Chapter 3 American Embassy.

The morning sun was yet to be seen.Only the dim red glow over the tall watchtower of the U.S. embassy lit the sky.Yet there was already a long line aside the high brick wall of the embassy.My parents and I were roughly in the middle.Shaking his whole body, the man in front of us screamed, "Oh, it's c c cold!" in between cigarette puffs.Over the northern horizon the protective mountain of this city of Seoul stood, still capped with snow.Reflecting the eastern sunlight, the mountaintop radiated bright whiteness.It snowed a considerable amount during this winter which meant we could expect a good crop the coming year.

It was almost spring.The sound of singing birds and flowing streams was calling forth the early blossom.But this morning it was unexpectedly cold."The wind, the eldest daughter of the sky, is jealous of the beauty of the blossom, the youngest daughter of the sky.That is why it is so cold this morning," my father explained.Clink, clink, clink - the soldiers wearing heavy boots marched up and down the paved road guarding the embassy.Their cheeks were red from the cold and every breath let out steam visible in the air.

I had just graduated from junior high school two weeks before.If the early spring and the early morning brought about the beginning and the end of time, my graduation marked the beginning and the end of space.After the graduation I was charged with a renewed tension.My mind was set in a new cycle of emotion.The adulthood of high school was awaiting me.However, within a week I had to dream a different dream.My sweet expectations regarding high school crumbled.I was thrown into a situation of utter unknown and perhaps a situation of greater expectations.Our family was going to immigrate to the United States.

I was going to ride one of those mysterious cloud walkers that flew in the air.I had seen them on TV.It had extended wings that did not fold on the side.Pumping air out using propulsion, it would run down a stretch of paved road, then raising its head it would soar into the clouds.My grandmother once told me that in the old days if our great grandfathers wanted to travel a long distance, they had to use magic.Using intense mind concentration, they would fold over the earth that lied in between, thus shortening the actual distance.But such a method was no fun at all.The method simply used up too much energy and no sight seeing was possible.These days if we took buses or trains, we could relax and enjoy the view.I definitely preferred these new Western methods of travel.The thought of leisurely riding on a machine flying high above in the air while watching over the vast span of the earth unfold underneath energized me.

Smoking his third cigarette on a row, the man standing in front of me wearing a thick winter parka asked another man, "So, what are you doing here so early this morning?""I'm trying to get a visa to go to the United States for a business deal.What about you?" the other man asked. "I am trying to immigrate to America.This is the fourth time I am coming here.Every time I come, they reject me.But I tell them: listen, I love your country.I love democracy.I love America, the land of opportunity.I tell them I hate dictatorship.I tell them I desire to be an American.I tell them that I dream the American dream.Now, what do you think: don't I look like an American to you?"He posed like a cowboy riding on a horse and yelled, "Yee haw! Yee haw!"

It was almost high noon when we entered inside the brick wall of the embassy.By now my stomach was angrily mumbling its daily request of food intake.Inside the wall there was a small courtyard.Beyond the courtyard there was a two story concrete building to the left.We entered the building by walking up the outdside steel steps leading upstairs.Upon entering the building I saw rows of long wooden chairs fully occupied by people.The place had the same kind of stuffy uneasiness as a hospital waiting room.We registered at the front desk.We were given a number tag and an instruction to sit and wait till our number was called.

As we sat in the long wooden chairs, I looked around the people seated around me.Some were nervously glancing at the other people waiting.The young ones, tugging their parents' tattered coats, asked questions like "Are we really going to America?" or "Why are we leaving?" or "Are there kids to play with in America?"Some people, grimacing, tightly grasped bags of belongings, holding them as if the bags contained all they owned.The sound of babies crying innocently contrasted with the sight of other people simply sitting motionless, staring directly in front of them with their heads slightly bowed, bottling up all emotion.

Finally our number was announced over the loudspeaker by late afternoon.After handing over the little number tag inscribed with the number one elevento the window clerk, we entered the door adjacent to the window.A gentleman with a large belly greeted us.He and my father shook their hands."Hi, my name is David McCatty.I am your interviewer.Please follow me in," he said in a matter of fact way and we followed him into his office.The room had a large U.S. flag standing next to a huge desk made with a pleasant-smelling wood.The interviewer sat on a chair that was almost as tall as I.When he sat down, the back of the chair bent backwards.I was startled because I thought he was going to fall backwards.And then, mysteriously, the chair pushed his heavy body forward.As if nothing had happened, the interviewer sat there smiling back at us.I thought this Westerner was definitely strange.My parents and I sat down facing him.

