Sunrise I

Sunrise

I

Mr. Jung knelt before the freshly turned soil, scooped some of it up with his hands, and then held it up to the rising sun as he quietly recited a prayer. It was a ceremony he routinely held before planting something new in the ground. He felt it was important that all of nature and all of the elements of the universe be on the same page before introducing a plant into its new environment. 

Mr. Jung rose to his feet and continued opening the ground to create a new bed for the hedgerow he had long planned to build. From the back of the house, a long, verdant lawn rolled down a gentle slope to the edge of the property and then tumbled over a twenty-foot-high bluff to the bay below. He had always felt that to the eye gazing eastward from the terrace, the transition between lawn and water was too abrupt and really required the blurred edge of boxwoods to give the vista a better sense of order. For a man who usually moved about in a slow, methodical fashion, he was amazingly efficient with a shovel, and as the minutes passed, a rectangular bed was etched out of the edge of the bluff.

Soo Il Jung was a gentle, modest man. Anyone from the Politburo under North Korea’s founder Kim Il Sung would attest to this, had any of them survived the political restructuring under Kim Jong Il. Jung was, by design, a gardener of the highest order and was tasked with the design and upkeep of the former ruler’s gardens. During those early years, he became the unlikely friend and confidante of the leader and was eventually awarded a small but significant post within the Workers’ Party. At the leader’s funeral, Jung had a seat of honor amongst the ruler’s elite inner circle, but this in no way guaranteed his future under North Korea’s pending leadership. Slowly and quietly, the Politburo’s old membership dissolved away as the new, more fanatic government began to emerge. The disappearances of these people were discussed in hushed whispers by those who remained, and eventually those whispers led to a quiet conspiracy to flee before they, too, would disappear. 

Mr. Jung’s flight to America was an epic tale of survival. It began on foot with the long trek north, a perilous swim into China, and the final humiliation of being crammed into a ship cargo hold. For what seemed like an eternity, he endured the long ocean passage—along with many other illegal Chinese immigrants—to the shores of America. These hapless souls were then sent out to work off their passage, exploited by a corrupt ex-Chinese national and businessman, managing several unethical enterprises under the umbrella of a legitimate import/export company. Eventually, the activities of his business caught the interest of the Internal Revenue Service, who subsequently isolated the offensive man’s crimes and, after a speedy trial, dismissed him to a small, poorly lit prison cell to sit out his long-term incarceration. 

Under contract to do so, and acting as an extension of the US government, a Maryland law firm had been commissioned with the dissolution of the company assets. During this period, Mr. Jung’s identity and former life were revealed to the Baltimore attorney through an interpreter. Using his many connections, he was able to deliver Mr. Jung into the capable hands of the CIA as a political refugee in exchange for asylum. After several days of debriefing within an eastern shore Maryland safe house, it became quite apparent that he was of little or no use in understanding the current reclusive North Korean regime. True to their word, though, they released Mr. Jung into the care of the Baltimore attorney, to serve as the new gardener to his Gibson Island estate. 

***

In his usual fashion, Brian took his breakfast outside. While indulging himself with his newspaper and coffee, he regarded Mr. Jung’s ceremony with appreciation. He didn’t understand the gardener or his methods, but he was always delighted by the results. Culture wasn’t the only stumbling block between the two men; language would always be a barrier. Mr. Jung had learned painfully little English during his time in the States, and most conversations ended with the standard “D’yess d’yess, tankyou.” He gave Mr. Jung free reign of the estate and allowed him to use the grounds as his personal blank canvas. Mary would routinely take him to the various landscaping establishments, where he would point to what he needed and then have it delivered to the estate. Although there was an Asian feel to all that he created, it never really appeared out of place within its environment. He seemed to be quite in touch with his surroundings and would complement them rather than change them into something quite alien. 

“So, what’s with the Chinaman this morning?” asked Mary, walking out onto the terrace with a carafe of coffee. 

“Please don’t call him that, Mary. It’s so derogatory. Besides, he’s Korean, not Chinese. It would be like calling me a Canadian.” 

Mary dismissed him with her customary hand gesture and proceeded to top off his cup. “How did you sleep last night, Mr. L.?” 

“Fine. Why do you ask?” 

“Figured as much. You don’t sleep as close to the captain’s quarters as I do.” 

“Was it the Spanish Menace again?” 

“It’s always the Spanish Menace. Three times I was woken up by him yelling ‘To arms, to arms! Prepare to repel boarders!’ Oh, yes, the captain had a very busy night indeed.”

***

Sleep, a rare commodity at sea, is scarcer still to the captain who sails the Spanish Main. While trying to find a safe harbor along the Panama coast where his anchor may find a purchase, they were attacked three times during the night by boatloads of Spaniards in fast sailing craft. Because of his vigilance and the earnestness of his crew, the only casualties to be found were amongst the attackers. 

