Butterfly Wish: A Doomed Interracial Love Affair Set in Post War South Korea

By D. Davidson and R. Marcano

Butterfly Wish is a story about friendship, love, loyalty and betrayal. But it is mostly about unchecked human behavior in a mecca of sex and violence. Shane Brennan and Manny Veneto are stationed in the Republic of South Korea in 1963 when suddenly they are dragged into the dark world of sin and exploitation. The two men are serving in the United States Air Force when their world surprisingly changes forever. Fifty some odd years later they decide to return to South Korea to find forgiveness and resolution to their life-long struggle with guilt. What happens to them upon their return is extraordinary. The story-line is edgy and often brutal in its details. (Adult Fiction). Contains some profanity-graphic sex and violence. Intended for readers 18 years of age and older.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 17, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483587561

Book preview

Butterfly Wish

CHAPTER ONE

Someone once said, Time waits for no man. But when Shane Brennan decided to revisit the past he postponed the future indefinitely. Shane was an old man in his seventies who had lived a full life, but not without regrets. He was a native New Yorker who now made his home in the warm climate of Nevada. Now, however, he sat on a 747 as the giant bird climbed over the huge mountains that spread across the South Korean countryside. Shane had convinced his wife of fifty years it was a trip he just had to make to confront the ghost of his youth. He peered down at the ground and noticed the imperfectly cut green rectangle rice paddies that covered the otherwise barren topography. Then he caught a reflection of himself in the window. He was mostly bald, and he looked so damn old. As the 747 made its approach to Incheon International Airport, on wheels down, Shane felt tightness in his gut. He was about to embark on a trek back in time, a journey to cleanse his soul and find the forgiveness he so desperately sought.

Shane grinned when he recalled his first impression of South Korea back in the summer of 1963. He was one of twenty-three U.S. Airmen, aboard a C-47 Transport plane, on their way to begin a thirteen-month tour of duty at Osan Air Force Base, South Korea. Shane remembered gazing out the window of the goony bird when he caught his first peek at the sterile land down below. It was a treeless landscape of rocky hills and sculptured dirt mountains. A flat terrain crowded with checkered rice paddies and populated by farmers and peasants who lived in squalor with little hope of escape. They called it The Land of the Morning Calm.

A precarious truce was signed between North Korea and the United Nations Command on July 27, 1953. Finally, the South Koreans would be free of all oppressors and tyrannical rulers. They would have their independence, and a chance to live in peace. But the ill will between North and South Korea, lingered. The threat of war remained a constant. The United States and South Korean military were on permanent alert. It would be many years before South Koreans enjoyed the prosperity and self-respect most other democratic states took for granted. But for now, its fate as a new republic was in question. South Korea was a destitute country with a needy population. Starvation and disease plagued the new nation. Many of the impoverished South Korean people took menial jobs at U.S. Army Camps and Air Force bases as a matter of survival. Most of the meager wages earned were used to help support immediate and extended families. Those Korean women unable to obtain employment at U.S. installations were relegated to working as Bar Girls at local night clubs in the village. Most became prostitutes—selling their bodies and souls for profit. U.S. Airmen and soldiers patronized the bars and whorehouses of the local villagers to get drunk and solicit the immoral ladies of the night. No sexual act was taboo, provided the price was right. This warped sense of entitlement further subjugated the Korean population and triggered a festering resentment towards Americans in general.

