Buddha's money

19

Shorts and socks erupted into the air. but no matter how many of them he tossed out of the bag, Ernie still couldn't pry out the AK-47. As the five men closed in, I snatched up a handful of slimy squid and flung it at them. They backed up for a second, covering their eyes. But when the limp flesh flopped into the mud, they bared their teeth in sinister grins.

I didn't have a weapon. No clubs, no tree branches, no loose rocks lying about. I braced myself, prepared to use my fists and my feet and, if necessary, my teeth.

Ernie tugged and cursed and started to rip the leather bag apart.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Lady Ahn slide behind the crab stall.

Ernie had the AK-47 out of the bag now and was fumbling with the ammunition clip, holding it upside down, twisting it, trying to ram it home.

One of the men near the fish tank raised his sickle, let out a blood-curdling scream, and charged.

The world started to tilt. For an instant I felt as if I was suffering from vertigo. Then I realized that it was the glass fish tank, slowly toppling over.

Before the man with the sickle could reach us, a tsunami of water and fins exploded out of the top of the tank. The wave crashed onto his back, followed by glass and metal rods and about a jillion shimmering sardines. The attacker was swallowed up in the deluge.

Lady Ahn stood behind the tank, still shoving, her face glowing with rage.

The men behind us closed in.

I grabbed a handful of crab, flung it, and hopped forward, kicking with the upturned toe of my sneakers. A swooshing club missed my forehead by an inch. My foot caught rib, the man grunted, and I followed with a left jab. The punch landed on his chin.

Something slammed into my arm. Fire exploded from my elbow to my shoulder blade. The canvas above me swirled madly. I remember punching and gouging, but I'm not sure who all this fury was aimed at.

Again something rammed into my back. I realized it was one of the stalls. It was flattened, and I was lying on top of it. Crabs pinched my neck.

Above me a sickle whistled through the air. I rolled. The curved blade slammed into the dust.

And then a blast filled the air. An unmistakable rat-a-tat-tat and a sinus-cleansing burst of gunsmoke.

Suddenly Ernie stood above me, his face red, cords bulging in his neck, screaming, spraying the poles and canvas rooftops of the market with a stream of lethal AK-47 pellets.

Just as suddenly as it began, the firing stopped. Ernie's hand reached down, I grabbed it, and he yanked me to my feet.

"Out of ammo," he said. "Let's un-ass the area."

"By all means," I said.

Amidst the splintered stalls and tattered canvas and flopping fish, Lady Ahn appeared at my side. I grabbed her and pulled her close.

"Let's go!"

We ran out of the market, away from the bus station, through the narrow pathways of Ok-dong. Not sure where in the hell we were going.

Near the edge of the town, where the vast expanse of green rice paddies began, we finally stopped, panting for breath.

"Did I lay it on 'em, pal? Or what?" Ernie yelled.

Lady Ahn peered around nervously, at the rickety shacks behind fences of splintered slats and rusted chicken wire.

"Quiet down, Ernie," I said. "The assholes might still be in the area."

"No way," Ernie said. "We lost 'em. Once I pulled out this baby.." he patted the AK-47, "… no way they were going to follow."

I wasn't so sure about that. "You didn't kill any of them, did you?"

"Naw. Shot over their heads. But I should've blown a few of them away." He mimed firing the automatic weapon once again. "Rock and rolll"

What Ernie needed was a sedative. Or a couple of shots of bourbon.

Lady Ahn tugged on my arm. "We must leave. Quickly!"

"Yes," I agreed. "But they'll be watching the bus station. And there aren't any taxicabs way out here."

"We will find a way," she said. "I will show you."

Twenty minutes later, we stood inside a tin-roofed shack peering at a small tractor with a square wooden platform bolted behind the driver's seat. Designed for transporting fifty-pound bags of grain.

A snaggle-toothed farmer grinned at us. He'd never in his life seen such an entertaining display as the three of us. "How much does he want?" I asked.

"Ten thousand won," Lady Ahn answered. Twenty bucks.

"And he'll take us all the way to Taejon?"

"On the back roads only. He'll let us off near the outskirts. Not in the town itself."

"Okay," Ernie said. "It's a deal."

The farmer also threw in three bowls of rice gruel and some turnip kimchi, which we ate while hiding inside the tin shack.

When night fell, the moon rose almost full but not quite. If we were going to save Mi-ja, we had to reach Seoul by tomorrow. The three of us crammed ourselves into the back of the tractor, the cackling old farmer at the wheel. The farmer fired up the engine and we drove off down the bumpy country road, heading once again toward the provincial capital of Taejon.

