by Martin Limon
"They are the ones who saved her from her attacker!"
This time heads nodded and the murmur was higher pitched. Approval.
Like magic, small towels were offered out of the crowd. I took one, handed it to Lady Ahn, and took one for myself. The cuts on my forehead stung as I wiped them down. A woman in a light blue smock with a red cross on her vest emerged from the forest of torsos. She produced a bottle of purple ointment and dabbed the stinging potion onto our cuts.
Ernie hadn't been hurt at all. He sauntered over to the little nun and offered her a stick of ginseng gum. Smiling broadly, she accepted.
Over by the main gate, the chanting began again. "Down with the foreign louts! Avenge the nun! Go back to America!"
Ernie kept smiling. Lady Ahn clutched the grain bag to her chest. I spoke in Korean to the little nun. "You have become very famous."
The monk standing next to her ignored my Korean and answered me in English.
'Yes. She is a symbol now to all Koreans. Of our resistance to an American occupation that would allow one of your soldiers to brutalize one as innocent as this."
He sounded like a propaganda recording. "We did not allow it," I told him. "The man who attacked her is a criminal."
"But you haven't turned him over to the Korean authorities yet."
My surprise must've shown on my face. The monk started to smirk.
There was no reason why Eighth Army CID couldn't have picked up the culprit by now. Ernie and I had left all the information any good investigator would need. What was holding them up?
"I'm sure he'll be turned over soon," I said.
The monk shook his bald head. "No. Your superiors claim they haven't even captured him yet."
Haven't captured him yet! No wonder the Korean students were mad.
The little nun was paying no attention at all to us. She kept chomping on her gum and smiling up at Ernie. For his part, he scanned the crowd, occasionally pointing at somebody with their hair tied up by their white headband or their face smeared with paint, making faces, imitating them.
The nun laughed like a little girl.
"Why is she wearing a hemp robe?" I asked.
The monk crossed his long arms. 'You know nothing of Korean custom?"
"Hemp robes are the sign of mourning," I said.
"Yes."
"So who died?"
"No one yet. In two days someone will."
I waited. He smiled.
"The virtuous nun," he said. "The little one you see before you."
"What are you talking about?" I asked. "She's young. Healthy. What's going to kill her?"
"Fire. At a rally in downtown Seoul. If the attacker is not caught and turned over to us, this good nun, Choi So-lan, will pour gasoline over her body. She will set herself aflame."
A holler erupted from the demonstrators. People closed in and started shoving.
Down the street, emerging from the high stone gate of the Ministry of National Defense, slithered a long row of helmeted riot police, waving their batons.
The students hooted and tossed stones.
Ernie turned to me. "Time to un-ass the area."
The monk smiled. "I will see to that." He raised his arm. A few monks scurried away and in less than a minute a long American-made station wagon nosed its way through the throng. It was ancient, almost twenty years old, and the outer walls were paneled with revarnished wood. A "woody," they used to call it back in Los Angeles.
Ernie took one look at it and grinned. "Shit. And here I am all out of surfboard wax."
The station wagon pulled up next to us and two monks jumped out and opened the doors. The elder monk motioned with his arm.
"Please. Be our guest."
Ernie shook his head. "I'll walk. Itaewon's just a few blocks from here."
Lady Ahn preferred walking, too. With the jade skull strapped in a bag over her shoulder, she didn't trust these Buddhists at all.
They both looked at me. "Yes," I said. "We prefer to walk."
"Ah," the monk said, "but we insist."
A dozen tough-looking monks closed in on us in a tight circle. Behind them were hundreds of angry demonstrators. The police near the Ministry of National Defense started to scrape their batons along the tops of their riot control shields.
It was an eerie sound. Like Roman legions preparing to clear a square.
The monk motioned again for us to climb into the sta- tion wagon. Ernie ignored him and stepped away. Before I could move, three monks hoisted Ernie into the air, and shoved him into the backseat of the woody like a flailing side of beef.
We were outnumbered. There was nothing else for us to do but comply.
