Festival for Three Thousand Women

Festival for Three Thousand Women by Richard Wiley Page B

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Authors: Richard Wiley
Tags: Festival for Three Thousand Maidens
sound.
    â€œWho the hell is Daryl Prescott?” asked Gary, and the laborer said, “Right, have you seen him? Do you know where he might be today?”
    The evening got a little hard to remember after that. The owner was drawn into the drinking, and soon Miss Kim came down to sit upon Bobby’s knee, ordered to do so by one of the farmers. The farmers and the laborers had mixed their groups, and the laborer who knew Daryl Prescott tried sitting with the three Americans for a while, but since they had nothing to say about Daryl, he soon moved his stool away again.
    And for the rest of the night they drank and drank. Ron wanted Bobby to help him flirt with Miss Kim, but Bobby instead used everything to his own advantage. Ron saw it and began looking down. “God, I wish I spoke Korean,” he said over and over again. Then Bobby told Miss Kim that Ron was in love with her and she changed laps for a while, exchanging little glances with Ron and making him smile.
    Bobby had been talking to Gary a few minutes when Gary said, “I’ve been down to her village twice.” It took Bobby a moment to realize that he was talking about Cherry. Were his feelings so obvious, then? Had Gary, after all, seen the desperation in his run?
    â€œWho’s she going to Japan with?” Bobby asked. “Is it another woman? I know them all.”
    Gary shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, and suddenly it was clear to Bobby that Gary hadn’t intuited anything, but was only looking for someone on whom to unburden himself. He was interested in Cherry too!
    Bobby turned a frowning face in Gary’s direction. “Since she’s not here, why talk about her?” he said, and the drink was spinning so wildly in his head that he had to close his mouth to keep more words from coming out.
    Luckily the Goma got into some trouble then, closing the door on the subject of Cherry Consiliak. The Goma had been sitting in the doorway, and one of the laborers had kicked at him when trying to go outside. It wasn’t much, but the Goma howled so loudly that the owner told him he’d have to leave.
    â€œMaybe it’s time for us to go too,” said Gary, touching Ron’s sleeve. “It’s late.”
    â€œOh Christ,” said Ron. He and Miss Kim had been quiet for a long time now, but were still sitting together.
    â€œReally,” said Gary. “Look, it’s eleven thirty.”
    Bobby didn’t think it could be, but Gary’s watch said so. Curfew was in half an hour. Bobby knew, however, that the army was exempt from it.
    â€œEverybody’s going home soon,” he said.
    Ron sighed and dislodged Miss Kim, who stood up easily, soberer than anybody else. “Righto,” said Ron.
    Miss Kim went back to the farmers, but by then everyone was up, getting ready to go. The owner gave Bobby another chit to sign, more to be added to his steadily growing tab, and suddenly they were all out the door together, into the absolutely freezing night. “Good-bye! Good-bye!”
    When they got to the truck everyone was so drunk that nothing mattered. Ron managed to unlock the door and start the engine in what appeared to be a single motion, and once Gary was on board the truck lurched away. There was no time for last-minute comments. The truck was the drunk now and everybody moved to stay out of its way.
    God it’s cold, Bobby thought, looking up at the high moon and stars. It was so cold that a man could die, lying down in the street like Bobby wanted to do. At least he had his coat. The Goma was in shirtsleeves, wearing almost nothing by his side. “Go home,” Bobby told him. “Hurry.”
    Bobby walked past the Pusan-chip again to catch the opposite road to Policeman Kim’s house, and when he looked back he saw the Goma coming his way.
    â€œNo!” he shouted. Then he reached down and found a rock to throw, missing the Goma by a mile but making him

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