Buddha's Money

by Martin Limon

  Ragyapa couldn't call out, but he knew that his trained monks would take the action that was necessary.

  The policeman strolled slowly toward the pony and the small carousel.

  As he passed the wooden replica of a small train engine, a man slipped out of the darkness, moving with all the quickness of death itself. Ragyapa saw the flash of the blade and then the policeman's head being jerked viciously backward. There was a gurgling sound and in the glow of the almost full moon, blood spurted across stiffly starched khaki.

  "Hold him!" Ragyapa commanded.

  He rushed forward, holding the wooden bowl, blood sloshing over its edges.

  As the other Mongols held the struggling policeman, Ragyapa lifted the bowl up to the cruel gash in his neck and caught the hot, squirting gore.

  The policeman slumped to the ground. One of the Mongols dragged him into the caboose of the wooden train. Ragyapa stared down at the full bowl, satisfied.

  When his disciples gathered around him, Ragyapa raised the bowl up to the almost full moon.

  "Nothing will stop us," he said, "from finding the jade skull of our ancestor, the Great Khan Kublai."

  "Nothing will stop us," the men intoned.

  "All power to the Lord Mahakala!"

  Ragyapa lowered the bowl to his lips and drank deeply. He handed the bowl to the Mongol standing next to him, who drank and passed it on.

  Ragyapa fumbled inside his tunic and pulled out six train tickets. He handed one to each man.

  Embossed on each ticket in Korean and English was the name of their destination.

  Taejon.

  16

  CLOUDS BOILED ATOP THE PEAKS OF THE BOMUN MOUNTAINS, far to the south of the city, watching us.

  At the Taejon bus station, the milling crowds of Koreans stared at the three tall people moving amongst them. We carried overnight bags slung over our shoulders and the three of us—Lady Ahn, Ernie, and me—all wore blue jeans and sneakers. Ernie and I topped this outfit with bland-looking PX-bought sports shirts, but Lady Ahn brightened up the whole world with a shimmering red silk blouse.

  I had trouble keeping my eyes off of her. Although I did my best not to make my attention obvious, she noticed. But I don't think she minded much.

  At the ticket window, Lady Ahn purchased three express bus tickers to Ok-dong. I'd never heard of the place but she assured me it was on the coast of the Yellow Sea. When I tried to hand her a few bills, she pushed my money away.

  "No," she said firmly. "You help me, I pay."

  Ernie leaned against a cement pillar, gazing intently at the women in the crowd. When he occasionally found one he liked, he zeroed in on her like radar honing in on a North Korean fighter jet.

  Sometimes the women noticed and turned away. Sometimes they noticed and giggled. But whatever their reaction, it made no difference to Ernie. It was his right to stare, he figured. And until someone hit him in the forehead with a two-by-four, he'd continue to do it.

  Before we climbed on the bus, Ernie stopped at a snack stand and bought four double packets of ginseng gum. If we were heading for the wilds, he needed proper provisions.

  OUTSIDE THE WINDOWS OF THE BUS, THE CITY OF TAEJON faded into warehouses and factories and finally into broad fields crisscrossed with the wet patchworks of rice paddies. The bright sunshine turned the tender rice shoots emerald green. Straw-hatted farmers, pant legs rolled up, waded through the muck, hunched over their work as intently as physicists peering through electron microscopes. White cranes rose from the paddies, lifting lazily into the blue sky.

  I sat next to Lady Ahn and Ernie sat right behind us, next to an old lady eating watermelon seeds. She popped open a few seeds, sucked out the nut inside, and after a while offered some to Ernie. He accepted gladly and soon she had accepted a stick of ginseng gum in return.

  She chattered away happily in Korean, Ernie smiling and nodding occasionally, not understanding a word she said. Actually, she was telling him about her grandchildren, but Ernie didn't give a damn one way or the other.

  Lady Ahn was silent for the first part of the trip, the smooth flesh of her forehead crinkled slightly in concentration.

  At the front of the bus sat a uniformed stewardess who occasionally made trips down the aisle handing out warm hand towels or lukewarm cups of barley tea. I used the towel to wipe down the back of my neck, because without the rain the morning was beginning to become a little warm.