Lady Ahn clutched my arm but kept her face set in stony aloofness. Regally, she stepped forward and entered the car. I followed.
21
WE CRUISED IN THE WOODY THROUGH DOWNTOWN SEOUL TO A temple located at the rear of the grounds of Doksu Palace. The palace had been built during the fifteenth century, burned down a time or two by Japanese invaders, and each time rebuilt by the tradition-loving patriots of Korea. The front part of the palace was open to tour groups. But back where we were, hemmed in by elm trees and rows of spruces, no one could hear us.
Even if we screamed.
But it wasn't a dungeon we were brought to. It was a tile-roofed pagoda in the center of a small island, in a placid pond infested with lily pads, frogs, and elegantly floating swans.
Three monks shoved Ernie into the center of the main floor of the pavilion, amidst comfortable couches and celadon vases filled with flowers and ancient embroidered silk screens covering the walls.
Ernie cursed at his captors and straightened his shirt. "This place sucks," he said.
Actually, this place had been the summer retreat of a king. But Ernie's only impressed by free-flowing booze, sawdust on the floors, and hot and cold running women.
Lady Ahn acted as if she'd been born here. Still clutching her burlap sack filled with rice and the priceless jade skull, she slipped off her shoes, strode toward one of the handcrafted couches, and sat carefully in its center.
I sat next to her, checking out the odds against us. They weren't good. Besides the half dozen or so monks who had accompanied us in the woody, on the way in I had seen ten more monks arrayed around the residence. Extra security.
A novitiate brought a tray holding a teapot painted with white cranes rising from reeds. He poured us each a cup of jasmine-scented tea.
If it hadn't been for the evil-looking monks watching him, Ernie probably would've smashed his teacup and the pot and everything else on the varnished coffee table. Lady Ahn didn't touch her tea. Instead, she sat with her back ramrod straight, gazing into the distance as if pondering great thoughts.
I was the only one who drank the tea. It tasted good. Besides, I was thirsty.
Choi So-lan, the little nun, and the elder monk sat down on the divan across from us. The monk spoke.
"My name is Bo Hua," he said, "the Protector of the Flame. Thank you for accepting our hospitality."
"You can take your hospitality and shove it," Ernie said. He paced the varnished slat floor behind us, unwilling to sit down.
The little nun frowned and stared at the floor.
"The reason we brought you here," Bo Hua continued, "is that we seek the jade skull of Kublai Khan."
Lady Ahn's facial expression didn't change. But her breathing stopped and the knuckles on the hand gripping the burlap bag grew white.
"We have been searching for it for many centuries," Bo Hua said. "I will let Nun Choi explain."
The little nun looked up. She took a deep breath and began to speak Korean in her high, lilting voice.
She had been assigned by her superiors, she explained to us, to collect alms in the Itaewon area. When word of the discovery of the jade skull of Kublai Khan reached her temple, she was further instructed to investigate the possibility that an American might somehow be involved in smuggling the precious skull out of Korea. I
nvestigate she did. During her inquiries she uncovered two names: Slicky Girl Nam and Herman the German. After watching their hooch for two days, she had been assaulted without warning by the American who Ernie and I managed to chase away. She had no idea who the men were who had kidnapped Herman's daughter, Mi-ja, but the fact that the abduction happened wasn't particularly surprising. The word was now out that the precious jade skull had reappeared. Many bad people would be after it, she assured us softly.
"That is why you should turn the skull over to us," Bo Hua added, once the little nun was finished with her dissertation. "You will surely be robbed. There is no way the thieves of the world will allow you to keep something as valuable as a skull with a map to the Tomb of Genghis Khan."
But the little nun wasn't finished yet. She interrupted him, and as she did so, Bo Hua turned to her slowly, amazed at her temerity.
"The jade skull is the key to the Tomb of Genghis Khan," the little nun said. "And all the riches of Genghis Khan's tomb belong to Buddha. They were stolen by the Mongols, stolen by Genghis Khan, and came from the Buddhist temples of China and Korea and other lands. The wealth was meant to do the work of Lord Buddha. To help the unfortunate. To build a bridge for everyone to the land of the infinite. That wealth does not belong to the Mongols or anyone else. It is Buddha's money."
