Summer of Soju E-Book

N.J. Boyes

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Twenty-year-old Leon travels to South Korea to spend a month of the summer with his boisterous older brother Joey, an English teacher who's been living in the country for the past three years.

Leon is thrown headfirst into Joey’s world, which mostly consists of smoking and drinking soju with his two housemates, fellow teachers Justin and Frank, both of whom seem to have lost sight of why they ever came to Korea in the first place.

Tensions rise as Frank’s detachment from Korean society bubbles into frustration and resentment towards its people, while Leon begins to see an unfamiliar side to his brother.

Leseprobe

N.J. Boyes

Summer of Soju

BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

제 1 장

I’ve never understood why people applaud the pilot after a successful landing. Sure, the plane didn’t crash into the runway and explode with arms and legs and microwave meals spewed all over the tarmac, but that’s just their job – make sure nobody dies. No one claps the bus or train driver when they arrive safely at their destination. What makes pilots so special?

I’ve just landed in Seoul, South Korea. It’s half-ten at night and I’ve been travelling for the last sixteen hours. The sight of the city as we descended onto the runway, gleaming, basking in neon, was enough to get me relatively excited; but now, thrown into the chaos of impatient travellers scrambling for their luggage, the fatigue starts to kick in again.

Sleep became my second priority after discovering drinks were complimentary on the flight. Obliging air hostesses poured glass after glass of red wine, a cautious smile held under their noses as they fuelled my flight-long arcade game binge. I spent almost three hours on Pong, trying to score a perfect game against the computer but failing miserably, my chances only decreasing the more tired and drunk I became – a real catch 22.

After retrieving my luggage, I stagger from sign to sign until I find myself in the underground metro station. Among a sea of Koreans, I spot someone who looks like he’ll speak English, a tall white guy with a head the size of a melon. I ask him whether I’m going the right way as he steps onto the train, and he nods silently, waving me inside before the doors slam shut.

‘Going to Itaewon, huh?’ he asks as I take a seat.

The carriage is half-empty but the American remains standing, loosely gripping a handlebar above his massive head.

‘Yep. Itaewon.’

‘Looking to party?’

‘Party?’ I echo. ‘No, no… I’m just going to a hostel.’

‘Oh, man,’ he frowns. ‘But Itaewon is party town. You gotta party while you’re there.’

I don’t take much notice of the guy, but the last thing I want is a ‘party town’. I want sleep.

‘Oh, well… my brother booked it.’ I shrug. ‘He said it’s quiet.’

‘Not last time I checked.’ He shrugs back. ‘Who’s your brother?’

‘He lives in Daegu. I’m going there tomorrow.’

‘English teacher?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Of course.’

‘Are you one?’ I ask.

‘Yep. That’s my trade - speaking English.’

‘Right.’

‘Daegu, huh? Never been there.’

‘Me neither.’

The American smirks and nods my way as a female automated voice reads out Itaewon. ‘Here we are, my English friend.’ He pats me on the shoulder. ‘Have a pleasant stay… whatever it is you do.’

*

Itaewon slaps me hard in the face.

Inebriated crowds stumble around me as I stand and stare at the onslaught of bright, colourful lights decorating the strip. Clubs booming, bars heaving. The American was right - it is a party town, and something tells me my brother knew this too.

‘Fucking joker…’ I mouth to myself, suspecting he intended this exact scene: me, bedraggled, fighting against the crowds, struggling to find the hostel amid the piles and piles of hedonistic squalor. I can almost see him standing in front of me, announcing something like Welcome to Korea, brother, followed by his typical bellowing laugh.

It takes me half an hour longer than it should to find the hostel.

I keep going up and down the same overpopulated strip, back and forth, sweating, until a badly placed sign points me down a hidden alleyway, and at long last, to the elusive 24 Guesthouse.

As I approach the hostel, I see a girl, twenty-something, smoking on the doorstep.

‘Is this the 24 Guesthouse?’ I ask, like I don’t know already.

‘Yes,’ she answers in a subtle French accent. ‘Are you checking in?’

‘Yeah. I’m a little late. This place isn’t easy to find, is it?’

‘No, it’s not.’ She laughs gregariously. ‘You look like you found it hard.’

‘Yeah.’ I grin stupidly. ‘I did a bit.’

