Heart Abroad, Part 11
Title: Heart Abroad
Pairings/Characters: Jaejoong/Yamapi
Rating/Warnings: T for language and (eventual) making out
Disclaimer: I own nothing; written just for fun
Summary: Yamapi's life is never dull.
A/N: This is a cool taiko drumming clip; Here is an example of Obon Odori (Obon dancing); This is a performance of Ganggangsulae, a traditional Chuseok dance; And here you go! 2 hours of the 2012 Show Idol Trot Battle Chuseok Special (because it was difficult to find the amateur one I'm used to online)
Heart Abroad, Part 11
It’s a good thing Erika didn’t repeat the Sunday dinner fiasco this weekend because when Yamapi walks into school on Monday morning it’s like entering a force field of triply concentrated energy levels. Literally. The crackle in the air zaps Yamapi when Chanyeol flails a wave hello as he dashes by. Or maybe the bike rack just shocked the buckle of his watch in a fit of static, but either way.
When Yamapi makes it into the office, jacket askew after being stampeded by a gang of first graders on the front steps, the usually stale air is alight with the same electric hum. Mr. Kang’s laugh echoes across the length of the big room almost without pause. The vice principal is faintly humming opera choruses from behind his private desk jungle. Even Boa looks different, her hair relaxed from it’s usual tight updo in dark waves down her back that contrast with her candy pink lipstick.
“Sensei!” Three students burst through the door by the printer and pounce on Yamapi before he can even set his bag down, one grabbing his waist in a tight back hug and another launching himself onto his shoulders.
“Hey guys! What’s up?” Yamapi asks with a confused grin, turning to face his tacklers who turn out to be Baekhyun from 2-5 and Minseok from 2-4. A skinny kid with an apologetic smile, 2-1’s Joonmyun, stands slightly off to the side and waves. Yamapi reaches over Minseok’s head to offer Joonmyun a high touch, the boy’s face lighting up as their palms meet with a satisfying smack.
“Good morning!” Minseok, arms still crushing Yamapi’s ribcage, looks up with a face squishing grin.
“Did something happen?” Yamapi tries again, wondering to what he owes this unprecedented display of affection.
“Nope! It’s just a good morning!” Baekhyun yells in Yamapi’s ear, and Mrs. Kim doesn’t even swivel around in her desk chair to glare him into silence. Yamapi isn’t convinced but the bell rings for preparation period and the kids dash off, banging the sliding door behind them. Yamapi shakes his head with an incredulous smile and turns to his desk to pull out the files he needs for 1st period.
The classroom is so abundantly overflowing with adolescent Koreans that Yamapi can barely make out the chords of the music signaling the start of class. He waits patiently at the front of the room for thirty seconds before realizing everyone either didn’t hear the bell or is choosing to blithely ignore it.
“Hey, guys!” Yamapi shouts in greeting, but he can’t really hear his own voice. A two-way thumb war is ensuing between four students teetering atop their desks, their joined fists locking them into a floundering circle that probably can’t maintain balance for too much longer. A tangle of students in a back corner have the class president tied to a chair with a purple jumprope and are sharpie-ing unfortunate things onto his and each others’ faces.
“Good morning!” Yamapi shouts a little louder, waving his yellow folder above his head like a semaphore signal. Most everyone still ignores him, though one kid waves back and almost knocks himself off the windowsill he’s precariously balanced on.
“Park Chanyeol!” Yamapi gasps as soon as he can breathe again from the shock. “Get inside now!” Two of Chanyeol’s friends pull him back in by his trousers and Yamapi heads for the light switch to call his classroom to order. He gets halfway across the the floor before a soccer ball hits him in the head and knocks him into a student trying to empty the automatic black board cleaner solution. Yamapi cringes as the plastic tray clatters to the floor and dirty water spreads in a sticky pool around their feet, but at least the loud crash makes everybody freeze.
“Sorry, teacher!” Joonmyun squeaks, scrambling to wipe the water back into the tray.
“It’s ok,” Yamapi says, reaching down to give the kid a hand up. “Ok, guys! In your seats!” he hastens to shout before he loses everyone’s attention again.
There is some dragging of feet and dramatic moaning, but the students shuffle back into their respective places. The class president, now freed from his playground bondage, pulls some towels out of a crate in the back and throws them over the mess on the floor.
“Good morning!” Yamapi tries again, now that everyone is reasonably focused.
“Good morning, teacher!” they bellow back in unison, leaning forward eagerly in their seats. Yamapi chuckles in surprise.
“Did something exciting happen?” Everyone simultaneously got girlfriends over the weekend? The cafeteria is serving chocolate rollcake for lunch? Miss A is giving a private concert at school?
“Chuseok, teacher!” a kid in the back hollers, bouncing in his seat and hyperventilating.
“Chuseok!” several more echo enthusiastically.
“Chew-suck?” Yamapi repeats in confusion. “Are you speaking English? Or is that ‘chyuu’ as in kiss?”
“No, teacher! Holiday! Important holiday!” Chanyeol yells even though he doesn’t need to project his voice from his seat on the front row. Interesting. No one has mentioned this to Yamapi previously.
“When is this holiday? How do you celebrate?” Yamapi asks, taking a step back to protect what’s left of his hearing.
“Wednesday start!” the class president volunteers. “We...see moon! Eat many food! Together.”
“Sing!” someone else adds in. “Together sing, clean our descendant cemetery.”
“Wait, your--oh, you mean your ancestors’ graves? Like, for your grandparents?” Yamapi asks, trying to decipher the inundation of excited and mangled explanations.
“Yes, yes!” Chanyeol agrees loudly.
“Japan has a similar holiday!” Yamapi says, reaching for the chalk. “Does anybody know what it’s called?”
Thirty-three faces blink at him in silence.
“It’s called Obon,” Yamapi explains as he writes the characters and pronunciation on the board. “It’s in August, not September, but Japanese return to their hometowns to clean and honor their family graves.” A few murmurs of surprise and interest run through the audience.
“Do you drink makgeolli?” Chanyeol asks, waving his arm excitedly in the air.
“No,” Yamapi says slowly. “But there is special drum music and dancing! If we finish the lesson in time we can watch a video,” he adds, hoping it’s adequate motivation to salvage his students’ fleeting attention long enough to survive the morning.
Surprisingly, it works. Sort of. Yamapi’s pretty sure the vocabulary in this unit will need some intense review next week, but they finish in time to watch thirty seconds of a taiko drum routine on YouTube. The class loves it, drumming along with the sweaty musicians on their desks, the walls, their neighbors’ heads.
Yamapi’s head is starting to pound in tandem by the time he makes it down to the office at the start of third period. The room is mostly empty but Boa is at her desk, filing a pinky fingernail with a sparkly cheetah print emory board.
“So I heard something about a holiday coming up,” Yamapi says casually, sinking into his desk chair and rubbing at his temples.
“Yup.” Boa takes a sharp swipe at her nail. “Korea’s most important holiday is on Thursday. We get a half day on Tuesday to start off the break.”
“I thought New Year’s was the most important holiday…” Yamapi wrinkles his brow, flipping through his teacher’s calendar.
“Oh yeah, well that too. They’re both important.” Boa blows the dust from her cuticle. “I’d invite you over to hang out, but we have to go to Yunho’s parents’ in Gwangju, so…” She swivels her chair meaningfully.
“Oh no, that’s cool.” Yamapi drops his pen onto the open calendar. “Don’t worry about me. I just wondered about the schedule this week.”
“Kay,” Boa nods.
“Tomo ssaem,” Mrs. Kim calls, leaning forward to catch his attention. “This week is a holiday. Chu-seok,” she pronounces slowly. Yamapi nods and smiles politely. “You have it in Japan too, right?”
“Well, in Japan...there is Obon. You know? Maybe--” Yamapi breaks off and sighs in frustration, not sure how to explain that Obon is similar but not quite the same.
“No, no.” Mrs. Kim waves a handful of flamingo pink nails at him. “It’s the same, I know it is. I read it online. Tsu...Tsukami? Tuskimi?” She tilts her head, stumbling over the pronunciation.
