Returning to the Land of the Morning Calm

By Hans M Hirschi

Martin is eighty-four years old, a Korean War veteran, living quietly in a retirement home in upstate New York. His days are ruled by the routine of the staff, but in his thoughts and dreams, Martin often returns to the Seoul of his youth, and the lost true love of his life. Two close friends urge him to travel back to search for his love. What awaits Martin in Korea, more than six decades after he left the country on a troop transport back to the U.S.?

Returning to the Land of the Morning Calm is a story of friendship, love and family, in all its many shapes, across time, generations and cultures.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beaten Track Publishing
• Release date: May 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781786452047

Hans M Hirschi

Hans M Hirschi has been writing stories since childhood. As an adult, the demands of corporate life put an end to his fiction for more than twenty years. A global executive in training, he has traveled the world and published several non-fiction titles as well as four well-received novels. The birth of his son provided him with the opportunity to rekindle his love of creative writing, where he expresses his deep passion for a better world through love and tolerance. Hans lives with his husband and son on a small island off the west coast of Sweden.

Book preview

1

New Windsor, NY, 2017

Good morning, Martin. The older woman entered the room with her customary bright smile—the one she always wore when she invaded the tenants’ personal space. She had been a healthcare professional in the facility for more than three decades: Osborne House for Retirees, where Martin had lived for fifteen years. At almost eighty-five, the old man was one of the fixtures of the establishment. People didn’t normally last that long; many moved to a home for the elderly after losing their spouse or because their families no longer wanted or could care for them. Alone, with few or no visitors, some abandoned, most of them died within months of their arrival. Very few lived for more than a handful of years.

***

Having lived by himself for the better part of his life, Martin didn’t mind moving to a new place. After a botched hip replacement, he had no wish to live on his own. The walker he’d depended on had got in the way in the small home he had inherited from his parents, so he’d applied for residency at Osborne House, and after a short wait, he was approved. With months of physical therapy, he’d even been able to rid himself of the walker; these days, he rarely used it, instead relying on his favorite cane whenever he went out for a walk. He was happy to remain at the home, no longer having to clean out his place, and thankful for the company it provided him.

With new neighbors, frequent visits by the staff, nurses and whatnot, Martin enjoyed the increased frequency of people he saw every day, and he made friends with other residents, although most of those friendships didn’t last long. But friendships there were, nonetheless. He felt the same way about much of the staff, including José, the Guatemalan janitor who’d begun working at Osborne House long before Martin had moved in. He’d helped him get settled with his few belongings: a table, four chairs, a large cupboard, a closet, a heavy oak desk, a larger and a small carpet, a few books, silver wear, some bone china, and his clothing. That was about it. Martin had never had much of an inkling toward knickknacks, and where other people would bring back souvenirs and mementos from their vacations and trips, Martin simply cherished the memories he’d made. He felt lucky his memory was still intact, unlike some of his neighbors who had succumbed to Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, or other debilitating illnesses that so frequently went side by side with old age.

When Martin had moved to Osborne House, José and Martha, the nurse who’d just walked into his room, had been in their early forties. Now they were both in their fifties, Martha having recently become a grandma. José already counted three grandchildren. They were his pride and joy, and he’d often come visit Martin to show him new pictures of his grandkids on his smartphone.

Such amazing new gadgets they were. At his age, Martin had little use for them, but he could understand their allure to a younger generation, eager to explore the world and stay in touch with everybody at any given time. Outside Osborne House, Martin had no one. His parents had died long ago, never knowing his secret, and having been a single child, he had no siblings. Being gay, he belonged to a generation of men where relationships were rare, and where living together with a partner was even less frequent, potentially dangerous. Martin had always been known to be a friend of Dorothy’s. Even as a child and adolescent, his eyes had wandered toward the boys of his cohort, not the girls. No, girls were meant for friendships, completely platonic, of course.

He had served in the Korean War, stationed near the front line from 1951 until the fighting ended in a cease-fire that still defined the peninsula to this day. After that, Martin had spent the rest of his tour of duty in Seoul. It had been there that he’d felt the most liberated, strangely, despite the country’s possibly even more conservative stance on homosexuality.

