Читать книгу Waiting for a Wide Horse Sky - Elaine Kennedy - Страница 7

Two

Seoul 1996.The airport is huge, and bewildering, but that was what I had expected. What I wasn’t prepared for was that there didn’t seem to be anyone there to meet me. I had been given no instructions regarding meeting locations or signs to look for. My employer was a government-run organisation, involving both the Australian and Korean governments. The problem was that no one could agree on the name of the program.

Someone in the crowd held a large placard reading ‘Koretta’. Assuming it was the name of a company, I passed by, looking for a recognisable notice. Eventually, as the crowd thinned, and no one had yet claimed me, I walked back to where I had seen the sign. There were westerners gathered around and when I approached them they told me this was my group. I introduced myself to some of the people waiting, pleased to see they were not all twenty-somethings. Most were around my age: some were in their sixties. One grey-haired lady caught my eye.

‘Oh, you’re the one Mr. Kim is looking for.’ As she spoke I saw a very young Korean man heading towards me.

‘You are late! Why are you so late?’ His anger was palpable. There was no chance he was joking. ‘We must go straight to the bus.’

He strode off without looking back, expecting us all to follow him. An attractive African American girl put a hand on my shoulder and gave a ‘Heil Hitler’ salute in his direction, followed by a deep bubbly laugh. She introduced herself as Marilyn. A young man from the group grabbed my large suitcase with his free hand and tried to catch up with our impatient leader.

On the bus some of my fellow travellers introduced themselves while we waited for the bags to be stowed. Marilyn told me she was Jamaican but had lived most of her life in the USA. She took the seat next to me and introduced me to several others, among them Amos, a sixty year old African American from Miami, and Olga, an English woman in her fifties. Marilyn told them that I had come from Australia and therefore had been on a different flight from theirs and that was the reason I was late.

‘So you’re the one “Little Hitler” is hyperventilating about,’ Olga said, and everyone near us laughed. It did seem a bit extreme.

The view from the bus was mainly of the highway with its high barriers on either side, but there were glimpses of mountains and fields with the typical summery misty haze. Occasionally we passed a farmhouse or saw a solitary cyclist on the narrow strips of road that give access to the rice paddies.

These scenes reinforced the idea that much of Korea would be similar to Japan, where I had lived before, and that I would feel at home. But I would soon be disillusioned. Indeed, the treatment we had received on arrival was a small taste of a culture that is much tougher on foreigners than that of its near neighbour.

After three hours the bus stopped at the entrance to the accommodation building of the Korean National University of Education, in Chonju, where we would spend the first four weeks in an orientation program. A list pinned to the notice board in the foyer informed us of our room numbers. The stairway opposite led to two upper floors. All the ground floor had been filled by earlier arrivals. Thomas, a retired professor from Ohio, looked quite distressed, trying to pull his heavy suitcase up the stairs, until a helpful and more athletic man picked it up.

‘I can come back for mine, don’t worry,’ the younger man said, then winced and asked, ‘What have you got in here, bricks?’

The professor looked rueful and said, ‘I couldn’t bear to leave my books behind … a whole year without Shakespeare …’ His voice trailed off up the stairs. I was grateful to be offered help with my luggage, and soon found my neat little room on the second floor.

An announcement over the loudspeaker noted that we were late in arriving and would need to be ready to meet in the foyer to be taken to the dining room in ten minutes time. That plan fell a bit flat when at least half of the group was late coming down, most of them dressed casually. I wondered if I would look silly dressed in business clothes but felt relieved when we were given a terse reminder later in the evening to dress appropriately at all times, meaning formally.

When the rest had gathered, we were greeted by a Korean girl, wearing a uniform a little like a bank teller’s, who offered to lead the way to the dining room. We followed her for quite some distance, skirting a sports field and several large buildings until we came to another building, identical to the ones we had passed, and were led up to the third floor, where a smorgasbord was laid out.

The sun had almost set and the air was hot, but balmy rather than oppressive. Trays piled with neatly cut watermelon looked inviting. Salads and some tempting cooked meats created a party mood where we had begun to feel overly regimented. We enjoyed the meal and started to relax. Maybe it was the tension from travelling and the new environment that had been causing us to feel stressed.

Other people were also coming to Korea to work. All of us hoping for a wide horse sky, a new beginning – looking for a fresh start. Some would come under very different circumstances, many to intolerable situations that I could not have imagined. For now there were enough challenges.

The sun coming through the open curtains woke me early. I was used to the pale winter sun in Australia and it surprised me to see that it was just after five o’clock in the morning. It was way too early to get up but I knew I could never get back to sleep. An early morning walk around the grounds seemed appealing as I hadn’t seen much of my surroundings last night.

As I finished getting ready I heard shouting outside. Looking from the window I saw four of the younger members of the group returning from a jog. I waved as I passed them on my way to explore the grounds. I noticed a gate in the back wall of the university and couldn’t resist a quick look outside: the hills and greenery looked so peaceful. I was determined to come back later when there was more time to see what was further along the track.

Breakfast was again set up in buffet style. Everyone helped themselves and moved to the larger room, forming little groups. Marilyn was already sitting at an otherwise unoccupied table. She smiled broadly at me as she patted the chair next to her and then as I walked over with my plate of food Marilyn looked behind her and then patted two more chairs. Behind me were Amos, tall and lanky, dressed casually in jeans and a checked, short-sleeved shirt, and Olga wearing an A-line skirt, a cool cotton top and open-toed sandals that showed off her painted toenails.