My legs had cramped into knots and my butt was as sore as a bad boy's rump at a corporal punishment convention. The ancient tractor bounced up and down with every rut. The straw-hatted farmer stared straight ahead into the night. Ernie kept up a steady stream of cursing.

To make matters worse, the heavens opened up as if they had only one last chance to water a parched planet.

Lady Ahn snuggled up against me, clutching the skull in the soaked burlap bag, and I held a plastic sheet over our heads. Ernie had lost everything in the fight in the fish market and sat with his arms crossed, hugging the AK-47. Rain ran in rivulets down his straight nose and puddled on cursing lips.

I had offered him the use of my shirt or the underwear in my bag but stubbornly he had refused. Finally, he gave in and grabbed my overnight bag and set the whole thing atop his head. It didn't provide much shelter.

I thought about the Mongols who had attacked us, trying to bring the memory of their faces vividly into my mind.

They were tough rascals. Dark-skinned and wiry and with an apparent relish for combat that only men long used to violence could attain. They held Mi-ja, and she was totally at their mercy.

The tractor slammed down hard into a pothole. Soil reeking of septic tank splashed up and engulfed us in a rancid wave. Ernie emitted a particularly colorful series of expletives but the old farmer just kept churning forward.

Soon the rainwater had washed much of the mud off of us. Through it all, Lady Ahn sat next to me. Uncomplaining. As long as she held the skull in her hands, she seemed happy.

Streetlamps started to appear at the side of the road. And then huts and buildings and even a two-story yoguan with a rain-soaked wooden sign over its door.

The farmer stopped the tractor, turned off the ignition, and the engine coughed, sputtered, and died.

"Yogi isso," he said, still smiling. Here you are. "Taejon."

I unraveled my legs in sections, stepped out onto the pavement, and shakily brought myself to the standing position. Ahead in the distance lay a sea of more lights and even high-rise buildings. Bright blue and yellow neon sparkled through the rain and I could make out the tiny letter- ing atop one of the skyscrapers. The Pyong-an Tourist Hotel.

Luxury. But much too far away. We'd settle for this small establishment in front of us. The Somun Yoguan. The Westgate Inn.

I paid the farmer. He started up the engine of his tractor, and waved to us as he drove away. Still grinning.

Easy money, he was probably thinking. If we were foolish enough to offer it, he was damn sure going to take it.

We pushed through the heavy oak door of the inn. After a couple of minutes, the chubby woman who owned the Somun Yoguan overcame her shock at seeing two rain-drenched Americans accompanied by a soaked-to-the-skin Korean woman of regal beauty. We paid for two rooms. The owner led us down creaking wooden hallways. Rounding a corner, she slid back a paper-paneled door.

It was a little square room with no beds, just folded sleeping mats and wood-slat floors heated by steam ducts running beneath the foundation.

The owner left Ernie and me, guiding Lady Ahn to her quarters. She returned a few minutes later with a metal tray piled high with hot rolled hand towels and steaming cups of barley tea. When I rubbed the towel on the back of my neck and sipped on the tea, a semblance of color started to return to my shriveled skin.

Ernie was the last to use the byonso. While he was gone, Lady Ahn tiptoed down the hallway. Without a word, she took me by the hand and led me to her room.

We slid the door shut and turned off the light. The rain had stopped and the clouds were beginning to disperse. Beams of moonlight drifted through an open curtain. Instead of appearing beautiful, the light from the almost full moon filled me with dread. Dread for what would happen to Mi-ja if we didn't reach Seoul soon.

Lady Ahn sensed my discomfort. She undressed me and wiped my cold skin with a warm towel. I forgot all worries and did the same for her.

I knelt in front of her. Ministering to royalty. Ministering to beauty.

The next morning Ernie wasn't exactly morose, but he wasn't happy either. Usually, he's the one who makes it with the chicks. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because he doesn't try. He just does whatever crazy thing comes into his demented mind and women find it exciting. Unpredictable.

Personally, I could live without the unpredictable part.

We ordered breakfast in the room: jiggei peikpan, white rice with kimchi and bean curd soup. After we ate, we stuffed the AK-47 into my overnight bag and stepped out into the already bustling city of Taejon. Our clothes were still damp.

We waved down a cab, clambered in, and Lady Ahn gave directions. The Rising Phoenix Antique Shop in the district of Chungku.

When we pushed into the shop, the familiar bell tinkled above us. The same young clerk Ernie and I had frightened last time stepped out from behind the still-splintered glass counter. Wide-eyed, she bowed at the waist.

"Kang oddiso?" Lady Ahn asked. Where's Kang?

The clerk stood upright and raised her fingertips to her lips. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"Mullasso, onni?" You don't know, older sister?

