To My Dearest Roseanne- Chapter 40
As the driver was calling someone, presumably the police, Roseanne dusted herself off, checked if the backpack was intact, and withdrew from the scene in a nonchalant fashion. For a minute, the driver considered chasing after her, but he gave up and continued talking on the phone.
It was difficult for Roseanne to stomach the type of sorcery she had experienced, but indeed, she arrived in Seoul, South Korea, the city of towering skyscrapers, bright neons, endless expressways, footbridges, and the perfect marriage between nature and architecture. It was just like in the movies.
If anything, Seoul seemed like a city that never slept, never stopped, not even for a single moment. For a girl who never travelled outside the Land of Po, the new setting was too much to take in. It was hard for her to call Seoul a city. It was like a country when compared to the modest alleyways of Bydgoszcz, the tallest buildings of which usually didn't exceed 30 metres in height.
Roseanne tried to stay cool and reminded herself about the objective of her mission. Yes, she was on a mission, not a tourist excursion, a mission to find Cho.
Unfortunately, she didn't learn as much as Cho while journeying from one world to the other. She understood nothing of the gargling language people spoke around here, and visions of the past didn't give her any clue about Cho's possible whereabouts.
However, Roseanne was prepared for everything. She took out her phone. The only thing she strongly counted on was that the passage would jettison her exactly in the place where Cho originally crossed over.
"Yes!" Roseanne shouted at the screen. The location app showed she was in Yeouido district, which was an area of the bookstore from Cho's card.
Now Cho opened the Maps app and charted a route from the place she was at to the bookstore. She typed in the complicated address from the card, letter by letter, not sure what the words meant.
Thankfully, the bookstore was only two kilometres away, near the subway station, so without hesitance, Cho began marching through the streets.
***
It was difficult for her to adjust to the macro size of everything, but she pressed on. On the way to the bookstore, she passed some food stalls, a large building that was some sort of a financial centre, a wide crossing, and a bus stop behind which there was a lovely backstreet hidden in the shades of trees and bushes. It was exactly the same spot which inspired Cho to come up with a poem, but of course, Roseanne had no idea about this.
Following the directions from the phone, Roseanne passed the backstreet, which led her to the front of a massive modernist structure that looked like something more appropriate of a government building from America of the 1930s.
Well, that's my luck. I ended up at the wrong place, Roseanne thought. Still, just to be sure, she approached the main entrance and read the label on a glass. Thankfully, it was written in both Korean and English:
National Assembly Library of the Republic of Korea
Open: Monday to Friday (9:00-21:00)
Weekends (9:00-17:00)
Closed: National holidays, every 2nd and 4th Saturday of the month
Roseanne looked beyond the label, through the window, and saw dozens of young people, probably students, searching meticulously for books on rolling stacks, sitting focused in front of computers, or reading something at empty tables. They were as busy as bees in a hive.
Before she realised, a large head of a security guard grew out next to her.
"Nuguseyo?" he asked in a demanding tone.
"Oh, English! English?" Roseanne said, startled.
"English, a little. Who are you?" the guard asked again, looking at her uniform.
"I am an exchange student from the United Nations." Roseanne lied with a straight face. "This is a bookstore, yes?"
"This is a library. One of the largest. But I don't think it's for military students. The National Assembly Library has the finest collection of materials about social sciences."
"So they don't have The Jewel in the Crown or what was it called... The Far Pavilions?"
"What?"
"Never mind. I'm sorry but this library is too big for me. I want to buy books. Are there any bookstores in the area? Google Maps only shows this one. I have this card, see?"
Roseanne showed him the card. The guard looked around for a while until he pointed a finger in the direction of a street across the park.
"There. You find your bookstore for... kids," The guard seemed to have wanted to use a different word, but since he couldn't find it, he settled for 'kids'.
"Thank you."
Roseanne moved away and stepped down into the park. The guard continued to observe her, especially the gun strapped to her belt.
***
In the park, Roseanne encountered a group of tourists with luggage on wheels. She overheard their conversation and noticed they were speaking the Language of Po.
"Matey, I tell you we hit the honey pot. We're in Korea. How sick is that?"
"I don't know. Money from my research grant has nearly run out. Where are we going to crash for the night?"
"Don't you worry. We'll find some horny bitches."
Disgusted by what she heard, Roseanne wanted to shoot her countrymen on the spot, but she suppressed the need. It was inevitable to encounter idiots on the other side of the globe, and so it appears, on the other side of the cosmos as well.
The exit of the park morphed into a quiet street made entirely of stylish blocks of flats. Each ground floor, however, served as a place for convenience stores, cafes, and other services. Upon careful inspection, Roseanne noticed a large, colourful sign that drew the attention with its flashy lettering: "MADAME YOSHIDA'S LITERARY EMPORIUM".
A large stand under the sign informed the girl as follows:
Open: Monday to Saturday (9:00 to 19:00)
Each Friday you can buy a book for peanuts.
Attention: It's a private business, not a library. No sleeping on your back is permitted.
Sleep on your stomach at your own risk!
Roseanne pushed the large door on her way in. A bell hanging at the top of the wooden frame announced her arrival.
The inside looked exactly like a typical, run-down bookstore with novels everywhere. They were filling up the shelves, the tiny passageways on the sides, and even the window sills. One could measure the passage of time in the density of cobwebs around many stacks. There were no customers and, most importantly, there was no shop assistant in sight.
"Hello! Is anybody here?" Roseanne said in English, stepping in deeper into the paperback labyrinth.