‘Such beautiful toenails. Is that their natural colour?’ teased Amos. Olga laughed a throaty smoker’s laugh.

We enjoyed a leisurely breakfast together, then it was time to move to the lecture room. I didn’t know what to expect but I was looking forward to the sessions. First there was a roll-call and then each of us was given a leather writing compendium and a brief-case as we were marked present. As an introduction we were told what was required of us and what the itinerary would be for the next four weeks. We were expected to learn some of the language, both written and spoken, and also about the history of Korea. In two weeks time we would tour the country and visit places of cultural significance.

At this point Mr. Kim interrupted, noting that several people were absent. The pleasant atmosphere was shattered. As he was getting into full flight a slightly built American girl entered the room, looking for a seat and a desk.

‘Why are you so late?’ Where had we heard that before? Surprisingly the girl mustered her energy and matched his volume and anger.

‘I just woke up. I am jet-lagged. What do you expect?’ Each word was separate and emphatically articulated, her slim form rigid with stress.

The effects of the heat and, for some, jet lag, became apparent as the morning wore on. Most of the group found it difficult to acclimatise to the extreme temperature. An Indian girl dressed in a full sari sat on the ledge of an open window at morning break and almost fell when she fainted from the heat. Two of the other students caught her just in time.

Two weeks of lectures followed and the first tour was to begin on the following Saturday.

* * * *

Early in the morning we were packed into two buses and started for the first location near Gyeongju, the old capital of Korea. We stayed in a five star hotel for three nights and were treated to some interesting sights by day. First were the burial sites of the former royalty of Korea. They were similar to the pyramids of Egypt, although these stone structures were covered with grassy mounds like large half marbles. One tomb that was open to the public had treasures displayed behind glass cases and the uncovered remains of one of the kings.

Despite the signs forbidding it, Olga was determined to take photographs of the artifacts in the king’s tomb and the remains of the king himself.

‘You’re flirting with death, woman. Kim the Terrible is right behind you,’ Amos warned.

‘So stand on this side to hide me! Elaine, if you stand next to him I won’t be seen.’

With unusual luck Olga got away with it, even with the flash lighting up the dim interior.

The next day we toured Bulguksa Temple, one of the oldest Buddhist temples in the country. The heat was oppressive and the tour guide’s voice droned on.

‘Bulguksa was originally built in 528 and it stood for more than a thousand years before the Japanese destroyed it in 1593. It was completely restored in the 1970s …’

The endless voice seemed almost meaningless to me as the group followed from one place of interest to another. We stopped in front of a pagoda that the guide described as the finest of the Silla Period stone pagodas.

‘Early this year the oldest Buddhist woodblock print in the world was found hidden in this pagoda when renovations were being carried out …’ I tuned out the voice as we continued down a twisting path until, with a shock, a story about the huge bell in front of us came into focus.

‘… the bell didn’t ring clearly. It would need to be recast but to make sure that it gave a sound worthy of the Buddha a small child was thrown into the molten metal. Now as the bell is rung you can hear the child crying out Emille or Mummy …’ I walked away as quickly as I could, trying to hold myself together as others took turns to ring the Emille bell with a metal mallet.

I walked up a path leading to the top of the temple compound, wanting desperately to be by myself, and found a shady spot behind a building. I sat on a slab of stone, allowing myself to give way to tears.

‘Am I intruding?’ It was the guide. When I looked up I saw kindness in his face. ‘I’m sorry if I upset you.’

‘No don’t apologise,’ I said. ‘It’s just that I’ve been bottling up my feelings for so long and when I heard the story of the bell … well … it seemed so cruel.’

I felt embarrassed making such a fuss but at the same time, I told him, I wondered how people could hear those stories of cruelty without it touching them at all. ‘I’m afraid I’m embarrassing you. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’

‘Just call me Song.’ He glanced at my name tag. ‘And I see you are Elaine.’ I nodded. ‘I understand why you are upset. It’s difficult to get used to another culture. Korea must seem very cruel to you sometimes, I think. We’ve been troubled by wars all through our history. Many countries have ruled us harshly; it has hardened us. There are still a lot of Koreans living in extreme poverty even now and that makes it difficult for them, particularly, to have compassion for others. But now that our economy is improving and people like you are coming here to help us make changes, things will improve. I think you are very brave.’

‘No, I’m not brave at all but it has made me feel better talking to you. Now I think I need to catch up with the others. I don’t want to be left behind.’

‘I’ll make sure that you get to your bus on time. That’s my job.’ He smiled. ‘But first I want you to see the temple you have been hiding behind. It’s more than coincidence that you came here when you were upset. The shrine of Kwan Seeum Bosal. Did you know?’

I shook my head. He had gone into tour guide mode again but I did my best to look interested. I don’t think I really took in what he was saying, I was thinking more about how earnest he looked while he was talking and how attractive.

‘She is the Bodhisattva of Perfect Compassion. She is called the “One who listens to the cries of the world”. She is dedicated to the wellbeing of all living things.’

He led me into the shrine and told me to just breathe in the peace. It actually was very peaceful but what else would you expect of a secluded stone shrine with creepers trailing around the entrance? Then he quietly walked back down to the bus with me. Song left me with his card and told me that if ever I had a problem in Korea I should call him. I doubted that I would.

‘To think we were worried that you might be lost,’ said Amos when I rejoined my friends. He was looking quizzically at the back of the retreating guide. They continued to tease me on the way back to the hotel but I didn’t really mind.