‘Well, you must be tired.’ She stubs her cigarette out on the floor and invites me into the hostel. ‘Let’s go inside.’

I’m clumsy and feel slightly embarrassed as I stagger into the hostel, knocking various ornaments with my rucksack, hoping I don’t break anything expensive. A little old Korean man who I assume is the owner charges towards me and points down at my feet. ‘No shoe,’ he orders, shoving me a pair of flip-flops. I force a smile and change into them, leaving my shoes by the door.

He crosses my name off a list and waves his arm in the direction of a corridor behind him. ‘Room foh,’ he grumbles and hands me a key.

I wander down the corridor until I reach the fourth room. I gently open the door and peak my head inside to see the French girl again, now spread out on a bunk bed with a book in her hand, and a slouched Korean kid, playing with his phone on the floor, presumably the owner’s son or nephew or something. I roll my suitcase over to one of the empty bunks and begin unpacking some things for the morning.

The Korean kid starts chatting to me. ‘I’m Korean,’ he says. ‘How about you?’

‘English,’ I answer.

‘Wooow. How old?’

‘Guess,’ I say, attempting to be playful.

‘Um…’ he pauses, analysing my face for any telltale signs of age. ‘Twenny-five?’

‘Nope.’ I shake my head. ‘Twenty.’

‘Woow…’ he murmurs again, his gaze slowly resorting back to his phone. ‘How about me?’ he asks, still not facing me.

The kid looks pretty young. With smooth skin and chubby cheeks, I doubt he’s older than sixteen, but I don’t wanna offend him by going too low. ‘Seventeen?’ He looks embarrassed. ‘Or eighteen? Eighteen, right?’

‘Uh, no,’ he blushes. ‘I twenny-three. But… in Korea… you have… Korean age. You… one year… already… when you born.’

‘Right.’

‘I was disappointed when I found out I had a Korean age,’ the French girl chips in. ‘I’m twenty-eight here. God, now I feel really old.’

I try smiling at the girl, but she doesn’t look at me, so I turn back to the kid.

‘Well, even still,’ I say, ‘I was only four years off. Because, really, you’re twenty-two. I mean, if you weren’t Korean.’

The boy shrugs and continues playing on his phone.

We talk a little more about our lives.

I tell him about my hometown, my brother, my girl.

He tells me he’s just finished two years of mandatory national service.

‘I did have… girl… like… you, but… national service… is… long time, so… I don’t have now,’ he attempts to explain. ‘Girl… doesn’t… have… to do… so… she find… new… boyfriend.’

‘That’s a bit unfair, isn’t it?’ I put to the kid. ‘Girls don’t have to do it? Where’s the equality in that?’

He doesn’t respond. Probably doesn’t know the word equality.

‘I mean, I couldn’t imagine doing that. Be in the army? Fuck that.’

I realise I might sound insensitive, but the kid doesn’t seem to notice nor care. He just shrugs again, staring at his phone.

After a few more strained conversations, I’m more than ready for sleep.

I climb onto the top bunk and pull off my dirty clothes.

The Korean kid slips into the bunk below and for some reason the owner later crawls into one of them as well, cradling an empty glass bottle, babbling away to himself in Korean.

From my bed I can still hear the sound of jeering crowds and blaring pop music emanating from Itaewon’s core.

My eyes start to get heavy, the music fades, and I drift into sleep.

*

I wake up to an empty room.

The sound of clinking plates and cutlery lures me into the kitchen where I find the Korean kid and the owner eating breakfast. ‘Helloooo,’ the kid beams, while the owner spoons another load of cereal into his mouth. I ask the kid how I can get to the bus terminal and he scribbles down some directions on a leaflet for me. ‘Kansamnida,’ I thank him, and finally, I leave the hostel.

Itaewon is almost unrecognisable in the day.

Old Korean men sweep up the residue of the previous night, all the bottles and cans and glow in the dark wristbands that once provided a temporary bout of pleasure for the reckless youth. The clubs and bars look miserable in the morning sunlight, too - empty, decrepit, and over-exposed, merely waiting for the darkness to return again.

I ride the metro out of Itaewon and shortly arrive at the bus terminal. The woman on the counter sells me a ticket to Daegu for however much. I climb onto the bus and find my designated seat, one step closer to seeing my brother. 