  Lady Ahn looked as cool as a chilled melon.

  One thing we Mexicans know about is patience. I didn't push her. I didn't badger her with questions. I waited.

  About an hour later, it paid off.

  She turned in her seat and studied my face.

  "You're not an American," she said.

  "Yes," I answered. "I am an American."

  "But your family, they come from another place."

  "My parents were both born in Mexico."

  "Aah." She nodded gravely. "Mexico."

  Lady Ahn seemed to be weighing something in her mind. Finally, she spoke again. "I have question about Mexico."

  "Shoot."

  "Why is it a poor country?"

  That one stumped me. Mexico had been poor, was poor now, and probably always would be poor. But why, I had never thought about. Lady Ahn continued.

  "Mexico is bigger than Korea, isn't it?"

  I nodded.

  "And it has many mountains and gold mines and much land to grow rice or corn or whatever people want to eat."

  I nodded again.

  "So why is it poor?"

  I thought about the Spanish legacy, the corruption, the overcrowding, the millions of acres of land that would never be irrigated. I tried to formulate an answer for her but it didn't hang together. So I told the truth.

  "I don't know why Mexico is poor, Lady Ahn."

  She studied me for a while longer, that same serious expression on her perfect features.

  "Your family, did they come from Spain?"

  I didn't know exactly. Most of the" explanations I'd received from my relatives had been pretty garbled but I gave her the most accurate answer I was aware of.

  "Some," I said.

  She leaned forward slightly, excited now. "Were they conquistadors?"

  How did she know that word?

  "Conquistadors? I don't really know. After the conquest a lot of regular people came. Farmers, priests, merchants, sailors. I don't know if my ancestors were conquistadors or not."

  "But not all of your family is from Spain?"

  "No. Part of my family is Indian."

  She pulled back slightly. "They are the poorest people?"

  "Usually. But in some cases they are the only ones who are free."

  "What do you mean?"

  "My mother's side of the family, we have much blood of the Yaqui Indians. The Yaqui were never beaten by los conquistadores. They are still free, a separate nation. They've only signed a peace treaty with the Mexican government."

  "So you are one of these free people?"

  "Part of my blood is."

  "One of your grandfathers?"

  "Maybe a great-grandfather."

  "And was this great-grandfather a chief?"

  Has anyone ever been descended from an Indian who wasn't a chief? "Of course," I replied.

  Lady Ahn seemed to think about this long and hard, holding her gaze on my face. I hadn't a clue as to why it was so important to her.

  "Then you are a prince," she said at last. "A prince of the people known as the Yaqui."

  I fiddled with my hand towel. "I suppose you could look at it that way."

  Lady Ahn sat back in her seat, satisfied for some reason.

  After a few minutes of silence, however, she sat up suddenly. "What does Suefio mean?"

  "It means dream."

  She smiled. "That's nice. I like to dream."

  Lady Ahn reached out and squeezed my hand. Her flesh felt as cool as I had imagined. As cool as a mountain spring.

  "I like to
dream, too," I said.

  When she let go of my hand, I was disappointed. She turned away from me and curled up slightly and gazed out the window.

  I let her dream.

  OVER THREE THOUSAND ISLANDS LIE OFF THE COAST OF KOREA. Almost every one of them is inhabited by seafaring people.

  Koreans aren't usually thought of as seafarers. If anyone in the West thinks of them at all, it is as rice farmers or merchants or tae kwon do instructors. But Koreans have been sailors and fishermen since before history began. The islands of Japan were settled by Koreans in ancient times. In fact, the Japanese and the Koreans are nothing more than cousins who have been separated for a long time. Their languages have the same grammatical structure, although few words still sound alike.

  The culture on the islands off the coast of Korea is a world of its own. People fish, they harvest seaweed from the sea, and they worship ancient gods who have never been banished by any foreign invasions. Not by Buddhism, not by Confucianism, and not by Christianity.

  These islands have often been used as a refuge. During the Mongol invasion of Korea seven hundred years ago, the entire royal court moved from Seoul to the island of Kanghua. There, the Koreans negotiated with the Mongol generals, gave up most of their sovereignty, but managed to keep the royal court fundamentally intact.

