I saw Mother watching, waiting expectantly for him to go. I couldn’t blame her. I knew what she must have been thinking. “It isn’t proper for him to stay now. What will people think? They will say that I am not raising my daughter properly because she has no father and no elder brothers around. Besides, I might give Sookan the wrong impression. She should know that it isn’t proper for her to chat the whole afternoon away with a young man.” For once I wished Mother would forget all about tradition and the neighbors and just let me talk to Junho a little longer.
“Last week, I went with my father to assist some of the army medical officers,” Junho said, looking at Mother. “They were saying that a truce is being negotiated. They said that it should not be too long before people can return to their homes in Seoul. You must be looking forward to going home.”
“Well, it is our home and we should go back when we can. I hope my sons and my husband will be there waiting for us. Our house, however, will probably be no more than a heap of rubble.” She sighed pensively. “I don’t know what we will find there, but we have to go back and face our fate and start picking up the pieces again.”
Shaking her head with exasperation, Mother continued, “Well, who knows how long it will really be before we can go home again. This war has been such a seesaw. The Communists seized Seoul, the U.N. and South Korean forces recaptured Seoul, then the Communist Chinese and the North Communists seized Seoul again. We have no control over our own destiny. The Japanese occupied Korea for decades, and now there are the Communist Chinese, and, of course, the tricky Russians, working behind the scenes with the North Communists.”
Junho nodded with understanding.
“Oh, Junho, here I am keeping you even longer,” Mother said, throwing her hands in the air. “You have a long way to go. Thank you for coming up.”
Junho bowed deeply to Mother, nodded goodbye to me, and left to battle the slippery mountain. Mother pensively watched him go down the hill. I had thought she might ask him to stay for dinner. But I knew I was being silly. That was out of the question.
Mother stared out into the distance, and I knew she was thinking of the days before the war, when she would listen to my father and brothers heatedly discuss international politics late into the night. Proud of her smart sons and husband, Mother would busily provide drinks and hot food to fuel their discussions. Meanwhile, she would listen to as much of their conversation as she could, soaking up all the information. I remembered how I used to wish I could sit and listen without having to get up to help Mother in the kitchen. But Mother always seemed happy refilling their cups and plates, and watching them gobble up the food that had taken her all day to prepare.
I watched Junho grow smaller and smaller as he walked down the hill, until he finally disappeared from sight. I felt lonely all of a sudden, and I felt like running after him yelling, “Stop, stop! Wait for me. I’ll walk you down.” But instead, I stood rigid, with my lips pressed tight, and I stared down at the shacks below.
“It was nice to have him visit. He will make a fine doctor,” Mother said as she glanced over at me.
I thought about the armistice. Just as I had gotten used to life here on refugee mountain, had started school again and had found an everlasting friend, I would have to go back. But back to what? I was too tired to think about it all. I plopped down on the little wooden ledge and watched the night seize the sky. I heard Inchun whistling as he returned home.
Chapter Seven
A rickety old bus waited outside the church to take the choir members on a picnic as a group of women fluttered about loading the bus with baskets of food and drink. To thank us for our singing, the women from the church had rented the bus and packed all our favorite picnic foods. Exhausted, but excited for us, they waved goodbye. Knowing how much trouble they had gone to, I felt as if I were sitting in the most beautiful chariot laden with the most exquisite delicacies.
The boys sat on the right side of the bus and the girls on the left. As expected, Haerin, who was sitting at the very front, turned and knelt on her seat, pulled her baton from her bag, and like a magician with a wand, waved her baton to make the music begin. We started somewhat reluctantly, but soon we all broke into song.
Moving my mouth perfunctorily, I stared out the small, dusty window. Cows grazed lazily, a few lifting their heads to look at the speeding bus. The modest country farmhouses, trees, and animals all formed part of the moving picture I watched through the window. I looked over at Junho and saw that he, too, was gazing out the window deep in reverie.
