Martoons

Cast of characters

Dame

Motel owner

*

How fitting, Damion thought, as he made his way back to his motel. It was only around dinner time but the sky was darkening quickly.

This was the first night in recent memory where he wasn’t going out on the town. And it was Christmas of all nights – how ironic.

Although he wasn’t with anyone, he didn’t feel alone. “It’s times like this that I feel like Jesus is walkin’ with me,” he announced to the evening blackness in a rare moment of spiritual insight.

He crossed the bridge leading away from the Rotary and headed to his motel 10 minutes’ off.

From the middle of the bridge he could look up and down the river and get a 360-degree view.

Stamped on the night sky like branding marks were numerous red neon signs of crosses.

Most Korean churches, even small ones, erect these crosses. They are not obtrusive: The crosses are not solid; the neon runs only around the outside edge.

Damion counted no less than a dozen glowing red crucifixes from his vantage point at the bridge’s crux.

It was as if that was all he could see for a few seconds, and every other light had been turned off for this little show.

“That’s weird. I’ve been in Korea all this time and never even noticed those crosses until now – Christmas evening.”

He felt almost clean and pure as he lit up a cigarette, commenced a cacophony of coughing, and continued on.

He spotted his motel down at the foot of the bridge and was amazed how the skuzzy little domicile was like home now.

But wait a minute! Am I really going back to my room at this ungodly early hour – to relax and sleep? He shuddered.

Geez, this is way too normal. Next thing you know I’ll be going to church. Or getting a regular job here!

* Do you think Damion might end up doing these things? *

He normally returned to his room at sun-up, slept most of the day and exited the motel around dinner time – for the rest of the night.

This was the exact opposite.

Presently, entering the motel lobby, he always made a habit of stopping to say hello to the owner.

The older, stoic man sat all bundled up behind his window, in front of a heater and little TV.

Dame was in pretty good with him and the good-natured, long-time bachelor regularly lent him adult videos.

Tonight’s program perked up Dame’s bloodshot eyeballs. He chuckled mischievously as he perused the cover graphics.

*

Xmas Lunch 

“Hmmm,” Dame remarked snidely to the motel owner, “it’s a doubleheader I see: Randy High School Teachers and Sextracurricular Activities.”

He stretched luxuriously, and using body language and butchered Korean added, “Yep, think I’m due for some high school upgrading.”

The owner comprehended his comment and they both laughed together. The owner then gave him a Christmas present – a bottle of lemon soju.

At first, Dame waved it off Korean style, a sort of polite first refusal. The owner persisted. “Me – remon soju – no drinky. It popular with girls. I buy for you.”

“But I’m not a girl.” (Second of two customary refusals.)

“I heard foreigners like it,” then he shoed Damion away with the soju and slid the window shut.

* Will Damion like the soju? *

As Dame headed to his room down at the end of the main floor hall, it all seemed too easy.

Kickin’ back and relaxin’ just wasn’t in his nature – he wasn’t a homebody.

However with no access to cash until tomorrow, there wasn’t much he could do.

He brutally suppressed his nighthawk instincts and reluctantly got cozy on his quilt on the warm floor.

Cracked open the soju bottle. Shoved one of the vids into the antique player below the TV.

“Man has to appreciate art once and a while,” he commented as the opening scene showed surgically-enhanced Hong Kong female “students” performing horizontal gymnastics.

Yet suddenly something went wrong with the TV screen and Dame could only hear the Franken-females making phony primal grunts.

There weren’t any visuals – the screen had gone blank.

When he took his eyes off the screen to locate his smokes, a very terminal-sounding noise erupted from the video appliance.

It was a crunch and crackle like the sound of Christmas wrapping paper being crumpled up.

Sure enough, the video machine had eaten the tape.

This is God’s way of telling me I’m supposed to go out tonight.

*

Tomorrow: Miss No must deal with a new and unsuspected crisis.