“What?” Yamapi has no idea what she’s referring to, pronunciation issues aside.
“Tsukimi,” Mrs. Kim insists, “the full moon festival?” She taps a nail expectantly against her desk.
“Uh…” Yamapi turns to Boa for help; maybe he’s just really misunderstanding Korean right now.
Boa sets down her file and shrugs.
“It’s probably some historical thing that’s not mainstream anymore. Just humor her, Tomo-kun.” She yawns and slumps further into her seat.
“Oh, Tsukimi, yes,” Yamapi nods half heartedly to Mrs. Kim. Boa giggles.
“Yes, Tsukami!” Mrs. Kim exclaims triumphantly. She pulls a roll of cheap packing tape from her desk drawer and starts picking lint from her red blazer with the adhesive side.
“Hey, foreign teacher!” Yamapi whirls around to see Mr. Kang barreling towards him, a badminton racket in one hand and a small tree branch in the other.
“Annyeonghaseyo,” Yamapi greets, bowing from the waist in his seat.
“This is gam,” Mr. Kang announces with a deep chortle, holding out the branch.
“Thank you.” Yamapi accepts the gift with both hands, catching sight of a small persimmon hidden in the dark green leaves.
“From my house!” Mr. Kang says proudly, patting himself on the chest. “This week...Korea holiday...very good!” Yamapi smiles and nods along to the parts he understands.
“Lunch! Let’s eat lunch together, ok?”
“Sure, together!” Yamapi nods again.
“Hehe, you eat so well!” Mr. Kang thumps him on the shoulder twice and saunters out of the office, whacking at the air with his racket. Yamapi sets down the tree branch and decides to take his grading outside again so he can actually get something done.
On Tuesday morning things are just as crazy. Yamapi arrives to find a five kilo sack of rice on his desk, courtesy of a third grader’s farmer parents, according to Boa.
Halfway through the preparatory period a delivery man in a baggy blue windbreaker wheels in three large boxes on a dolly which turn out to be stuffed full with bags of heavy rice cakes. All the women in the office rush over to help unpack the sweets and distribute them around to all the desks. The vice principal stations himself next to the copier, arms folded across his chest, to supervise the operation.
“Here,” Boa returns and hands Yamapi a paper plate piled with green and white log shaped cakes coated in a strong smelling yellow powder. There are enough on his plate to feed five hungry Massus, so Yamapi covers the pile with a napkin and hopes he likes the things.
“Songpyeon.”
“Huh?” Yamapi turns in surprise at the sound of Secretary Kim’s voice.
“Those…they’re called songpyeon. Chuseok special…!” Secretary Kim winks, his fringe falling into his eyes.
“Oh, they look delicious,” Yamapi nods. Secretary Kim tosses his head to clear his view since his arms are full with several plates of songpyeon in a precarious balancing act.
“I...take these...Admin office.”
“Can I help you?” Yamapi offers, already reaching for a plate.
“I can do it. I am Kim Heechul.” Secretary Kim raises himself to his full height and blinks his eyes shut.
“Oh, well...have a good holiday then, Secretary Kim.” Yamapi gives a slight bow and smiles when he opens his eyes again. Secretary Kim nods and turns to go.
“Call me Hyung,” he commands over his shoulder with a self satisfied smile.
“Ok...Hyung,” Yamapi tests it out, grinning at the feel of it in his mouth. Secreta--Heechul hyung--winks again and stalks imperiously out of the office, the nearest female teacher practically tripping over her feet to open the door for him.
The first two periods pass quickly, Yamapi too preoccupied with trying to keep his stir crazy charges from jumping ship--or out the window--to keep close tabs on the clock. They don’t get through today’s lesson, but they can always pick up the extra discussion questions next week.
Third period is reserved for a frenzied cleaning of the campus buildings and the courtyard. Yamapi offers to help but Boa and Mrs. Kim brush him off so he perches on his desk and dangles his feet while he watches students scurry in and out with brooms and trash bags, teachers and third graders directing traffic and the underclassmen enjoying the excuse to run in the halls and holler as loud as they please.
When Chanyeol invades their office corner wielding a mop with a tall, blonde, precocious looking first year in tow Yamapi decides to evacuate to the small pocket of space next to the copy machine. He figures if he stands in the already emptied recycling bin he can’t be too much in anyone’s way.
Yamapi hops down from his desk, waving hello to Chanyeol and his mop bucket pushing friend and ducks to narrowly avoid the enthusiastic sling of dirty water from Chanyeol’s acrobatic sanitizing exercises.
Yamapi almost bumps into the music teacher--what was her name again? Jiyeon? Jieun, right--and bows in apology. She just smiles and gives a perky wave, an entire platter of songpyeon balanced on her forearms.
“Did you get some rice cakes? Are you hungry?” Her makeup is amazingly fresh and her hair looks fluffy. Yamapi is pretty sure he sweated through his shirt during first period.
“Yeah, I had some!” Yamapi quickly assures her, thinking of the pile still untouched on his desk (that is, assuming Chanyeol hasn’t found them with his mop spray).
“Ok, Happy Chuseok!” Jieun skitters away on platform sandals and Yamapi sighs in relief, his focus realigned on the blind spot next to the copier now tantalizingly in reach.
“Foreign teacher!”
“Oof!”
Yamapi groans in surprise as a long arm snakes out from behind the grove of exotic plants and yanks him by the shirt sleeve to stand next to the vice principal’s desk.
“So, Thursday is a national holiday!” the vice principal announces amiably, tugging at the lapels of his fitted suit that must be unbearably hot in this overcrowded office.
“Oh, so I’ve heard,” Yamapi murmurs politely.
“This is just a small token of my appreciation.” The vice principal extends a white envelope.
“Oh sir, that is too kind, but--”
“Nonsense, you must take this or you will insult me.” The vice principal hands it to Yamapi and he accepts with a bow.
“Sorry, sir, thank y--”
“This is money for tea, not soju,” the vice principal says firmly, his face split in a wide smile of benevolence when Yamapi dares a glance upwards.
“Ok…”
“You can enjoy tea with your friends,” he repeats, still smiling, “but not soju.” He nods firmly and Yamapi copies the move in acquiescence.
“I understand sir, thank you.”
“If I can help you or make your stay more comfortable, please, definitely let me know!”
“Thank you! Please guide me if you have any corrections for me.” Yamapi bows deeply again and the vice principal shoos him away with a wave and a toothy smile.
The traffic jam in the office is starting to dissipate so Yamapi makes it back to his desk to collect his things and shove the envelope in his bag.
“I’m taking off,” Boa toodles her fingers at him, key ring jangling off one finger.
“Have a great holiday, give my greetings to Yunho and Taemin,” Yamapi says with a smile.
“Kay. You want me to drop you off?” Boa points at the haphazard mountain of rice cake on his desk. Shit, that’s going to be hard to balance on his handlebars, Yamapi suddenly realizes.
“Sure, thanks.” Yamapi nods. He can always come back for the bike later, or just walk to school on Monday.
“Sweet! Min wants to see you,” Boa says with a teasing smile that is embarrassing enough but would be totally humiliating if she were talking about a girl.
“Hehe,” Yamapi chuckles shyly and scoots his holiday songpyeon off the desk.
“You can carry mine too,” Boa points to her own plate resting next her phone as she turns to the door. Yamapi rolls his eyes but scoops up her plate with a grin. Heechul-hyung would be proud of his skills.
Taemin has even more energy than Park Chanyeol, if that is possible. He runs out of the kindergarten yawping like Tegoshi with a cockroach after him, spinning in circles around the lawn before collapsing in a dizzy, giggling heap in the dry grass.
“Min, come on! We have to go help Daddy pack,” Boa prods his backpack gently with her shoe. Taemin just flips onto his back and laughs to the clear blue sky like a man set free after 20 years of solitary confinement.
“Yo, Tae-man,” Yamapi calls from the open car door with a wave. Taemin hops up and brushes himself off, runs his fingers through his tousled curls, and offers Yamapi a cool wave before sauntering towards the car. Boa shakes her head and follows with a laugh.