Vigilance is the human element that wins battles, turns men’s hearts, broadens the horizons, and brings ships home safely. It is that element which this captain considered to be his most valuable asset. Little escaped his omnipresence, even with the meager rest that he allowed himself. He pulled on his boots, donned his hat, and stepped out onto the quarter deck to stand tall and inspire all those who served under him. 

***

"Oh my God! He's at it again, Mr. L. I do wish you'd tell him to put some clothes on.” 

"But he is clothed, Mary." 

"A hat and boots ain't enough, Mr. L. They just ain't enough," she said, walking away and briskly shaking her head. 

"Good morning, your lordship,” hailed Captain Morgan. “I trust the activities throughout the night did not alarm you?" 

"Why, no, Captain. While I’m aboard your ship and in your care, I can sleep without a care in the world." 

"Good, good. I say, what is the boatswain up to this morning?" 

Brian looked to the far end lawn to the still laboring Mr. Jung. "Replacing some of the rigging on the bowsprit, I dare say, Captain.” 

"Good man, the best. Always on top of things, he is. Boatswain!" he yelled down the lawn in an effort to get Mr. Jung's attention "Boatswain!" he screamed louder. Mr. Jung took his foot off of the spade and turned to look up the lawn toward the house. He already knew the source; this was becoming a familiar routine. He smiled and waved to the naked man on the balcony. "Boatswain, an extra measure of grog for you today. Fine work, my good man! Fine work." 

"D'yes D'yes, tankyou," he answered back and then returned to his task of making a new home for the young bushes that would be arriving shortly. He was never quite sure why the son insisted on being seen without his clothes on or the reasons behind his peculiar actions; but then again, there was so much about this country he would never understand. 

Having shown enough benevolence for one day, the captain returned to his cabin to further consult his charts for a safe harbor along this most treacherous coast.

On the terrace below, Brian Lynch laid down his paper, fished his phone from his jacket pocket, and punched in a number on the speed dial. "Dean, it’s Lynch. How are you?”

“Fine, Brian. Good to hear from you.”

 “Any progress on our project?”

“Yes. There’s much to discuss.”

“Good, good. Let's meet.”

“That sounds fine. Should I come over to your office later?”

“No. I was thinking of the Hopkins Club.”

“On the main campus? Yes. I’ve always meant to stop in there.”

“Friday is Scotch and cigar night, say about six thirty?”

“That sounds fine, Brian. I look forward to it.”

“Good. See you then." 

He ended the call and dialed another number. “Bill, it’s Lynch.”

“Good morning, Brian. You must want something.”

“Why must you always assume that just because I call you, I must have some ulterior motive?” Brian waited for the pause without end and stumbled on. “Okay, you’re right. I need a favor. Can you get me on your calendar?”

“I’m kind of stacked, Brian. I’m teaching classes all day today and tomorrow morning, and there’s a ton of stuff I need to do before heading back out to the sanctuary next week. How about when I get back next Thursday?”

“No, it has to be this week. It’s about that matter I discussed with you the last time we talked.”

“Wow. I didn’t think you’d come through for us. When did you want to move forward?”

“Pretty soon Bill… over the weekend.”

“You don’t believe in giving a fella much notice, do you?”

“It’s going to be a big grant, Bill. Your department won’t have to worry about the budget for some time.”

“Sure, Brian. I can make it happen.”

“How about the permits with the Army?”

“Done and done. The place is secure for at least another year.”

“Great. Can I come down to your office tomorrow afternoon?”

“Sure. How about five?”

“Let’s make it four. There’s a lot to discuss, and I have another appointment on campus around six.”

“Anyone I know?”

“No, Bill. I’m meeting over at the Hopkins Club.”

“Oh, I haven’t been there in a while. Are they still holding that vile cigar night in the lib—”

From around the front of the house could be heard the blare of a truck horn as it came up the drive. 

“Hey, Bill, I’m sorry to cut you off, but there’s some kind of truck out front.”

“No, that’s fine, Brian. I’ll see you tomorrow at four. Bye”

"Mary!" he called into the house “Would you see to that?" He hated to deceive his college schoolmate like that, but his epic phone conversations were legendary throughout the Homewood Campus of Johns Hopkins University, and Brian rarely had the time or the patience to endure them.

Mary, already aware of the delivery truck in the driveway, was on her way out the front door. 

The Coolad’s truck rolled to a stop, and Vince Coolad, along with his son, dismounted the structurally challenged vehicle and walked toward Mary. 

"Good morning, Vince. You’re early." 