"What?" Lady Ahn asked. "What is it I don't know?"

"The Widow Kang was found in her apartment." The young clerk turned her face, tears streaming easily down the soft skin of her cheeks. "She had been tortured. And cut many times."

"Cut? Is she still alive?"

"No, older sister. They cut her throat." The young woman clutched at her thin neck convulsively. "Cut it so deep the policeman said they carved into the bone."

I translated for Ernie but somehow he'd already figured out what was going on. "It's Fifi, right?" I nodded. "I think we'd better get out of here," he said. "Now."

Lady Ann's face was blank from shock. I grabbed her and the three of us slipped out the back door and down the alleyway.

No one followed. At least I don't think they did.

We pushed down the sidewalk, past children in black uniforms carrying heavy book bags over their shoulders. In the street, men in loose pantaloons wheeled carts piled high with giant cabbages.

"They'll be watching the trains," I said.

Ernie nodded. "And the bus station."

Lady Ahn's voice was hoarse but her words were strong and clear. "We must hire a car," she said.

"That'll cost money."

"Not much. I know a place."

We walked rapidly, none of us talking, chewing up the kilometers. Red-striped municipal buses roared past us, spewing out diesel fumes. Korean army convoys honked their horns and rolled haltingly past seas of pedestrians and bell-chiming bicycles. We were nearing the downtown area.

At a big circular intersection, we stopped under the awning of an open-front store.

"People who need gas money for a long trip congregate here," Lady Ahn told us. "You wait. I will search for someone traveling to Seoul."

"I'll come with you."

"No. If they see an American face, the price goes up. And they might not even want to travel with you."

"Okay," I agreed. "But stay out on the sidewalk where I can see you."

For the first time since we'd learned of the Widow Kang's murder, Lady Ahn smiled. "I will."

After she left, Ernie sauntered into the store and bought two packs of ginseng gum and three small tins of guava juice. I thanked him when he handed me one, popped open the top, and drank it down quickly. I was more thirsty than I thought.

"Maybe those dudes are watching this area, too," Ernie said.

"Maybe. But I doubt it. They're foreigners like us. They won't know about this place. An unofficial rendezvous for people seeking transportation."

"I hope not." Ernie glugged down his guava. "I heard you last night."

"Heard what?"

"I heard you and I heard her."

"You know Korean custom. You're supposed to pretend that you didn't hear."

"Hey, I'm still a Miguk. Or almost, anyway."

"American, maybe. But you're getting as bad as Strange."

Strange was one of our information contacts back in Seoul. Although a pervert in his personal life, he was the noncommissioned officer in charge of all the Top Secret documents at Eighth Army Headquarters. Appropriate, when you thought about it.

"I'm just looking out for your welfare, pal," Ernie told me. "There's something weird about this Lady Ahn. She hasn't told us everything."

"Maybe not," I snapped. "But she's told us enough."

"Okay," Ernie said. "Just commenting."

I filled Ernie in on what Lady Ahn told me last night while we lay together in the Westgate yoguan. The first thing I asked about was her reaction to the jade amulet the little nun had given Ernie.

"It frightened me," she explained. "Because it proved that many people are now looking for the jade skull."

"How so?"

"Maitreya is the most important saint for the largest Buddhist sect in Korea. On the amulet, he is fighting Mahakala, the god of the Mongols. The Mongols practice a different kind of Buddhism. Some of them are very good. But some of them like to fight."

"And you think that both Buddhist sects, the ones who control Korea and the ones who control Mongolia, are now after the jade skull?"

"Yes. That is why the little nun was in Itaewon. Her temple must've heard rumors about me. And about Herman. The nun was a spy, trying to learn what she could about the jade skull."

"And someone attacked her because of it?"

"Of course."

"Will the Buddhists who rule Korea send men after us also?"

"No. They are much too powerful for that. They will try to steal the jade skull, but they won't kill us. Not out in the open anyway."

Okay. It made sense. But I had one more question.

"If these two important groups of Buddhists are after the jade skull, why did the monks on Bian-do let us go free?"

"Because the monks of Bian-do have lived alone for many centuries. They belong to neither sect, and they are true Buddhists. Not concerned with money."

"And if you retake the throne of the Sung dynasty…"

"Yes," she said. "I will honor the monks of Bian-do and give them the chance to spread their faith amongst millions of people."

While we stood in the little shop, I explained all this to Ernie.

"These religious guys are just as greedy as all the other bastards," he said.

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe they think they have a right to the jade skull."

Before I could explain further, Lady Ahn trotted back into the store. Ernie polished off his guava juice and handed her a tin.

"I found a car," she told us. "It belongs to a gambler who lost all of his money at the casino at Songni-san. We'll have to buy the gasoline."