  Before Lady Ahn, Emie, and I reached the coast of the Yellow Sea, our bus crossed a small mountain range. Down the steep cliffs of winding roads were lush green valleys, so narrow and rocky they didn't appear to have ever been cultivated.

  We entered a long tunnel carved in granite and when we emerged, the magnificent panorama of a curved coastline opened before us. On the beach near a wooden quay sat the ramshackle blue-tile-roofed buildings of Ok-dong. At the end of the pier bobbed a ferryboat. Beyond that rose the rocky outcroppings of mist-shrouded islands.

  Ernie grabbed the back of my seat and leaned forward. "I gotta piss like a racehorse."

  Lady Ahn pretended not to hear.

  "Soon you'll have a whole ocean out there to do it in," I answered.

  "By the time I get through," Emie said, "it really will be the Yellow Sea."

  We pulled into the Ok-dong station and climbed off the bus. Ernie made a beeline to the public byonso and I stretched my legs while I waited for him to return. After we had all relieved ourselves, Lady Ahn guided us down the main drag of the city, heading downhill toward the pier.

  The farther we traveled from Seoul, the farther back in time we seemed to be going. Here in Ok-dong the road was lined with shops with old metal scales and woven hemp bags bulging with rice, and wooden stalls teeming with mackerel and squid and octopus. The tang of salt air rose up from the ocean and bit into my sinuses.

  People gazed at us politely but no one stared. I think they'd seen so few foreigners around these parts that, at the sight of us, all the natives went into a mild state of shock.

  Ernie clicked loudly on his gum and strutted down the wood-planked road.

  "So where's the beer hall?" he asked.

  "No time," Lady Ahn told him. "The ferry will leave soon."

  A foghorn ripped through the air. We started to run.

  By the time we reached the loading dock we were pretty much out of breath. I pushed my way to the front of the ticket booth and pulled out some wrinkled Korean bills. When the ticket vendor asked me which island, I turned back to Lady Ahn.

  "Majimak," she said. The end of the line.

  I turned back to repeat the instruction to the vendor, but she had already slid our tickets forward and slapped a few bronze coins down as my change. We moved toward the loading ramp.

  What I saw there made my heart leap. A counter manned by uniformed representatives of the Korean National Police.

  Ernie elbowed me. "You think they received the report of us punching out those cops in Taejon?"

  "I don't know," I said. There was no way around them. "We'll find out."

  Why would the KNPs have an inspection counter at a ferry loading dock?

  Since the Demilitarized Zone dividing Communist North Korea from the South was protected by six infantry divisions and about a jillion land mines, it was a little difficult to cross it whenever you wanted to. As a result, the North Korean commandos often raided South Korea by sea. The offshore islands were the perfect hiding spot for them. The South Koreans had set up hundreds of military bases and thousands of observation posts, the location of which North Korean spies would be delighted to know about. So the offshore islands were a sensitive area militarily. The KNPs checked people out before allowing them to travel in this area.

  Lady Ahn stood between Ernie and me. "Don't talk," she told us. "I talk."

  It sounded like a good idea to me.

  The Korean police inspector had a sunburned face and bored but suspicious eyes. Those eyes widened, though, when he saw us. He seemed shocked to see such a gorgeous Korean woman with two American GIs.

  "Wein ili issoyo?" he asked Lady Ahn, a hint of incredulity in his voice. What business do you have?

  Lady Ahn gazed steadily at the policeman. "My mother lives on Sonyu Island," she answered. "I am going to visit her."

  The policeman studied her National Identification Card, looked up, and pointed at Ernie and me. "And what of these two?"

  Lady Ahn wrapped her arms around my elbow and hugged her soft breasts against me. "I am going to marry this one. He must meet my mother first. The other is his commander."

  Her statement had the desired effect. The policeman's mouth fell open and he jerked back as if he'd been stung. "Are you registered to consort with foreigners?"

  "No." She pointed at her ID card. "I'm a student, as you can see. But we are to be married. It is legal for me to be with him."

  The policeman flapped out his hand toward Lady Ahn. "Your fiancée paperwork," he demanded.

