Tokyo To Tijuana: Gabriele Departing America By Steven Sills
"It is probable, then, that if a man should arrive in our city, so clever as to be able to assume any character and imitate any object, and should propose to make a public display of his talents and his productions, we shall pay him reverence as a sacred, admirable, and charming personage, but we shall tell him that in our state there is no one like him, and that our law excludes such characters, and we shall send him away to another city after pouring perfumed oil upon his head and crowning him with woolen fillets; but for ourselves, we shall employ, for the sake of our real good, that more austere and less fascinating poet and legend-writer, who will imitate for us the style of the virtuous man." Plato (Republic)
At Toksugum Palace in Chongno of Seoul Sang Huin (known by his friends in thestates as Shawn) felt an empathy as deep as the gods; and the reconstructedwalls of ancient buildings that he could see into and imagine long deceasedemperors in coronation ceremonies or reading their mandates became irrelevant.Yang Lin, parting from their movement toward the steps that led toward theRoyal Museum, began to walk to a distant place where a woman in a westernwedding dress stood at a pond posing for a picture with her groom. Near earlierbuildings Sang Huin had noticed him looking at them questioningly. He had seena sad and innocent yearning in Yang Lin as if, after a long search, thatcreature had found his alter ego in the woman and would not let it go.
After five minutes of waiting alone, sitting on those steps and letting acigarette dangle limp in a frown, Sang Huin realized that this new friend ofhis was not just straying off briefly, so he gradually went over there in acircuitous and jaunty stroll as if other things had gained his attention andonly by accident was he moving there. Yang Lin told Sang Huin that he longedfor her: longed for himself within her beautiful clothes, within hercommitment, and within her sex. He had been so sincere. Sang Huin felt a worseform of compassion for him. It was sorrow, the enlightening, sweet venom, andit sank into him. It was deep empathy. It was God. It was definitely somethingthat was not wanted. It stayed with him on the bus.
On a ride from the Nambu Bus Terminal to Chongju, Sang Huin's sleep was spasticlike a nervous twitch that would every now and then startle him intowakefulness and he would wonder where he was: Muguk, Chongju, Seoul, or"Miguk." Sometimes at the primary school in Muguk he would ask, "Where are youfrom?" Then once, in a coaching effort for the pitch of a complete sentence, hehad made the mistake of "Miguk…Miguk" ("America…America") and the class wasin an uproar. He thought of this in one of his startled awakenings. He lookedfrom the window to flat patches of skimpy forest that most Koreans thought ofas so beautiful. The way was straight, south and barren and made him almostyearn for the tortuous roads that appeared near Umsong to be rid of scenery sobland. Although the bus traveled down the highway as a solid, jitterless mass,he jittered into more drowsiness. The contents of his head shook and hismother's voice cried out to him like locusts from the branches of trees. Therewas a hot sticky childish oozing within him. Within dreams his fortitude waslike marshmallows when pulled off of sticks after roasting in a bonfire. Heheard voices of he and his sister counting 7 o'clock, 8 o'clock, 9 o'clockrock. 10 o'clock, 11 o'clock, twelve o'clock rock - Ghosts won't find me. Readyor not we'll find you.