They drop Yamapi at the usual curb and he hurries home to dump his stuff and change before heading back down to stock up on ramen, beer, kimchi, and microwavable rice and mandu at the 7-Eleven, all the essentials just in case the shops close for the holiday.
Cashier Kwon is sporting some festive spikes in his white blonde hair that match the inch long studs in his leather jacket. He grins when he sees the contents of Yamapi’s shopping basket and pleasantly wishes him a happy holiday as he’s leaving.
Yamapi spends the afternoon blasting the aircon and Southern All Stars while he makes an idol studded powerpoint review game for Monday. He still can’t really tell Suzy from Taeyeon but has at least figured out that any photo shoots that seem to have a dozen girls crowded in one frame are probably of SNSD.
He finishes the file before nightfall and puts a load of laundry in while half of his mandu steam before settling in for a TV marathon to catch up on all of the anime and variety episodes Ryo’s been nagging him about since he got behind during the conference. Yamapi falls asleep on the floor sometime after 2 AM, content in the knowledge he can sleep as long as he wants into the morning, ahem, afternoon.
It's the doorbell that wakes him up on Wednesday, though Yamapi is so disoriented he’s not really sure what time it is. His first thought is a sinking premonition that Erika has come to claim him for another emergency shopping trip but when his head clears a little he remembers that everything is closed today anyway and pulls his pillow over his head with a contented sigh.
Whoever it is just takes up pounding on the door, though, when they realize Fur Elise isn’t going to rouse Yamapi enough to answer the door. Yamapi growls and grabs his phone, rolling over a few times before getting up.
It’s his landlady. She grabs his wrist and says something, jabbing a finger at his shoes.
Yamapi hurries to slip on his sandals, not really understanding what’s going on but awake enough to realize that he doesn’t want to get dragged downstairs to the hot pavement in his bare feet. It’s got to be close to noon, or just after, if the overhead sun is any indication.
The landlady starts yanking him out the door before his second shoe is all the way on. Several small children of varying heights and states of undress are running around the dusty courtyard.
“Yah!” his landlady shouts with a wave. “Greet the foreigner properly!”
The kids turn to stare, a few of the older ones dropping into bows, before turning back to their game.
“Mine!” the landlady says proudly, stabbing her chest and reaching up to tug at her scarf, today a mustard and magenta printed polyester thing.
“They are so cute,” Yamapi nods, not sure if they are her grandchildren or neighbors or what.
“Yes!” she cackles and whacks him appreciately on behind. Yamapi flushes hot with embarrassment, looking around to make sure no one saw, but the landlady just grabs him again and drags him through the office door.
The office itself is dark and empty but a door behind the counter opens into a large unfinished room on the ground floor with several old sofas arranged in a timeline of interior decorating history around the perimeter. Several low tables laden with food are scattered in the middle in front of a large screen TV playing some program that seems very similar to the televised Enka competitions Yamapi's grandparents like to watch.
Most of the seats are taken but the landlady plunks Yamapi onto a sofa about halfway into the room, a threadbare avocado brocade upholstered number with burnt orange tassels tacked on in odd places. She herself squats beside a large tarp spread in front of the TV and starts kneading a huge mixing bowl of something while two women about Boa’s age pound chestnuts on a wide metal tray.
“Hello,” says a voice to Yamapi’s left. He jumps, sliding off the lumpy throw pillow he apparently sat on and into a sagging depression in sofa cushion.
“Annyeonghaseyo,” he replies to the ahjusshi on the nubbly blue couch next to him, ignoring the raucous laughter that erupts to his right.
“Here, have a drink.” The man in a checked short sleeved button down with a yellowing plastic pocket protector filling out his breast pocket hands Yamapi a metal bowl from the nearest table. Yamapi accepts and clinks the rims of their bowls together, making sure his is lower than the other man's. He surreptitiously sniffs the bubbly whitish liquid swirling in the bowl before he sips. It smells really strong but tastes pretty good, a hint of sweetness behind the tingly pungence.
The landlady rushes over with a ceramic jug to refill their bowls to the original level.
“He is my Oppa,” she says, pointing at Yamapi’s new drinking buddy. “You can call him Uncle, cause you always call me Auntie, right?” She bats her eyelashes and nudges Yamapi with her sharp little elbow.
“Um, yeah,” Yamapi agrees slowly although it isn't true. He figures “Imo” is easy enough of a title for her though, considering he doesn’t know her actual name anyway.
She smiles triumphantly. And whacks Yamapi’s shoulder.
“Oppa is a famous engineer in Seoul, and this...his son,” she redirects Yamapi’s gaze to his couch mate. “...college student.”
“Hello,” the guy says politely with a shy smile. “I’m Daesung.”
“Hi,” Yamapi says, bowing his shoulders. Daesung is as big as his laugh and looks like he wrestles tigers or giant pandas for recreation.
“This,” announces Landlady Imo with a flourish of her bony hand, “is our handsome foreign teacher. You should call him Hyung, Daesungie!” She goes back to kneading the sticky mass in her cafeteria-sized bowl and Yamapi turns his attention to the TV where an elderly woman in a sequined ball gown is mesmerizing the rest of the room with a passionate vocal performance.
An old woman and a teenager come in from the back a few songs later, carrying a large electric griddle between them. They plug it in, douse it in smelly oil, and start dropping spoonfuls of thick, chunky batter onto the sizzling surface.
“Jeon,” Daesung says after a few minutes when an ahjumma takes around a platter of the steaming fried cakes. “They’re made from tofu and flour and egg...different vegetables. Try it.” He loads about 15 onto Yamapi’s plate.
“Thanks,” Yamapi says before popping one into his mouth. It’s hot and savory, the bite of garlic and green onions melding with the sweet freshness of grated carrot and creamy tofu. “Are you good...good cooking?” he asks Daesung, still chewing.
“Me?” Daesung laughs aloud in amusement. “I only cook when...camping and no one else..., and even then all...complaining.”
“Don’t let him fool you, he’s actually pretty good,” one of the women pounding chestnuts cuts in. Daesung blushes and looks away.
“Can you cook? Can you make, like, sushi?” Daesung asks, looking back at Yamapi with an eager light in his dark eyes.
“Um, no,” Yamapi says. He definitely has never trained as a professional sushi chef. No time for that. “But I can make yakisoba?” he volunteers hopefully.
“Sweet!” Daesung punches him in the shoulder and Yamapi tries to keep his makgeolli from sloshing out of the bowl. “You can come visit my dorm in Seoul anytime! Let’s eat and have a good time!”
“Ok,” Yamapi agrees happily, wondering why he couldn’t have met this guy before his lonely weekend at the conference. Oh well, next time.
A haraboji in neon orange hiking gear hobbles in from the outside with an armful of pine needles tied up in an old sheet, three kids trailing at his heels.
“Yah!” Landlady Imo yells as she hops to her feet. “You...dirty feet...first wash...here!” She hurries to the door with a bundle of damp rags and starts toweling the squirming children as the haraboji calmly continues into the room to spread his bundle next to the tarp.
“Ooh, those look really nice!” a skinny ahjussi lounging on a spindle legged faded red velvet fainting couch by the door exclaims. “Which mountain did you gather them on?”
“Aigoo!” the haraboji clears his throat huskily. “I don’t care...been married to my daughter...twenty years, Yoo Jae Suk! I’m never telling...my secret fishing and collecting spots,...loud mouthed...brat!” The lanky ahjussi laughs louder than Daesung and cracks open another can of beer.
“I love you too, Dad!” he flashes a cute grin and adjusts his big glasses on his bigger nose.
“Aish!” his father-in-law mutters, kneeling to sort through the pine needles. “Get a haircut and Lasik, and then...maybe I’ll listen to you,” he grumbles.
“Grandpa is very protective...family secrets,” Daesung leans over to whisper in Yamapi’s ear. “Even I don’t know...best fishing spots.”
“So...the family graves...ceremony? Also secret?” Yamapi whispers back curiously.
Daesung sits up and blinks at him.
“Oh, you mean the ancestor worship ceremony?” he asks, a flicker of recognition passing over his face.
“Sure…” Yamapi nods.
