I am stationed on the west coast, close to the front line. My new assignment is coastal guard duty. I sleep in the squad room during the day, wake late in the afternoon, and am deployed at dusk to one of the observation points staggered along the beach. I stay up all night with the sea in front and barbed wire behind. Since I’m not doing drills like I did in the special forces unit, it’s not as taxing. But the tradeoff is that you don’t get any leave when you’re stationed at the coast. Nor do they allow overnight passes. In this remote exile, I aim my rifle at an invisible enemy who could invade at any moment.
I think I nursed a certain misunderstanding and fantasy about military life before I joined. I thought that, while it might be demanding physically, becoming part of an organization would help free me of the inertia that has always plagued me. But on my first day of basic, I saw how foolish that assumption was. I was ordered around and pushed around by the drill sergeant and other officers, and I realized just how deluded I had been. (My ears are still ringing from when the officers treated us like animals and screamed, “There are soldiers and there are human beings! You are not human beings!”) Then there was the individual combat training, and running—or sometimes crawling—from the fallback area to the firing line. At first, it was bewildering; later, infuriating. But my anger soon made up for the resignation, the depression, and the disillusionment. After surviving as a “conscript” and again as a member of the special forces, suffering through cold, sleep deprivation, and hunger, I started to feel like I really wasn’t a human being. I never guessed that I would feel as lost here as I did in college, where I struggled to fit in. I can handle the tyranny of the older soldiers and the physical exhaustion. But realizing the belief that I am me—the idea that I am worth something—is just dust, nothing more than wind with no substance, fills me with the bitterest of agonies that gnaws at my insides. Here, in the army, I am learning all over again that human beings are nothing more than rats in a maze with no exit, running in circles forever. So maybe that’s why I feel this way. Every time I stand on guard duty in the dark of night, facing those empty mudflats as the searchlights play over them and the sea crouching just beyond, I feel like I am facing my own darkness within.
Faces float to mind like salvation. Laughing faces that shine like stars. Loving voices, bright smiles, sometimes even a sulk … Each time that frigid ocean breeze hits me, I call out the names of my far-off loved ones one after the other as if saying the Lord’s Prayer.
Yoon.
After I get to my observation point around six in the evening and set up the guns around the bunker, there is usually a little time left before the sun goes down completely. I use this time to jot down my thoughts, including letters to send to you, and draw sketches of the ocean and mountains in pencil. A soldier who is in the same formation as me sits at a distance smoking a cigarette. This moment, when there are no higher-ranking soldiers or officers to worry about, belongs entirely to me. I think these—when I am surrounded by waves and wind and am writing to you—are the happiest moments in my life right now.
A few days ago, at dawn, right before finishing our shifts and retreating from the coast, we scooped up the straw that was spread on the floor of the bunkers during the winter and burned it. On the other side of the sand dunes, where the tide had pulled out, I saw fishermen and their wives on their way to work. The discolored straw wouldn’t burn at first, but the flame soon caught and burst into heat and acrid smoke. I stood with five or six other soldiers and stared into the glowing fire for a long time. In an instant, the flames collapsed into black ash, and I felt the fortress walls that had claimed their space inside of me also slowly collapse.
I woke up late this morning to find that it was foggy and drizzly out. I stood outside for a while, enjoying the sweet feeling of those thin drops of rain brushing over my skin. Even by afternoon, the fog was still so thick that the water’s edge was just a faint outline between the pine trees. Both sea and sky were sunk beneath a depressing gray. I had nothing to do and nothing to read, so I spent the whole day thinking about you. Do I get this sentimental each time it rains because I am still stuck in puberty, psychologically speaking? Back in college, whenever it rained, I would wander around the city all day. There was a café I used to go to where a DJ took song requests. I would go in, drenched with rain, and ask for some low, quiet song, like “Seems So Long Ago, Nancy” by Leonard Cohen or “Old Records Never Die” by Ian Hunter or “Private Investigation” by Dire Straits. Now that’s all just a distant memory. There was another song I used to listen to a lot. I can’t remember the singer’s name, but the song was called “Time in a Bottle.” Yoon, how I wish I really could save time in a bottle and take it out as I needed it.
Last night I was on border patrol when the battalion commander pulled up in a jeep. Luckily I wasn’t dozing off, so I was able to salute him properly. He did an inspection, gave me a few encouraging remarks, and was about to get back in the jeep when he turned around suddenly and asked, “Hey, Corporal, you got a girlfriend?” It’s an unspoken rule in the army that if a senior officer or anyone who’s been in the service longer than you asks if you have a girlfriend, you say yes regardless of whether it’s true or not. I thought of you and said, “Sir, yes, sir! I do, sir!” Then the commander asked, “You think she’s faithful?” I hesitated, and then barked, “Sir, she’ll wait for me, sir!” He stared at me for a moment, like he was going to say something, but then he called me a dumb fuck and hopped back in the jeep. I stood and watched until the taillights of the jeep disappeared into the darkness, and I thought about what he’d said. Why did he ask me something so childish and trite and then call me a dumb fuck? Did it just pop out as he was trying to think of something comforting to say? One thing I am sure of is that our brief conversation in the dark showed him who I really am. I am a dumb fuck.