Shane Brennan was just a naive twenty-year-old Airman when he arrived in South Korea in the summer of 1963. However, the mistakes he made while serving there would torment his soul forever. He hoped returning to the scene of those transgressions, fifty some years later, would perhaps offer him some solace. Shane made his way through the huge passenger terminal at Incheon International Airport and was amazed at the progress the "shit-hole country" had made in fifty-some odd years. Shane exited the terminal with his suitcase in hand and crossed to where the limousine and taxis were parked. The humid July air was stifling and made it difficult for Shane to breathe. He suffered from mild emphysema from years of smoking a pack of cigarettes a day. Shane’s eyes scanned the many signs being flashed by South Korean limo and taxi drivers until he spotted the one that read, Mister Shane Brennan. Shane Brennan immediately acknowledged the driver and climbed into the rear seat of the 2010 gray Cadillac Escalade. The limo pulled away and found the expressway in a matter of minutes. The Korean driver told Shane that the time it would take to get from the airport to Osan Air Force Base could vary, depending on traffic. But on a good day, you could reach your destination in less than ninety minutes. Shane sat back and tried to relax. He surveyed the scenery as the Escalade sped down the convenient highway. A million thoughts crossed his mind. Shane felt curious about the changes he would see at Osan Air Force base and the City of Songtan. Shane had read that Songtan was now a busy and thriving metropolis crowded with modern shops and popular American businesses and restaurants. There were also several hotels in the city to accommodate foreign businessmen and women. It was a far cry from the shanties, bars and brothels of the past. Shane wondered if there would be a familiar face in Songtan he could connect with—just one person from the past. It was a long shot but still a possibility. He knew for certain there would be one American at Osan he would know. Manny Veneto was waiting for him at the popular Air Force Inn. Shane and Manny had served one year together at Osan in 1963. Now a New York congressman had made arrangements for Shane and Manny to stay on base during their wistful visit. Manny had taken an earlier flight in from New York. It took some doing for Manny to convince his wife of forty-five years this was not the sort of trip one would make with their spouse. It was a hard sell, but Manny was persuasive.

Shane was excited and anxious to get to his destination. Soon, there would be two old men on an adventure. When the Escalade reached the edge of Osan Air Force Base, Shane caught a quick glimpse of the village once known as Chicol. It was now the bustling city of Songtan. He was astonished at the number of American businesses that lined the main street and the infamous Aragon Alley. Pizza Hut, MacDonald’s, Popeye’s and Baskin-Robbins were just four of the many prominent logos seen along the paved streets and busy alleys.

The limo rolled up to the main gate of Osan Air Force Base. There was a guard booth in the center of the street with an Ingress passageway on one side and an Egress passageway on the other. The stone structure was beige with brown trim. The white and gray tiled roof had a sweeping curvature to it that rose at the corners in a traditional Korean architectural design. Gold letters across the top of the booth read, Osan AB. A blue and gold shield emblem to the right of the gold letters read, Seventh Air Force. Another blue and gold shield insignia to the left read, Fifty First Fighter Wing. An Air Policeman promptly greeted the limo. A sense of nostalgia struck Shane. The design of the main entrance had changed dramatically, but its purpose was still the same: screen all persons wishing to enter the base.

Shane lowered the rear window and handed his passport and a letter of authorization to the proper and starched Air Policeman. The Air Policeman read the letter and entered the guard booth to make a call. It was only a matter of seconds before Shane was on his way again. He marveled at the modernization of Osan. The buildings were larger and built as permanent structures. The limousine passed a small high school campus. It was now permitted for married officers and enlisted men to have family stay with them throughout their tour in South Korea. Very different from the isolation and distance, true relationship killers, that U.S. Airmen experienced back in 1963. When the limousine reached its final destination, the Air Force Inn, Shane paid the driver and climbed out of the Escalade. He immediately recognized a skinny old man of about seventy who still had a full head of hair that was mostly gray. The man was dressed in light summer clothing, and wore a thin windbreaker. Shane smiled at the sight of his old friend, Manny Veneto. Manny was the only man Shane completely trusted. The two old geezers embraced for a very long time.

When they finally separated, Manny spoke first. It’s good to see you again, Shane.

Good to see you too, Manny.

Manny gawked at Shane’s summer suit. I hope you’re not going to village dressed like that? You look like some old coot about to board one of them cruise ships.

Shane sniggered. Cruise ship? I’ll give you a fucking cruise ship.

Manny laughed and grabbed Shane’s suitcase. Come on inside. I’ll show you the sweet set-up they gave us. Manny led Shane into the comfortable and welcoming lodge. The accommodations were small but nicely decorated. Manny padded over to an island bar and stepped behind it. Not bad for two troublemakers who constantly broke the rules.

