It was turning dusk as Monica sat in a tea garden drinking green tea and reading The Korean Times introducing herself to South Korea’s current state of affairs. Large manicured Red Pines shaded stone paths to tea gazebos. Bonsai trees stood motionlessly aging, a meandering Koi fish pond lead to a larger pond with an arching wooden bridge, and towering bunches of creaking Bamboo stood near the pond’s edge and gave the garden a much bigger appearance. A massive collection of birds offered tranquil background music. Monica read an article about a government official on trial for laundering funds and another article about North Korea’s recent military and scientific progress and a projection into the future. She looked to the sports to see how the Washington Redskins were fairing. Periodically she’d look up from her paper and over the tea garden wall to watch vendors pull or push their carts into position for the night market or along the edge of the sidewalk. Once in place the men and women would go about unpacking boxes and hanging cloths on hooks or stacking different knick-knacks about the surface of the cart or firing up a coal burning BBQ and placing chicken, beef, pork, fish, shrimp, or corn on the grill. Some of the carts were set up with a deep-frying wok making dumplings or pastries. The smell of BBQ beef, Garlic and kimchi began to fill the air before moving into the wind and being replaced by another scent riding a waft. It was a crisp evening with infrequent gusts of winter chill pushing through the corridors of the city buildings. It was going to get cold and Monica didn’t have a coat so she flagged the waiter and paid thinking she would get something to eat from the stalls as she returned to her hotel.
The waiter returned with her change and Monica thanked him in Korean, “Khum-sam-nida.”
The waiter bowed slightly, smiled and moved on to his other duties.
Monica didn’t know if she should leave a tip or not. She decided to do so this time then ask someone later what is customary. As she walked out of the tea garden she looked at everything on the carts from brass doorbells to pink pen cap dolls to dried squid to larvae in a cup to chicken satay. People were exiting buildings in droves getting out of work as others began strolling slowly along the carts chatting in small groups of friends. The sidewalks filled up and the traffic came to a standstill. Monica stopped at a chicken and beef BBQ stall with a few people ordering and others eating. When it was her turn she pointed to a chicken skewer and then raised two fingers, “Two, jusayo.”
“Dugae?” The cook raised two fingers and nodded.
“Dugae ju-say-o.” Monica nodded with a smile. She held herself as the dry wind turned into a dust devil in the intersection swirling the street dust and garbage of the day into the air. The wind toppled loaded garbage cans sending paper into the air and cups cartwheeling down the street along the gutter. She turned her back to the wind and watched people parade towards her in bent stance squint their eyes and cover their mouths with hands, shirts and coats. Neon lights flashed and blinked in sequences overhead. The stall owner put a large pot lid over everybody’s chicken or beef then reached for a packaged cotton facemasks and before handing it to Monica he imitated putting it on and held it in front of his face.
“Khum-sam-nida.” Monica removed the wrapper and held the facemask over her mouth and nose with her hand while dust and debris blew momentarily passed.
The cart owner handed out masks to anybody else that held their hand out or requested one.
The gust and debris moved on and Monica watched some of the older Koreans eat kebabs. She noticed they never had to touch it. The man reached out and handed Monica her two bamboo skewered chicken wrapped in a napkin resembling 2 long stemmed flowers. He bobbed his head and reached for a calculator to punch in the price and show it to Monica.
Monica reached for her purse and wallet.
A man standing behind Monica spoke out, “It’s 2000 won, Miss.”
Monica turned her head and glanced at the man, “Thanks.” She retrieved 2000 won and handed it over the cart. “Khum-sam-nida.” Monica turned to look at the man behind her; black hair, brown eyes, chiseled muscular face, gray over-coat, black suit with subtle pinstripes, black vest, white shirt, gold and cedar red on a dark blue background paisley tie, 3-button suit, black pants, polished black shoes. “Your money is called won?” Monica moved to the periphery of the crowd trying to maintain eye contact.
“Yes.”
“What’s it mean?”
“It’s the name of our currency.” The man placed his order of 5 beef skewers and the man at the cart grabbed a napkin and began making an arrangement.
Monica talked over the three people between them, “Aren’t there people here in Seoul named Won?”
The man half turned and looked at her; black hair, almond brown eyes, clear complexion, high check bones, a shade of pink lipstick, dark blue cable-knit V-neck sweater, light blue oxford button down shirt, black belt, fitted blue jeans, and white with red converse tennis shoes. He then glanced around the immediate crowd with a forgiving smile on his face, “Give me a minute here and I’ll come out there. Eat while it’s hot.” The man turned with 5000 won in his hand and retrieved his beef skewers wrapped like a gift.
Monica had begun eating, biting a piece of chicken and sliding it off the end and into her mouth. The succulent pieces of chicken had been dipped in a light honey marinade and sprinkled with sesame seeds. It melted in her mouth as the man broke through the edge of the crowd forming in the midst of a surge of bodies collecting in the streets and night markets on a Friday night. Monica looked around skittishly realizing and shocked by the sheer numbers of people on the move.