“Our family is Christian, so we don’t...that.” He frowns slightly and Yamapi opens his mouth to apologize but Daesung cuts him off with a hurried explanation. “But how it works, you..table full...harvest foods, like fruit and rice cakes and meat, I think, and then...in the room with the family altar. If you bow...close the door the ghosts come to the empty...eat the offering.” Yamapi nods again, trying to process the fast paced Korean. He thinks he’s getting a bit better at understanding, although it’s hard to tell.
“So...how long...waiting?” Yamapi asks. “You don’t...outside...the grave? Also?” Daesung just shrugs.
“I don’t know,...ask somebody else.” He gets up to refill their plates with jeon and rice cakes. Landlady Imo whacks her nephew upside the head when he tries to steal a pinch of dough the women are now shaping into lozenge shaped pouches filling with different nuts and black beans.
“Do you have to wait until...tomorrow? For eating songpyeon?” Yamapi asks as Daesung settles back into the seat beside him.
“No,” Daesung says, wincing as the teenage boy with too much eyeliner now performing a thickly ornamented ballad on screen hits a high note and then squeaks as his voice cracks. “We can eat...tonight but...not cooked yet. Imo says...stomachache if you eat...now.” He rolls his eyes with a huff that ruffles the long, straight fringe covering his forehead.
“You have to...cook rice cake?” Yamapi asks in surprise. The mochi he’s used to eating at Japanese holidays is made from pounded rice that’s already been cooked.
“Yup. We make...rice flour...cook together...pine needles.” Daesung nods to the dark green spread at his grandfather’s feet and pops a shrimp jeon in his mouth. “Agh! Make it stop!” he moans around his mouthful, shoving his fingers into his ears as the heavily made up singer finishes on an ear splitting, very off key note. Yamapi and Uncle Jae Suk dissolve into laughter.
They are still gathered around the TV, a little more tipsy and the whole house permeated with the heady scent of steaming pine needles, when Yamapi’s phone rings hours later.
“Hello?” he answers in Korean since the faded light in the room makes it difficult to see the caller ID against the background glare from the large screen TV.
“Hey, hey! Your Korean’s getting pretty good!” Erika says in Japanese.
“Gee thanks, I sure thought mastering the colloquial phone greeting might take a good two months, but it only took one,” Yamapi says with a sarcastic eye roll though he can’t quite manage to cover the grin in his voice.
“So what are you up to?” Erika asks in innocent curiosity (the voice that usually means something is up, Yamapi has come to learn).
“Oh, just partying it up with my landlady and her offspring,” Yamapi drawls over the noise of a disco themed duet two ahjummas are dueling on TV.
“Haha!” Erika snorts. “Has she tried to asphyxiate you with any eggs today?”
“Nope!”
“How about with songpyeon? Chestnuts? Persimmons?”
“Your eager tone makes me wonder if you’re wishing bad things on me,” Yamapi pouts. Erika just laughs. “I’ve been fed a few kilos of jeon, though,” Yamapi adds, glancing over to the griddle covered in half baked cakes that’s still going strong, now manned by Landlady Imo and a middle school girl with a purple spatula and matching apron.
“Well, of course, otherwise it wouldn’t be Chuseok.” Erika sighs fondly. “Well, I’m glad you’re spending the holiday so festively. Do you have plans for tomorrow, by any chance?”
“Not other than sleeping in. I could probably come back down here to watch TV with the clan,” Yamapi breaks off mid-sentence to watch a screeching preschooler tear across the den in his birthday suit with a slightly taller sister/cousin/neighbor fast on his heels, dangling a writhing earthworm in front of her, “but maybe I’ve seen a week’s worth of Trot today,” Yamapi concludes with a nod.
“Perfect. Cause if you’d had plans I would have just kidnapped you anyway,” Erika announces happily.
“Oh yeah?” Yamapi laughs, though not exactly in surprise.
“Yes,” she says earnestly. “My friend--remember, the one I said you just have to meet?--is coming through town tomorrow night. So obviously you have to hang out with us.”
“Oh, ok. Are you, um, bringing your friend over here? Cause I haven’t exactly cleaned--”
“No, stupid! I made a reservation. It’s not like I can just invite people over to your house.” She scoffs a breathy laugh and Yamapi rolls his eyes again. Erika's sense of propriety sure hasn’t stopped her from inviting herself over. “So I’ll pick you up at 4:00 tomorrow, ok?”
“Sweet,” Yamapi agrees. “Later, Eri-chan.”
“Kay, kay! Drink a lot of makgeolli for me!” She hangs up with a giggle.
Yamapi smiles to himself as he puts away his phone and takes another gulp from his bowl. Daesung elbows him in the rib.
“Was that your girlfriend, Hyung?” he teases, his eyes squinching shut his grin is so wide.
“Uh, no,” Yamapi says.
“Oh, come on now!” Plastic Pocket Protector Uncle says and ruffles Yamapi’s messy hair. “We know it was a girl!”
“Yes,” Yamapi nods. “A girl. But not girlfriend. Just...just...friend,” he finishes lamely.
“But…will become...soon...your girlfriend?” Uncle Jae Suk insists, propping his feet onto the nearest lacquered table until Grandpa whacks them off with his hiking stick.
“No,” Yamapi repeats. “Just, friend.”
“But you wish...that girl...dating,” Grandpa prompts.
“Really, no, no I don’t,” Yamapi refutes as strongly as he feels is still polite, shaking his head for emphasis. Daesung snickers into his hand.
“But--!”
“Hey, everybody!” A little girl about Taemin’s age bursts into the room and cuts off Landlady Imo’s two cents on Yamapi’s love life with an important announcement. “The moon…! Come now, hurry!” she hollers in a voice that would have convinced Yamapi she was related to Daesung if it weren’t already apparent from the context.
“Ok, ok, we heard you,” Landlady Imo yells after the girl as dashes back outside, slamming three doors behind her. The adults in the room shift and grumble, but everyone gets to their feet.
“Come on, Hyung!” Daesung tugs at Yamapi’s arm, reaching for his phone. “Let’s go view the moon!” Yamapi follows him out to the courtyard where a full harvest moon is rising, the pale yellow sphere caught in a soft haze that could mean rain tomorrow, or maybe just dust.
“Woohoo!” somebody whoops. Everyone over the age of ten has their cell phone out and is snapping pictures of the dark sky.
Yamapi pulls out his phone and yawns. He didn’t realize it was already after nine, although it has felt like an eternity since he was first dragged into the sofa museum behind Landlady Imo’s office.
He opens his camera and takes a picture, but gives up after one. He’d need a much better lens to get a decent shot of the night sky, so Yamapi contents himself with trying to ingrain a mental photograph, taking in the low hanging electrical wires that frame the sky and how the light from the far street lamp glows on the glossy black foliage of nearby trees and the slight nip in the air that--
“Well that was beautiful!” one of the ahjummas at the front of the crowd announces loudly and turns on her heel to head inside.
“Happy Chuseok!” a few relatives say to no one in particular as they all put away their phones and turn to follow suit.
Yamapi takes one last longing look at the large moon that has just begun its nightly ascent and hurries after Daesung who is herding the kids inside for popsicles and an animated movie in one of the back bedrooms.
“You’re welcome...sleep here with everyone,” Daesung offers later when the party finally winds down for the evening well after midnight.
“Oh no, that’s ok,” Yamapi assures him. “The space...small here, right?” Daesung glances around the room already cluttered with futons and sleeping bags and gives a sleepy laugh that ends in a wide yawn.
“Yeah. Goodnight, then. I’ll try to keep Imo from waking you up for breakfast before dawn, but no promises,” he grins sheepishly.
“Thanks.”
Yamapi heads out into the still air with a smile. He climbs the wooden stairs up to his floor but stops to lower himself to the top step, tipping his head back to lean against the railing.
The moon overhead is small and white now, free of the earlier haze. Yamapi takes a moment to remember other moons on other nights, Tokyo moons and Osaka moons. He wanders into his apartment wondering what California moons look like and crawls into bed fully clothed and heavy limbed.
Yamapi falls asleep in the floating silver light and dreams of buttered toast and black vinyl wrist watches.