And I guess it doesn’t hurt to know a congressman who lives in the Bronx, either, said Shane.

No, it doesn’t.

It had been well over fifty years since Shane had seen Manny. Then last summer Manny tracked Shane down on Facebook. The two men made arrangements to meet at a Las Vegas hotel and spend a few days reminiscing about 1963 and the good old days in South Korea. Now here they were, one year later, about to step back in time. Manny glanced at the shelf behind him. It was lined with bottles of different whiskeys, gins and vodka. So, what are you drinking?

I’ll have what you’re having, said Shane.

Not me. Manny pressed his hand on his stomach. I got a slight issue with my digestive track. No lactose. No alcohol. Is scotch okay with you?

Shane nodded his head as his eyes examined the apartment. Then he ribbed Manny. Please don’t tell me you intend to spend your time strolling down memory lane and not even have one drink?

Manny grinned as he plopped some ice cubes into a glass and poured the scotch. I didn’t say that. I’m just pacing myself. He handed Shane the drink.

Shane took a sip of the Johnny Walker Red. It’s been a long time, old friend. I’m not sure I’m ready for this. Shane felt anxious. Perhaps he had second thoughts about returning to this part of his past?

Yeah, I know what you mean, Manny replied. What is it about that one year of our lives that bothers us so much?

I don’t know, but I’m glad it just ain’t me.

Manny chortled.

Tell me something, Manny. When you first came home from Korea … how long did it really take for you to adjust?

Like I told you in Vegas, it took a long time, said Manny. But it was different for me. You left Korea and went home to civilian life. Me … I was still in the Air Force, remember? I got reassigned to an air base in Texas.

Yeah, I guess that was a big change for you.

It was a fucking nightmare at first. You must remember how hard it was getting used to American girls again, Manny remarked. Most of the white girls I met were spoiled brats. They thought they were really something special.

Sounds to me like you had a hard time getting laid, Shane kidded.

Manny smiled. Yeah, that too. But, I got smart. I became friends with a Mexican kid in my barracks. He hooked me up with some Chiquita in the barrio. Manny grinned. It was almost as good as being back in Korea.

Almost? Shane questioned.

Yeah, almost, Manny replied. Like I told you last year, my first few months in Texas, I did nothing but think about Korea. I wanted to go back, Shane. If for no other reason … just to get away from all the bullshit.

Those words rang true to Shane. When he first returned from Korea, he thought about going back but with his mother being sick, it just wasn’t an option. Well, you’re back now. Shane smiled and swallowed some more scotch. So, where do we start?

I’m not sure, Manny said as he sunk into a cushion on the couch. My mind’s been playing tricks on me ever since I got off the plane.

What sort of tricks? Shane wondered as he plopped deep into an overstuffed chair.

Well, for one thing … I thought about the day I arrived here in sixty-three. Then I realized I didn’t remember much about it. My life at Osan began one month later when you touched down. I guess everything before that was meaningless.

And everything after that? Shane asked.

What do you think? said Manny.

It doesn’t feel like fifty years, said Shane.

No, it doesn’t. Manny agreed.

Just about every day of my life I’ve thought about Kim, said Shane. Sometimes it feels like it all happened just yesterday.

Shane noticed Manny’s sudden edginess.

Manny quickly changed the subject. Me … I keep trying to remember the faces of the guys in ‘A’ Flight. I can see some of their faces real clear but others…

And the girls, Shane wondered aloud.

You mean like Katy and Debbie? said Manny.

Ain’t you forgetting somebody? Shane said. What about Peggy?

Manny stood up and started to pace. Peggy was really something, wasn’t she, Shane?

Yeah, she was.

We kind of had something special, I guess? But it wasn’t like what you had with Kim.

What do you mean? Shane asked, feeling curious.

What I mean is, said Manny. Peggy knew right from the start. She never kidded herself and neither did I.

Shane glanced up at Manny. But I did? Is that what you’re saying?

You told me you were in love with Kim. That was good enough for me.

You think Kim loved me, Manny?

Manny peered into Shane’s eyes. I think you had something special with her. Leave it at that.

