Headlights

September 1962 was a season when tension beyond the country's borders kept climbing.

Chairman Park had held to his declaration that he would stay out of civilian politics, and at home the political situation had settled. Outside Korea, though, the air was drawn tight with the feeling that a third world war might break out at any moment.

In Europe the Berlin Crisis showed no sign of ending. If anything, it was sliding from bad to worse. Khrushchev had long since demanded the withdrawal of the Western forces stationed in West Berlin, and an American civilian airliner bound for the city had been menaced by Soviet fighters. In the midst of it the Soviet Union stepped up military aid to Cuba, in the United States' own front yard, and Washington flared. When Kennedy asked Congress for the authority to call up a hundred and fifty thousand reservists, as if an invasion of Cuba were already in mind, the Soviets warned that an American attack on the island would mean bracing for world war. The United States answered in kind. Against the Soviet threat of a global war, it would not hesitate at any measure needed to protect itself and its allies.

While Washington and Moscow growled at each other over Cuba, Communist China invaded Bhutan, then under Indian administration. It was retaliation for India's having taken in the Dalai Lama and allowed a Tibetan government-in-exile to be set up. The fear spread that India and China, Asia's two great population powers, might tumble into all-out war.

Into the middle of this, Kijo called a meeting of his company presidents and announced that Cheongsan would enter Vietnam. Cautious objections surfaced at once. With the world staggering under one security crisis after another, was it not dangerous to push into Vietnam, where the Cold War between East and West burned hottest?

The three countries of the Indochina peninsula, where Vietnam lay—Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia—were a cauldron of chaos. Laos was neutral in name only. While the royal army, the communist forces, and the neutralists fought a civil war among themselves, the United States announced that it would withdraw the American troops stationed there.

Cambodia was locked in border disputes with both South Vietnam and Thailand, and warned that if South Vietnam crossed the frontier more than twice more, Phnom Penh would sever relations with Saigon and open them with Hanoi. It went further, declaring that if the clashes along the border continued, it would station Soviet and Chinese troops on its own soil to answer South Vietnam and Thailand.

South Vietnam, for its part, was fighting localized battles with the North, and between anti-government demonstrations by university students and Buddhists and the attacks of communist guerrillas, there was hardly a quiet day.

Lee Man-ik, president of Cheongsan Construction and the man who would spearhead the advance into Vietnam, spoke with care.

"Sir, wouldn't it be better to go in after the situation in Vietnam has stabilized?"

Kijo knew that Vietnam would find stability only after it had been entirely communized, and he brushed the worry aside.

"Once Vietnam stabilizes, the opportunity will be gone. Now, when nobody else wants to go in, is the right time."

With Kijo driving the Vietnam venture that hard, Cheongsan's executives worried, and followed him anyway.

As the company's strength gathered behind the move, Kijo went to the Blue House and laid before Chairman Park the canned combat rations developed by Cheongsan Foods. The chairman had taken a deep interest in the news that Cheongsan was working on a Korean-style combat ration, and he opened all eleven cans Kijo had brought and tasted every one.

"Good. Rice and side dishes, and no field kitchen to bother with."

Having made a lunch of the cans, Chairman Park rinsed his mouth with water.

"The rations are fine. The trouble is we haven't got the money to buy them. Next year I can ask the Americans and purchase some out of aid funds, but even then the quantity we'll be able to take won't amount to much."

He sounded regretful. Had the money only been there, he would have wanted the depots packed with canned combat rations the way the U.S. Army did it.

Kijo didn't mind. He had made them with the Vietnam War in view, and it didn't matter if they earned nothing for the moment.

"That's all right, Mr. Chairman. For now I'd like them issued to the troops, so we can hear what the line units think."

"All right. I'll have a word with the First Army commander."

With a trial issue promised, Kijo left the Blue House.

A few days later word came from Wonju, where First Army headquarters sat. Kijo loaded five tons of military canned rations onto a truck and headed there.

The First Army commander was Min Ki-shik. Kijo met ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠him, turned over the canned combat rations, and asked that any problems be passed along once they showed themselves. After he and Lieutenant General Min had a commemorative photograph taken at headquarters and Kijo made to leave, the general caught him.

"I've got the Chairman's orders to look after President Lee properly if he comes to Wonju. I can't just let you go."

So Kijo was treated to drink and food at a restaurant in downtown Wonju. True to his name as one of the Army's champion drinkers alongside Chairman Park, Min held his liquor well, and talk of drink came of itself.