Pairings/Characters: Jaejoong/Yamapi
Rating/Warnings: T for language and (eventual) making out
Disclaimer: I own nothing; written just for fun
Summary: Yamapi's life is never dull.
A/N: This is a cool taiko drumming clip; Here is an example of Obon Odori (Obon dancing); This is a performance of Ganggangsulae, a traditional Chuseok dance; And here you go! 2 hours of the 2012 Show Idol Trot Battle Chuseok Special (because it was difficult to find the amateur one I'm used to online)
Heart Abroad, Part 11
It’s a good thing Erika didn’t repeat the Sunday dinner fiasco this weekend because when Yamapi walks into school on Monday morning it’s like entering a force field of triply concentrated energy levels. Literally. The crackle in the air zaps Yamapi when Chanyeol flails a wave hello as he dashes by. Or maybe the bike rack just shocked the buckle of his watch in a fit of static, but either way.
When Yamapi makes it into the office, jacket askew after being stampeded by a gang of first graders on the front steps, the usually stale air is alight with the same electric hum. Mr. Kang’s laugh echoes across the length of the big room almost without pause. The vice principal is faintly humming opera choruses from behind his private desk jungle. Even Boa looks different, her hair relaxed from it’s usual tight updo in dark waves down her back that contrast with her candy pink lipstick.
“Sensei!” Three students burst through the door by the printer and pounce on Yamapi before he can even set his bag down, one grabbing his waist in a tight back hug and another launching himself onto his shoulders.
“Hey guys! What’s up?” Yamapi asks with a confused grin, turning to face his tacklers who turn out to be Baekhyun from 2-5 and Minseok from 2-4. A skinny kid with an apologetic smile, 2-1’s Joonmyun, stands slightly off to the side and waves. Yamapi reaches over Minseok’s head to offer Joonmyun a high touch, the boy’s face lighting up as their palms meet with a satisfying smack.
“Good morning!” Minseok, arms still crushing Yamapi’s ribcage, looks up with a face squishing grin.
“Did something happen?” Yamapi tries again, wondering to what he owes this unprecedented display of affection.
“Nope! It’s just a good morning!” Baekhyun yells in Yamapi’s ear, and Mrs. Kim doesn’t even swivel around in her desk chair to glare him into silence. Yamapi isn’t convinced but the bell rings for preparation period and the kids dash off, banging the sliding door behind them. Yamapi shakes his head with an incredulous smile and turns to his desk to pull out the files he needs for 1st period.
The classroom is so abundantly overflowing with adolescent Koreans that Yamapi can barely make out the chords of the music signaling the start of class. He waits patiently at the front of the room for thirty seconds before realizing everyone either didn’t hear the bell or is choosing to blithely ignore it.
“Hey, guys!” Yamapi shouts in greeting, but he can’t really hear his own voice. A two-way thumb war is ensuing between four students teetering atop their desks, their joined fists locking them into a floundering circle that probably can’t maintain balance for too much longer. A tangle of students in a back corner have the class president tied to a chair with a purple jumprope and are sharpie-ing unfortunate things onto his and each others’ faces.
“Good morning!” Yamapi shouts a little louder, waving his yellow folder above his head like a semaphore signal. Most everyone still ignores him, though one kid waves back and almost knocks himself off the windowsill he’s precariously balanced on.
“Park Chanyeol!” Yamapi gasps as soon as he can breathe again from the shock. “Get inside now!” Two of Chanyeol’s friends pull him back in by his trousers and Yamapi heads for the light switch to call his classroom to order. He gets halfway across the the floor before a soccer ball hits him in the head and knocks him into a student trying to empty the automatic black board cleaner solution. Yamapi cringes as the plastic tray clatters to the floor and dirty water spreads in a sticky pool around their feet, but at least the loud crash makes everybody freeze.
“Sorry, teacher!” Joonmyun squeaks, scrambling to wipe the water back into the tray.
“It’s ok,” Yamapi says, reaching down to give the kid a hand up. “Ok, guys! In your seats!” he hastens to shout before he loses everyone’s attention again.
There is some dragging of feet and dramatic moaning, but the students shuffle back into their respective places. The class president, now freed from his playground bondage, pulls some towels out of a crate in the back and throws them over the mess on the floor.
“Good morning!” Yamapi tries again, now that everyone is reasonably focused.
“Good morning, teacher!” they bellow back in unison, leaning forward eagerly in their seats. Yamapi chuckles in surprise.
“Did something exciting happen?” Everyone simultaneously got girlfriends over the weekend? The cafeteria is serving chocolate rollcake for lunch? Miss A is giving a private concert at school?
“Chuseok, teacher!” a kid in the back hollers, bouncing in his seat and hyperventilating.
“Chuseok!” several more echo enthusiastically.
“Chew-suck?” Yamapi repeats in confusion. “Are you speaking English? Or is that ‘chyuu’ as in kiss?”
“No, teacher! Holiday! Important holiday!” Chanyeol yells even though he doesn’t need to project his voice from his seat on the front row. Interesting. No one has mentioned this to Yamapi previously.
“When is this holiday? How do you celebrate?” Yamapi asks, taking a step back to protect what’s left of his hearing.
“Wednesday start!” the class president volunteers. “We...see moon! Eat many food! Together.”
“Sing!” someone else adds in. “Together sing, clean our descendant cemetery.”
“Wait, your--oh, you mean your ancestors’ graves? Like, for your grandparents?” Yamapi asks, trying to decipher the inundation of excited and mangled explanations.
“Yes, yes!” Chanyeol agrees loudly.
“Japan has a similar holiday!” Yamapi says, reaching for the chalk. “Does anybody know what it’s called?”
Thirty-three faces blink at him in silence.
“It’s called Obon,” Yamapi explains as he writes the characters and pronunciation on the board. “It’s in August, not September, but Japanese return to their hometowns to clean and honor their family graves.” A few murmurs of surprise and interest run through the audience.
“Do you drink makgeolli?” Chanyeol asks, waving his arm excitedly in the air.
“No,” Yamapi says slowly. “But there is special drum music and dancing! If we finish the lesson in time we can watch a video,” he adds, hoping it’s adequate motivation to salvage his students’ fleeting attention long enough to survive the morning.
Surprisingly, it works. Sort of. Yamapi’s pretty sure the vocabulary in this unit will need some intense review next week, but they finish in time to watch thirty seconds of a taiko drum routine on YouTube. The class loves it, drumming along with the sweaty musicians on their desks, the walls, their neighbors’ heads.
Yamapi’s head is starting to pound in tandem by the time he makes it down to the office at the start of third period. The room is mostly empty but Boa is at her desk, filing a pinky fingernail with a sparkly cheetah print emory board.
“So I heard something about a holiday coming up,” Yamapi says casually, sinking into his desk chair and rubbing at his temples.
“Yup.” Boa takes a sharp swipe at her nail. “Korea’s most important holiday is on Thursday. We get a half day on Tuesday to start off the break.”
“I thought New Year’s was the most important holiday…” Yamapi wrinkles his brow, flipping through his teacher’s calendar.
“Oh yeah, well that too. They’re both important.” Boa blows the dust from her cuticle. “I’d invite you over to hang out, but we have to go to Yunho’s parents’ in Gwangju, so…” She swivels her chair meaningfully.
“Oh no, that’s cool.” Yamapi drops his pen onto the open calendar. “Don’t worry about me. I just wondered about the schedule this week.”
“Kay,” Boa nods.
“Tomo ssaem,” Mrs. Kim calls, leaning forward to catch his attention. “This week is a holiday. Chu-seok,” she pronounces slowly. Yamapi nods and smiles politely. “You have it in Japan too, right?”
“Well, in Japan...there is Obon. You know? Maybe--” Yamapi breaks off and sighs in frustration, not sure how to explain that Obon is similar but not quite the same.
“No, no.” Mrs. Kim waves a handful of flamingo pink nails at him. “It’s the same, I know it is. I read it online. Tsu...Tsukami? Tuskimi?” She tilts her head, stumbling over the pronunciation.
“What?” Yamapi has no idea what she’s referring to, pronunciation issues aside.