She spoke with such passion that even Ernie stopped his pacing and stared at her, although he could understand little of what she said.
Finally, embarrassed by her outburst, the little nun's face turned crimson; she bowed her head.
'Yes. Quite," Bo Hua said. "We are not thugs. We are not thieves. We only ask that you turn the skull of Kublai Khan over to its rightful owners. The church of the Lord of the Vision of the Future. The church of the Maitreya Buddha."
At last, Lady Ahn spoke, using rapid Korean. "Have you no shame?" she demanded. "You know who the rightful owner of the jade skull is. Me! It was my ancestor, the great emperor of the Sung dynasty, who owned every bit of this wealth you describe. Some of it he allowed to be borrowed by the Buddhists, since he was a tolerant man. But ultimately all the wealth belonged to the emperor! Not to you!"
Bo Hua started to argue, but Ernie jumped in. "Knock off the bullshit! That jade head goes to get Mi-ja back. All this squabbling over who owns what don't mean jack to me!"
The little nun closed her eyes. Still keeping her head down, she scurried from the room. Ernie and Lady Ahn and Bo Hua started screaming at one another.
So much for civil discourse.
I finished the last of my tea and poured another cup.
Even the monks guarding us were involved in the argument, leaning forward, hanging on every word. Tough guys, but not exactly disciplined security guards.
I rose from my seat and sauntered toward the far side of the foyer where the little nun had disappeared. The monks ignored me. Figuring, I guess, that as long as they kept an eye on the burlap bag containing the jade skull, they had nothing to fear from me.
I found the little nun squatting on the tile floor of the kitchen. Crying.
I knelt down in front of her and reached for her chin.
"Ul-jima," I said. Don't cry.
Her wet, crinkled face looked up at me. "But it's Buddha's money," she said.
I nodded. "Yes. I believe you. But that little girl, Mi-ja, she also belongs to Buddha, doesn't she?"
The little nun nodded. "She does."
"Then help us escape from here. Help us save an innocent child's life."
"Escape?" The nun's liquid eyes flashed wide with terror. "I could never help you do that!"
That's what I was afraid she might say.
"Okay," I said. "You don't have to."
I stood and glanced out the window. The sandy shore that led to the pond had been carefully raked. There had to be gardening tools around here somewhere. I rummaged in a storage shed behind the kitchen and found them. One rake. One shovel. Perfect.
I walked back to the little nun and knelt down again. "Kokchong ha-jima. Na da halkei." Don't worry. I'll take care of everything.
I tested the heft of the rake and the shovel. I liked the shovel better.
When I walked back into the main sitting room, I didn't give the first monk a chance. Swinging the shovel in a full arc, I slammed the metal spade into his spine. A whoof of air erupted from his mouth.
Mid-shout, Ernie turned. The monks turned. I tossed Ernie the rake and managed to clobber two more monks before they had a chance to react.
Ernie started swinging. Lady Ahn knocked over a flower vase, grabbed the wooden stand, and clobbered Bo Hua on his bald head.
We fought our way to a paper-covered latticework doorway and smashed through it. Splinters and oil-paper confetti splattered everywhere.
Ernie thrust the rake into the face of one of the guards. The monk screamed and clutched his eyes.
"The bridge!" Ernie yelled.
"No. It's too well guarded," I said. "Into the pond."
Lady Ahn didn't hesitate for a second. She dived, twisting at the last second before hitting the water in order to protect the jade skull. Ernie waded in after her, waving his rake at the enraged monks who followed.
Splashing in up to my waist, I threw my shovel at the closest monk, dived into the water, and swam after Lady Ahn.
The monks floundered in the water, some of them going under and sputtering back up for air.
On the shore, pressing a rag to his bleeding head, stood Bo Hua, shouting orders. Waving his monks back toward the bridge in hopes of cutting us off.
When I reached the far shore, Lady Ahn pulled me to my feet in the slippery mud. Then she helped Ernie up. The pack of monks was crossing the half-moon bridge now, about forty yards behind us.
