Tokyo to Tijuana: Gabriele Departing America | Page 9

but the latter. Reality was as it dictated: and for the
most part he did not want to make a seedy experience into something transformational by
exchanging names and telephone numbers, and making subsequent calls although that
was what he secretly wished-the tattered man that he was.
He entered the mokotong. He picked up a key, a toothbrush, and a razor at the counter.
He took off his shoes and left them with the worker who deposited them into a small shoe
locker; and then he went to his clothes locker. He took off all of his clothes except for his
underwear. He locked them in. Then he went to the toilet. He put on the typical bathroom
slippers made of plastic that were used in toilets because they were often wet and dirty.
He went back, after urinating, and reopened his locker. He took off his underwear and
deposited it there. He had become so socialized to the need of a beeper (not that he ever
got any calls apart from students needing to re-change their hours of study) that he hated
to keep it there suffocating under his socks. It was an inanimate object but, instrument
that it was, it was a source for possible connectedness. Like a child, in his more

subconscious thoughts, it was his friend. Still, Koreans, as addicted as they were to
pagers and the new popularity of cellular telephones, could not easily dangle them from
their penises at a mokotong. He locked the locker and felt "Honja" ("alone). Even among
large groups of people he was alone. When he went to restaurants he was usually "honja,"
and had to declare it. When he studied Korean, read great literature, went to a museum,
saw a video at the video pang, or went to a mokotang he was alone and often questioning
how anything could be enjoyable in such remoteness. There was pain in it but like any
adaptive mammal choosing one lesser pain to the greater one (in his case choosing the
aloneness of his thoughts to the sociability of the masses) there were times when he
wasn't even aware of how alone he really was. Everything was measured by its impact on
others but the pre-adolescent, found buried deep in the man, could always play alone.
When violence was really known and the world was conclusively bad in one's perspective
one could go at it alone.
In the shower he used a type of dual washcloth connected together like a mitten. He put
his hand inside of it and used its abrasive side to scour his body. He tried not to stare at
all of the bodies doing the same. He spent just a few minutes in a whirlpool because of
the intensity of the heat and then dived into the extremely cold waters of the pool. His
heart raced and coldness tingled through his body. Koreans believed in the salubrious
qualities of ginseng, dog meat, and sudden exposure to extreme heat and cold. Besides
him, there were only two boys and a young man with a rubber ball within the cold pool,
but only he swam circularly enjoying the solitude as much as one could. Every now and
then, by his lack of focus, he swallowed water in his lust for a man or two lying on the
edge of the pool where the heat of the whirlpools in the adjacent room entered and
hypnotized them dozingly. He concentrated on the steam that rose above his head,
exhausted itself on the mirrors, the waves that he had created which massaged his psyche
in sight, feel and sound, and the three figures that enjoyed the water with him at a
distance.
It had been disconnection that had brought him here to the mokotong, as it had to Seoul
or even to South Korea itself. People had come and gone out of his life in such a storm,
and he was in an existence floundering on something without a stable foundation. It was a
miracle, to him, that he had been able to finish his studies at the University of Houston
following his sister's death. Back then while students paraded themselves in the
insouciance of sociable gestures reflecting their sexual rhythms he had dangled alone like
a skeleton in a neurosurgeon's office. He liked the flexibility of his schedule here in
Korea. He needed plenty of free time to think his weird thoughts and reconstruct himself
as long as his thoughts did not collapse onto him, burying him alive.
At the least provocation, in late August, he began to come to her, his favorite city, lost
and uncertain with eyes somewhat wild and fearful but yearning and believing in Seoul's
power to provide him with experiences that would thrust him into a better knowledge of