He’d found love in a young man whom he’d met at an eatery in Bukchon. Ji-Hoon had sold him a bowl of noodle soup and, after eyeing each other for a while, and after their fingers had touched for the shortest time, they had both known. When Martin left the establishment after his meal, Ji-Hoon had left him a little note asking for his name. Before long, they’d become a couple of sorts, spending their free time together whenever possible, jobs permitting. Ji-Hoon worked seven days per week, and Martin’s schedule could often change at short notice as tensions were still running high on the demarcation line just a few miles north of Seoul.

When his tour was up, in late 1955, Martin returned to the US and soon lost touch with Ji-Hoon, who got married, caving to the pressure of his parents. After that, Martin had no really steady relationships. And dating, the way the rest of the American populace would in the fifties and sixties, was still pretty much impossible for a gay man. Holding hands at a diner, exchanging love-sick glances, smiles, and giggles, walking slowly through a park together or going to a drive-in movie theater to make out rather than to watch the silver screen—all of which was commonplace for young Americans—was out of sight and out of reach for Martin.

Instead, he’d used the language skills he’d acquired in Korea to find work at a newspaper in Albany, in upstate New York, not too far from his hometown of Poughkeepsie, covering the Far East desk. He’d worked there until he retired; to the average visitor, Martin was just a friendly old man, a loner, one of those men who’d never found the right girl to marry and settle down. Everyone had an aunt or uncle like that.

***

Good morning, Martha, Martin greeted the nurse who came by every morning to check he was awake and had taken his medication: one for blood pressure and a little something to keep blood clots from forming, or so Martin vaguely remembered. He was healthy enough and got out of bed on his own in the morning. But it was nice to have Martha—or one of her colleagues on days she was off—come by and pay a visit. Later, he’d stroll down to the common room for coffee and some breakfast.

How are you today? She smiled at him.

I’m good. Slept like a log last night.

I’d like to introduce you to someone if that’s all right? she continued, her voice trepidatious. Do you mind if he comes in for a moment to say hello?

Martin was puzzled. Why sure? What’s up, Martha?

Martha gestured to the door of Martin’s room where a tall, slender, young figure appeared and slowly approached Martin’s bed with that typical slouch of some of the younger generations. But at least he—it was most definitely a he, Martin saw that much from the pronounced Adam’s apple in the young man’s throat—seemed to be confident. He had a pleasant smile and very intriguing eyes. What is it with kids these days and posture, and why can’t they dress like men anymore? What’s wrong with a nice pair of slacks, a shirt neatly tucked, and a tie? We dressed so smartly when we were young…

Martin, Martha spoke up, this is Kevin. He’s a new nurse here with us. He’s going to replace me when I retire next week.

Retire? Martin looked at Martha in utter disbelief. But you’re not nearly old enough! You’re only in, what, your forties?

Fifty-five to be exact, not that it’s any of your business, old man. Martha mocked him, laughing at their banter. I have another grandchild on the way, and I want to spend more time with them. I promise I’ll visit, though. The look on her face betrayed just how much she feared that Martin might not approve of her decision. Not that she needed his approval, but they’d become friends, and his views mattered to her.

Oh, Martha. That’s why you’ve been so subdued lately? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?

Tears appeared in the woman’s eyes, slowly rolling down her cheeks, one by one, leaving glistening trails behind. I don’t know… I don’t want you to feel lonely, what with Christmas coming up and all…

Don’t be silly! Martin laughed. You’re entitled to live your own life. Just promise me you’ll bring your new grandchild to visit once it’s born. I’d love to see if the poor thing takes after you or not… Is it going to be a girl or a boy?

Martha slapped him playfully on the arm. Melissa isn’t telling us. I doubt she’s even asked. You know kids these days. They’d rather keep it a surprise. Melissa is very politically correct that way. Same with Emily, her firstborn. I was barely allowed to buy the girl a pink romper. No, she insisted on making sure we didn’t force her into any gender roles. I don’t understand those kids.

Martin sighed. Things sure were different when we were young, although not necessarily for the better, you know? He turned to the young man standing silently next to Martha, waiting to be introduced. Now, young man, I’m Martin, and you’re a nurse?