“Tsukimi,” Mrs. Kim insists, “the full moon festival?” She taps a nail expectantly against her desk.
“Uh…” Yamapi turns to Boa for help; maybe he’s just really misunderstanding Korean right now.
Boa sets down her file and shrugs.
“It’s probably some historical thing that’s not mainstream anymore. Just humor her, Tomo-kun.” She yawns and slumps further into her seat.
“Oh, Tsukimi, yes,” Yamapi nods half heartedly to Mrs. Kim. Boa giggles.
“Yes, Tsukami!” Mrs. Kim exclaims triumphantly. She pulls a roll of cheap packing tape from her desk drawer and starts picking lint from her red blazer with the adhesive side.
“Hey, foreign teacher!” Yamapi whirls around to see Mr. Kang barreling towards him, a badminton racket in one hand and a small tree branch in the other.
“Annyeonghaseyo,” Yamapi greets, bowing from the waist in his seat.
“This is gam,” Mr. Kang announces with a deep chortle, holding out the branch.
“Thank you.” Yamapi accepts the gift with both hands, catching sight of a small persimmon hidden in the dark green leaves.
“From my house!” Mr. Kang says proudly, patting himself on the chest. “This week...Korea holiday...very good!” Yamapi smiles and nods along to the parts he understands.
“Lunch! Let’s eat lunch together, ok?”
“Sure, together!” Yamapi nods again.
“Hehe, you eat so well!” Mr. Kang thumps him on the shoulder twice and saunters out of the office, whacking at the air with his racket. Yamapi sets down the tree branch and decides to take his grading outside again so he can actually get something done.
On Tuesday morning things are just as crazy. Yamapi arrives to find a five kilo sack of rice on his desk, courtesy of a third grader’s farmer parents, according to Boa.
Halfway through the preparatory period a delivery man in a baggy blue windbreaker wheels in three large boxes on a dolly which turn out to be stuffed full with bags of heavy rice cakes. All the women in the office rush over to help unpack the sweets and distribute them around to all the desks. The vice principal stations himself next to the copier, arms folded across his chest, to supervise the operation.
“Here,” Boa returns and hands Yamapi a paper plate piled with green and white log shaped cakes coated in a strong smelling yellow powder. There are enough on his plate to feed five hungry Massus, so Yamapi covers the pile with a napkin and hopes he likes the things.
“Songpyeon.”
“Huh?” Yamapi turns in surprise at the sound of Secretary Kim’s voice.
“Those…they’re called songpyeon. Chuseok special…!” Secretary Kim winks, his fringe falling into his eyes.
“Oh, they look delicious,” Yamapi nods. Secretary Kim tosses his head to clear his view since his arms are full with several plates of songpyeon in a precarious balancing act.
“I...take these...Admin office.”
“Can I help you?” Yamapi offers, already reaching for a plate.
“I can do it. I am Kim Heechul.” Secretary Kim raises himself to his full height and blinks his eyes shut.
“Oh, well...have a good holiday then, Secretary Kim.” Yamapi gives a slight bow and smiles when he opens his eyes again. Secretary Kim nods and turns to go.
“Call me Hyung,” he commands over his shoulder with a self satisfied smile.
“Ok...Hyung,” Yamapi tests it out, grinning at the feel of it in his mouth. Secreta--Heechul hyung--winks again and stalks imperiously out of the office, the nearest female teacher practically tripping over her feet to open the door for him.
The first two periods pass quickly, Yamapi too preoccupied with trying to keep his stir crazy charges from jumping ship--or out the window--to keep close tabs on the clock. They don’t get through today’s lesson, but they can always pick up the extra discussion questions next week.
Third period is reserved for a frenzied cleaning of the campus buildings and the courtyard. Yamapi offers to help but Boa and Mrs. Kim brush him off so he perches on his desk and dangles his feet while he watches students scurry in and out with brooms and trash bags, teachers and third graders directing traffic and the underclassmen enjoying the excuse to run in the halls and holler as loud as they please.
When Chanyeol invades their office corner wielding a mop with a tall, blonde, precocious looking first year in tow Yamapi decides to evacuate to the small pocket of space next to the copy machine. He figures if he stands in the already emptied recycling bin he can’t be too much in anyone’s way.
Yamapi hops down from his desk, waving hello to Chanyeol and his mop bucket pushing friend and ducks to narrowly avoid the enthusiastic sling of dirty water from Chanyeol’s acrobatic sanitizing exercises.
Yamapi almost bumps into the music teacher--what was her name again? Jiyeon? Jieun, right--and bows in apology. She just smiles and gives a perky wave, an entire platter of songpyeon balanced on her forearms.
“Did you get some rice cakes? Are you hungry?” Her makeup is amazingly fresh and her hair looks fluffy. Yamapi is pretty sure he sweated through his shirt during first period.
“Yeah, I had some!” Yamapi quickly assures her, thinking of the pile still untouched on his desk (that is, assuming Chanyeol hasn’t found them with his mop spray).
“Ok, Happy Chuseok!” Jieun skitters away on platform sandals and Yamapi sighs in relief, his focus realigned on the blind spot next to the copier now tantalizingly in reach.
“Foreign teacher!”
“Oof!”
Yamapi groans in surprise as a long arm snakes out from behind the grove of exotic plants and yanks him by the shirt sleeve to stand next to the vice principal’s desk.
“So, Thursday is a national holiday!” the vice principal announces amiably, tugging at the lapels of his fitted suit that must be unbearably hot in this overcrowded office.
“Oh, so I’ve heard,” Yamapi murmurs politely.
“This is just a small token of my appreciation.” The vice principal extends a white envelope.
“Oh sir, that is too kind, but--”
“Nonsense, you must take this or you will insult me.” The vice principal hands it to Yamapi and he accepts with a bow.
“Sorry, sir, thank y--”
“This is money for tea, not soju,” the vice principal says firmly, his face split in a wide smile of benevolence when Yamapi dares a glance upwards.
“Ok…”
“You can enjoy tea with your friends,” he repeats, still smiling, “but not soju.” He nods firmly and Yamapi copies the move in acquiescence.
“I understand sir, thank you.”
“If I can help you or make your stay more comfortable, please, definitely let me know!”
“Thank you! Please guide me if you have any corrections for me.” Yamapi bows deeply again and the vice principal shoos him away with a wave and a toothy smile.
The traffic jam in the office is starting to dissipate so Yamapi makes it back to his desk to collect his things and shove the envelope in his bag.
“I’m taking off,” Boa toodles her fingers at him, key ring jangling off one finger.
“Have a great holiday, give my greetings to Yunho and Taemin,” Yamapi says with a smile.
“Kay. You want me to drop you off?” Boa points at the haphazard mountain of rice cake on his desk. Shit, that’s going to be hard to balance on his handlebars, Yamapi suddenly realizes.
“Sure, thanks.” Yamapi nods. He can always come back for the bike later, or just walk to school on Monday.
“Sweet! Min wants to see you,” Boa says with a teasing smile that is embarrassing enough but would be totally humiliating if she were talking about a girl.
“Hehe,” Yamapi chuckles shyly and scoots his holiday songpyeon off the desk.
“You can carry mine too,” Boa points to her own plate resting next her phone as she turns to the door. Yamapi rolls his eyes but scoops up her plate with a grin. Heechul-hyung would be proud of his skills.
Taemin has even more energy than Park Chanyeol, if that is possible. He runs out of the kindergarten yawping like Tegoshi with a cockroach after him, spinning in circles around the lawn before collapsing in a dizzy, giggling heap in the dry grass.
“Min, come on! We have to go help Daddy pack,” Boa prods his backpack gently with her shoe. Taemin just flips onto his back and laughs to the clear blue sky like a man set free after 20 years of solitary confinement.
“Yo, Tae-man,” Yamapi calls from the open car door with a wave. Taemin hops up and brushes himself off, runs his fingers through his tousled curls, and offers Yamapi a cool wave before sauntering towards the car. Boa shakes her head and follows with a laugh.
