The bus was cool and comfortable, the humming draft from the air conditioning a welcome relief against Seung-Bae’s sweaty skin. Beside him, the girl slept; her body curled into the plush fabric of her seat.  She clutched the pendant around her neck as though it was a life line and she, ironically, was drowning.  Seung-Bae understood the feeling. 

When they’d first climbed on board the bus, she’d gawked in curiosity and amazement from behind the curtain of her hair.  When the doors sealed shut and they began to move forward in sharp, jerky lunges, she’d trembled in terror and clung to his hand.  But as the gentle motion of their steady speed down the highway persisted, she gave in to her exhaustion.  Like an infant cradled in its mother’s swaying embrace, her eyes began to flutter then, finally, close. 

Seung-Bae leaned against the windowpane and watched her face, peaceful with sleep.  The hike back to Sokcho had been traumatic for her. She seemed to be learning to walk with each step she took, calculating the placement of her heel and toes and flailing her arms to find her balance. He’d supported her by holding her up around the waist as they’d climbed over the rocks. And when they reached the open expanse of Sokcho’s main beach, he’d carried her on his back. She’d rested her face against his shoulder, and he’d talked to her, using the chatter to keep himself focused on moving forward. He told her about his friends and the music they made together. He told her about his love of words – how they filled his head until he thought he would drown if he didn’t purge them onto paper. He told her about his home in the city.

When he told her his name, she’d repeated it back to him in a whisper. Her breath had been feverish against his neck, sending a spasm of pleasure rushing up the length of his spine.

Before they’d gotten into town, he helped her push her arms into his hoodie, then pulled it low around her face to cover her vivid hair and foreign features.  From there, she’d managed to walk to the bus station on her own, only needing his arm for support. Thankfully, despite their awkwardness, no one seemed to notice, and he was relieved. He didn’t want to face the inevitable curious stares she would have caused.

The bus traveled south along the coast before turning inland.  Seung-Bae let his head roll against the sun-warmed glass of the window’s wide pane.  The landscape flew past him, pine studded mountains gave way to rolling hills and green farmland. He looked without seeing, lost in his swarming thoughts. With his thumb and forefinger, he tugged at his bottom lip.      

Truthfully, he felt a bit like he’d been er punched.  He had no idea how he was going to explain her to his friends, or how he was supposed to help her.  And her tail … how was that even possible?  He swallowed as the memory of her reaching out to him, the soft curves of her bare flesh, lush and inviting, surfaced.  He squirmed in his seat. The whole thing was unbelievably incredible. 

But he couldn’t deny that he was thrilled at the way she clung to him.  She’d followed him unquestioning; her manner fatalistic as she clutched his arm, determined not to lose him.  She seemed to assume they’d entered into some sort of relationship – that he belonged to her.  He blushed as he realized how much he liked it.

But still, what was he going to do with her?  He couldn’t keep her at the apartment indefinitely.  What were his friends going to say?  Seung-Bae sighed and let his head fall back against the seat’s headrest.

With the exception of a mother and her toddler son sitting across from them, the bus was filled mostly by a large party of vacationing nuns.  The sea of cloth covered heads bobbed and weaved in a hushed excitement as the ladies chatted about the sights they’d seen and what they’d had to eat.  A trio somewhere behind him began to sing.  Soon, the entire bus of sisters joined in. 

The joy in their voices was sweet and familiar.  It reminded Seung-Bae of his childhood, of the times when things were good.  Closing his eyes, he hummed along with them.

Sunday mornings.  He’d been a small, shy boy with a bright face and a crisp white shirt tugging at his mother’s hand as they stood with the rest of the congregation to begin the first of the hymns.  Near the altar, his piano teacher rolled out the opening chords, her body swaying in its own private dance of devotion. Her eyes closed, and her lips curved into a blissful smile.  Sunlight filtered through tall, clear windows, bathing the gatherers in nature’s warmth as they shared their heart’s warmth with each other. But the warmth of his memory came from the image of his mother’s smile as she beamed down at him when he sang his loudest to please her.

Had he known it wouldn’t last forever, he would have paid more attention.  He would have cherished each detail, tucking it away like a precious photograph. Now, it was too late.