"Listen here. Right after May 16 I got made Second Army commander and posted to Daegu. A few days later the owner of a place called Cheongsuwon shows up and tells me to settle a bar tab."

Min said it, then laughed a moment as if the gall of it still took his breath.

"So I ask him, what tab? And get this—Chairman Park, that gentleman, before the revolution, ran up five million hwan and went off to Seoul without paying. That's what he tells me."

"No hostesses, nothing to drink but clear rice wine and makgeolli, and nothing to eat but mung-bean pancakes—how does the Chairman run up a tab like that? Then I got to thinking, and it seemed he'd been buying his men drinks while they got ready to make the revolution."

Min laughed, a broad rumble.

"Couple of months later the Chairman comes down to inspect Daegu and pays the whole tab off. Then he asks me, General Min, how much do you owe for drinks? I say about six hundred thousand hwan, and he up and slaps a million into my hand."

Min Ki-shik and Chairman Park were the closest of friends, and Min was a loyalist who backed him. That was why he had been given command of the First Army, the post that in practice ran the Army of the Republic of Korea.

"So I say, isn't this a bribe? What are we going to do if the revolutionary government starts corrupting itself already? Just like that. Ha ha ha."

Min was an eccentric who made a habit of outrageous conduct, a man who said to Chairman Park both what could be said and what could not.

"And ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the old fellow comes back with this. General Min, you didn't spend that drink money filling your own pockets, did you? You spent it running the unit, so it's patriotism. So I fire right back at him—since when is drinking patriotism? Ha ha ha."

With that he poured into Kijo's glass.

"Me, after the Chairman pulled off his revolution, I got the company commanders and the staff officers holding the armistice line together and cracked open five cases of thirty-five-percent soju. Filled them full of liquor, set a tape recorder down in the middle, and told them if they had complaints about the Army or about me, to say every one of them. Want to curse me, go ahead and call me a son of a bitch—no trouble afterward. Just don't curse Chairman Park, and don't curse the Americans. Do that and there'll be hell to pay."

Still chuckling, Min said he had held a cursing contest, given a prize to the subordinate who swore with the most relish, and sorted the grievances caught on the tape to pass along to the Chairman.

"Chairman Park read that transcript I handed him clear through to the end, and then he says these were problems he'd felt himself back when he was chief of staff of a field army, and he'd fix them on the spot."

Kijo found the session growing a little heavy. Min never stopped pouring, and never stopped talking. But he went on all the same.

"President Lee! Shall I tell you a good one?"

"Please do."

Kijo answered patiently. Enduring was his specialty.

"This is after Kim Jong-pil's corruption came out, and after the Chairman declared he was staying out of civilian politics."

Min set the story going, then wiped his mouth as if the taste were bitter.

"Chairman Park came up to inspect Gangwon Province. Word was he was flying into Wonju airfield, so I meant to go out and meet him."

Instead, the Army ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Chief of Staff had telephoned him and warned him not to play politics.

"I hear that, and I think the mood's turning mighty strange. The Chairman says he won't be president, and these damned brass bastards start acting slick."

Min went to light a cigarette, found the pack empty, and crushed it. Kijo offered him one of his own.

"Back in Dr. Syngman Rhee's day, I tell you. When the Doctor came to inspect Gangwon, they lined even three-year-olds up along the road. Cut the trunks of pines off the mountain, hauled them over, and just jammed them in the ground along the way he was passing. Even a road he only brushed past for a moment, they pulled that stunt."

Min spoke as if swallowing his anger.

"Same crowd, the minute Chairman Park looks like he's got no future, they don't know him. Chuncheon airfield was just empty. Lee Hu-rak, who'd come along with the Chairman, and a few reporter punks. That was the whole of it."

After several hard pulls on the cigarette, Min said the generals had been this way ever since Syngman Rhee's time. When it came to attaching themselves to politicians for the sake of promotion, they were old hands, and only generals of that sort had ever risen.

"I felt sorry for the Chairman, so I escorted the man myself. We're riding along, passing some elementary school, and this little scrap of a kid—ten years old, maybe?—comes tearing out in front of the car yelling, 'Park Chung-hee, you rotten bastard!' and flings a rock at the window and runs. Glass didn't break, luckily, but the Chairman's face just then... it hurt to look at."

Min said he had wondered whether someone in that student's family had suffered serious harm after the May 16 Revolution.

"That night, at the commander's quarters, I drank with the Chairman until two in the morning. He let the bitterness pour out. The people he'd trusted had all turned their backs. He'd carried out the revolution for nothing. That's what he said."