They drop Yamapi at the usual curb and he hurries home to dump his stuff and change before heading back down to stock up on ramen, beer, kimchi, and microwavable rice and mandu at the 7-Eleven, all the essentials just in case the shops close for the holiday.
Cashier Kwon is sporting some festive spikes in his white blonde hair that match the inch long studs in his leather jacket. He grins when he sees the contents of Yamapi’s shopping basket and pleasantly wishes him a happy holiday as he’s leaving.
Yamapi spends the afternoon blasting the aircon and Southern All Stars while he makes an idol studded powerpoint review game for Monday. He still can’t really tell Suzy from Taeyeon but has at least figured out that any photo shoots that seem to have a dozen girls crowded in one frame are probably of SNSD.
He finishes the file before nightfall and puts a load of laundry in while half of his mandu steam before settling in for a TV marathon to catch up on all of the anime and variety episodes Ryo’s been nagging him about since he got behind during the conference. Yamapi falls asleep on the floor sometime after 2 AM, content in the knowledge he can sleep as long as he wants into the morning, ahem, afternoon.
It's the doorbell that wakes him up on Wednesday, though Yamapi is so disoriented he’s not really sure what time it is. His first thought is a sinking premonition that Erika has come to claim him for another emergency shopping trip but when his head clears a little he remembers that everything is closed today anyway and pulls his pillow over his head with a contented sigh.
Whoever it is just takes up pounding on the door, though, when they realize Fur Elise isn’t going to rouse Yamapi enough to answer the door. Yamapi growls and grabs his phone, rolling over a few times before getting up.
It’s his landlady. She grabs his wrist and says something, jabbing a finger at his shoes.
Yamapi hurries to slip on his sandals, not really understanding what’s going on but awake enough to realize that he doesn’t want to get dragged downstairs to the hot pavement in his bare feet. It’s got to be close to noon, or just after, if the overhead sun is any indication.
The landlady starts yanking him out the door before his second shoe is all the way on. Several small children of varying heights and states of undress are running around the dusty courtyard.
“Yah!” his landlady shouts with a wave. “Greet the foreigner properly!”
The kids turn to stare, a few of the older ones dropping into bows, before turning back to their game.
“Mine!” the landlady says proudly, stabbing her chest and reaching up to tug at her scarf, today a mustard and magenta printed polyester thing.
“They are so cute,” Yamapi nods, not sure if they are her grandchildren or neighbors or what.
“Yes!” she cackles and whacks him appreciately on behind. Yamapi flushes hot with embarrassment, looking around to make sure no one saw, but the landlady just grabs him again and drags him through the office door.
The office itself is dark and empty but a door behind the counter opens into a large unfinished room on the ground floor with several old sofas arranged in a timeline of interior decorating history around the perimeter. Several low tables laden with food are scattered in the middle in front of a large screen TV playing some program that seems very similar to the televised Enka competitions Yamapi's grandparents like to watch.
Most of the seats are taken but the landlady plunks Yamapi onto a sofa about halfway into the room, a threadbare avocado brocade upholstered number with burnt orange tassels tacked on in odd places. She herself squats beside a large tarp spread in front of the TV and starts kneading a huge mixing bowl of something while two women about Boa’s age pound chestnuts on a wide metal tray.
“Hello,” says a voice to Yamapi’s left. He jumps, sliding off the lumpy throw pillow he apparently sat on and into a sagging depression in sofa cushion.
“Annyeonghaseyo,” he replies to the ahjusshi on the nubbly blue couch next to him, ignoring the raucous laughter that erupts to his right.
“Here, have a drink.” The man in a checked short sleeved button down with a yellowing plastic pocket protector filling out his breast pocket hands Yamapi a metal bowl from the nearest table. Yamapi accepts and clinks the rims of their bowls together, making sure his is lower than the other man's. He surreptitiously sniffs the bubbly whitish liquid swirling in the bowl before he sips. It smells really strong but tastes pretty good, a hint of sweetness behind the tingly pungence.
The landlady rushes over with a ceramic jug to refill their bowls to the original level.
“He is my Oppa,” she says, pointing at Yamapi’s new drinking buddy. “You can call him Uncle, cause you always call me Auntie, right?” She bats her eyelashes and nudges Yamapi with her sharp little elbow.
“Um, yeah,” Yamapi agrees slowly although it isn't true. He figures “Imo” is easy enough of a title for her though, considering he doesn’t know her actual name anyway.
She smiles triumphantly. And whacks Yamapi’s shoulder.
“Oppa is a famous engineer in Seoul, and this...his son,” she redirects Yamapi’s gaze to his couch mate. “...college student.”
“Hello,” the guy says politely with a shy smile. “I’m Daesung.”
“Hi,” Yamapi says, bowing his shoulders. Daesung is as big as his laugh and looks like he wrestles tigers or giant pandas for recreation.
“This,” announces Landlady Imo with a flourish of her bony hand, “is our handsome foreign teacher. You should call him Hyung, Daesungie!” She goes back to kneading the sticky mass in her cafeteria-sized bowl and Yamapi turns his attention to the TV where an elderly woman in a sequined ball gown is mesmerizing the rest of the room with a passionate vocal performance.
An old woman and a teenager come in from the back a few songs later, carrying a large electric griddle between them. They plug it in, douse it in smelly oil, and start dropping spoonfuls of thick, chunky batter onto the sizzling surface.
“Jeon,” Daesung says after a few minutes when an ahjumma takes around a platter of the steaming fried cakes. “They’re made from tofu and flour and egg...different vegetables. Try it.” He loads about 15 onto Yamapi’s plate.
“Thanks,” Yamapi says before popping one into his mouth. It’s hot and savory, the bite of garlic and green onions melding with the sweet freshness of grated carrot and creamy tofu. “Are you good...good cooking?” he asks Daesung, still chewing.
“Me?” Daesung laughs aloud in amusement. “I only cook when...camping and no one else..., and even then all...complaining.”
“Don’t let him fool you, he’s actually pretty good,” one of the women pounding chestnuts cuts in. Daesung blushes and looks away.
“Can you cook? Can you make, like, sushi?” Daesung asks, looking back at Yamapi with an eager light in his dark eyes.
“Um, no,” Yamapi says. He definitely has never trained as a professional sushi chef. No time for that. “But I can make yakisoba?” he volunteers hopefully.
“Sweet!” Daesung punches him in the shoulder and Yamapi tries to keep his makgeolli from sloshing out of the bowl. “You can come visit my dorm in Seoul anytime! Let’s eat and have a good time!”
“Ok,” Yamapi agrees happily, wondering why he couldn’t have met this guy before his lonely weekend at the conference. Oh well, next time.
A haraboji in neon orange hiking gear hobbles in from the outside with an armful of pine needles tied up in an old sheet, three kids trailing at his heels.
“Yah!” Landlady Imo yells as she hops to her feet. “You...dirty feet...first wash...here!” She hurries to the door with a bundle of damp rags and starts toweling the squirming children as the haraboji calmly continues into the room to spread his bundle next to the tarp.
“Ooh, those look really nice!” a skinny ahjussi lounging on a spindle legged faded red velvet fainting couch by the door exclaims. “Which mountain did you gather them on?”
“Aigoo!” the haraboji clears his throat huskily. “I don’t care...been married to my daughter...twenty years, Yoo Jae Suk! I’m never telling...my secret fishing and collecting spots,...loud mouthed...brat!” The lanky ahjussi laughs louder than Daesung and cracks open another can of beer.
“I love you too, Dad!” he flashes a cute grin and adjusts his big glasses on his bigger nose.
“Aish!” his father-in-law mutters, kneeling to sort through the pine needles. “Get a haircut and Lasik, and then...maybe I’ll listen to you,” he grumbles.
“Grandpa is very protective...family secrets,” Daesung leans over to whisper in Yamapi’s ear. “Even I don’t know...best fishing spots.”
“So...the family graves...ceremony? Also secret?” Yamapi whispers back curiously.
Daesung sits up and blinks at him.
“Oh, you mean the ancestor worship ceremony?” he asks, a flicker of recognition passing over his face.
“Sure…” Yamapi nods.