The man waded through the current of people that had formed instantaneously between himself and Monica. As he approached he tried to look over the crowd and turned to Monica, “There’s a park bench over there, lets see if we can grab it?”
“That’s fine. Lead the way.”
The man walked into the blur and Monica followed his every step towards the road where car lights flew by, horns intermittently blared, people walked, biked, and motorcycled by in pulsing droves. Monica thought of platelets coursing through veins with purpose. As they arrived at the curb the green walk sign illuminated and they walked without breaking stride crossing into the road en mass. The man walked through the crowd timing his steps to traverse the intersection. Monica followed the gray coat to the bench where the crowd died down on the wide sidewalk.
As they arrived at the bench the man turn with his hand out, “Hi, I’m Mark.”
“Hi, Monica. Nice to meet you.” She reached out and shook Mark’s hand. Monica realized Mark wasn’t only Korean. There was something about the eyes. Monica looked down the sidewalk at two elderly men walking slowly past with their hands comfortably clasped behind their backs, heads tilted slightly forward talking quietly between themselves. They both looked at Monica for a few seconds with keenly piercing eyes before turning away back to the ground before them and resuming their conversation.
Mark and Monica sat down and Mark asked, “So what’s your question Monica?”
“What do you know about the Won family and is there a correlation between them and the name of your currency?”
“There is no correlation that I know. Won is the name of our money or currency. The won replaced the Yuan, Chinese money. Won was a series of coins of different value correlating with the Japanese Yen. After 1910 War with Japan the won became our currency. The Won family name has been around long before our money.”
Monica had slid another piece of chicken off the end of the bamboo skewer and as it melted away she asked, “That doesn’t really answer my question but, what about the Won family name? Who are they?”
Mark shrugged, “I don’t know but there are stories, like fables of warriors, legends. We hear the stories as children at bedtime, at least my family did.”
“Okay, how far back are we talking here?”
Mark raised his eyebrows trying to size up an answer as his mind drifted effortlessly over main events in Korean history, “Let’s see, ah, before Korea was much bigger and whole, before the Three Kingdoms Period, before the Mongolian invasions, probably around the Hun invasions.”
“That long ago. Okay, do you know the Won family?” Monica finished one of her chicken skewers.
“No, but I work in the same field as one of the Won’s, he’s a lawyer here in Seoul.”
“Are you a lawyer?”
“I’m in Contract Law. Mr. Won is in Corporate Law.”
“Um, so really different fields in the legal department.”
“That’s right. And you, what do you do?”
“I work in D.C. for a congressman. I’m just taking a break.”
“Are you Korean-American?”
“Yeah.” Monica looked at Mark’s face again and noticed a pronounced second eyelid and guessed, “Korean-Mongolian?”
“Korean-Mongolian-American. America is where part of the family immigrated to around the end of the Korean War. My father claims full-blooded Korean and my mother claims Mongolian.”
“So do all Korean’s know their history because I know nothing of mine. Like you, how far back can you tell your family history?”
“Well, I’d have to confer with my father and mother before answering that question. I should confer with them anyway, they’re getting on in age and health issues arise more frequently.” Mark stood up and presented Monica with his business card and suggested, “Would you be interested in meeting me here tomorrow at noon and I’ll tell you all about it or I can take you to the library where we can get facts for you about your family?”
Monica stood and accepted his card and responded, “I have nothing planned and its close so, why not?”
“See you tomorrow then?” Mark paused and asked, “Which way are you traveling now?”
Monica pointed over the road and beyond the carts on the other side of the street and swept her hand to the left.
“Sorry, I’m going the other way. It was nice meeting you and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Looking forward to it. It was nice meeting you too.”
Mark waved and began moving away and into the flow of bodies and disappeared in the dark cloths and the darkness beyond the neon jungle before her. Monica threw her skewers and napkin in the garbage can and confidently joined the mass gathering in front of the crosswalk.
When the green walk light lit up, the mass moved and Monica began her migration through the crowd at an angle. Between stutter stepping and bounding forward Monica made it to the other sidewalk and began walking with the crowd down the sidewalk. She didn’t notice right away that the carts were now on her right. The road turned following the monument wall to a three-story concrete structure with restaurants lining the ground floor and in the middle was a night market in full swing. Monica walked down one of the isles and found a basket of pig heads, many basins filled with different sized turtles for sale, stacks of chicken feet in bundles of 10, warm larvae in a cup, meat of all forms, vegetables, fruits, and flowers all separated into clusters of like kind. Monica’s nose was inundated by the combination of death and spring. She turned around and realized nothing looked familiar. Monica back tracked out of the market and out from under the concrete structure and saw two streets going in almost the same direction with carts lining the left side. She looked at the building orientation and chose a street. As she walked she tried to find something she recognized but it was impossible to tell where she saw what. After two blocks she decided to turn right and catch the other carted street. She thought it shouldn’t be too far away and she walked down a street of restaurants and clothing stores. Four blocks passed before she stopped again still looking forward. She saw no more carts and again nothing recognizable. Thinking the road she came in on should be right up ahead decided to walk on a few more blocks.
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