It’s just too much for me! Who am I but just an amateur…came here with a noble mission to bring a little of American culture and….to Korean….Now after this….time when all else seems….I admit to myself: I ……too difficult….perhaps a change of scenery or another better…..Someplace where the cultures are not so irreconcilable. There I can….be happy….not….write…..rich…..

The detective tossed his half-consumed Japanese cigarette on the tile floor between his feet and scrapped ash and butt under the bank of gray, metal desks in the middle of the squad room. “No, sir!” he waved his hand dismissively. “This is suicide note!”

The American Embassy’s ad hoc liaison officer, Cooper, only three weeks in the country, frowned and rolled his eyes. Finally, after a pause he sat down in the chair opposite the Korean detective, pulled out a pack of Marlboro Lights, and loosened his tie. Detective Sergeant Park was irritated by the Embassy-issue Korean interpreter standing behind him, so he grabbed a cigarette from the American before he shoved the crumpled pack into his breast pocket. The American’s eyes just bore into the unshaven Korean’s black eyes. Cooper lit his crisp cigarette, and nearly singed Park’s eyebrows with the flame from the lighter he flicked only once. The Korean never blinked. Sucking on the cigarette as if it were a post-coital snack, Park hummed wistfully. “Well, he speaks enough English to annoy me!” Cooper shouted at his Korean aide. A few others in the quiet room looked up, but only momentarily.

“You go back to your boss and tell him it is open shut,” Park pulled a tobacco flake off his tongue, slobbering over his finger, and then spat on the floor.

“You see,” Cooper began condescendingly, staring at his interpreter only, “ 'you say goodbye, I say hello'!”

“No, I say ‘anyong‘!” Park pounded the thin case folder with his fist, got up, and walked away.

Cooper’s interpreter scratched the back of his head in resignation. “Let’s go back, Cooper, “ the young man suggested reassuringly. “We can‘t do anything here.”

“No, I’m not leaving so easily. No matter what the Koreans say or file, I know better.”

“Yeah, but who cares? It’s just some teacher, Cooper! Not some soldier or contractor.”

Cooper just stared into the folder he had just opened again. The single page of white paper with hastily scratched handwritten characters in blue ink and faint streaks of blood seemed to speak to him. Even the illegible words, of which there were many, made sense to him. Under the first page were other typewritten pages, unwrinkled and neatly arranged. The different qualities of paper used and some discoloration told Cooper they were completed over a period of months. This was no suicide note, more like a diary extract. A sarcastic note to himself, perhaps, Cooper mused to himself.

Document 1 (from Canadian Government Archives)

Over fifteen villagers gathered at the side of the boardinghouse nearest the only window at the backside of the tavern. They were whispering, and one of the women kept anxious guard at the corner. The sun was still halfway between noon and the horizon, and many dreaded the approaching dusk. In the distance they could hear the voice of a woman singing in some odd melody in a language none of them comprehended.

“Is she a sorceress?”

“No! She only has books!”

“Her hair is so strange and her skin is shiny.”

“She was telling the men what to do!”

“And they addressed her like a magistrate!”

“Let’s go have a look!”

So the crowd moved around the corner cautiously, one or two persons carried with the flow. One old man nearly escaped but his friend grabbed his sleeve. Suddenly, one of the village women screamed. Almost in unison, the foreign woman screamed, too. The curious crowd collided together like the ends of an accordion until one man started laughing. Then all, including the foreign woman, just stared at the old man transfixed by the gold necklace, pearl earrings, and gold rings arranged neatly on a dresser top. “Oh, the thought of such jewelry next to that wonderful skin makes me happy!” His wife slapped his arm, and then pinched him when he still did not respond. She struck him across the head with a stick, and still he just stood there chuckling. Eventually, everyone else just started laughing, too, even the wife.

The foreign woman though crossed her arms across her bare breasts, dropping the wooden ladle into the washbasin. Her lace slip still clung to her soap-soaked legs. Her curly, blond hair stuck to her sweaty shoulders still crusted with the dust from the roads.

One of the baggage handlers in the foreign woman’s entourage ran around the corner of the tavern then and abruptly shoved the crowd away from the open aperture. “Sorry, ma‘am, they’re just stupid villagers. It won’t happen again!”

Document 2 (from the Annals of the Ten Kings of the South)

A beautiful, young noblewoman from the northeast traveled to the southwest with a small retinue; lead by the kinsman of the husband she had never met. At a fork in the road they met a Buddhist monk leaning on a staff.

“Move away and let this lady pass, “ commanded the kinsman.

“I will not!” replied the monk.

“Don’t make me remove you, brother, for I am a believer, too. But I am sworn to have my brother’s wife brought to him before tomorrow’s dusk.”

“I will not move!” the monk repeated defiantly.

“Because I am a believer, I will ask you why,” offered the kinsman. “And, then I will have you thrown into the thicket.”

“I stand here to prevent your brother, the Prince, from marrying a foreigner!”

The kinsman, who only believed in Buddha, because the monasteries gave him taxes, instructed two soldiers to throw the monk into the thicket. The monk neither protested nor cried out, and the entourage continued on.

A few hours later, the entourage came to another fork in the road. Again, a monk stood in the middle of the intersection leaning on a staff.

“Move away and let this lady pass, “ commanded the kinsman.

“I will not!” replied the monk.

“Don’t make me remove you, brother, for I am a believer, too. But I am sworn to have my brother’s wife brought to him before tomorrow’s dusk.”

“I will not move!” the monk repeated defiantly.

“Because I am a believer, I will ask you why,” offered the kinsman. “And, then I will have you thrown into the thicket.”