“Our family is Christian, so we don’t...that.” He frowns slightly and Yamapi opens his mouth to apologize but Daesung cuts him off with a hurried explanation. “But how it works, you..table full...harvest foods, like fruit and rice cakes and meat, I think, and then...in the room with the family altar. If you bow...close the door the ghosts come to the empty...eat the offering.” Yamapi nods again, trying to process the fast paced Korean. He thinks he’s getting a bit better at understanding, although it’s hard to tell.
“So...how long...waiting?” Yamapi asks. “You don’t...outside...the grave? Also?” Daesung just shrugs.
“I don’t know,...ask somebody else.” He gets up to refill their plates with jeon and rice cakes. Landlady Imo whacks her nephew upside the head when he tries to steal a pinch of dough the women are now shaping into lozenge shaped pouches filling with different nuts and black beans.
“Do you have to wait until...tomorrow? For eating songpyeon?” Yamapi asks as Daesung settles back into the seat beside him.
“No,” Daesung says, wincing as the teenage boy with too much eyeliner now performing a thickly ornamented ballad on screen hits a high note and then squeaks as his voice cracks. “We can eat...tonight but...not cooked yet. Imo says...stomachache if you eat...now.” He rolls his eyes with a huff that ruffles the long, straight fringe covering his forehead.
“You have to...cook rice cake?” Yamapi asks in surprise. The mochi he’s used to eating at Japanese holidays is made from pounded rice that’s already been cooked.
“Yup. We make...rice flour...cook together...pine needles.” Daesung nods to the dark green spread at his grandfather’s feet and pops a shrimp jeon in his mouth. “Agh! Make it stop!” he moans around his mouthful, shoving his fingers into his ears as the heavily made up singer finishes on an ear splitting, very off key note. Yamapi and Uncle Jae Suk dissolve into laughter.
They are still gathered around the TV, a little more tipsy and the whole house permeated with the heady scent of steaming pine needles, when Yamapi’s phone rings hours later.
“Hello?” he answers in Korean since the faded light in the room makes it difficult to see the caller ID against the background glare from the large screen TV.
“Hey, hey! Your Korean’s getting pretty good!” Erika says in Japanese.
“Gee thanks, I sure thought mastering the colloquial phone greeting might take a good two months, but it only took one,” Yamapi says with a sarcastic eye roll though he can’t quite manage to cover the grin in his voice.
“So what are you up to?” Erika asks in innocent curiosity (the voice that usually means something is up, Yamapi has come to learn).
“Oh, just partying it up with my landlady and her offspring,” Yamapi drawls over the noise of a disco themed duet two ahjummas are dueling on TV.
“Haha!” Erika snorts. “Has she tried to asphyxiate you with any eggs today?”
“Nope!”
“How about with songpyeon? Chestnuts? Persimmons?”
“Your eager tone makes me wonder if you’re wishing bad things on me,” Yamapi pouts. Erika just laughs. “I’ve been fed a few kilos of jeon, though,” Yamapi adds, glancing over to the griddle covered in half baked cakes that’s still going strong, now manned by Landlady Imo and a middle school girl with a purple spatula and matching apron.
“Well, of course, otherwise it wouldn’t be Chuseok.” Erika sighs fondly. “Well, I’m glad you’re spending the holiday so festively. Do you have plans for tomorrow, by any chance?”
“Not other than sleeping in. I could probably come back down here to watch TV with the clan,” Yamapi breaks off mid-sentence to watch a screeching preschooler tear across the den in his birthday suit with a slightly taller sister/cousin/neighbor fast on his heels, dangling a writhing earthworm in front of her, “but maybe I’ve seen a week’s worth of Trot today,” Yamapi concludes with a nod.
“Perfect. Cause if you’d had plans I would have just kidnapped you anyway,” Erika announces happily.
“Oh yeah?” Yamapi laughs, though not exactly in surprise.
“Yes,” she says earnestly. “My friend--remember, the one I said you just have to meet?--is coming through town tomorrow night. So obviously you have to hang out with us.”
“Oh, ok. Are you, um, bringing your friend over here? Cause I haven’t exactly cleaned--”
“No, stupid! I made a reservation. It’s not like I can just invite people over to your house.” She scoffs a breathy laugh and Yamapi rolls his eyes again. Erika's sense of propriety sure hasn’t stopped her from inviting herself over. “So I’ll pick you up at 4:00 tomorrow, ok?”
“Sweet,” Yamapi agrees. “Later, Eri-chan.”
“Kay, kay! Drink a lot of makgeolli for me!” She hangs up with a giggle.
Yamapi smiles to himself as he puts away his phone and takes another gulp from his bowl. Daesung elbows him in the rib.
“Was that your girlfriend, Hyung?” he teases, his eyes squinching shut his grin is so wide.
“Uh, no,” Yamapi says.
“Oh, come on now!” Plastic Pocket Protector Uncle says and ruffles Yamapi’s messy hair. “We know it was a girl!”
“Yes,” Yamapi nods. “A girl. But not girlfriend. Just...just...friend,” he finishes lamely.
“But…will become...soon...your girlfriend?” Uncle Jae Suk insists, propping his feet onto the nearest lacquered table until Grandpa whacks them off with his hiking stick.
“No,” Yamapi repeats. “Just, friend.”
“But you wish...that girl...dating,” Grandpa prompts.
“Really, no, no I don’t,” Yamapi refutes as strongly as he feels is still polite, shaking his head for emphasis. Daesung snickers into his hand.
“But--!”
“Hey, everybody!” A little girl about Taemin’s age bursts into the room and cuts off Landlady Imo’s two cents on Yamapi’s love life with an important announcement. “The moon…! Come now, hurry!” she hollers in a voice that would have convinced Yamapi she was related to Daesung if it weren’t already apparent from the context.
“Ok, ok, we heard you,” Landlady Imo yells after the girl as dashes back outside, slamming three doors behind her. The adults in the room shift and grumble, but everyone gets to their feet.
“Come on, Hyung!” Daesung tugs at Yamapi’s arm, reaching for his phone. “Let’s go view the moon!” Yamapi follows him out to the courtyard where a full harvest moon is rising, the pale yellow sphere caught in a soft haze that could mean rain tomorrow, or maybe just dust.
“Woohoo!” somebody whoops. Everyone over the age of ten has their cell phone out and is snapping pictures of the dark sky.
Yamapi pulls out his phone and yawns. He didn’t realize it was already after nine, although it has felt like an eternity since he was first dragged into the sofa museum behind Landlady Imo’s office.
He opens his camera and takes a picture, but gives up after one. He’d need a much better lens to get a decent shot of the night sky, so Yamapi contents himself with trying to ingrain a mental photograph, taking in the low hanging electrical wires that frame the sky and how the light from the far street lamp glows on the glossy black foliage of nearby trees and the slight nip in the air that--
“Well that was beautiful!” one of the ahjummas at the front of the crowd announces loudly and turns on her heel to head inside.
“Happy Chuseok!” a few relatives say to no one in particular as they all put away their phones and turn to follow suit.
Yamapi takes one last longing look at the large moon that has just begun its nightly ascent and hurries after Daesung who is herding the kids inside for popsicles and an animated movie in one of the back bedrooms.
“You’re welcome...sleep here with everyone,” Daesung offers later when the party finally winds down for the evening well after midnight.
“Oh no, that’s ok,” Yamapi assures him. “The space...small here, right?” Daesung glances around the room already cluttered with futons and sleeping bags and gives a sleepy laugh that ends in a wide yawn.
“Yeah. Goodnight, then. I’ll try to keep Imo from waking you up for breakfast before dawn, but no promises,” he grins sheepishly.
“Thanks.”
Yamapi heads out into the still air with a smile. He climbs the wooden stairs up to his floor but stops to lower himself to the top step, tipping his head back to lean against the railing.
The moon overhead is small and white now, free of the earlier haze. Yamapi takes a moment to remember other moons on other nights, Tokyo moons and Osaka moons. He wanders into his apartment wondering what California moons look like and crawls into bed fully clothed and heavy limbed.
Yamapi falls asleep in the floating silver light and dreams of buttered toast and black vinyl wrist watches.