제 2 장

I’m waiting outside the main bus station in Daegu when my brother turns up in the passenger seat of a taxi. He calls my name and I gaze up from my phone to see him standing only a few metres away. He looks almost identical to when I last saw him - bald, tanned, and a smile as wide as his head.

We embrace each other, then jump in the back of the cab.

The driver starts cruising through the busy sun-kissed streets.

‘Made it then?’ Joey nods at me, looking impressed in a silly kind of way.

‘Yeah…’ I nod back. ‘Guess I did.’

‘Well, it’s about time, brother…’ he says jokingly. ‘How long has it been? Three years now?’

‘Something like that.’ I carry on smiling.

‘And how was the journey?’

‘Oh, fine, you know. Long, but fine.’

‘You can rest a bit before we go out, if you’re feeling tired. I’ve got classes for a few hours, so, fancy dinner around eight?’

‘Sounds good to me. How is the job going?’

‘Not too shabby, yeah. Can’t complain. Got a nice little place, too.’

The taxi swerves onto a narrow road that takes us out of the city and into a more natural setting; lampposts turn to trees, apartment blocks become worn out shacks, lots of old people – farmers maybe.

‘By yourself?’ I ask.

‘A couple others as well. They’re teachers, too. An American and an Irishman. Justin and Frank. We’re all at the same preschool, or kindergarten, as they call it here. Justin should be home soon, but… Frank’s away at the moment. They’ll both be around for the big day, though,’ he says with emphasis, raising both his eyebrows.

‘Oh, yes,’ I note his signal. ‘The big twenty-five. Quarter of a century. Anything special planned?’

‘Of course, brother,’ he calmly assures. ‘Don’t you worry about that.’

The taxi spins onto an even narrower road, now approaching a tall white building, encircled by verdant fields. It’s like a castle, with turrets on each corner and a courtyard out the front, the words Ivy Kingdom School inscribed on the side.

The taxi slithers further up the road until we reach the castle entrance.

Joey pays the fare and we climb out of the cab.

He guides me inside the walls of the Kingdom, where tiny Korean kids flock about aimlessly, their heads reaching up to my hip at best. He hands me a pair of jelly sandals and gestures towards the shoe-rack. ‘Change into these every time you come in,’ he says. ‘They do it everywhere.’

‘Why?’ I ask him.

‘I dunno.’ He shrugs. ‘Hygiene, maybe… or some old tradition, I guess.’

He continues up several flights of stairs and I try to keep up, working my way past gazing kids and an obstacle course of deserted toys.

‘What are we doing here?’ I call to him, running out of breath. ‘I thought we were going to your place.’

‘This is my place,’ he calls back. ‘I live and teach here.’

On the top floor of the Kingdom, Joey unlocks a dark wooden door and strolls inside to an apartment living room.

‘Penthouse?’ I mutter, rolling my suitcase into the room.

‘Yep.’ Joey spins around, stretching both his arms out. ‘Welcome to the humble abode.’

He insists on giving me a guided tour of the flat.

The living room has a couple of cream leather sofas, a flat-screen plasma TV, a dusty coffee table with a few crumpled beer cans left on top, and a glass slider door that leads out to an open balcony. The kitchen is as basic as can be - no fancy gadgets like an oven or a microwave - besides a water filter that Joey says you need to drink from.

And in Joey’s room, a poster of Nas’ Illmatic spreads unevenly across the wall, alongside a plastic set of venetian blinds. The sun peaks through the gaps in the blinds, causing a shuttered shadow over the unmade bed, ‘where we’ll both be sleeping now’, Joey informs.

The smell of stale fag butts shoots up my nostrils as I step further inside. I glance down to see an overflowing ashtray sitting on the bedside table.

‘The toilet can be a bit funny,’ Joey warns, pointing to the en-suite bathroom. ‘I tend to use the school one downstairs… you know, for the bigger items. I recommend you do the same.’

‘Right-o.’

Overlooking the earthy terrain surrounding the school, we light a cigarette on the balcony. The searing sun blazes down on our backs.

‘So, what do you reckon?’ Joey asks with a smile, extending his arms out again.

I take a drag. ‘Yeah, it’s a nice place. Besides the kids.’

‘Of course, the kids,’ he frowns, tilting his head sideways. ‘But you’ll get used to them - the noise that is. You wanna try ‘em with a hangover.’

