I've made it a habit to drop into a little restaurant on the second floor of one of the myriad of buildings near the subway station to dine on pork bone soup. On my third visit the cook put five large bones in the bowl, up from the normal three, two with hunks of soft pork barely clinging to the bone. Now, my visit on my visit to their empty restaurant - only empty because I go to eat there in the off hours - the cook sat watching karaoke being hosted in the most southerly province mainland in Korea while the waitress leaned on the cash counter at the front of the restaurant. On the television one of the performers knotted his hands behind his back and then brought his arms around his body in a complete circle. I never could watch people dislocate their joints so I laughed uncomfortably. The cook pointed at the tv and exclaimed. I don't know why but I looked back and caught the waitress with her arms behind her back, laughing.
I usually draw out my meal at their restaurant. There's nothing particularly special about the view and they've taped over the tv controls so that customers don't change their favourite channels that show soap operas. I've begun to follow one of the operas myself spending my time there figuring out what could have possibly happened to make the young woman turn neurotic. Was it the overbearing mother or her boss? Why does the father react so violently to the old neighbour who brings gifts for his children? The food is good and the silence aside from the tv is pleasant.
This time, however, as I was leaving the waitress asked me a question. Was I in Korea for money or to study? She smiled, Regardless, we're happy you come here. You have a good appetite. I looked at the cook. She nodded and started talking. All of a sudden I didn't know what they were saying. They went on and on about something I did, I think, and I tried to listen a bit more closely. Surely I'm not incompetent, I thought - and then it happened. I realized that I didn't speak Korean.