Seeing the Chairman look resigned, Min said, had worried him badly.

Kijo guessed that all of this had happened before Chairman Park met Hausman. Having gone through it, the Chairman must ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠have been unable to trust anyone, and had been on the point of bringing out a plan to extend military rule by four years. However far the politicians went—even to a pledge ceremony, swearing they would not retaliate once power passed to a civilian government—he may well have thought that the moment he weakened, he would be placing his own life in other men's hands. Children were throwing stones at him. A sense of crisis must have closed around him: the fear of what people harmed by the revolution might demand of those politicians.

Through Min Ki-shik, Kijo could trace the drift of the Chairman's mind. All through the drinking, Min said the Chairman had been in pain.

"So, the morning after we drank, I stopped by the quarters where he was sleeping. Early."

"Why did you do that?"

When Kijo asked, Min let out a short laugh.

"Afraid he might have killed himself. First time I ever saw the man that beaten down."

Kijo nodded.

As the drinking drew toward its end, Min made a request.

"When you get back to Seoul, look after our Chairman for me. He was a man without people of his own from the start. He's got a few die-hard admirers like me, but he's lonely."

Parting from Min, Kijo turned a great many thoughts over on the road back to Seoul.

Chairman Park was a man born to a powerful destiny. But he was thrown, just as often, into circumstances as rough as that destiny itself. In the end he had been able to overcome them on his own, and yet, perhaps because of the many wounds taken along the way, his later years had shown a warped face. It was very different from the man Kijo was looking at now.

If someone stood beside him and helped, could he become a better leader than he had been in the original history?

Kijo tried to picture a Park Chung-hee with the flaws cut away. If the man simply refrained from the errors that those who liked him and those who disliked him had pointed to in common, then he was someone, Kijo thought, who could remain in history a long time.

While he was deep in the thought, Wang-chul, driving the truck beside him, asked.

"Sir, what's got you thinking so hard?"

"Ah, it's nothing. I was just staring off. Tired, and there's still a little of the drink left in me."

"That so? Then I'm glad I didn't break in on your thoughts. Only, if we really do go into Vietnam this time..."

Ko Wang-chul had come out of the wig division and returned to Cheongsan Transport. Kijo had promoted him and given him the presidency there. Now that he was president, Wang-chul's mind seemed already to be in the Vietnam where Cheongsan Transport meant to go.

"I hear the women in Vietnam are pretty slim and good-looking. See a photograph from there now and then, and they seem to wear their hair long. Population's bigger than Korea's, too."

"And so?"

Kijo looked straight at him.

"If Cheongsan Transport goes into Vietnam, what if we bought up the Vietnamese women's hair as well? Shipments to America have picked up a fair amount lately, and we're running short of hair."

"Do that."

Kijo agreed to the plan.

"But listen. You... well..."

When Kijo started to bring up his private life, the quick-witted Wang-chul answered with confidence.

"I've cleared out half of them."

"Half..."

"Don't you worry, sir. You don't imagine I'd go making lovers in Vietnam too, do you? Ha ha ha."

Watching the glow gather as the sun sank toward the western hills, Kijo thought. He could barely keep his own subordinate's womanizing in check. How could he dare to change Chairman Park? A sigh escaped him before he knew it.

"Sir, don't sigh. I'm not that hopeless a fellow."

"That isn't why I sighed. Don't take it wrong."

"I've got my own standards, you know. The women I've been seeing—if I tell them I want to break it off, how hard would they take it? Getting thrown over by a man this charming."

Wang-chul ran a hand over his hair and laid the boast on thick. Kijo held back the sigh that genuinely wanted out.

"So I'm taking it step by step. I've set a kind of severance, and every time the parting money is put together I settle with one of them. I haven't taken up any new lovers in the meantime."

"I see. Well done."

Better, Kijo thought, than cutting the women off all at once with no thought for them.

"I haven't forgotten the promise I made you back in '54. I'm going to keep that promise. In the end I'll settle with one person, have children, and live well enough that nobody has to envy me."

"I'll be rooting for you."

Kijo offered the encouragement to Wang-chul, who was trying to live right. And he thought that changing someone would not be easy—but that it was better than sitting with his hands folded and doing nothing at all.

When the sun had sunk completely behind the western hills, Wang-chul switched on the truck's lights and lit the road ahead.

Watching the beams of the headlights, Kijo thought that the light did not order the driver to go this way or that. It only showed where the road was, and where it was not.

He would be content, he thought, if he himself could manage even that much.