‘I’m sure I will. Can’t imagine you’ve changed much since you left?’

‘Well, I don’t think I feel any different,’ he smirks, loosening his shoulders. ‘But, I guess we’ll find out tonight.’

‘Is your other flatmate gonna be around later, as well? Justin?’

‘Yeah, he’s gonna come to dinner with us, if that’s cool with you? It’ll be good for you to meet him sooner rather than later, seeing as you’ll be living with us for a while.’

‘Sure.’

‘Probably a good idea for you to meet Justin first too, without Frank.’

‘Right.’ I nod slowly. ‘Why’s that?’

‘Oh, Frank’s just a louder guy, that’s all.’ He gazes down at his watch contemplatively. ‘Oh, shit,’ he sighs, stubbing his cigarette out on the wall. ‘I’ve got class in five. You gonna be okay?’

‘Should be.’

‘Cool.’ He steps back into the flat and picks a rucksack up from the sofa. ‘Justin’s probably gonna be back before me, but he’s friendly. You’ll like him. See you around half-seven, alright?’

‘Alright.’ I wave him off from the balcony. ‘Enjoy.’

In Joey’s absence, I try my best to rejuvenate myself.

I nap in his bed for an hour or so, take a cold shower, then slouch on the sofa flicking through Korean TV channels.

I stop my flicking when I come across a live K-pop show.

I’ve heard a bit about K-pop before, but never realised the actual absurdity of the genre – some groups have as many as twelve members, all donning matching outfits, the boys in smart suits and the girls in something juvenile like school uniforms. A new singer picks up the microphone and the members of the audience all scream their lungs out in response, the delicate features and outlandish hairdos on stage causing them to nearly burst out of their skin.

I change the channel and stumble across something called Show Me the Money – a rap competition show where contestants freestyle in front of a panel of judges. The beats sound dated and the production value is very lousy - it feels like a show that should have aired on MTV ten years ago, but for some reason, I can’t stop watching, and the more I watch, the more engrossed I become. I find myself rooting for different rappers, hoping they progress to the next stage, like MC-K for example, a humble young man hailing from the southern city of Jinju. He steps up to the panel and introduces himself with a bow and a wave, then takes a step back and lets his talent do the rest of the talking. His scores are near perfect, but he never allows them to inflate his ego - he simply bows again and leaves the stage.

On the other side of the spectrum are the more villainous contestants, like Dynomoney. He leans against the wall with multiple chains wrapped around his neck, a pair of dark shades covering his eyes and a tilted flat cap hiding the rest of his face. His performances are lazy, like he’s not even trying, but for some reason the judges never score him low enough to kick him off the show.

I sit and wonder whether there could be some kind of conspiracy afoot. Could Show Me the Money be scripted? Has Dynomoney been planted by the producers just to rile up the audience, the villain we love to hate?

Several episodes speed past before I hear a key being inserted into the front door. I turn my head to watch the slow reveal of a tall, skinny man, whose face is beige and freckly, and hair sits neatly tucked behind a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. He walks towards me and offers his hand. ‘Hey,’ he says. ‘I’m Justin. You must be Leon?’

‘Yeah.’ I shake his hand firmly. ‘That’s me.’

‘Cool.’ He opens the fridge and pulls out a beer. ‘Want one?’

‘Sure,’ I say, without a thought.

He grabs another can and joins me on the sofa.

‘Here you go,’ he hands it to me, smiling. ‘So, what you watching?’

‘Um…’ I pretend to think. ‘I think it’s called Show Me the Money.’

‘Oh, yeah, of course. Good show, good show. You got a favourite rapper yet?’

I think of saying MC-K, but Justin could be a Dynomoney kind of guy. Maybe he doesn’t like MC-K. ‘Nah, not yet. How about you?’

‘Yeah, man, there’s a couple, like… G-2, you seen him? He’s this big guy with blonde dreads.’

‘Oh.’ I shake my head. ‘No, don’t think so. Probably would’ve remembered a guy like that.’

‘Yeah, he’s hard to miss.’ Justin leans forward to inspect the TV screen, then throws himself back at the sofa again. ‘Doesn’t look like he’s on this episode, unfortunately for us. He’s a real spectacle.’