Next to him, the girl stirred in her sleep. 

Framed by a heart-shaped face, her features were soft and delicate. Her eyes, slightly wide set, were large and round with long, dark-red lashes that fanned against her rosy cheeks. She looked like a sleeping angel; an ancient child-like goddess from a European renaissance painting – too perfect to be real.

The grainy afternoon sunlight coming through the window heated her fair skin, and the tip of her nose and her forehead began to flush. Seung-Bae reached up and pulled the white, cotton hood down farther around her face until she was covered by its shadow.  Satisfied, he leaned back into his seat and closed his eyes. 

.  .  .  .  .  .

            As she had for many years, she dreamed his memories – James’s memories.

            She saw them through his eyes and felt everything he felt. Now, she stared up with him at the pine rafters of a small room he had rented in a traveler’s hostel. Exhausted, he laid sprawled across a worn, padded blanket he had rolled out over the wooden floor.

            His body was filthy from the journey; his linen shirt clung in damp wrinkles to his skin. The cool floorboards were a small relief from the city’s thick humidity. She heard him thinking of how he needed to freshen up and hunt down his military liaison, but he was reluctant to move, his mind simply wanting to absorb some stillness, even if just for a moment.

Her James was a photographer, sent here by a New York City newspaper to cover the war. It was 1952. And here, was Seoul, South Korea.

But it was his third trip, his third descent into madness, and the initial thrill had been discarded somewhere in the upturned sod of his first skirmish – trampled by rushing combat boots and entombed beneath blood and flesh.  She saw it in ugly flashes, smelled it, and recognized the death in it.

James was twenty-nine years old, yet he believed he had seen things most men would never see in their entire lifetime.  Most of it he had photographed.  Some of it he had walked away from.  Seeing the horror mirrored in the eyes of the soldiers he followed and the devastated people they fought to protect was haunting enough.  There was plenty to report, and some things were best left forgotten.

She felt the intake of his breath as he sighed. He pulled himself up and drew his battered, leather bag across the floor until it rested between his knees.  Inside, his precious cameras and other supplies lay wrapped in thick, water-resistant cloth.  He pulled out the topmost piece of equipment and meticulously inspected the lens.  Her fingertips traveled with him. She marveled at the smooth texture of the glass and at the tiny knobs and buttons and the sharp clicking sounds they made. Everything appeared to be in order.  He closed the satchel and reached for his shaving kit.

A faint knock sounded at the door. They turned to look.

“Yes?” James called out. She thrilled at the rich baritone of his voice coming from .

On the other side of the lattice and paper partition, a muted silhouette stood framed by the setting sunlight.  The silhouette leaned forward until its face was a breath away from the screen.   “Excuse me, Mr. James Boyd?” a delicate voice answered him.  “I’ve brought your dinner.”

The door slid open.  A young Korean woman entered and kneeled to set a tray of supper dishes onto the room’s low table. The scent of savory heat, fish meat and spice, filled the small space.

The woman’s sleek, black hair was pulled back into a neat knot at the nape of her long, slender neck.  Several stray tendrils curved just above her ears, reaching to caress the smooth porcelain of her cheek. 

They stared in stunned silence at her profile.

The woman turned and, demurely folding her hands in her lap, faced them. Her black lashes fluttered, and then she looked up and met their gaze. Her eyes were quiet and warm. “I am Chung So-Yeon,” she said.  “I will take care of your room.  If there is anything that you need, please let me know.”  She rose and bowed, and then she turned towards the door.

“So-Yeon?” They called after her.

The woman paused. “Yes, Sir?”

The words they wanted to say froze somewhere in their throat.  They cleared it before answering, “Oh.  Nothing.  Thank you.”

The woman nodded and, stepping outside, silently closed the door behind her.

“So-Yeon …” they whispered into the stillness of the tiny room.  The space seemed a little brighter, the hot, sticky air a little sweeter. Their heart pounded, and their lips suddenly felt dry.

So-Yeon.

She … was the most beautiful thing they had ever seen.

.  .  .  .  .  .

Her eyes opened.  She sat, still and contemplative, the clarity of the dream slowly fading, and the remnants of James’s emotions washing through her, then retreating like the tide.  Memories of the blood-rushing thrill he felt at the sound of the woman’s voice, the curve of the woman’s cheek when she smiled, the neat tie hovering at the of the woman’s threadbare, blue hanbok.   