"Mary, darling, never too early to see you." 

Mary blushed at the overt come-on. 

Vince Coolad, owner and proprietor of Coolad’s Landscaping and Nursery, had been making deliveries on a routine basis since Mr. Jung's arrival years before. By nature, he was flirtatious with all women. He had found this to be an excellent tactic for repeat business and an especially good one to get a reaction out of Mary. 

"Vince, you kill me with kindness, you do." 

"And you could slay me with a smile. Oh there it is… got me right here." With this, he clutched his chest and feigned a broken heart. 

"Enough of that nonsense, you big ape. The Chinaman is around back by the bluff." 

"Is he waiting on us?" 

"He started at sun-up." 

"I swear, I could make a killing with a whole crew like him." 

"Yeah, he's something else alright. You have an invoice there somewhere, or is all of this for charity?" 

He passed the clipboard to her and continued to smile as she signed off on the truckload of shrubs. 

"Are you ever going to take me up on my invitation to dinner, Mary, or you just going to keep me hanging over here?" 

"Why, Mr. Coolad, what would Mrs. Coolad think of your flirtations?" 

"Mrs. Coolad is no longer Mrs. Coolad. She's Ms. Davies now.” 

"Excuse me?” 

"We were divorced last November, Mary." 

"Vince, I am sorry. I didn't know.” 

"That’s okay. It’s what's best for the both of us. In fact, in June she’ll become Mrs. Johnston. Can you believe it? She's marrying the guy she was having an affair with." 

"I don't know what to say." 

"Say nada, but I was serious about the dinner."

Her eyes softened a little as she handed the clipboard back and considered the question for a short while. "Well, perhaps you could be my escort this Friday." 

"At last the ice has been broken!" 

"Cool your engine's, hotshot. They're holding a cotillion at the yacht club for the workers. I usually pass it up, but I think I'd fancy a little pomp and circumstance for a change." 

"I can't think of anyone I’d rather pomp and circumstance with." 

"Do you dance?" 

"Like Danny Kaye." 

"You've definitely dated yourself, Mr. Coolad" 

"And you definitely have a date. What time can I pick you up?" 

"I'll be ready at eight." 

"Then it's a date, and eight it is. Until then, darlin’.” 

The two men began the daunting job of hand carrying the two dozen shrubs to Mr. Jung, who by this point had already exposed half the new bed. 

Mary came back out onto the terrace to check on Brian's coffee cup. "The Chinaman’s bushes, Mr. L.," she said, motioning to the two men traversing the lawn. Vince looked back over his shoulder up to Mary and gave her a wink. 

"I assume that was meant for you, Mary." 

She blushed for the second time that morning. Brian looked to her, then at Vince, and then back to her again. 

"Am I mistaken, or is there some kind of chemistry happening here?" 

Mary smiled and turned a deeper shade of red. “Mr. Coolad has offered to escort me to the cotillion." 

Brian gazed at her with mouth agape. “I'm stunned. When did this happen?" 

"A little while ago." 

"Look at you! You’re gushing like a teenage girl." 

"Well, it's been a while since I've been out with anybody." 

"And it's about time. I was starting to worry that I’d end up losing you to a nunnery.” 

"Fat chance. As long as there's a place for me here, I'll always…” 

***

A feeling of unease swept over the captain. He grabbed his telescope and went back out onto the quarter deck to scan the seas for the Spanish menace. 

***

"Oh my God, he's at it again, Mr. L. Please, God, I don't want Vince to see this.” 

But it was too late. Just beyond the bluff where Mr. Jung was trying to explain where he wanted the shrubbery staged before the planting began (a separate ceremony unto itself), a small waterman's boat working offshore slowed down to work a string of pots that ran along the island coastline. 

***

"To arms, to arms! Prepare to repel boarders.” 

The captain ran back into his cabin, shouting the alarm to his crew on his way down the ladder-way and out onto the main deck. 

"To arms!" he shouted as he ran past Mary and Brian. 

"Where did he get that cape?" Brian remarked as his son ran by with sword drawn. Mary buried her face in her hands. “…and that marvelous sword and belt. He really does look quite dashing, doesn't he?" 

Mary just shook her head and continued to look into the palms of her hands while she prayed for the whole thing to just go away. 

"To arms, to arms!” he continued to yell, crossing the lawn in great strides, sword extended out ahead of him and slightly raised. Vince and his son were quite unprepared for the assault and held up the small trees as their only means of defense. Mr. Jung had endured several encounters like this already and was prepared for anything. 

“Come on, men! To arms! Use small arms fire. What are you waiting for, boatswain?" 

Mr. Jung acknowledged the captain apologetically and then turned to face the offending vessel. He raised the shovel to his shoulder, sighted in on his target, and began to fire. 

