Martoons

Cast of characters

Fred

*

The bus quickly made it to the terminal and into the bay, swung its door open and emptied efficiently.

Moments later on the sidewalk, Fred realized he couldn’t have picked a better weekend to visit.

It was probably nuts around here on a normal weekday and he imagined a cacophony of honking horns, and exhaust clouds covering the city like a traditional Korean blanket.

The early afternoon air today was pleasantly clear.

He found himself effortlessly inhaling deep breaths and savoring the oxygen that perfused into his lungs.

Ulsan at this particular moment reminded him of Canada. Yet there was an underlying alienation.

The scattering of people wandering around zombie-like mostly wore drab, gray or navy jackets and pants, and their faces were stone cold.

* How come everyone seems so monotonous? *

An old lady scampered along the sidewalk balancing on her head a huge bowl covered with a towel.

She seemed to make eye contact with Fred in passing.

He nodded and cracked a smile but she looked right through him expressionless, as if he was invisible.

Fred caught a cab hovering nearby. “I look for my friend,” he told the cabby. “He work in Englishy school downtown.”

That was all the cabby needed and he hit the gas. Apparently most of the main Englishy schools were congregated in one area. Very Korean.

They sped away from the bus terminal and then down a long straightaway for several kilometers.

The road then crested and as they got over the top, there was that Industrial Monument again off in the near distance, looming.

This was a fresh, different, more arms-length angle of both the obelisk and the rotary, which this road fed right into.

The cabbie pulled over. Fred forked over his fare and got out.

He liked the occasional feeling of being in the middle of nowhere and not really knowing where he was going. Fending for himself built survival skills.

He ascended the stairs of a pedestrian overpass to get his bearings.

The rotary looked ominous from above, with its six-lane roadway running around it.

On the outside edge was a massive collage of multi-coloured signs jutting from building sides – hundreds of them.

It was as if somebody had photographed the Chinju Rotary and multiplied it a hundred times.

After panning the chaotic scene with a detached amazement, Fred’s eyes randomly – and luckily – spotted the sign for Thomas’ building.

A window decal indicated fourth floor.

When Fred entered the small lobby, a security guard emerged from an enclosed booth and stopped him, more out of curiosity and boredom than anything else.

This guard was younger and more buffed than the silvering sentry back at Good Lucky apartments.

“You go five floor,” the guard said, presuming Fred’s destination.

Fred mildly waved him off, holding up four fingers. “Sign outside say four!”

The guard more vigorously waved him off and cordially gestured that Fred follow him to the elevator.

The stainless steel door opened and he showed Fred the wall panel: “One, two, three, five. Four – no have.”

* Why is there no fourth floor? *

Fred shrugged, curious.

The guard gestured with a severing motion across his throat. “In Korea, four means die.”

Another mini-lesson in Korean culture. Fred headed up, satisfied and relieved to finally be here.

Even though he hadn’t called ahead, he had an instinctive feeling all along that Thomas would be here.

He swung open the glass entry door and entered cautiously and respectfully. 

* Do you think Thomas will still be there? *

*

Tomorrow: Fred gets invited in to meet Mr Kang.