Simon possesses one quality that is rather unusual for most Americans: he speaks six languages, three of which are not European. Granted, he is European—Swiss, to be specific. Once a fellow student had snidely observed: “After all, French and Italian are just English spoken differently.” While this is obviously a gross understatement, anyone with a bit of knowledge will avow that speaking Korean does not facilitate the acquisition of spoken Japanese or Chinese. And while all three share the use of Chinese characters, Korean and Japanese assign different meanings to these characters at seeming random. What’s more, Korean and Japanese also possess alphabets. Thus Simon’s grasp of no less than three East Asian languages and three Romance languages is something of a coup.
Unfortunately, Simon speaks none of these well. Which may explain his tendency towards a pronounced speech impediment, a puff crossed with a stutter. Moreover, it appears that Mother Nature decided to play a joke on his face. Rectangular and fleshy, his jowls jiggled rhythmically when he spoke. The overall effect was of a constantly worried mien that wagged as its owner clipped out words in anxious puffs. Indeed, he resembled a tall and rather earnest Saint Bernard, replete with dark brown hair.
“Oh! (puff) how are you, (puff) Bill? I-I-I saw (puff) you talking with Skillman (puff)—is he going away this (puff) quarter?” Skillman, as in Ronald Skillman the Third (or Turd, as some students were wont to call him) was a Professor in Modern Korean Literature. He was also an example that it is not only men of large corporations who know how to manipulate “the system,” for he had successfully finessed three raises out of his college in as many years by threatening to take offers elsewhere.
While delivering these sentence fragments, Simon’s entire head waddles alarmingly from left to right like a dog shaking off excess water. Human anatomy is not built for such motion and human heads are not meant to wag freely as dogs can do: it causes dizziness, disorientation, even head injuries.
Disorientation is clearly the side effect Simon suffers because he so easily gets lost. Going to places that involve a minimum of distance. An eighth of a mile, say, a quarter at the outset. Fortunately, Simon was married to an extremely resourceful woman. Unjin had been found in Seoul during one of Simon’ numerous explorations into Korean Literature and, apparently, Culture. She was average looking, but quite skilled about such things as cooking his meals, reminding him to bathe periodically, and keeping her husband on course (literally).
Which is why Unjin had strategically cultivated her husband’s friendship with the aforementioned Bill. Bill ensured that Simon always returned home safely. In return, as a token of gratitude, he enjoyed home cooked meals by Unjin. After all, Bill himself was single and so anything that reminded him of his mother’s home-cooking was a welcome reprieve from packaged noodles and frozen foods-for-one.
Unjin drew the limit at dressing her husband, however. So Simon approached this with a minimalist practicality: flannel shirts paired with sweatpants. Now, some have said that a man who wears sweatpants in public possesses self-respect no longer. Simon, however, felt that to pursue self-respect in clothing was strictly oxymoronic and besides as an academic he had transcended such mundane concerns.
*
During the seventh week of term, Simon had been told by “Skillman” (professors are so often referred to solely by their last names as a compromise between respect and social awkwardness) that an important “talk”—not lecture, merely a “talk”—was being given at the local university-affiliated museum. Said institution was a scant one-quarter of a mile from the edge of campus.
Unjin had been informed of this evening engagement and she had immediately contacted Bill. In exchange for a sumptuous dinner for two (Bill and Simon, that is), it was agreed that Bill would accompany Simon to the talk. After all, it was also related to Bill’s studies, though more distantly so. Bill consoled himself that it might even prove a bit of variety from his ordinary squint at the local television fare. If he was lucky, there would be catering of the dessert variety at the talk, a nice way to finish off the spicy meal he and Simon would certainly share. Time and day were set and Bill was assigned to meet Simon after seminar, at 5:00 sharp.
Theoretically, this rendezvous should have been quite simple: Bill would wait for Simon outside the classroom and together they would proceed to the museum via public transportation. When they arrived, they would feast on their dinner al fresco and thence towards the hall where the talk was being held.
Simon, however, had failed to grasp the exact meeting place. He recalled something about “five o’clock, now don’t forget” from his wife, but he wasn’t certain as to the location of this five o’clock rendezvous. Perhaps it was at the museum complex, for he knew that he and Bill were slated to dine together in the picnic area. It was quite possible that Bill was waiting there for him, in which case Simon was already late. What’s more, Unjin possessed an astute grasp of English when necessary and was thus constantly scolding Simon for being socially challenged, even boorish. Bill would most assuredly report to Unjin any mishaps. These thoughts occurred at precisely 4:45 in the afternoon, in the midst of seminar. Best to leave immediately to ensure a prompt arrival at the museum. Expelling a worried puff, Simon noisily gathered his notebook and backpack and rushed out the door.
Bill, meanwhile, was still in the reading room, studying the latest theory on Modern Christianity in Korea. At 4:45 p.m.—just in case Simon got any clever ideas—Bill set out for Simon’s class and when he arrived, propped himself against the wall directly across the door. No possibility for missing Simon. At five minutes to 5:00, a slow stream of stunned-looking graduate students began stumbling out of the classroom. After the professor ambled out, Bill began to wonder at the dedication of his friend. He walked into the room, preparing to greet his friend with some ripose to that effect when he was met with emptiness. He checked behind the door to make certain his friend was not hiding behind it as a joke. though with Simon’s girth, this would have been difficult. The result was the same: emptiness.