How do you do, Kevin began, then paused, not knowing if he was allowed to call Martin by his first name. Martha picked up on that.

"Kevin, this is Martin, just Martin. He hates to be called Mr. Donaldson. Makes him feel really old…" She laughed out loud, earning her another one of Martin’s prized stares, the kind that informed her she’d have had a spank coming if only he could get to her.

Kevin tried again. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Donalds…yes, I am a nurse, sir. Trained, registered and all. I’m older than I look.

Martin got up from his sitting position on his bed to get a closer look. Kevin was tall, probably almost as tall as he was, and as thin as a beanstalk. His dyed-black hair hung in long bangs over his face in an intricate hairstyle that was quite unusual. At least, it seemed unusual to Martin.

He moved as close to Kevin as he could, never taking his eyes off the young man, finally stretching out his hand to him. But when Kevin tried to take it for a traditional handshake, Martin quickly withdrew it and said, Now, young man, you listen to me. We’ll get along just fine if you promise me two things. One, never, ever call me sir again, and two, call me Martin. Mr. Donaldson was my granddad. All right? He stretched out his hand again and flashed Kevin a smile.

Yes, s… Kevin bit his lips. I’m sorry, Martin. I’m not accustomed to being so familiar with patients. I’ve mostly worked in hospitals so far. They’re a bit stricter. But Martin it is. He smiled back, taking Martin’s hand and shaking it.

Kevin’s hand was soft and warm to the touch, unlike his own. His mom had always told him cold hands, warm heart, but he didn’t really buy into that bullshit. He simply had cold hands and feet. Bad circulation more likely. And even if he’d had a warm heart, it certainly never carried him any favors.

So you’re going to be making sure I take my pills from now on, eh? Martin asked as they released their handshake, feeling a strange residual tingle in his hand.

If that’s what you need from me? I understand you’re fairly independent still. But if you need anything else, feel free to ask—personal grooming, help in the shower, whatever.

See? Martha chimed in, hopeful. With a male nurse, you won’t have to be so squeamish anymore about, you know… She blushed, knowing just how uncomfortable any talk of Martin’s nether parts made him feel. He absolutely abhorred strangers touching him. He prided himself on still taking showers alone, and being able to look after his personal hygiene again, after that god-awful hip surgery. But yeah, he did have a hard time reaching his feet to cut his toenails, and he enjoyed a good pedicure. That was about as far as he’d ever let the nurses and staff touch him. He still walked down to the barber shop on Main Street to have Old Ben cut his hair for him. Old Ben, funny, the man is thirty years my junior.

Anyway, Martin, we have to meet the other residents and get things underway here. We’ll see you later at breakfast, all right dear? Martha smiled and patted him on the shoulder before she pointed to the door with the other arm, telling Kevin to lead the way.

See you later, s…Martin! Kevin stuttered before turning around and quickly exiting the room, followed by Martha.

She glanced back just as she reached the door, a worried look on her face. You’ll be okay?

Martin smiled. Of course, Martha, of course. He wasn’t sure if she meant for now or with regards to Kevin. Either way, he had no choice in the matter, and he would make it work with the young man. He had no alternative.

2

New Windsor, NY, 2017

Kevin, would you mind helping me decorate the room for the Holidays? Martin asked the young nurse who’d been working at Osborne House for a few weeks now. They’d gotten to know each other quite well since Martha had gone into retirement. She’d been by a couple of times to check in on Martin and some of the other residents she’d grown attached to, and while Martin missed the regular banter and the company of his friend, Kevin proved to be an excellent replacement; unexpectedly, the young man was as funny and witty as Martha had been.

Today, he’d come in to help Martin cut his toenails when the old man made his request. Sure, just give me time to finish my shift and I’ll come by.

Isn’t it part of your job? I don’t want to impose on your free time.

Martin, darling, I’m a nurse, not an interior designer. See the uniform? White pants, white shirt, bad fit? I’m paid to look after residents’ medical needs, not hang garlands. But I’ll gladly make an exception for you. God knows, this place could use a pick-me-up. Kevin looked up from his ministrations to make a sweeping and dismissive gesture around the room.