Yesterday, one of the guys on KP duty caught four snakes by our unit. The snakes, which are called rock mamushi or red-banded snake, had yellow venom on their tails. They said snakes crawl all the way into the squad barracks in the summer. Imagine that. Lifting your blanket and seeing a snake crawl out. When I came back from the beach this morning, they told me the platoon leader and some of the older guys roasted the snakes and ate them with soju. I wasn’t disgusted by that. I did worse things in the special forces. If I told you what people resort to in order to survive in the mountains, you would probably never want to see me again. People eating live snakes still squirming after their skin is pulled off like a sock and their guts scraped out … I’ve seen and done so many bizarre things since I joined the army.
Whenever I look down at the ocean through night vision goggles, I feel like a nocturnal animal. Rifle slippery in my hands. Waves breaking against the shore and exploding into shards. Even now, in my dreams, I march around and around the training ground in formation until someone barks Ten-hut! and I wake.
Compared with how desolate it is at night, the beach is beautiful in the daylight. Yesterday, the entire squad stripped down to our government-issue briefs and ran double-time to the shore and dove into the ocean. The water was so achingly cold at first, but as we shouted and crashed into one another, it felt almost lukewarm. It occurred to me that maybe if things keep going this way just a little longer, I, too, could become a simple, well-adjusted being, one who fits the label of soldier or enlisted man, and be able to return to society. I no longer feel as anxious as I did when I first started. I love to recite this clichéd line of poetry: “Should this life sometime deceive you, Don’t be sad or mad at it!” All the while wondering if perhaps it is not life deceiving me, but me deceiving life.
Yoon.
The sky is very overcast today. I grabbed a raincoat, just in case, along with my notebook, and patrolled the ceasefire line, huffing and puffing my way to the top of the bluffs. My face was red and hot by the time I got there. I sat at the edge of the cliff and looked down at the murky sea. Sketched a single small boat in the distance that looked like it was penciling a line
across the water with its wake. I like the sketch, so I am sending it to you.
Dahn seemed to be braving his time on the coastal border patrol by writing to me. One of the letters asked me to come visit. He had changed so much. I stared at the letter for a long time. I couldn’t believe this was the same person who had refused to receive any letters or visits. He sounded lonely and overwhelmed and most of all worn down. That was the sense I got.
Yoon.
Lately, the military has been on constant alert, so everyone is under great stress. At least once a day we get orders to increase our vigilance. Everyone below the rank of company commander is particularly nervous about next month’s full military inspection. Originally, our company was supposed to pull off the coast and regroup with the main force while another was sent in to replace us, but it keeps getting pushed back. As a result, we have not had even our regular days off.
Yoon.
Is there any chance you could come see me someday next week? Of course, since we have to deploy to our observation points on the beach every night, we are not officially allowed to have visitors. But if you can come, I’ll try to sneak out for a day. I’ll have to grovel to this one guy who’s younger than me but has been here longer. But I would be willing to degrade myself if it meant I would get to see your face, even if only for a few seconds. The mountains are dark behind me, and in front of me, the surface of the water glimmers like scales in the moonlight. I carry a loaded rifle, keep watch over the night, and think of you.
I put my face down on the desk. I remembered that night with Dahn so vividly. I had debated for several days whether or not to go. He had avoided contacting me, even when he was on furlough, because he didn’t want me to see him with a shaved head. To get to where Dahn was, I had to take a train and two different intercity buses. At the last stop, I met a civilian defense soldier who was on his way to night duty at the unit on the coast where Dahn was on patrol. He took me all the way to the unit where Dahn was stationed. Dahn rushed out, his rifle slung over his shoulder, hand grenades and bayonet on his army belt.
Armed to the teeth, Dahn and I walked along a forest path lined with dry pinecones. There was no one else around. We came down a path along the bluffs and followed the coastal ceasefire line until we had left his patrol route. We walked forever down that dark path along the waterfront. I had no idea where we were. We seemed to be moving away from the water, because the sound of lapping waves grew faint. The stars gazed down at us, shimmering as if they might spill down at any moment. Dahn walked beside me in silence. I didn’t say anything, either. For me, there was nothing stranger than seeing Dahn dressed as if he could be sent into battle at any moment. I could not think of what to say to the Dahn who was no longer Dahn the individual that I knew but Dahn the nameless soldier in khaki combat fatigues. We walked on and on but never came across another person. Suddenly Dahn asked, “Want to hear something scary?”
“Seeing you armed like that is scary enough.”
He laughed.
“I deserted my post,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“If they find out I’m with you, I’ll be court-martialed.”
“Is it that bad?”
Dahn laughed again at how serious I sounded.
“Don’t worry. When you do coastal duty long enough, you realize that everyone does what they have to in order to see their family or girlfriends. We all look the other way. The company commander and first sergeant probably know about it. No one believed me when I said I had a girlfriend, so they made a bet.”
“On me?”
“Sorry.”
“What was the bet?”
“They said if you showed up, they’d let me stay out overnight.”
