Global (9): We Shall Not Cease from Exploration
We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time. —T.S. Eliot
I'm walking along the banks of the Thames. Two months have already passed since I began living in London. The year-end is approaching. Christmas trees stand in the distance, and the lights lend a festive atmosphere. Westminster Abbey and Big Ben blend seamlessly with the cozy year-end mood.
While sticking to the schedule the language school arranged, I wander around London whenever I have spare time. London Castle, London Bridge, Soho, the National Museum, and so on. I still don't understand why the National Museum displays more foreign artifacts than British ones. Especially in the Africa exhibition, the ornaments on display reeked of a plundering nation's arrogance. They must have all been looted.
Sometimes I explore alone, sometimes with groups formed in my language class. The school even recommends a program where students visit landmarks together for English practice. There are extra costs, of course—transportation, event fees, and the like.
The other day I went to Stonehenge in the suburbs. I expected it to be right there like a typical Korean tourist spot you reach by bus, but the site was surprisingly vast. Horses and cows grazed and ran across the pastures nearby. A guide gave explanations, but I understood less than half. Still, it was excellent for broadening my horizons.
In our class group were Martin, a German engineer working at SAP, the enterprise accounting software company; Valentin, a French university student; and Misha, who had come from China for language study. Because they were long-term students, we hung out often. Short-term students rotated in every week or two. Last time there was even someone from South America. Since Spanish comes more naturally to me than English, I spoke to him in Spanish and he lit up like he'd met a friend from home. The school usually avoids grouping people from the same country together. The kids were ungreedy and genuine; it was refreshing. It felt good to live a life different from the cutthroat competition back in Korea.
Martin, our SAP engineer, was surprisingly humorous for a German. He was the social butterfly of the language school. The moment class ended he would gather everyone to go somewhere. I tagged along a few times, but visiting the same places repeatedly grew dull. The one thing that stayed with me was an EPL match. I didn't get to see any Korean players, but I witnessed the raw passion of the British fans. Once, a group of office workers arrived for a two-week program sent by one of Korea's Big Four accounting firms. Seeing fellow Koreans was nice, yet I kept my distance; I was still in hiding.
One month, then two, slipped by. London's weather grew colder. My sides ached from the chill, and loneliness eventually drove me to call Korea. There wasn't much to say. Had I ever come to a place like this just to sightsee or have fun? At best, all I received were organization status reports from Secretary Ko and the occasional check-in with Miju.
After class one day, while sitting in the school courtyard, Valentin approached and offered me a cigarette. He claims to be twenty-two, yet he's a heavy smoker. The locals here don't use filtered cigarettes like we do in Korea; they roll their own with paper. Whenever he has a beer, he spreads cigarette paper on the table and rolls one. It reminded me of the old days when I used to roll cigarettes for pocket-picking jobs.
"Hey~ Lucas."
His English is still clumsy, so only greetings come out smoothly. From the way he spoke, it sounded like he was asking what I was doing today.
"Nothing~ I don't have plan~"
The funny thing is, even when I slip into Korean, they somehow understand. When I asked why, he said it was "a feeling kind of feeling." Body language. Then he tempted me. There was a Champions League match between PSG and Real Madrid tonight; he suggested we watch it at the pub under Waterloo Station. With nothing else to do, I followed him.
The pub I'd visited a few times looked different. A massive screen had been set up on the wall, tables arranged in front of it, and fans wearing team jerseys filled the space. About five minutes into the match, the Spanish girls in front of the screen began cheering with such ferocity that even the most macho men would have backed down. In the thirtieth minute of the second half, Real Madrid was trailing 2-1. Then, within five minutes, a goalkeeper's mistake and a striker's breakthrough flipped the score to 3-2. The Spanish girls ripped off their jerseys and waved them above their heads. In real life, it was quite a sight.
'Wow! Very very hot girl!!'
Valentin beside me looked just as thrilled.
At that moment a message arrived from Mr. Gonzales. There had been no contact since the scolding after that incident. But the first line felt aggressive. Mr. Gonzales never opened conversations like that. No wonder his ID was "hey."
Who was Diaz? When I didn't reply, another message followed.
Ah, so the leader of the three brothers was named Diaz. I hadn't known because he never told me last time.
I couldn't say a word.
"Hey Lucas! Madrid won!"
"Valentin, sorry. Something urgent came up. I need to head back."
"Huh?"
I left Valentin, who still wanted to keep drinking, and bolted out of the pub.
Memories from the moment I first met them at Cancun Airport came rushing back. That bright smile. The hand that patted my back when training wore me down. The welcoming face when I visited with Miju. Fuck... Johnny too. He never treated me kindly because of the pressure from his older brother, yet the days we sweated and bled together resurfaced. He was the warm-hearted one who cried with me during the second brother's troubles and quietly looked after me.
I had gotten too worked up over the news of Mr. Gonzales and Johnny's deaths. I took a deep breath, stepped into a nearby public restroom, and splashed water on my face until my mind cleared a little.
First, there was no need to rule out the U.S. side either. My weapon source had always been Duke Vladimir—Russian-made.
Our noble friend was probably enjoying his evening meal; no reply came. While I stood on the hill overlooking Waterloo Station, lost in memories, a message finally arrived.
I skipped the usual business pleasantries; time was short.
This damned information age. Rumors traveled at terrifying speed.
The old saying about the mountain king tiger moving and making the entire mountain tremble seemed to describe exactly this situation. The realization that I couldn't even offer the slightest help, let alone revenge, for the people I had shared hardships with filled me with self-loathing.
I urgently contacted Korea for advice.
"Hmm... There are already people over there, so sending our security team feels awkward."
"Even if we try sourcing locally, it won't amount to much. I'll look into alternatives."
The call ended without any real progress. I stopped by a nearby convenience store, bought a bottle of whiskey, and tried to drown my thoughts. Dawn was beginning to break.
Why was Yeoni contacting me?
What was she talking about? I had arranged weapons?
What? Yeoni, how did you know that?
In that instant, my mind went completely blank.