Coming from a kid who looks like a walking advert for a funeral home, that’s quite a statement. Martin laughed. He’d been brought up to speed on the various styles of the young people today, including what it meant to be goth and why Kevin had adopted that style in high school. Martin gathered that Kevin had been bullied for being gay; joining a crowd where they didn’t judge him for it had helped him cope, survive school, and become more confident about himself. So all good. In any case, Martin quite liked Kevin’s cool, even cold, appearance. It was merely a shell because Kevin’s personality was warm and very friendly.

Be careful what you wish for, Geezer… Kevin chuckled. Tell me, any family coming to see you for the Holidays?

I don’t have any living relatives left. I just join whatever celebration is going on here and take it easy. Christmas is a celebration for children, it’s not for the likes of me. I do like the lights, though, and the caroling, and the smell of the food…s’all.

I hear you. I won’t be going home for Christmas, either. I’m working that weekend. Besides, my parents are all churchy and shit, and I just can’t stomach the whole preachy do-goody pretending of their congregation that they’re all so loving and wholesome, while there’s no room for anyone who doesn’t conform to their rigid norms of Mommy, Daddy, and two-point-four kids. Kevin’s voice had suddenly taken on a cold tone.

I take it there’s a story in there somewhere? Martin was as curious as he was worried.

Kevin shrugged and finished up with Martin’s feet. I might tell you someday. Here, all done. As good as new! He gently lifted the foot off his lap and moved it back to the bed where Martin had lain throughout the procedure, then removed the towel he’d worked on. Anything else you need for now?

Nah, I’m good. I’ll go to the common room in a bit for a cup of tea. You go and get on with your job. Thanks a million, Kevin.

Kevin got up and bowed to Martin in an excessive gesture, stretching his arm way over his head and then moving it down in front of him as if he were waving a hat. We aim to please. See you later, Geezer. I’ll come by after my shift for the decorations, okay?

I look forward to it, youngling.

***

This is nice. Kevin smiled as he admired the way the electric lights they’d put up earlier sparkled in the dark. While Martin got the feeling Kevin quite liked Christmas—the colors, smells, and the cozy atmosphere of a decorated room—the young man probably wouldn’t admit it out loud. They were sitting around Martin’s small table drinking eggnog, with Martin’s secret ingredient. Kevin had found a carton of ready-to-drink eggnog in the staff kitchen and had brought it along to help their decorating job run smoothly; Martin had quickly produced a bottle of dark rum to add a bit of oomph to the otherwise alcohol-free liquid.

It’s the rum, I tell you. Martin sighed a deep sigh from the bottom of his belly as he took another gulp from his glass, enjoying the sensation of the warm trail the sweet eggnog left behind on its short journey from his lips to his stomach.

Silly! I meant the lights, the atmosphere in here. Kevin shook his head.

Oh, a romantic, are we? Martin laughed, and Kevin sneered at him in response. Sore spot?

Not really. I guess you could call me a romantic, although I haven’t had much experience in the field.

What? Martin’s eyebrows arched in disbelief. And here I thought it was much easier for today’s young to be out and proud, live their lives openly, fully. Heck, you can even get married today. Back when I was young, we could only dream about that. Even that we dare not, most of the time.

What good is marriage if you can’t find true love?

Ah. Martin nodded. "True love… Seems to me you’ve seen a Disney movie too many. I’m not sure there is such a thing as true love, certainly not the way it’s portrayed in those movies."

What do you mean?

Please don’t get me wrong, because, like you, my personal experiences are somewhat limited, although not for lack of trying. But I think that love, as an emotion, isn’t about finding ‘the one’. Martin made air quotes. It’s more about finding love, period. I think we’re capable of loving more than once, and that there are several, if not many, suitable partners out there. Maybe your expectations need adjusting?

Kevin shrugged. It’s not that easy. I just don’t find most men attractive. I’m not into muscles or the whole party thing that so many people my age cling to. Most guys are just so immature. There’s no substance, nothing but sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll… I want more from a relationship.

I see, and what would that be?

"I would want to go to