We sprinted into the tree line.
Ernie shoved branches out of his face, still jabbering. "You did a goddamn number on that monk, George! No warning, just whomp! I didn't know you had it in you."
Neither did I. Not until greed stood in the way of a little girl's life.
We emerged onto a manicured lawn with cobbled walkways and statues and more palaces in the distance. Lovers strolled arm in arm. Women pushed baby carriages.
Dripping wet, we sprinted across the lawn and hopped a low wire fence. Lady Ahn hurdled obstacles like a trained runner.
We zigzagged through the crowds, Lady Ahn leading the way, until I realized where she was headed. A tourist bus had just pulled up in front of the statue of Saejong Daewang, the fifteenth-century king who had invented hangul, the Korean writing system.
I glanced back. The monks had broken through the trees and were sprinting straight for us.
The tourists piling out of the bus all wore identical caps and jackets. Each seemed to have about a dozen cameras strapped around his neck. Japanese.
Lady Ahn elbowed one out of her way and shoved another. Stepping up into the bus, she swung her fist and punched the Korean bus driver on the side of the skull. Ernie tossed him down the steps. I managed to slow his fall. Still, he twisted and sprawled face-first onto the pavement.
Lady Ahn stood behind Ernie, shouting at him to drive. But Ernie couldn't seem to get the hang of how to operate the little Korean bus. The monks were so near that I could see the rage in their red eyes. I grabbed the handle and pulled the bus door shut. Two monks slammed into it. I jammed the sole of my foot against the door and held them back.
"Start the goddamn bus, Ernie!" I yelled.
"There's some trick to this ignition," he shot back.
Lady Ahn ran through the bus, slamming every window shut. Monks started to climb up the walls. Ernie twisted something, pushed a button, turned the key. Nothing happened. He cursed and tried it in a different order this time. The engine roared to life. Ernie jammed the bus into gear, let out the clutch, and it lurched backward.
Reverse. The engine died.
Swearing, Ernie started it again. He rejammed the gears, and this time we leapt forward. The two monks banging on the door had to step back. Ot
hers still clung to the side of the bus.
"Shake 'em off, Ernie! They're still hanging on."
"Can do easy," he said.
Pedestrians leapt out of the way as we swerved through the park. Up ahead loomed a great stone gate with an upturned tile roof. The five-hundred-year-old entrance to the Doksu Palace grounds.
A low wire fence spanned the round arch. Behind it stood rows of uniformed schoolchildren, lined up patiently behind fluttering banners. Ernie honked the horn. People glanced at us, but no one moved.
Ernie pounded his palm on the horn. "Move, goddamn it! Move!"
Ernie swerved around more pedestrians, and the wheels of the bus squealed. Finally, schoolchildren pointed and started to step out of the way.
Instead of bursting right through the center of the arch, Ernie aimed the bus for the two-yard-thick stone wall. The monks still clinging to the bus realized what was going to happen. Ernie was going to scrape them off the side. One by one, they dropped off the bus like fleas abandoning a mutt.
Ernie kept blasting his horn. Panicked schoolteachers waved their arms and blew their whistles, trying to shoo children out of the way.
We slammed into the side of the arch with a great crunch. The metal partition in front of us shot forward like shrapnel from a grenade. The last of the schoolchildren screamed and scurried out of the way.
The bus swerved through the open blacktop area in front of the entranceway. Turning the steering wheel madly, Ernie careened into traffic.
Horns honked. Tires screeched.
"Anybody left hanging on?" Ernie asked.
I looked back. One lone monk clung like a pinned moth to the rearmost window.
"Just one," I said.
I walked back, pulled down the window, and punched the monk in the face.
He fell back, bounced twice on the asphalt, and rolled until he slammed up against the concrete curb.
"No more monks," I called back to Ernie.
"Pesky devils," Ernie said.
Lady Ahn sat on a vinyl seat in the middle of the bus, rocking the jade skull, cooing to it softly.
As if it were her own precious baby.
22
