The Shadow Giant

This is a story about a story that was written when I was a young infantryman in Korea.  As the story of the story goes, I was on CQ duty one night some time in the winter of ‘92 which required me to sit at our headquarter’s main desk all night long, man the phones for any emergencies, clean, and initiate “first call” at 5am by knocking on everyone’s door in the barracks to get the training day started.  I was a PFC (private first class) at the time and a sergeant was required to be with me, though that just meant he would watch VHS movies until around midnight and then doze off on the couch in the common area until morning while I did pretty much everything else.

In one of the back rooms there was a computer and printer which I seem to recollect was the Training NCO’s office.  When I was sure the sergeant was fast asleep I snuck in there and fired up the computer which took awhile.  I pulled up the word processing program (WordPerfect) using some DOS commands that I was familiar with from my time in college prior to dropping out to join the Army.  I had hatched the idea to write a story and this was my only chance to get it printed out with the help of a dot matrix printer.  I was not sure how much time I would have before someone might find me out, so I got to typing.

The story I had in mind was inspired by an incident that happened on one of my many clandestine weekend trips to Seoul.  On a particular Saturday night I was in Myeongdong which was a famous shopping area in the city.  I was not there for the shopping though, but to visit a famous Catholic cathedral that sat on a hilltop at the end of the main street.  It was built of brick over one hundred years ago by masons brought in from China.  It was a place I liked to visit from time to time to just sit and think about things.  It emanated a kind of peace that was a respite from the city’s hubbub and the stress of being a soldier in a foreign country.  Behind the cathedral was a statue of Mary in a small grotto with a couple of rows of benches in front of it for people to sit and pray.  Around her feet were strewn flowers brought by mostly elderly Korean women and some partially consumed candles.

I was there fairly late at night and no one else was around.  I found a match amongst the items left there and decided to strike it and light one of the candles.  After I lit the candle I turned to go and sit on the front bench, but was startled to perceive movement high up on the back wall of the cathedral.  I froze and the movement stopped.  It took a moment with my heart pounding in my ears to realize the movement was my own shadow being projected in gargantuan proportions on the walls by the candle behind me.  

So, this is where the story began as I sat in that back office trying to be quiet and not awaken the snoozing sergeant while I typed.

In the story I see the giant shadow and I am thinking about my Korean friend with whom I’ve come to feel a good deal of affection.  It was a time in my life where I’d physically disconnected myself from my family, friends, and even country to bide my time overseas for God-knows-what reason by joining the Army.  The melancholy could be crushing at times.  In the story I experience a great burst of feeling and frustration from that melancholy and exit my body to inhabit the giant shadow, becoming in essence a shadow giant.  I stand to my full height and gaze out over the sprawling city and my eye is drawn to the glow of Seoul Tower sitting atop Yongsan mountain which is the highest point in the city.  I am north of it and, incidentally, the headquarters for the US Army in Korea is situated on its south side.  I lumber that way in large strides feeling out this strange new body until I am atop the mountain and grasping the tower like a sign post.  

Throughout the story I am weaving in comments about spiritual parallels, sometimes using metaphors, sometimes being more concrete.  Also interspersed are small paragraphs of commentary about this girl, her family, how we met, and the challenges faced in being from two very different cultures and me as a military interloper as well.  There seems to be an overarching theme of helplessness which I guess, in retrospect, is aptly captured in being so large yet so insubstantial.

From the mountain top I spy the large dark patch of land that is Seoul Olympic Park south of the Han River outlined by the lights of bordering neighborhoods and office buildings.  I descend from the mountain at a run and clear the river in one massive leap landing in the open grassy fields of the park.  Her neighborhood is not far from this place and I get on my shadowy hands and knees to try and find her house with the help of landmarks and subway stops that I’d used when merely a tiny human.  At this point in the story I try to add some realism by having a drunken reveler weaving his way home glance up and almost make out my features in what appears to be a low lying cloud to him.  We lock eyes, he shakes his head vigorously to clear the vision, and then stumbles on.

At last I identify her house and notice her second story bedroom window light is on even though it is past midnight.  I am able to crouch down low enough to see her small form lying in bed with one giant eye.  She is still in her daytime clothes as she has been working into the night to prepare for celebrating the Lunar New Year coming up with her family and has collapsed into bed and fallen asleep.  At this point it gets overly gushy as I describe her as likely dreaming and possibly sensing my presence.  She then suddenly looks very sad (something about a “furrowed brow”) and I wonder if she is “hearing the splash of my giant tears.”  

Oy vey, so dramatic!  It is embarrassing even writing about it 25 years after the fact, but I wish I’d written more and captured so much more of my experiences as a restless traveler over the years.  I was too critical of an editor and quickly abandoned most attempts to write anything more than a letter or e-mail.  The few stories that did get written down (or typed out if a computer was available) were lost in so many moves or the obsolescences of evolving computer disk technology.  

But there is this one.  The story of a story.  An attempt to catch a glimpse of my younger self, perhaps.

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