So-Yeon. She had to find So-Yeon.

Then the bus quivered beneath her, and she remembered where she was.

All around her, feet and inches away, humans sat. Their scents were as overwhelming as the nonstop flow of noise coming from their mouths. Her ears rang with sensory overload. She drew her hair down further around her face then plugged her ears with her fingers. They should not see her. If they looked too closely, they might see that she was not what they were. The thought of it terrified her. She drew her limbs to her body and tried to make herself insignificant – invisible.  

Seung-Bae’s hand twitched on the arm rest beside her. She turned towards him and watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. The movement soothed and focused her thoughts. Strangely, it felt familiar and safe.

She leaned over him to scrutinize his face.  His full lips lay slightly parted as he drew in deep, even breaths.  In sleep, he looked so young. The long, black hair that fell just below his shoulders was thick and full. His skin was smooth with only the faintest shadow of unshaved facial hair beginning to show over his upper lip.  Beneath his lids, his eyes were a warm and earthy shade of brown, and when he had looked at her, the hood of his eyelids narrowed his gaze, giving an impression that his thoughts were grave and soulful.  His high cheekbones were sharp and, below, his jaw curved to the firm, square line of his chin. 

She supposed he could be called handsome, though young and slender, he was tall and healthy, and in these respects she was content.  The luxury of choice was beyond her, and really, he could have been so much worse.  Worse … she pushed the thought away.

She was still troubled by his initial reaction to her at the beach. Ultimately, he was a means to a necessary end, and when the time came, she would need him to act. But for now it could wait, and perhaps it was better this way. She could take care of James, and then, later, worry about herself.

Once she got to Seoul, she could find the woman, So-Yeon. And then she could finish it and go back – back to the endless dream.

Across the bus’s aisle, a tiny face leaned over an armrest to peer at her.  Bright, black irises disappeared between the slits of smiling eyes. The curious toddler out his chubby fist.  In his hand he held the remnant of a cherry-red lollypop, the rest of which was smeared all over his plump cheeks in a glossy, sticky mess.

Caught off guard, she returned his smile, but when she did not move to take the candy from him, the little boy crossed the narrow aisle in a series of quick hops and crawled into her lap. He the sweet orb into .

“I’m so sorry!” his mother cried out in alarm.  “I’ve never seen him do that before.  He’s usually so shy around strangers.”

The toddler reached up and, pushing her hair out of her face, placed his sticky hands onto her cheeks and patted them softly.  Then he wrapped his arms around her and nestled his face into her neck. He closed his eyes and took a deep, satisfied breath through his tiny nostrils. 

Tears of joy pricked the corners of her eyes. She turned to the little boy’s mother in delight.

“Well, alright then,” his mother agreed with an amused smile.  “If he’s bothering just give him back to me.”

But she did not want to give him back. The weight of his small body felt like a miracle. It tickled the back of her mind, but she couldn’t form it into meaning, and, instead, let it tightened in in the most wonderful of ways. She touched the tip of her nose to the crown of his head, breathing in his baby scent.

She languished with the child for almost an hour before something caught her attention. Sitting up straight in her seat, she peered over the sea of heads lining the walkway in front of her.  Her jaw dropped as she took in the view out of the bus’s front window.  She clutched the little boy to her chest.

Ahead, a towering monstrosity loomed.  It stretched as far as she could see, in boxy shapes of grey stone. It overwhelmed all green, growing things, even obstructed the brown earth and sometimes the sky where pillars, glistening like giant insects, reached up into the clouds. 

She had never seen such a thing.  And to make matters even worse, the ocean was no longer anywhere in sight. She grabbed Seung-Bae’s hand, pulling him awake. moved in voiceless horror. 

“What is it?” He rubbed at his eyes and looked around in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

She pointed out the window.  The bus slowed to a stop.

“Oh.  We’re here already?”

A woman’s tranquil voice rang out over the sound system, blocking out the relieved murmurs of the passengers, “Welcome to Seoul, ladies and gentlemen. We hope you enjoy your stay.”