“This is too dangerous. I don’t want something bad to happen to you because of me.”
“Bad? What are you talking about? I’m so happy right now. I can’t believe you’re here beside me.”
I was nervous, but talking to Dahn made me feel better.
“What was the scary story? More spiders?”
“I’m not afraid of spiders anymore.”
This was not the same Dahn who had worn a headlamp to accompany me to my mother’s grave, the Dahn who trembled in fear of stepping on a spider. He told me that his fear of spiders went away while he was in the special forces. He said that after all of that daily hiking, crawling, jumping, and soaring up in the mountains, he found himself grabbing spiders with his bare hands.
“Really? So there is some benefit to joining the army!”
Dahn’s laugh sounded hollow.
“So what’s your scary story?” I asked again.
Dahn pointed to some spot in the dark, to where the sound of the waves was coming from.
“There’s a guard shack down there, between the bunkers, where the soldiers take turns napping during their patrols. They say a soldier fell in love with a girl from one of the villages nearby. The girl would come by from time to time and spend the night with him in the shack. Whenever she came to see him, she always brought a pot of ramen for him as a midnight snack. But after the guy got out of the service, he took off without giving her his phone number or even so much as a glance back. She was so heartbroken that she hanged herself from the ceiling of the shack where they had been sleeping together. Turned out she was several months pregnant. After a while, rumors started to circulate. Whenever a new arrival fell asleep in the shack, he dreamed that a pretty young woman opened the door, smiled, and came inside. Carrying a tray with a steaming pot …”
“… And?”
“The soldier would take the tray and open the lid to find the pot filled with ramen. Bright red ramen boiling in blood.”
I shrieked and grabbed his arm.
“Is it true?” I asked. “Did you see her, too?”
“Of course not! It’s just a legend that’s been passed down in our unit. The Legend of the Blood Ramen Ghost … Soldiers probably made it up to tell their girlfriends when they visited, like you. The girls get scared, just like you did, and grab their boyfriends’ hands or leap into their arms.”
“What?!”
So he had been trying to scare me, too. I tried to shake off his arm, but he pulled me closer and said, “I’m so glad you’re here!” With the sound of the waves coming to us through the darkness, we passed a cornfield and walked single file along a ridge between two pepper fields until we came to a house. We decided to ask if we could stay there, since we couldn’t keep walking all night. The woman who lived there must have been used to overnight visitors from the base, because she immediately led us to a tiny corner room with a porch. Dahn asked if there was anything to eat. She was surprised that we had not eaten yet and told us to wait a moment. Soon she came back with a tray filled with battered and pan-fried slices of squash, steamed and seasoned eggplant, kimchi, rice, and soup. She set the tray down on the porch. As she turned to go back to the kitchen, Dahn asked if there was any soju. She started to say there was none, but then she asked if we wanted her husband’s half-empty bottle. Dahn thanked her. She came back right away with the soju, two shot glasses, and a small dish of pan-fried tofu. She told Dahn to take off his helmet and rifle. “Doesn’t that scare your girlfriend?” she joked, and looked at me as she laughed. She told us the room would warm up in a moment and turned to leave. We ate on the porch. The plates were old, but the eggplant smelled savory and aromatic, like it had been freshly seasoned with sesame oil. Dahn filled his own glass with soju and looked at me. As I shook my head to say I didn’t want any, I spotted a spiderweb dangling above the porch.
“Spider!”
Dahn took a look and stood up. With his bare fingers, he plucked the spider as it crawled down its web, trembling in the light, and tossed it into the yard.
“I’m not afraid of them anymore,” he said.
Dahn sat down again and drank his soju. He looked at the kimchi and tofu but didn’t touch any of it. I had a few bites of eggplant and then set my chopsticks down. I was hu
ngry but couldn’t eat any more than that. While Dahn drank, I stared at his combat boots and my sneakers where we had left them in front of the porch. I stuck my feet out and slid them into his boots. They were loose. I got down from the porch and staggered around. Dahn laughed out loud. “How on earth do you wear these heavy things?” I asked. I took off the boots and opened the door to the room. On the yellow linoleum floor were two blankets and a flat pillow. It must have been past midnight by the time we went inside and spread out the bedding. Dahn’s helmet sat on the floor next to us. We lay side by side, Dahn still dressed in fatigues and me still dressed in my street clothes. When we were little, we used to go over to each other’s houses to play and wind up falling asleep. Either his sister or my mother would come find us and carry us home on their backs. The sound of the waves surged in through the small window and lapped the rim of my ear.
“The ocean must be right outside,” I said.
“Just the beach. The water’s farther off. How are Miru and Myungsuh? Are they good?”
“Miru started looking again for the guy who disappeared, and Myungsuh is almost always at Myeongdong Cathedral, protesting the government.”
“Who is Miru looking for?”
What was I supposed to tell him? Though I had brought it up, I did not have the heart to tell him the story when he was already looking so low.
“You know the house where we all stayed for a few days? Miru’s parents sold it to someone else.”
“So now we can’t go back?”
“No … It’s not her house anymore.”