Suddenly, she heard a rattle of paper in response and a loud thud. Someone closed a book in a hurry. Then, a light bulb turned on behind the spacious, wooden counter. She noticed stairs previously hidden by darkness. Frantic stomps of footsteps on the first floor became louder and louder until Roseanne spotted a pair of white socks coming down the steep steps. But before she could grasp the entire silhouette of an approaching figure, the scream spread like a shockwave across the place.
"For the glory of the Manchurian sunset, it's Cho-Cho-chan!"
Finally, the stranger fully revealed themselves on the stairs. She was a woman dressed in a silk kimono robe. Roseanne was no fashion expert, but the whiteness beaming from the long, dense robe was quite intimidating. Roseanne was reluctant to admit it, but the woman in front of her looked like a heavenly spirit.
When the woman came closer, Roseanne couldn't help but notice make-up trying to cover the unwanted wrinkles like a layer of paint splashed across a corroded plate. There was also a current of dark hair tamed into a perfectly round bun.
She looks pretty, Roseanne thought, and she must have looked beautiful when she was young.
"Ureshii!" the woman spread out her hands wanting to hug the girl, but stopped in half a step. "What is this dreadful outfit, my dear? Have you been reading Catch-22 or The Guns of Navarone?"
Roseanne wanted to reply, but she couldn't find any words. What was this woman talking about?
"Oh, I bet you came back to return Tsubaki Stationery Store. And guess what?" the woman dived in behind the counter and bounced back with a book in hand, "I've got Ham on Rye, which I told you about! Some dirty old gaijin sold it to me. He told me I'm the perfect Japanese wife and he wants to marry me. Oh, the audacity! Can you imagine?"
"It's hard for me to imagine anything," Roseanne finally spoke. "I'm sorry for the misunderstanding, but I'm looking for my sister. She looks exactly like me."
The woman came up to Roseanne and placed hand on her forehead.
"Cho-Cho-chan, are you sick? I told you not to read Ernest Hemingway."
"If by Cho-Cho-chan you mean Rose Anne Cho, then I'm not her." Roseanne shook the hand away. "Look, it's too long to explain. I came looking for Cho. Do you have her address?"
The woman stood in silence for a while. She taxed Roseanne with her dark eyes like a king looking down on a slave, and, with visible disappointment, she put down the copy of Ham on Rye on the counter.
"Manners demand that strangers should introduce themselves. Who are you, imperial girl?"
"Imperial girl?" Roseanne repeated in surprise.
"You look ready for war. Aren't you going to conquer the world like the plucky young heroes of Kazuo Dan's novels?"
"My name is Roseanne Juzynski," she said, suppressing irritation. "And I'm not an imperial girl, but a military student."
The woman bowed gently.
"My pleasure to meet you, Roseanne. I am Madame Yoshida and this is my library."
"So I have noticed."
"Friends call me Yukie, but you're not one of them. At least not yet."
"I have noticed that, too."
Madame Yoshida gave Roxanne another prolonged glance and proceeded to sift through ancient flashcards in search of Cho's home address.
"I didn't know Cho had a sister, and a twin one at that. Are you from Russia?"
"Excuse me?"
"Your name. Juzynski sounds like Dostoyevsky."
"I am a citizen of the Land of Po," Roseanne replied through clenched teeth.
"Ah, yes. The Land of Po," Yoshida's fingers kept going over flashcards as she spoke," the country of writers who are hopeless romantics bathing in national martyrdom, generational trauma, and political corruption. The literature of Po is the type which has no happy endings."
"Like I would care," Roseanne remarked.
Finally, Madame Yoshida found the card in question, rewrote the address on a separate piece of paper, and gave it to Roseanne.
"Cho is such a quiet girl, you know. There was a time when she used to come here every day, getting one book after another, never leaving any unfinished. I always tried to strike up a conversation, but she's so shy. I started calling her Cho-Cho-chan in reference to Puccini's opera Madama Butterfly. She liked that very much and smiled each time she heard it. But she was still quiet, still very withdrawn."
"I don't know this opera," Roseanne said. In fact, it came to her attention that she didn't know any opera. Cho must have known plenty.
"Then, out of the blue, she stopped coming a month ago."
"That's because she was with me."
"Oh, I thought she got busy or moved out. The latter often happens to teenagers whose parents switch jobs."
This made Roseanne think about Cho's past.
"Have you ever seen her parents?" the girl asked.
"Never," Madame Yoshida said straight away. "This is a private bookstore, not a registry office. Any teenager can come in and buy a book."
"I see." Roseanne looked at the piece of paper. The thick bushes of letters made it apparent that relying on Google Maps is going to be a must again.
"It's a long way from here to Ssangmun-dong. Why don't I call you a taxi?"
"Thank you for the offer, but I don't have any money."
Madame Yoshida made a puzzled expression. Suddenly, she got up and rushed back to the first floor. After a couple of minutes, she returned, holding a yellow plastic card.
"This is a single-journey pass already paid for to Ssangmun-dong."
"But I don't have any money," Roseanne protested.
"It's okay. I'm saving you the trouble of dealing with the cumbersome ticket machine. Just make sure to scan the card on the right-hand side of the terminal when checking in and out of the subway station. It's two streets away from here."
Roseanne was confused. Madame Yoshida placed the card in her hands.
"Thank you, but I don't think I deserved it."
"Indeed, you didn't, but I want you to reconnect with your sister. In addition, your pugnacity reminds me of 'The Little Match Girl' from Hans Christian Andersen's fairy tale," she pointed at Roseanne's pistol, "Just you have a gun instead of matches."
"And I can use it very well."
"Oh, I'm sure of that. But be mindful of this literary principle: once a gun appears in a story, it has to go off. There is no other way."
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