"No sweat," Ernie said. "Can do easy."

Before we left, Ernie loaded up with some puffed rice disks and some dried cuttlefish and four bottles of sparkling apple cider. And another pack of gum, just in case.

The gambler pulled his little Hyundai sedan up next to the curb and flashed us a toothy grin. We clambered in, Ernie riding shotgun, Lady Ahn and me in the back.

The gambler told us his name was Mr. Peik. As he wound through the Taejon traffic, he described how bad his luck had been at the roulette table. We stopped and bought gas. When we rolled onto the Seoul-Pusan Expressway heading north, I paid the toll.

Mr. Peik kept up a steady chatter in Korean until Ernie reached into my overnight bag and pulled out the AK-47. Peik's hands tightened on the steering wheel, his head swiveled, and his Adam's apple started to bob while his eyes bulged halfway out of his head.

Ernie pointed straight down the highway and said only one word in English: "Drive "

Mr. Peik, the gambler, stepped on the gas pedal, pressed his nose up against the top of the steering wheel, and kept his bulging eyes glued to the white lines slashing beneath our tires on the pavement below.

We only made one pit stop during the entire trip, this time Ernie bought papaya juice and we drank that down and munched on dried squid tentacles that tasted a lot like beef jerky.

Mr. Peik lived in Seoul, and had no trouble navigating the maze of roads when we crossed the Han River. Ernie told him to take us to Itaewon, so the guy hung a right at the Samgakji Circle, cruised past the Ministry of National Defense, and had to slow for traffic in front of Yongsan Compound, our base camp and the home of the Eighth United States Army Headquarters.

We heard chanting up ahead. I saw picket signs waving. It was then that we realized we'd chosen the wrong route.

"Demo," Mr. Peik said. Demonstration. He was more concerned now with the angry mob up ahead than with Ernie's AK-47.

He kept rolling forward, searching for a spot to make a U-turn, but we were hemmed in by rows of cars on either side. Most of the vehicles were managing to squeeze past the shouting crowd by decelerating and creeping along in the extreme right lane.

The demonstrators were mostly college kids. They wore white headbands slashed with Chinese characters. A few were inspecting each car as it rolled past, peering in the windows, waving each driver forward.

Mr. Peik kept glancing frantically to his left, looking for a chance to turn around, but every other driver was thinking only of rolling past the demonstration safely, before Molotov cocktails started flying. The other cars wouldn't let him turn.

"An dei," he said. "An del" No good. No good.

"What's the problem?" Ernie asked. "We'll creep past 'em like all the other cars."

Lady Ahn was leaning forward now, scanning the situation. "But the students are checking each car."

Ernie swiveled around. "So?"

"So all the other GIs are already back on the compound. We are the only car out here with Americans in it."

I suddenly realized that she was right. That's why the students were searching each car. They were looking for foreigners.

I made out the lettering on some of the picket signs.

"Avenge the nun!" the signs said. "Be the strong fist of Buddha!" "Throw out the foreign louts!"

"She's right," I told Ernie. "They're looking for Miguk faces." In unison the students chanted. A volley of rocks flew over the compound gate, clanging against metal roofs on the far side of the wall.

"Looks like we could use some quick plastic surgery," Ernie said. He shifted in his seat, rolled down the window, and slapped the side of the AK-47. "Or one of these babies."

He stuck the barrel of the rifle out the window.

"Knock off the bullshit, Ernie," I said. "You don't even have any more bullets. If we're peaceful, they might let us by."

But it was too late.

Three burly young men, students with headbands, strode down the line of cars. One of them spotted us through the windshield, yelled at his comrades, and pointed. The students forgot about the other cars: They headed toward us.

Mr. Peik started blubbering loudly, pounding his fist on the steering wheel. "An del An del An del" No good.

Ernie leaned out the window, held the rifle leveled at the students, and shouted.

"Freeze, assholes! Hold it right there or I blow your goddamn skulls off!"

"Damn it, Ernie!" I grabbed for him. He tried to swat my arm and the barrel of the rifle pointed toward the sky.

The students saw their chance. One yelled back for reinforcements. The others charged toward us.

Before Ernie could turn, someone had snatched the rifle, yanked, and jerked it out of his hands. Ernie cursed and leaned out the window, but it was too late. The AK-47 had vanished.

In a moment the students were kicking the doors of our car, rocking it back and forth on creaking springs. With a mighty lunge, the car teetered and almost tipped over. Lady Ahn cradled the jade skull tightly. Miraculously, at the last moment the car rolled back and crashed firmly onto all four wheels.

I started to breathe easier.

Until a baseball bat smashed the front window.