Bill arrived at the picnic area of the museum, having correctly deduced that his hapless colleague had repaired there erroneously.
“B-bill,” Simon stuttered reproachfully, “where have you been? You know, I-I-I have been waiting for over twenty minutes! I thought you weren’t coming or something. And-and you know my wife made food for us already.”
With a tolerant smile, Bill chided Simon: “You do know we were supposed to meet at five outside your class, right?”
“Oh, were we? I-I wasn’t sure, so I thought (puff) it would be better to come here. I thought c-c-certain you would come here. And here you are,” he smiled.
“Yes, well, next time, maybe you should write it down.”
“Yes, yes, Bill, I will do that,” Simon nodded. Simon was nothing if not earnest in his apology. “So, er, shall we go?” Simon began puffing copiously between words.
“Simon, dinner? You know, that food your wife prepared?”
“Ahh, right, yes, well, let’s eat, shall we?” With incisive jerks Simon began extracting various plastic containers from his backpack and setting them out on the table. It was quite a spread, with a dessert of chocolate cake thoughtfully included. Simon smiled at Bill and Bill silently thanked Unjin.
*
The talk as it turned out was on an obscure investigation of Korean history that proved completely unhelpful and uninteresting to Simon. As many academics are wont to do, when Simon is uninterested, no matter if he has been told to attend by his advisor or not, he will leave. Immediately. He does not wait for breaks, he does not exit discreetly. Rather, he gathers his books and papers into his pack, brushes a few peoples knees, trips over a bag on the floor, and then expels a long sigh as he heads for the door. Which is exactly what he did this night.
Neither was Bill riveted by the topic, but Bill chose the more discreet academic contingency plan: sleeping quietly. In fact, Bill had refined this skill so that he could nap by propping his head on his hand. As there were no sudden droops and his head was never supine, he didn’t worry that snores might escape his nostrils—just peaceful, rhythmic breathing. A nap was perfectly understandable after a long day of tiresome seminars—three additional hours of earnest attention being more than anyone could responsibly ask for.
Bill awoke during the break, signaled by loud sighs of relief and the scuff of shoes anxious for escape. He opened his eyes and raised his head casually, as if he had been merely contemplating some of the complex issues that had been raised. He turned to his left to speak to Simon and found instead an empty chair greeting him. Bill whipped his head to the right. Perhaps Simon had actually been sitting there. But no, that was empty, as well. Indeed, the auditorium had emptied rather quickly.
Bill shrugged and decided Simon would return at some point since there was nowhere for him to get lost. Thus comforted, Bill headed towards the lobby in search of coffee and, perhaps, donuts. He found two carafes of coffee and filled a Styrofoam cup to the brim. He then espied a tray, upon which there were cookie squares comprised primarily of butter, sugar, chocolate and nuts. He filled a napkin with two and tucked into them with relish, emitting minor rumblings of appreciation as he savored each bite. Then he went to the men’s room. By the time he had returned, the talk was about to resume. He sat down for another session of quiet sleeping.
After listening to five minutes of steady droning, however, Simon had still not reappeared. Bill’s initial twitch of irritation grew quickly into mild anxiety. He decided he would first check the restroom stalls. With not a little exasperation, Bill swiftly gathered his belongings. He tried unsuccessfully to hurdle over two octogenarians who were showing their displeasure with him by refusing to move their legs. He repaid the favor by showing them his rather flaccid derriere. Then he headed straight to the restrooms and peaked underneath the doors for a wayward pair of legs Nothing. He then returned to the lobby which was also distressingly empty.
Bill released a long-suffering sigh. He set out for the paths outside, correctly deducing that Simon had left the lecture some time earlier and was now attempting to return home. Given his sense of direction, however, Bill thought it likely that Simon was still somewhere on the premises. The trick was to discover exactly where.
Now, it has been noted that many men in East Asian Studies shun exercise. Perhaps this is because of a preoccupation with East Asian languages, East Asian women, or both. Whatever the cause, it is a well-known fact that scholars studying that region of the world favor the plumpness scale more generously than, say, science majors who by contrast often appear unnaturally gaunt. Thus it was that while Bill was nuancing the severe scolding he would deliver to Simon, he also had to pause frequently to catch his breath. Once that was done, he would resume his determined, though rather halting pace along another pathway, muttering to himself as he worried about the stern reprimand he, too, might receive if he didn’t find Simon.
Fortunately, Simon’s sense of direction is nonexistent. He had only reached the picnic tables four hours previous because there had been staff to direct him. They had long since gone home, leaving Simon with no convenient guides. Just a few modern lamps highlighting various picturesque pathways. There was no indication, however, exactly which pathway led to the bus stop. He was stuttering out murmurings of frustration as he had walked, effectively, in a circle.
*
As may well be imagined, Simon was eventually found and delivered safely to wife and home. When invited in for a cup of tea and a light snack, Bill heartily accepted. He then proceeded to relay the details of the afternoon and evening. Unjin looked at Simon as she would a child. She sighed. Then she looked at Bill with supreme calmness and said, “So, what would you like for lunch tomorrow?”
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