Another stand-out performance by MC-K passes us by as we sip on our cold brews. He even slipped a couple of English words into his bars that time – what a maverick.

‘So,’ I break the silence. ‘How long have you lived in Korea for?’

‘As long as Joey, man. Three years. We met in our first training session, back in Seoul.’

‘Did you live with him then as well?’

‘Yeah, for a year or so. But then we had to relocate.’

‘How come?’

Justin takes a long swig of beer. ‘Too many teachers in Seoul, man. The capital is oversubscribed. You know almost half the population of South Korea lives in that city?’

‘Shit.’ I did know that.

‘Shit, exactly.’ He nods, grinning. ‘So, yeah, we both got to choose where we wanted to go, and Daegu seemed like a decent option. Frank was already living in the apartment when we moved in and everything worked out well from there. God knows how long he’s been here for.’

Justin glances curiously at his watch. ‘Any idea when Joey’s back?’

‘Half seven, he said.’

‘Cool. Not long, then. He told you where we’re going?’

‘Nah.’ I shrug. ‘Something Korean, I expect.’

‘Ha… you can count on that. He probably wanted to keep it a surprise. He loves surprises.’ Justin lights a cigarette. ‘But I think we’re going to a Korean barbecue place, not too far from here. You like meat?’

‘Sure.’

‘You’ll like it, then.’ He takes another drag. ‘And you should like Korea, too. They’re all carnivores, really. Vegetarianism is a pretty alien concept here. I mean, one place I went to the other week had chicken down as a vegetarian option.’ He sniggers and points his cigarette down expressively at the table. ‘Like, they literally had a V next to the dishes that had chicken in. Can you believe that? Poor fuckers aren’t even considered animals in this country.’

‘Messed up world,’ I mutter.

‘Yeah.’ He puffs and puffs. ‘But this place is good, anyway. A good introduction to Korean cuisine. I’m sure that’s what Joey’s intending, at least.’

The front door creaks and we both look back to spot Joey peaking in. ‘Speak of the devil,’ Justin calls over, acknowledging Joey’s protruding head behind the door.

Joey bellows deeply as he swings it wide open, revealing himself standing hunched in the doorway, a schoolboy smirk slung across his face.

‘Who, me?’ he says innocently, ruffling mine and Justin’s hair. ‘Time to go, boys. Come on.’

*

The table in the restaurant is essentially a steel barbecue with a bit of room on either side for drinks and plates. Joey takes it upon himself to order everything for the table, communicating with a combination of English, Korean and bespoke hand signals.

‘I’m determined you try everything by the end of this trip,’ he declares, grinning from across the table. ‘Everything.’

The waiter returns with the drinks – soju, beer, and a plastic bowl filled with a strange-looking yellow liquid. Joey’s told me about soju before, that he practically lives off the stuff. He picks up the bottle and pours out three shots. ‘Soju’s a national treasure,’ he reminds me again. ‘Everyone in Korea drinks it. Young, old, poor, rich, Korean, foreigner… this is the one thing they all have in common.’

‘Right.’ I nod. ‘So, it must be good stuff then?’

‘I don’t know about good.’ Justin shrugs. ‘But it’s cheap.’

‘The benefits outweigh the costs,’ Joey asserts, raising his shot glass.

We clink them all together and neck the shot.

Eugh. I can’t help but wince as the foul liquid slips to the back of my throat, scalding the flesh on its way down like a bad vodka.

‘Let me teach you a bit about Korean etiquette,’ Joey says as he fills up another three shot glasses. ‘When you’re drinking with someone, and they have an empty glass, it’s rude not to fill theirs back up.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah,’ he says with conviction. ‘And if the other person’s older than you, or like, your boss or something, then you’ve gotta bow when you do it, too… Look, look - over there. Those fellas are up to it.’ He points to a couple of old guys on the other side of the restaurant, two businessmen, one filling the other’s empty glass up with beer, bowing like he said.

‘And if your drinking partner doesn’t fill your glass back up for you,’ he continues, ‘you might say, ‘Hey, are you busy?’ or something like that.’

‘Are you busy?’ I giggle. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah!’ Joey raises his shot glass again.

We accordingly neck the shot, and then, like a true Korean, I refill the empty glasses.

‘Now he’s getting it,’ Joey beams proudly.

‘Why, of course.’