By Scott Morley
2-20-03
"Scott, look at this. It's a brain spoon!" Mia's student holds
up an awkwardly off-kilter golden spoon. More of a small ladle really.
"Oh, do you eat brains with this spoon?" I ask. She says,
"No silly! How foolish Scott! Nobody eats brains." I say,
"sure, In Thailand they eat live monkey brains, and in some countries
they eat brain cheese." She says, "Well, this spoon is to
empower your brain." I assume that the funky twist in the ladle
makes it tough to use, an exercise in dexterity.
But I'm wrong. The theory is similar to eating habits of Papuan highlanders
in New Guinea. In some aboriginal cultures, witch doctors subscribe
sections of meat that correspond to the area of a patient's ailment.
Sometimes just a similar shape will do. Thus, if you hurt your leg you
should eat leg-bone or something leg-shaped.
As it turns out, this golden spoon is shaped like a brain.
3-1-03
My "Imo," or aunt, is in the house. Her son is supposed to
move into our bedroom. We are supposed to move into school housing,
but the house is not ready. So we'l l all live in a kitchen together
for the next six weeks.
Imo is actually an old neighbor and friend of my mother-in-law. She
turns to me and says, "Your youngest son is so ugly!" We've
been through this. Last time I saw her, Mia held me back as I went to
slap her face. Today I just reply, "Your uglier."
"Scott!" Mia says, "That is so rude! Don't say that!"
I say smiling, "Imo, you're fat and stupid too." She looks
a bit confused but finishes her beer with a smile. Mia says it's custom
for women to say these things about other people. In three years she's
the only woman to say these things about my kids.
Imo's husband understands English and must know I hate his wife. He's
not shaken up about it. After thirty years he probably feels the same.
I have a video. Everyone seems quiet and bored so I press play. Then
Imo starts jabbering away. I turn up the volume and she shouts louder.
I turn it to a painful volume but she screams and cackles. I shoot a
nasty look at her and she smiles stupidly. The woman is a true rock-head.
She shouts some more and positions herself between in front of the television.
"Why is your wife so ugly?" she asks me, giggling. "Go
away." I say. She laughs and babbles a bit more.
I elbow her away from the screen, but she does all she can to make me
want to kick her. Finally I take my video and get dressed to leave.
She turns on a melodrama, suddenly quiet, absorbed. I go to the door.
"Dad, where you goin'?'" Alex asks. "To a hotel."
I say. My mother-in-law looks worried and says stay, but stupid Imo
says, "goodbye," and turns to her program.
That was weeks ago. Now we have her son, the Phys. Ed. major. In Korea
a major like this might mean you can't get into engineering. I suspect
this true of Imo's son. For two weeks he hasn't turned off the lights
in his room. He needs them on when sleeping. I mention this to Mia and
she shrugs. Originally my mother-in-law did not want to charge the kid
for a room and three meals.
The reek of stale cigarettes wafts from under his door. My mother-in-law
leaves him food but he never touches it. When he's gone Alex slips in
and breaks things. I encourage him.
3-10-02
The other night I killed my first mammal, intentionally. It was an impressive
brown rat glued to a sticky trap, next to the stacks of instant ramyan
noodles on our store shelves.
The trap's position made it particularly difficult to get at. I didn't
want to grab hold and get bitten. I tried to scoop it with a shovel
but dumped it onto some open pots of bean sprouts. The sprouts stuck
to the rat.
Finally I picked up the trap with my fingers and headed outside. "Kill
it there!" shouted mother-in-law, pointing to a stairway next to
our lettuce patch, leading to a middle school.
"Thwack!" I flattened the screaming beast and paused; silence,
introspection, inspection for breathing or bloody concrete. Mother-in-law
said "leave it there and let's have a beer." That was three
days ago. The rat remains next to our lettuce. Alex practic
That was my second kill actually. My second year in Korea I mistakenly
killed a little shit-puppy. My landlord had the poor pup tied to a foot
long string for her grand daughter to play with. It was never released,
so I asked to take him for walks.
I took him to my room. As he was sniffing around, I climbed onto my
windowsill to pull in drying clothes. I was on my stomach, reaching
out the window with my legs kicking behind me.
He must've thought this an invitation to play, because when I jumped
down I landed on him. He'd been trying to catch my pant legs.
When my foot hit him he bellowed out and spun on his side. The dogs
I'd grown up with were big, and if one responded like this it usually
meant nothing. So I thought the pup was faking. But after tree minutes
he was still twitching and spinning. I picked him up and his eyes were
glazed. I talked to him, gave him doggie mouth-to-mouth. He seemed to
be recovering.
I brought him to my Japanese roommate and her knees buckled. We rushed
him to a vet. The doctor looked at him, shrugged, and gave us a plastic
bag. "Throw him away. He's dead."
That night the ajjuma and I buried him beneath a strawberry patch on
the mountain
3-12-03
A buddy of mine from New Zealand went out with a Korean guy, forty three
years old. Nice guy, very sweet, a bit effeminate. Unemployed. Living
with mom. My friend says to him, "where shall we eat?" He
replies, "Oh, anywhere you like today. My mom gave me back her
credit card!"
So they went to a popular western restaurant and bumped into a mutual
friend. An American man, married to a Korean woman. They had a few drinks
together and the American took off. "You know," said the Korean
date, "if he were a woman, I'd ask him to marry me."
3-25-03
Everywhere, it seems I see manifestations of the Daegu fire. Hagwons
blame new teachers with no experience and biology majors: Daegu fire.
Repairmen canù repair, or just don't repair: Daegu fire. Drivers drive
thoughtlessly, look barely beyond their noses: Daegu fire. Mothers watch
their kids run into traffic: Daegu fires. College students enroll in
three classes on the same day, at the same time, and the administration
doesnù notice: Daegu fires. College students miss the first four weeks
because of an ified: Daegu fires.