gathering point for the administrative agents of the Allied forces in Da Nang.”

Yong Kyu snapped to attention and nearly yelled “Yes, sir!” again. The man yawned and picked up the telephone receiver.

“Hey, he’s here. . Yes, just now.”

The man plopped back down on the bed. Hungover, probably, as he definitely hadn’t been fighting the night before. His eyes were all bloodshot. His bloated belly, covered with a khaki towel, moved up and down as he breathed. Somebody walked into the room behind Yong Kyu. It was a civilian with very long hair, wearing a loud orange T-shirt and white pants. His shoes were slick and shiny and the crease in his pants was sharp as a razor. With an unpleasant grin he looked over Yong Kyu’s unsightly appearance.

“Freshly scooped out of the mud. You know somebody high up back there, don’t you.”

“No, sir!”

“Huh, damned stiff you are. At ease. At ease in the easiest position in Da Nang. What did it cost you?”

“Sorry, sir?”

“Hey, boy, you have any idea what kind of assignment this is?”

Without ceremony, he sat down next to the fat man with a landing hard enough to make the bedsprings squeak. Then he lifted the towel to take a peek.

“Given your willy a bath, have you?”

“You need to be court-martialed, you son of a bitch. Take a look at that boy. Ten days of crawling and you’d be exactly like him.”

“Hey now, don’t start that with me. The leader, sir, has to crawl first. My uniform comes off as soon as I set foot in Korea, but you’re a military career man, aren’t you?”

“Apparently.”

The fat man stood up.

“Hey, what about the beer?”

“I’ve got the two full pallets.”

“Captain doesn’t know, does he?”

“The fuck if I care. I’m outta here soon.”

“You bastard, don’t drag me down with you.”

“We share it all, the bad with the good. You really think I’d do that to you?”

To Yong Kyu, their repartee was anything but military. The discipline was gone, sucked away leaving a vacuum.