[03] Moyo wa Jua: Heart of the Sun
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03
Jiyong could smell Seoul before he could see it.
Amazing, was the only way he could describe it. The scent of a city was robust and complex, combining the sweet spice of gochujang with the musky colognes of sophisticated people and the smoky industrial vibe of the concrete jungle.
Dawn was still an hour or so off, but the sky already looked a little brighter and bluer. He wondered if Taipei had smelled like this too - he didn’t remember it like this, despite having lived on its outskirts for most of his life.
“Hey boy, we’re gonna stop at Noryangjin. One of my friends will take you into Itaewon, then you can ask your way around from there.”
Jiyong nodded, jumped down and helped to unload the truck. The stench of death hung in the air - some of the livestock had died in transit - but he didn’t say anything. Thanking the ahjussi he had ridden in with, he followed the friend he had been told about onto another truck bound for Itaewon.
“Here’s where you get off, kid,” the man grunted when they neared a neon-lit area where the smell of alcohol and cigarettes assaulted Jiyong’s senses. It didn’t take him long to figure out that he’d been dropped near the red light district - scantily-clad women and drunken salarymen crawled the streets, mostly in the process of saying their goodbyes since it was already close to dawn. He could guess where the truck driver was going after dropping him off, too, although he hadn’t said anything.
“Thank you!” he called after the ahjussi, who merely waved in reply as he pulled away.
Jiyong badly needed a shower, and wasn’t sure where to get one. He started down the street uncertainly, figuring he might be able to bump a cigarette off someone if he was lucky.
A clean-cut young man sat puffing away on the kerb opposite a posh-looking bar. He smelt like expensive cologne and dressed well in a fitted vest and crisp white long-sleeved shirt. His shiny leather shoes winked in the streetlights. He thought he would try his luck.
“Hyung, think you can spare a cigarette?”
The mohawk-coiffed head looked up at Jiyong, and he could see that it was an effort he made to keep from wrinkling his nose at the way Jiyong smelt.
“How old are you?”
“19,” lied Jiyong smoothly.
The man didn’t seem to buy it, but he reached into his pocket, retrieved a cigarette and handed it over.
“Got a light?”
They puffed away in companionable silence for a bit before someone emerged from the bar they sat in front of.
“Taeyang-ah!”
Getting to his feet languidly, ‘Taeyang’ waited for the source of the voice to cross the street - a slimmer, suited man who also smelt really good and looked like he had walked off a runway.
“Hey, stud. I’m taking the rest of the boys for supper. Come along?”
“Okay,” replied the one called Taeyang. “I’ll get my stuff.”
He took a last puff of his cigarette, threw it on the floor in a micro-explosion of fireworks and ground it under a shiny leather shoe before going back into the bar. The other man caught sight of Jiyong, still puffing coolly on the kerb.
“And you would be…”
“Jiyong,” supplied Jiyong perkily with a megawatt smile, rising to shake the other man’s hand firmly.
His hands were soft and warm. Jiyong took in the royal blue shirt and pristine white slacks, casual-yet-artful bed hair and soft grey loafers that looked as comfortable and summer-appropriate as the rest of the man. White-rimmed sunglasses dangled from his free hand. The whole vision screamed ‘casual’, yet looked everything but.
“They call me Micky,” winked the other man with a relaxed smile. Jiyong’s heart skipped for a nanosecond, even though he was a guy. “Come along. We’re going for supper.”
Micky dismissed Jiyong’s look of surprise with a warm “Come on now” and re-entered the bar without a backward glance.
Jiyong figured he had nothing to lose, and supper sounded like something he could definitely use.
“The boys” turned out to be a posse of five or six impossibly handsome men. They piled into a black van that Micky drove, laughing and bantering all the way. The heady mix of expensive colognes collected in the confines of the car went to Jiyong’s head and almost, almost, drowned out his own fishy stench. Taeyang merely quirked an eyebrow when he saw Jiyong get into the car and sit next to him, but said nothing.
Supper turned out to be a delightful spread of samgyeopsal and grilled fish at a small restaurant that obviously knew the group well. Jiyong was a little surprised to note that there was no alcohol in sight.
Micky seated himself at the head of the table, and Taeyang beside him. Jiyong squeezed himself in between Taeyang and a blonde-haired guy with a lovely smile.
“Well, boys, thank you for all your hard work this evening,” Micky smiled down the table. “As always, you know I really appreciate it, and I’m glad you’ve chosen to work with me. I won’t deny you what you rightly deserve, and so please eat up, and enjoy.”
Polite applause broke out, and at least one of the men raised a glass “to Micky-hyung”.
“Ah, and of course, tonight we split the monthly tips by your performance this month,” Micky continued, acknowledging the toasts by raising his glass. He took out a overstuffed money clip that had Jiyong’s eyes bulging.
“Some slight changes this month,” Micky mused. “Joon, you’ve to work harder next month - your position’s been overtaken by Jaebum.” He handed out the money accordingly, as some handshaking between the men mentioned took place.
“Kai, you keep working on those few clients - they’ll become regulars, I’m sure of it.” The boy in question had pouty lips that split into a wide grin, thanking Micky profusely for his guidance.
“Daesung, you’re doing well, keep it up - they’re loving the angelic act,” Micky addressed the smiling blonde beside Jiyong.
“Thank you, hyung, I'll keep working hard.”
“No change in the top position, but we knew that already, didn’t we?” Micky turned his eyes on Taeyang with an indulgent smile. The other men clapped and hooted as Taeyang accepted a small wad of large notes from Micky, his small eyes crinkling in pleasure but humbly bowing his head several times to them all.
“Now you use that money and treat your dongsaeng well. What was his name again?” Micky turned to Jiyong.
Taeyang’s confusion was evident. “My… my dongsaeng?”
Jiyong swallowed the lettuce wrap he had been chewing in a hurry. “I’m Jiyong. But I’m not his dongsaeng. I’m sorry, there seems to have been a mistake.”
The whole table hushed as Micky eyed Jiyong, his expression serious and somewhat cooler than before.
“Where are you from, Jiyong?”
“I… I’m from…” he fumbled through his mind for a plausible explanation. “I’m from Seoul. My family lived in Taiwan for many years, but my parents are no longer around and I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“And that’s why you’re wandering around the streets at this hour.”
Jiyong nodded, hoping that he looked at least partly believable.
“How old are you, Jiyong?”
“Nuh- nineteen,” he recalled lying about his age to Taeyang earlier.
“Do you go to school? Have a job?”
“Uh. No. I, uh. I had a job at Noryangjin earlier, but -” he stammered, pulling bits and pieces from his memory into his story.
“I knew there was something fishy about you,” Taeyang remarked, drawing laughs from everyone around the table.
Jiyong relaxed a little at the laughter. “I’m sorry, everyone. This was the new Noryangjin fragrance for men. I’m really sorry that you don’t like it, I’ll have to do something about my taste in cologne.”
The laughter started anew, and even Micky smiled. “So, you don’t have a job tomorrow?”
“No,” Jiyong was happy at not having to tell another lie.
“Or a place to stay.”
“No.”
“Can you speak another language besides Korean, Jiyong?”
“I’m good with Chinese, and I know some English.”
Micky raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed.
“You can stay at my place for the time being,” Micky pronounced. “I may have a job for you.”
Jiyong shot up from his seat and gave his best bow, “Thank you, Micky-hyung! Thank you! Thank you!”
“Thank me when you get the job,” Micky replied, the warmth bleeding back into his eyes and the smile slowly returning to his lips. “Now eat.”
Jiyong stuffed himself till he couldn’t eat anymore that night.
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