When the bus finally came to a stop, we stepped out onto a large, open field of wildflowers. Giant dragonflies, with their transparent wings, flew in front of us in pairs. Tiger butterflies flew high and low, boasting bold black and yellow patterns emblazoned on their wings. We walked through the fields toward a clearing, lined with rows of clean army barracks, identical in every way. Off to the side, at the end of a wide concrete-paved walk, was an imposing, red-brick building that had been the army headquarters. Flanking the entrance to this building were two tall poplar trees, standing at attention. Everything exuded a sense of orderliness. Handsome soldiers, in their well-pressed uniforms and spit-shined shoes, marched by, saluting when they passed each other, or when their officers sped by in Jeeps. The birds, however, seemed oblivious and chirped noisily as they flew past the army headquarters toward the field of wildflowers. I could see why the church ladies had chosen this as the site for our picnic. The disciplined perfection of the army base against the colorful abandon of the fields created a strangely comforting and beautiful atmosphere.
Led by Father Lee, we strolled around the grounds. Junho took off his jacket, slung it over his shoulder, and lagged behind, humming. Observing every move her oppa made, Haerin, too, slowed down to keep him company. I heard Junho say, “Haerin, maybe this is a good time for Sookan and me to practice our duets.”
Pulling my sleeve, Haerin said, “Sookan, walk with us. Let’s sing.”
Haerin was single-minded when it came to her choir, and Junho had cleverly seized the opportunity to get us together. I saw a broad smile spread across his face as I joined them. Walking backwards so that she could face us, Haerin waved her arms, and as we sang, she raised her eyebrows up and down and formed her mouth into little oh’s and ah’s to prompt us. Our songs carried in the crisp air, and even the disciplined soldiers smiled with approval as they passed us.
The choir started breaking up into several groups to tour the exhibits at the army headquarters. But Junho, Haerin, and I headed for the field where the wildflowers and tall grass grew. I was thankful for Haerin’s company. Were it not for her presence, Junho and I wouldn’t have been able to walk, talk, and sing together. It wouldn’t have been proper for us to walk alone together unless we were engaged, and even then, we would have had to be chaperoned by a family member for propriety’s sake. With Haerin along, however, nothing seemed unusual, and I felt assured that we would not attract disapproving stares.
As we walked farther into the overgrown field, we saw a cluster of unusually large, bright yellow lilies swaying in the wind. “Oh, look, Oppa! Those are the yellowest lilies I’ve ever seen! Go and pick some for me!”
“Haerin, they will soon wilt in your warm hands,” he said disapprovingly.
Haerin pouted and stormed ahead, stomping her feet. But when Junho broke into the Pusan High School song, she ran back, reclaimed her place next to her older brother, and joined him mid-verse. Haerin’s childish behavior amused me, and I saw how intensely she loved her brother.
When the bus dropped us off back at the church that evening, Junho dashed upstairs and brought back two hymnals.
“Why are you going to take them home, Oppa?” Haerin asked, looking puzzled.
“Well, I don’t think I know all the words to the Gloria, ” he said earnestly. “This book’s version seems a bit different from those we have at home. If Sookan and I are to sing a duet next Sunday, we’d better read through it carefully.”
I was just about to say, “I know all the words. I don’t need to take it with me.” But something in Junho’s eyes and in the way he tightly clutched the books told me that it was better to keep quiet.
We headed home, chatting and singing as usual, with Haerin walking between us. Once in a while, when we thought Haerin wasn’t looking, we’d share a brief glance. All too soon, we arrived in front of Junho’s house at the foot of the mountain.
Handing me one of the two hymnals, he said with great formality, “Here, Sookan, you had better take one and go over the text again. It is on page one thirty-five. Be careful, as some of the pages are falling out.”
I tried to think of something to say so that we could linger and talk a bit more, but Haerin tugged at his sleeve. “Come on, Oppa. Mommy will be wondering where we are.” Junho wore a strange smile of resignation, and followed his sister in silence, like a docile bear.