The interviewer held a black book with the word "Bible" written on it with his right hand, and holding his left hand up with his palm facing us, he asked us to repeat after him.I was not sure what he said, but I repeated after him along with my parents, trying as best I could to phonetically mimic what he said.

The black book reminded me of another cold winter day.Near our house lived a man who was possessed by the Jesus ghost.He walked around the neighborhood holding the same black book, yelling, "Lord Jesus, Lord Jesus.I have faith in you, Lord Jesus."It was when I was about six.He told me that it was Christmas and if I would follow him to this Jesus worship house, I would get a lot of candies.Thus I followed him to the Jesus worship house.The place was dark and creepy.Facing the entrance, at the center of the wall, there was a statue of a man nailed to the wall.His hands and feet were bleeding.The place was spooky.

The place looked haunted.Everyone in the place took a bow to that statue.A man wearing a funny looking small white hat and a strange looking long dress entered.It was a cold day and I was shivering.The man with the funny looking hat talked for what seemed like an endless span of time.I waited patiently, expecting candies at the end of that long and boring talk.But he never got around to finishing his story and I did not remember whether I actually had gotten candies that day or not.

The color of the interviewer's hair was actually yellow and the color of his eyes was blue.I had seen westerners before on TV, but our TV set was black and white; I had never seen anyone before with yellow hair.I wondered whether it was his real hair.He asked some questions to my parents which I did not understand.I took English courses for three years in junior high school, but here I could not even comprehend simple questions.Then he asked me questions.I guessed that his first question was whether I understood English, to which I answered "Yes".The next two questions I did not understand, mostly because his strange features occupied my attention.

Nevertheless, I answered yes to both questions.Then all of a sudden his pale blue eyes widened and his yellow eyebrows traveled upward to middle of his forehead.His eyebrows were also yellow."Really?" he asked me quizzically.Immediately I barked, "No, no, I meant no."Without turning my head I peeked at my parents' faces.They were angrily glaring at me. From then on I let my father speak for me.I used the time to study the interviewer called David more intensely.While he spoke he used a lot of hand gestures.And even his hands had yellow hairs.At every few words his tongue would stick out of his mouth in between his teeth.It looked like a snake playing around.Finally the interview was over and our immigration to the U.S. was approved.He stamped our passports.

Coming home in a taxi, I was excited.I was excited to be flying over the wide open Pacific ocean.The big-arrow people of the American Indians peaked my interest.The material glitter of America intrigued my expectations.However, at the same time, the feeling of lost emptiness started to creep into my stomach.The sneak suspicion as to "Who am I?" interrogated my subconscious mind."What does it mean to immigrate to a different country?" I asked myself.I was born and raised in Korea.In my veins the blood of the five thousand year old history of my ancestral heritage was thumping away strongly.My allegiance and loyalty belonged to my fatherland.Yet what about the land I was about to make my new home?Did I not have an obligation to this new land as well?Then how could I serve two nations?How was I going to solve such a conflict?

To a sixteen year old boy this was a serious question."How can a wife have two husbands?How can a man have two sets of ancestors?How can a boy have two nations?"Was I betraying my country?What was my country?Who was I?As if interrogating a spy I questioned myself."Who are you?What is your name?Where are you from?To whom have you pledged your loyalty.Who are you working for?Why are you here?Why are you immigrating to the U.S.?What do you want?Are you not a spy in the U.S.?Are you not a spy in Korea?"Suddenly I imagined that I was being kicked by the interrogator and I kicked my foot forward.Accidentally, I kicked my mother's foot who was sitting next to me.

With a confused yet concerned face she looked at me and asked me, "What is wrong, Kan?"

"Another question!" I thought.Yet her question made me sad because I truly did not know what was wrong or whether I really was a spy.It was just that something felt wrong.And the feeling sank to the bottom of my stomach.