  I started speaking in English. "Hey, wait a minute. What's going on here?" I turned to Lady Ahn. "Is everything okay, honey?"

  "He says we must have our engagement paperwork," she said in English.

  "Wait a minute!" I gaped at the policeman. "You've got to be kidding! All that paperwork requesting marriage approval is back at the compound." I pulled out my regular army ID card, not my CID badge, and held it in front of the inspector's face. "I'm Eighth Army. You alla? Eighth-Army."

  Ernie started speaking even louder than I had. "Who the hell does this guy think he is? We're just trying to get on the damn boat! What is this shit?"

  The crowd of Koreans behind us waiting to board the ferry began to mumble. The foghorn blasted through the air again. The rest of the policemen wandered over, wanting to find out what all the fuss was about.

  Lady Ahn resumed speaking in Korean to the policeman. "You can't stop us from visiting my mother," she said, "just because we didn't bring our engagement paperwork."

  The policeman's face was very red now. Obnoxious GIs and stubborn Korean women weren't something he had to deal with every day.

  A policeman with more gold braid on his shoulder than the inspector strode over, his face calm, his arms behind his back, acting as unperturbed as a Confucian scholar strolling through a grove of flowering plum blossoms. The first cop turned to him and explained rapidly. "They don't have their engagement paperwork."

  "We forgot it," Lady Ahn said in Korean.

  The honcho ignored her and pointed to me and Ernie. "Are they soldiers?" he asked the red-faced cop.

  "Yes."

  "Let's see their identification."

  Lady Ahn translated and both Ernie and I flashed our military ID cards.

  The honcho studied the ID cards intently. Then with a flick of his wrist, he waved us through. He sauntered off.

  We scurried onto the ferry.

  IT TOOK THE REST OF THE DAY TO REACH THE ISLAND OF Sonyu. A tiny village clung to the feet of a jagged cliff. The hooches were made of driftwood and roofed with straw thatch. Nets hung drying from the rickety wooden quay and women squatted in the shade of cherry trees, weaving straw m
ats. There weren't many boats along the quay. All were out fishing.

  The three of us stood along the railing.

  "Your mother lives here?" Ernie asked Lady Ahn.

  "Yes. My family has lived here for six centuries."

  Ernie whistled. "Not much business for the van and storage boys."

  Lady Ahn pointed to the gray-shrouded distance. "See that island there?"

  I could barely make it out on the western horizon. Craggy rocks rose straight out of the sea. 'Yes," I said.

  "That is Bian-do," she said. "That is where the jade skull is hidden."

  "That's where we're going?" Emie asked.

  "Yes," Lady Ahn said happily. 'Tomorrow at dawn."

  "Bian-do," I said. "The Island of Mysterious Peace."

  Lady Ahn swiveled her head. "Yes, Agent Sueño. You are correct."

  Her pleased expression was worth more to me than all the gold in Genghis Khan's tomb.

  LADY AHN'S MOTHER BOWED AS WE ENTERED THE SMALL courtyard of her home. It was a large ramshackle building on a hill overlooking the village of Sonyu, much too large for one old woman. It had been an ancestral home, built originally by Ahn the Righteous Fist in the fourteenth century, and rebuilt repeatedly over the years.

  Within minutes we were seated on the polished wood-slat floor and a table was placed before us spread with rice and kimchi and kalchi, a scabbard fish found only in Far Eastern waters.

  The food was delicious and both Ernie and I were famished. We polished off every plate in short order. As was ancient custom, the women ate in the kitchen and later came in to clear our plates.

  Lady Ahn seemed to be glowing, as if returning to the island of her birth had infused her with a strength of spirit that made her even more impressive than she was on the mainland.

  She wore traditional Korean clothing. A long white skirt called chima, tied high up along the ribs, and a short powder-blue chogori vest coat with long flowing sleeves. Her short hair was brushed back but fell forward and caressed her smooth cheeks when she bent to pick up the small serving table.

  The sun was almost down now, and Lady Ann's mother fixed one of the many rooms for Ernie and me. Ernie hit the sleeping mat almost immediately. Lady Ahn and I strolled down to the beach and watched the fishing boats sail in, floating across the red glimmer of a sinking sun.