I clutched the book tightly and rushed up the mountain, wondering why all the fuss about the Gloria. When I arrived at my favorite spot near the well, I sat on a small rock and opened to [>]. A thin white envelope fell onto my lap. Excited, I stared at the pristine white envelope. There was nothing written on it, but it had to be for me. A letter to me from Junho! I had never received a letter from a boy before, and all the excuses and secrecy made this letter all the more precious and special.
I broke the tight seal. A short note read, “Sookan, soon you will be returning to your home in Seoul. The negotiations seem to be winding down and it looks as though they will be signing an armistice agreement. Before you leave Pusan, I would like you to meet me at the photo studio—you’ve passed it several times—the one with the silly sign, ‘Beautiful Pictures, Every Time.’ Please come! I will be waiting, Friday at 4 p.m. Junho.”
I read the letter over and over again. Each time I read it, my heart raced with excitement and delight. His handwriting was clear and strong. I could almost see his gentle, dark eyes imploring me to come.
I knew where the studio was. It was on my way home from Ewha. Many times I had wondered about that place. When might Junho have seen me passing the studio? I had never seen him in that part of town. Did he sometimes follow me as I walked home from school? Maybe he just happened to be passing by and saw me. What a wonderful idea to have our picture taken together! Why hadn’t I thought of it? How sweet of him to arrange it all so cleverly. I would surely go meet him there.
I read the note again, very slowly this time. I must calm down, I thought. I can’t go. I mustn’t. What was the matter with me? Had I gone insane? Only engaged couples could have their pictures taken together. A marriage needs to have been agreed upon by the families to justify taking a picture together. It’s not as if he were my brother or first cousin. Junho should know all this. What could be the matter with him? Had he lost his senses? How could he ask me to do such a rebellious thing and expect me to show up? Does he think that I am so wild and impetuous that I would do such a thing just because he asked? Doesn’t he know that I would disgrace myself and my family? He must know my mother would never allow such a thing! I shook my head in determination. I would not go! I could not! That was it. I wanted to crumble the note and stick it back into the book as if it didn’t matter.
But Junho was so special to me. And I would soon be leaving Pusan. We would probably never see each other again. I would certainly love to have a photo to remember him by. Maybe I could ask Mother for permission for this special souvenir. But I knew she would forbid it. It was simply out of the question. Such things were never done. “Such a disgrace. Disgrace!” I shouted to myself as I sat on the little rock.
Still, the image of Junho sitting and waiting in the studio lingered in my mind. How could I disappoint him? I would talk it over with Bokhi and Teacher Yun. Perhaps they would tell me what I should do. But I knew they would only gape in amazement at my lack of propriety. They would conclude that I had lost all respect for myself and for my family, and, in turn, they would lose respect for me. I couldn’t let that happen. It was only Saturday, and I had six more days to think about it. Deciding to give myself some time, I hid the letter at the bottom of my school bag.
For the next few days, I tried desperately to decide what I should do. Bokhi said I seemed troubled and complained that I was too quiet. Teacher Yun and Mother also noticed how quiet I had grown and kept asking me if I felt all right. I assured them I was fine, but Friday came all too quickly, and I still did not know what to do. Tom, I decided just to see where my feet would take me when the time came.
When our last class ended, I sprang out the door without waiting for Bokhi and without saying goodbye to Teacher Yun.
“Sookan, Sookan,” Bokhi called as she ran to catch up with me. “Please talk to me. We always used to be able to share our troubles with each other. Please talk to me. I know you have a problem. Tell me what it is! Remember I am two years older. I may know better. I can help you.”
I couldn’t respond.
“Are you mad at me? Don’t you like me anymore?” she asked.
“Oh, Bokhi, I still like you as much as I always have. I don’t have a problem. Can I just go now? Why don’t you go home?”
“Are we drifting apart because I’m not Catholic and am not in the choir with you? Is that it?”
