Buddha's Money by Martin Limon

Author:Martin Limon
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Soho Press
Published: 2009-08-31T16:00:00+00:00

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.

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