I tried to stay in touch with Kim, said Shane. I wrote her at least six letters. I don’t know why she never wrote me back? I guess…

Manny turned away. He acted as if he was hiding something, but Shane couldn’t figure out what. Probably just his disapproval, Shane guessed. Manny never favored Shane being in love with a Bar Girl.

So, I guess we’ll play this by ear, Manny continued. We’ll head to the village and see where the memories take us.

Shane took another taste of scotch and got to his feet. That sounds good to me.

Chicol Village, South Korea

circa 1963 © 1963 R. Marcano

circa 1963 © 1963 R. Marcano

CHAPTER TWO

The summer of 1963 was exceptionally hot and humid. As the red August sun rose above the mountains to the east, the small village of Chicol slowly came to life. Chicol was situated just outside the main gate of the United States Air Force Base at Osan, South Korea. The stagnant hot air was permeated with a pungent odor of rotted cabbage. Rundown shops lined the dirt street. The shanties were built mostly out of plywood or rusted corrugated steel. Sheets of cardboard held the sides of the poorly constructed buildings together. Rain or shine, local villagers would stop to do business with storeowners and street vendors. The merchants would often stand outside their shops, waiting to hawk their goods to the United States Airmen who entered the peaceful village. It was a futile gesture most of the time. The Airmen only came to Chicol Village for booze and female companionship. It was a conflict of two civilizations but mostly an intrusion into a way of life of a desperate South Korean people. It was not unusual to see small orphan children begging in the street. The survival of these weak and defenseless children often depended on their trickery or sheer persistence. Girls as young as twelve would offer sexual favors to U.S. Airmen but were mostly ignored. There were plenty of opportunities in the village to engage prostitutes and Bar Girls for such activity.

A boy and girl, no older than six, stood outside Don Han’s Pawn Shop waiting to trap unsuspecting U.S. servicemen entering the village. Their intention was to bamboozle the GIs out of a few Korean won or Military Pay Certificates. (This was a form of currency used to pay U.S. Military personnel). The two children were dressed like ragamuffins. Their pathetic, dirty faces, were hard to ignore. They knew how to play the game and stopped at nothing to achieve their objective. Three U. S. Air Force enlisted men wearing starched summer khakis passed by the two children but ignored them. The little girl burst into artificial tears, and the little boy took her in his arms and pretended to console her. The three Airmen laughed—having seen this charade many times in the past. An old South Korean woman named, Crazy Mary, pestered the three. She was clad in raggedy and soiled clothes. Crazy Mary was legendary in the village of Chicol. The hunched-over woman had a dirty face etched with deep wrinkles. Many people in the village believed her to have magical powers; a Soothsayer of sorts. The three Airmen pushed past the annoying woman. One of them shouted, Crazy Mary! The old woman swung her crooked walking stick in their direction. The three young Airmen cackled and continued down the dusty, dirt street.

Two South Korean prostitutes jumped out of the shadows of Oh’s Tailor Shop. They called out to the three GIs. The three Airmen stopped and turned. One of the prostitutes inched her skirt up slowly to her waist. The dark triangle between her legs stood out for all to see. She called out in a provocative voice, Hey, GI, you want to fuck-ee me? One of the Airmen made a move towards her, but his two buddies grabbed him—almost knocking his blue garrison cap off his head. They dragged the rambunctious Airman away. As the three GIs headed for the main gate of Osan Air Force Base, grey clouds darkened the day. Lightning and claps of thunder were followed by a heavy down pour of morning showers. The three Airmen ran towards the white wooden guard shack that controlled access onto and off the base. An arched sign affixed to the top of the white shed spelled out in bold letters, Welcome to Osan Air Force Base. After 7:00 a.m. it was permitted for Airmen to leave and enter the base without a great deal of scrutiny.