"Bam… bam, bam.” He motioned for Vince and his son to do the same.

Vince put the shrub down and mounted his pretend rifle into his shoulder and began firing. "Uh, bam?" 

"Bam, bam," answered Mr. Jung 

Vince’s son joined in by placing his little tree down, chambered a round into the M-60 he pretended to hold at his hip, and then opened fire. "T-T-T-T-T-T…T-T-T…T-T-T-T-T!" came the report of his powerful automatic weapon, spittle flying out of his mouth with every round he fired. "T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T-T!" 

"Bam, bam.” 

"Bam… bam.” 

***

Out on deck in the boat below the bluffs, Jimmy paused before putting the trap back over the side. 

"Hey, Pop, come out here a minute and look at this.” Jack emerged from the cabin. “Whaddya make of that?” he asked, pointing to the four men on the bluff. 

"That's the Lynch estate, but I don’t know who they are." 

"That one on the right—” 

"The one with a big hat and sword?" 

"He ain't wearing nothing! You know what? I think that's his son Billy. I heard he really lost it,” he said, twirling a circle next to his head with his index finger. 

"Haven't seen him at the marina in almost a year now. Still keeps a boat there though,” said Jack, squinting at the men up on the bluff.

“Yeah, the big Beneteau. I skippered her once.” 

"You did? When?" 

"Couple years back. He took some people out one day for business and wanted someone to handle the boat." 

"What'd they talk about?"

"Lawyer stuff. I don't know. I was having too much fun with the Beneteau.” 

"It's a real shame about him. I understand he used to be a bit of a sailor." 

"Yeah, he did the Bermuda Race a couple of times. I don't think he placed though." 

"Still, just the same." 

"Let's get outta here, Pop. Six more traps to work, and we're done for the morning.” 

***

"Well done, men. Splendid job,” remarked the captain as he sheathed his sword. “Boatswain, make sure these two also get an extra measure of grog. Splendid work, men. Splendid!” With a flourish of his cape, the captain turned on a heel and proceeded back along the main deck to his cabin. 

"D'yes D'yes tankyou,” replied Mr. Jung, then returned to gesturing to where he wanted the men to stage the plants and mulches, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. 

While Vince scratched his head trying to make sense of what had just happened, his son continued to fire upon the fleeing boat, and the naked man in the cape strode back up the lawn, his chin high and his dignity intact. 

A few minutes after disappearing into the house, Captain Morgan reappeared on his quarter deck, spyglass raised to his eye, ever vigilant of the Spanish menace. 

When Vince and his son crossed the lawn on their way back to the truck for another load of shrubs, Mary came running over to intercept him. "Oh, Vince, I'm so sorry you had to see that.” 

"Who is that?" he asked, gesturing to the still naked man on the balcony above Mary. 

"That's William, the owner's son. He's not well. I've raised him since he was a baby, but now this.” She balled her hand up into a fist and held it to her mouth to hold back a good cry that had been longing to come out. A single tear emerged from the side of her eye and streaked its way down her cheek. “I hate to see him this way.” 

“Mary, what's all this about?" He smiled as he gently wiped her cheek. “This is nothing really. I say good for him. What's the point in being rich if he can't do what he wants, eh?" 

She sniffled a little and returned the smile. 

“There now. All better, see? Well look, those shrubs won't move themselves. I gotta get on back to work.” Vince trotted off after his son back to the truck. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Brian watched as she turned and approached him. He responded by hiding behind the business section of the newspaper and focused his attention on the page before him, as if the fate of the world lay hidden in its lines of text. 

"Don't you turn away from me, Mr. L. I will be heard.” 

He put down the paper, looked up to her, and prepared himself for the verbal assault that was sure to follow. 

"I have too much invested in this family. My opinion must count for something, and what I have to say does not come easily to me. I love that man as if he were my own son. I would gladly lay down my own life to save his, but that man is sick, and sticking your head in the sand is not going to make it all better. You must get him some help, Mr. L. Please.” 

"I tried to tell you before. Plans are already in motion for him to be admitted into a special facility—one where I know he won't be bundled up into some small white room. I just need your patience and indulgence for little while longer.” 

"He'll get help?" 

"He'll be well taken care of, I assure you. In fact, I have a meeting with someone tomorrow evening about this.” 

"Won’t you come to the cotillion?" 

"I will, and I hope you'll save me a dance now that you're going. But I’ll be little late… around nine-ish.” 

"Alright, Mr. L. I'll be patient, but not for much longer.” 

"It won’t be long Mary. On that, you have my word” 

She turned and disappeared into the house without another word. 

Brian gazed out onto the bay beyond the landscapers and contemplated everything that was to come.

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