I knew Bokhi was just trying to provoke me into talking to her. She had guessed it had something to do with the choir. Though I tried to maintain composure, I couldn’t help snapping impatiently, “Bokhi, I am fine! There is nothing I can tell you. I myself do not know. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Bokhi saw the cold look in my eyes and she turned away. I instantly felt horrible, and stood watching her rush away. She didn’t look back. I knew I had hurt her as never before. I thought of running after her, linking arms with her, and telling her all about Junho. But I just stood there and watched her disappear from sight. My callousness surprised me. I was ashamed at how eager I had been to be rid of her. For the first time, I had a secret that I couldn’t share with my best friend. I wondered if I was turning into a bad person. I didn’t know what I felt or thought anymore. But I kept walking, and quickly turned down the street to the photo studio.
The sign beckoned: “Beautiful Pictures, Every Time.” In a small glass case were pictures of proud grandparents surrounded by their large families, happy couples on their wedding day, and children celebrating their 100th day of life. I thought of passing right by as I had so many times before. But instead, I reached out and pushed open the wooden door. Inside the small hallway was a set of steep narrow stairs that seemed to shout down to me, “Turn back! Go see Bokhi!” But I climbed the stairs defiantly, and my trembling hand pushed open a frosted glass door on the second floor.
As the door swung open, I saw Junho sitting on a wooden bench in front of the studio’s cameras. It was a different world in there with the sunny, filtered lights. “You’re here!” Junho exclaimed, looking at once relieved and elated.
“I want a picture of us together,” he said to the photographer as he motioned for me to hurry and sit next to him.
Grinning cheerfully, the photographer said, “Good! good! Perfect timing. Come sit right next to him. No, no, a bit closer, a little more. Closer. Good!” Then he came over to twist Junho’s shoulders slightly so that his left shoulder was tucked behind my right shoulder. Rushing back to look through his camera lens, he said, “Beautiful! Now tilt your head a bit toward his. Oh, that’s very sweet. Tilt your head toward hers, too. Just a bit. Ah, perfect!”
The shutter clicked. Smiling contentedly, the enthusiastic photographer congratulated himself. “What a picture! The composition, the angles, the light—it’s a masterpiece. You will see. It will be ready in a few days.”
Dazed from the bright lights and numb from the whole experience, I followed Junho down the narrow stairs in silence. When we reached the bottom, we stood for a minute, looking at each other. Junho seemed calm and happy, and I felt so close to him.
“I’m glad you came,�
�� he whispered. “I can’t wait to see the picture.” I nodded in silence, and he suddenly grew somber. “I am afraid we don’t have too many days left together,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Well, you must hurry to make the hike up the mountain before sundown.” I couldn’t say a thing. I felt so numb and confused. “You go first and take the short cut,” he said. “I will go the long way. ” He didn’t want to take any chances now. I smiled and quickly left.
That night, I ate a huge dinner, not because I was hungry but because I feared that if I looked up from my plate, Mother would know that I was keeping something from her. As I busily chewed my food, my heart throbbed. I had never disobeyed her, and had never kept a secret from her. That had all changed today. My shoulders ached as if I were carrying a ton of bricks. How long would I feel this way? Should I tell her about the photo studio? It would hurt her and worry her, and now, it was too late anyway. What had possessed me to do such a daring thing? And how could I be so dishonest? As I ate the last bite of my dinner, Junho’s smiling face appeared before me. Was Junho worth all this pain? Yes, he certainly was, I concluded.
“You still don’t look quite right, but your appetite has certainly come back stronger than ever,” Mother said. She put her hand against my forehead and asked, “Is something troubling you? Anything you want to get off your chest?”
For the first time, I lied. “No, nothing at all. I’m fine, Mother," I said, giving her a big hug. I wondered if she would still love me as much if she knew that I had betrayed her for Junho.
Chapter Eight
The following Sunday, after Mass, Haerin asked Junho and me to put the hymnals in the closet as she had something important to attend to. While I collected the books, Junho drew near and whispered, “Stay around. Maybe we can talk here after everyone leaves. I have the picture.” He patted his chest pocket gently.
Echoes of the White Giraffe Page 6
