Waiting for a Wide Horse Sky. Elaine Kennedy

almost hidden gate. But I was spotted by Amos, Olga and Marilyn who had to satisfy their curiosity about where I was going.

      ‘I know it’s all getting rather confusing but do you know you’re going in the wrong direction?’ Amos said in his teasing voice.

      ‘No! Really?’ I held my hands to my face, play-acting shock. I told them I just wanted to go for a walk, to get as far away as I could from people watching and assessing me.

      ‘So-o. Do you “vant to be alone” a la Greta Garbo or can we come too?’ I laughed and said that of course they could come. I realised that I really did welcome their company.

      ‘I wanted to see what was beyond the back gate,’ I told them.

      It was a good choice; there was a track leading to a small village that could be glimpsed between some hills. Tall bamboo grew at the sides and gave some shade. After we wound to the left around a hill there was a creek joining the other side of the path. We took off our shoes to cool our feet and scooped up mouthfuls of the clear water.

      ‘If you have any more good ideas like this I hope you tell us first,’ Olga said. The others agreed. We found some rocks in the shade and sat for a while and talked about what was happening next. In a week’s time we would have another week-long tour, centreing on Seoul, and then the final week would culminate in our being sent to the city where we would work. We had been told that the selection would be based on the observations of Kim and co. and the notes written against our names.

      ‘Does that mean I get the Siberian salt mines?’ moaned Amos.

      ‘No. That’s reserved for the guy who fell asleep,’ said Olga.

      ‘Well, if appearances count, Olga will have the top holiday resort with those gorgeous, natural-red toenails,’ Amos teased, and ducked as Olga made a mock swipe at him with her folder.

      We wanted to go a little further before turning back; at least to see something of the village. Just around the next bend was a traditional Korean farmhouse, set back against a hill. It could have been from another century. Even the woman in the grounds looked dressed for a past era with a cloth bonnet and an ankle length skirt. We waved and smiled but there was no response so we tried again when we got closer. This time she turned swiftly and headed for the house.

      ‘Uh-oh, we’ve done it now,’ said Marilyn. ‘She’s gone to phone our Fuhrer to let him know about our defection.’

      ‘All of us are bound for the salt mines now,’ I said.

      We decided we would see what was around the bend up ahead before we returned to the uni for dinner. The path started to widen and, as we got closer, we could see that a cement-bordered water channel met the creek up ahead.

      Rounding the corner we saw pink-coloured foam at the bank of the creek; further into the channel outlet the water was red with blood. We were speechless as we saw the source of all the gore. A bull had been slaughtered and the head sat separately staring at us with frightened eyes.

      Blood was concentrated on the concrete pathway but was running into the channel then into the creek and further upstream from where we stood. The partly dissected beast was spread over the ground, with what would have been a charming village scene in the background. Five burly farmers in wellington boots stood still and silent watching us for a few seconds and then burst into raucous laughter as we withdrew.

      We walked in silence for a while still shocked.

      ‘It’s just a necessary part of life I suppose,’ Amos said. ‘In small villages like that they would still be doing things the way they have for centuries.’

      ‘It makes more sense than carting an animal off for miles to have them slaughtered,’ Olga added.

      ‘Yes, it’s true that it would be just a part of everyday life,’ I acknowledged. ‘But that wasn’t what disturbed me. It was the way they enjoyed shocking us as if that was a form of entertainment.’

      The others agreed. Korea’s culture was difficult to understand: so many beautiful sights and generous hospitality but then such cruelty.

      When we got back we found out quickly that we had been missed and somehow it was known that we had been outside the gate to the village and this was not approved.

      ‘What’s the worst they can do? Deport us?’ Amos said. ‘At the moment that seems like a favour.’

      ‘Maybe our little farm lady really was a spy,’ Olga laughed.

       Four

      The buses were lined up outside the dormitory block early Monday morning ready to leave for Seoul for the second and final tour. I had fallen asleep again after turning off the alarm, so the first two buses were filled. Amos was hanging out a window in the second bus, his arms reaching almost to the wheels. I thought he must have saved a seat for me.

      ‘Sorry,’ he called out loudly. ‘We tried to save a place for you but we have to fill up the seats in the order we get on. Not allowed to save seats or change them.’

      I thought he must be joking but noticed that Olga was hemmed in at the window side of the backseat waving at me and then holding her hands out with both palms facing up and her mouth turned down.

      My bag and pillow were getting awkward to carry so I put them on the grass while I walked along the row of buses, looking for a suitable spot to sit.

      ‘The next bus, please. Quickly, pick up your things and move to the back row.’ The command came from one of Mr Kim’s acolytes.

      ‘I can’t believe this.’ This came from Peter who helped me onto the bus and stood back waiting for his partner, Emily, until he was roughly ordered onto the bus. An argument ensued as I moved towards the back seat.

      ‘He’ll get his head punched in soon,’ said a man whom I had seen often but had never had a conversation with.

      ‘I’m Robert, would you like the window seat?’ he said as he moved to the middle of the back bench.

      ‘Thanks, Robert.’ I offered my hand and introduced myself.

      ‘What’s all this about, do you know?’

      ‘My guess is that these young guns have not long finished their military training and they’re putting it into practice. It’s a miracle that there hasn’t been serious trouble so far.’

      ‘I suppose because it’s so close to the end of orientation. We’ll have our own places next week so it’s hardly worth making too much of a fuss; especially with all the comments being written about us,’ I said.

      Robert grunted. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much about that. It’s a bit of play-acting. They already know ahead of time where everyone is going. Only people who seem as if they are psychologically unsuited to the job are weeded out. In the meantime the bully boys are having a ball.’

      The bus began to fill up and the motor started up. Robert was telling a group of Canadians about himself. He was an Australian who had been working in Korean hagwons, or cram schools, for the past three years. He’d been based in Seoul so he wanted to be sent back there where he knew people. He seemed certain that this was what would happen but I wondered.

      ‘So which are the best cities to work in?’ one of the Canadians asked. Robert had very definite opinions. He outlined the features of Busan, Daejeon, Gyeongju, Incheon, Seoul and Daegu. The worst of these, he said were Seoul, even though he wanted to be there, because the accommodation was too expensive, and Daegu because it is a dirty, industrial city with chemical pollution and was built in a valley that trapped the hot air and factory gasses.

      ‘Aren’t we provided with our accommodation? Why does it matter if it’s expensive?’ asked one of the Canadian men.

      ‘That’s true,’ said Robert. ‘But it means you get smaller and generally worse places.’

      Most of the others on the bus tried to doze but Robert kept talking. It seemed after a while that