Two spit and polish Air Policemen stood watch at the gate. They were dressed in summer khaki uniforms and wore white covers over their blue service hats. White shoelaces crisscrossed their shiny black jump boots. The two cops were armed with .38 caliber service revolvers. A blue Korean Shibal taxi entered the main gate carrying two U.S. Airmen. (Korean taxis were not built very well, but they served their purpose. The enclosed Jeep vehicles were mostly put together from scraps of sheet metal and leftover U.S. Army parts). The rickety taxi ran through a puddle and spattered the three Airmen who were also entering the gate. The three Airmen hollered and cursed at the Korean taxi driver.

The showers cleansed the foul air, and a sweet smell lingered for a short while. Rain was the only true sanitizer to effectively combat the offensive odors that came with the hot season of summer. There were several sources associated to the unpleasant stench. Human waste and urine flowed constantly though the open sewers known as benjo, or ditches, and it was not an uncommon sight to see children or adults squat in the road when nature called. The carcasses of dogs and cats often littered the streets. The stink of rotted cabbage known as Kimchi, a favorite food of the Korean population, assaulted the human nostrils with a vengeance.

At Osan Air Force Base, there was a stretch of property known as C Diamond where eleven fighter jets were housed in prefabricated steel hangars. Six hangars stood on the right side of C Diamond, numbered one through six. Five hangars on the left were numbered seven through eleven. The two rows of hangars were positioned in a zigzag pattern. The front doors of the hangars remained open most of the time to expedite a quick taxiing of the aircraft in the event of any emergency. The F105s were on perpetual alert and guarded twenty-four hours a day by the Security Police, a spin-off of the Air Police. The job was mundane and unrewarding. The Security Police often felt ill-treated. They were constantly exposed to the elements, the scorching heat of July and August; the snow and below freezing temperature of January and February. And there was the isolation and the solitude of humping a post. This was the practice of walking up and down in front of a hangar for eight hours, sans relief. There were also several observations posts strategically located on top of the hill that surrounded the air base. These were nothing more than old bunkers, or artillery gun emplacements sites, left over from the war. The conditions there were just as dreadful for the Security Police. The inside posts included the gate houses on the Flight Line … if you were lucky enough to catch the assignment. And there was the Access Control Desk to the Air Crew Operation Center but that was usually reserved for Airman First Class.

A two-and-a-half-ton military truck sped towards C Diamond. The heavy rubber tires splashed through puddle after puddle. The roof on the rear of the truck was covered with a heavy canvas, but the sides of the truck were open. A group of eleven Security Police officers rode in the back of the truck. They wore green fatigues and Ridgeway hats. Each man from ‘A’ Flight was protected by a rain poncho and carried an M1 carbine. The ride was bumpy and the Airmen bounced around like so much Jell-O … always being careful not to put a finger anywhere near the trigger guard of their carbine. A rumor had propagated for years that once upon a time ago, during a routine post relief, a young Airman accidentally discharged his carbine while riding on the back of a truck. The live round in the chamber was never explained. The bullet traveled straight up to the sky and struck a magpie in flight. The bird dropped to earth like a rock. Fact or fiction? No one really knew.

The truck stopped at Hangar Number One and a young Airman Second Class jumped off. The light-haired Shane Brennan expanded the sling on his M1 carbine and slipped the strap over his shoulder. He then relieved his counterpart on post. The relieved sentry carefully released the ammo clip from his carbine and climbed aboard the truck. The truck continued on to each hangar to perform a post relief. After the last man was relieved off the midnight shift, the truck drove off. Each newly-assigned sentry trudged back and forth in front of his hangar.

As the sun slowly broke through the gray clouds, twenty-year-old Shane Brennan slipped out of his rain poncho and tossed it to the side. Then he removed a small red transistor radio from his pocket and clicked it on. Shane smiled at the familiar 1960s song that echoed through the air. He strolled up and down the front of the hangar. Shane was a New York boy from Queens. He was not a disciplined Airman, and most of the time he did his best to resist the mundane rules of the Air Force. He had spent the first three years in the Air Force as a non-conformist. Shane was certain his assignment to Korean was in retaliation for his rebellious behavior. He didn’t care much now. This thirteen-month tour would complete his four-year obligation to Uncle Sam. Shane enlisted in the Air Force when he was seventeen. It had been a rocky road for him, and he had many missteps along the way. Korea would be an education all in itself. Little did he know the experience would change his life, forever.