“I stand here to greet the lady who will marry the Prince!” said the monk. “And, to convert her to our religion.”

“Then, you may greet her, brother monk,” the kinsman commanded.

“Lady, welcome to this land, “ the monk, in well-sewn but plain robes, bowed. “The Lord Buddha favors this land. Will you learn from me?”

“I do not care for your prating words, monk!” replied the noblewoman angrily.

The kinsman apologized to the monk, but the lady commanded that the monk be thrown into the thicket. The kinsman complied half-heartedly, and the entourage continued.

The next day the entourage reached yet another fork in the road. Again, a monk in a loincloth sat in the middle of the intersection in the lotus position.

“Move away and let this lady pass, “ commanded the kinsman.

“I will not!” replied the monk in a whisper.

“Don’t make me remove you, brother, for I am a believer, too. But I am sworn to have my brother’s wife brought to him before tomorrow’s dusk.”

“I will not move!” the monk repeated in a whisper.

“Because I am a believer, I will ask you why,” offered the kinsman. “And, then I will have you thrown into the thicket.”

“I’m meditating,” whispered the monk. “Please, go away!”

“Why do you meditate in the middle of the road, monk?” hissed the noblewoman from her palanquin.

“Because the thicket is too tangled,” replied the monk.

“Will you not move?” repeated the kinsman.

“My duty is more important than yours,” the monk whispered. The kinsman apologized to the monk, but the lady commanded that the monk be thrown into the thicket. The kinsman complied half-heartedly, and the entourage continued.

In the afternoon the entourage reached the capital city. The Prince greeted his kinsman, who instructed his brother to escort the noblewoman to a plain house. There the noblewoman rested, and in the morning prepared for her wedding.

The morning she dreaded arrived, and she entered the gates of the city resignedly. In the center of the square stood the monk. She realized all three monks had been the same man. She could not conceal her distaste. His kinsman stood behind him, smirking.

“Will you love the land, the people, and Buddha?” asked the Prince.

“I will not!“ replied the noblewoman.

“Because you are not a believer, I will not force you to stay.”

The kinsman apologized to the noblewoman, but the Prince commanded that the lady be escorted back to her father‘s house. The kinsman complied half-heartedly, and the entourage returned to the northeast.

Document 3 (translated from Yun Su-young’s Diary)

Today is the worst day of my life. My father has forbidden me to see my boyfriend after he found out from a co-worker about us. How could Mr. An just tell my father those lies? That I was wearing lewd clothing and flirting with a lot of men! My mother agrees, too. She hates my father, but he pays the bills. He spends so much on girls and soju, but he has a good family and a job. My boyfriend is not a soldier, but my father called me a club girl and a whore.

I will not dishonor my family. I will comply. I am so weak.

Cooper returned to the burning feeling gnawing inside his stomach and chest. At least if he could convince the translator, a Korean-American, he might have a chance with the detective. “The ash?”

“Yeah, so?” the young man fidgeted, but professionally endured.

“Too much material for a cigarette, right? I mean the seat was coated in it!”

“We got there late. The cops were smoking and probably spoiled the site on purpose.”

“No! I bet that debris is more than tobacco. It’s human!” Cooper was serious.

The translator looked around nervously. “You’re insane! What, like murder?” He kept craning his neck around, even though no one else in the room understood English. “Murder? You think this guy was killed?”

Cooper stared at him coldly. “He spontaneously combusted.”

The Korean-American swayed backwards as if punched. “Let’s go, Cooper! No one will ever know you just said that.”

Cooper was not moving. “It has happened! No weapons, no blood stains, nothing!”

“It was a good job! Now let’s go! Before someone learns English!”

“That asshole will not bury this in a computer file as a suicide due to jilted love! This guy had issues, but he was dealing with it, like an artist. He was creating something! A story or a play, something where reason and feeling can get mixed into something bigger. Something people can watch and learn from and discuss! He was on to something! And, he just exploded! Imploded! Red hot and like a super nova.”

The translator just stared at him incredulously. “I…”

“The blood stains? My thoughts, too.” Cooper pulled the hand-written note from the file folder. “They’re not steady and coherent. They’re not even remotely like letters. There are no blots, either. You know what they are?” The translator just shook his head mechanically. “He bit his nails! He was biting his nails and his cuticles scrapped across the paper as he wrote! Good, huh?”

“Yeah, brilliant…”

“He’s talking about teaching here, not love. Rich? He’s talking about money! We got a young Grisham here! What the hell is he doing in Korea for!”

The translator scoffed, too, but only to go along. Finally, though, he reached down and closed the file folder. All the papers were bulging and falling back out, but he managed to throw the whole mess on the table with two hands. “This is Korea, goddamn it! The truth doesn’t matter! The punk is probably in the Philippines by now. Get your lunatic ass out of this squad room before you go down in flames. The Korean wins! Give him his fucking suicide!”

Cooper was jolted back into his predicament.

The translator tried to arrange the paperwork in the file better. “You know what it’s like to be in this fucking job, when others get transferred all over the world. ‘Hey, you! You know Korean!’ ‘Ha ha! No shit! No fucking big deal!’ Swallow it, Cooper! You get to leave here. I have to stay here with people like you for the rest of my goddamn cursed life! People go up and people go down! I live here!”

The translator knew Cooper would leave, eventually. It just took a little head knocking. He would be fine, the translator thought. “Sorry, ladies! He needs a drink!”

They both left the building, only thirty minutes after they entered. The translator wondered, why they had wasted so much time on such a routine case.