A blue Ford pick-up truck pulled alongside Shane. The doors of the truck were marked in white letters, 6314 Air Police. A sign framed in aluminum piping was affixed to the bed of the truck, and it was marked SECURITY. The driver was barrel-chested Louisiana native, Staff Sergeant Baylis Quint. His brown pencil thin mustache highlighted his sinister smirk. Quint slid across the bench seat and hollered out through the open passenger window, What the hell you think you’re doing, boy?

Shane swaggered to the truck with the radio still blasting. He already knew Quint had an inordinate dislike for Northerners.

Sergeant Quint rebuked Shane in his strong southern accent, Turn that damn thing off!

Shane turned off the radio and slipped it into his pocket. What’s the problem, Sarge? Shane’s annoying simper seemed to provoke the thirty-six-year-old sergeant even more.

You’re the problem, Brennan. You’ve been here two weeks, and you ain’t learned nothing yet.

Lighten up, Sarge. It’s just a stupid radio. No big deal.

Lose that radio, boy, said Quint. Or I’ll lose it for you, ‘hear?

Shane shook his head in disbelief. The broad-shouldered Quint slipped over to the driver’s side and Shane watched as the tires spun, and the truck sped off. Asshole, grumbled Shane.

Bronx-born Manny Veneto, stood across from Shane at Hangar Seven. Manny’s South Bronx accent was unmistakable. He was half Puerto Rican on his mother’s side, but got his temper from his Italian father. Manny’s brown hair was curly, and his skin was a lighter shade than his mother or his father. His piercing green eyes could be intimidating at times, but the Korean ladies were fascinated by them. Airman Third Class Manny Veneto despised the rules and regulations that were a constant in the Air Force. He and Shane had a lot in common. The instant Shane was assigned to ‘A’ Flight, they became buddies.

What’s his problem, man? asked Manny.

Think I’m his problem, said Shane.

Manny shook his head and snickered. The eighteen-year-old shouted across to Shane, Quint’s a redneck. He doesn’t like anybody north of Louisiana.

Shane grinned at Manny. He understood the implication.

Hey, you think about what I said? asked Manny.

You mean ‘bout going to the village tonight?

Yeah, said Manny.

I don’t know, Manny. Shane was hesitant. He was smart enough to know a trip to the village could mean trouble.

Manny traipsed out to the middle of the road and slipped his carbine off his right shoulder and onto his left shoulder. "What’s to know? We grab a couple of beers at the club, and then we cut a chogie to the village. It’s time you got a taste of some local culture, my man."

Let me think about it, okay? said Shane.

Manny adjusted the carbine on his shoulder. Well, don’t think too hard. Manny returned to walking his post.

Shane turned on his radio and quickly found an upbeat 1960s tune. Shane returned to the monotonous job of sentry duty. He considered Manny’s invitation to experience the village for the first time. Shane was pleased that in his short time at Osan he had managed to toe the line and stay out of trouble. Chicol Village could change all that.

After the day shift ended, Shane Brennan sat on a cot at the far end of Bay 2. He had on civilian clothes and was shoe-less. Shane appeared anxious as he waited for his shoes to be returned. He glanced around the bay. Shane was still the new man and was doing his best to adjust to his surroundings. ‘A’ Flight’s barracks consisted of two bays, which each housed eighteen men. Nine neatly made bunks lined each side of the room. In between each bed sat two upright lockers and a small table for writing letters. Two ranking Airman First Class were assigned the cots at the head of the bay. A standard size foot-locker was positioned at the front of each bed, and a five-gallon oil stove stood in middle of the room. The tile floor in the barracks was clean and polished. The latrine and showers were common space shared by the Airmen housed in both bays. There was no air-conditioning in any of the barracks. Only key buildings such as the hospital, service clubs, snack bar, movie theater and recreation rooms were climate controlled. Two South Korean houseboys were allocated for each bay to insure the cleanliness of the barracks, latrine and personal appearance of every Airman.

Shane’s eyes happen to focus on a black