Echoes of the White Giraffe (7 page)

“Did you all get out safely?” Junho asked anxiously, his dark eyes staring at me.

“Oh, yes. We put thick blankets over our heads and joined the throngs of people headed up Namsan Mountain. We stayed up on the mountain all night and watched the bombs erupt into flames in the city below. We heard buildings crumble, trees crack, and then, screams of death. As we were sitting there, I realized my brother Jaechun was holding a large bundle in his arms, which he rocked back and forth like a baby. I instantly realized it was Luxy wrapped in that bundle. I had been so frightened, I hadn't even thought of Luxy until I saw Jaechun holding her. While I had stood by my window in shock watching the bombs fall, Mother had been wrapping up Luxy. It was a good thing that Luxy was bundled up to look like an infant, for other people on the mountain would have been afraid if they knew a dog was with them. They would have panicked, fearing that a dog would go crazy with the noise and the crowds and might bite them.”

“You mean Luxy sat through the bombing without making a sound?” Junho asked incredulously.

“Oh, no! Jaechun said she moaned and whimpered a lot. But Luxy's ears were well covered with rubber shoes and pillows, and even her eyes were covered. Mother left only Luxy's nose exposed so that she could breathe. Jaechun thinks it was the smell of the bombs that bothered Luxy most.”

“How long were you on the hill?”

“All night long. The bombing finally stopped at dawn, and we began making our way back home. We found our house half bombed and smoldering. We were hungry, and exhausted, and didn't know what we would do next. We sat on the stoop and started to unwrap poor Luxy. When we uncovered her, she gave such a loud, joyous bark. She shook her body vigorously and started jumping and running around the yard, celebrating her freedom. She made us laugh and forget that we were sitting in the middle of a bombed city.”

Junho's face brightened. “I'm glad everyone was all right. Luxy was lucky to be so well loved and cared for.”

“Well, I don't know where she is now. Things got worse. About six months after that, we had to leave Seoul. I left her all alone. I don't know what happened to her. When the North Korean Communists and Communist Chinese came in January, they were shooting everyone in sight. There were more bombs, and we had to run and follow the retreating South Korean and U.N. soldiers going south. It was chaos, and Mother, Inchun and I were separated from my father and my three older brothers. The three of us, along with thousands of other refugees, walked the whole day in the bitter cold snow to Inchon harbor. I was terribly cold and scared. My feet were frozen, but I didn't even realize it until we were aboard a big gray ship headed for Pusan. It was only once we were on the ship that I even thought of my Luxy. Can you believe it? I felt so guilty and ashamed that I never mentioned Luxy to Mother or to Inchun.

“Mother must have known how much it bothered me, because she drew this sketch for me. Each time I see a dog or hear a dog bark, I feel guilty that I did not love Luxy enough to save her; she, my dog, who depended on me. I had thought only of myself. Mother tried to make me feel better by saying it couldn't be helped, that it was too crazy and too horrible. But I still can't help feeling guilty and sad whenever I think of it.”

Junho listened intently, with his hands folded tightly in his lap. “You couldn't have walked with her in that cold snow. She may still be alive in Seoul. You shouldn't feel bad.” He then took a deep breath and asked with concern, “Do you have any idea of what happened to your father and brothers?”

“I don't know. Mother thinks they probably joined the army. I saw many young men hopping onto the army trucks that drove by. The streets were so crowded with people and with retreating soldiers that I didn't even see my father and brothers after we left the house. We were pushed along by the crowds all the way to Inchon harbor. We thought we might find them here in Pusan, but we still have had no news of them.”

Junho was silent for a while. Then he looked up and said, “Well, maybe they did join the army and are busy protecting us. Maybe you'll hear from them soon, and they'll join you here. I'm so sad that you have suffered so much, Sookan. But life is strange, isn't it? As awful as the war is, it
is
because of the war that we're sitting here talking together now. The war brought us our friendship, which is something we shall keep forever.” He looked at me expectantly.

I nodded in silence, overwhelmed by a surge of strange, new feelings.

I heard Junho take a deep breath and clear his throat. With tremendous gravity, he said, “I've been meaning to ask you something. Can you tell me what you want to do when you finish Ewha High School?”

“Oh, I know exactly what I want to do. I'm going to America to study history,” I said with confidence. “Then, I'll come back to Seoul and join my sister Theresa in the convent. She often tells me how happy she is helping the less fortunate. She is waiting for me to join her. And I want to teach and write as well. There's so much I want to do. ”

“But why America? It's so far away. You can study history at Korean universities, too, you know,” he responded incredulously. “And do you really want to be a nun?"

“Yes, I'm positive—after I get my history degree in America, that is. I know I could study history here, but ever since I was little I've wanted to meet people beyond the Pacific Ocean. I want to know about them, and I want them to know about me. I want to see what it's like there. But most of all, I want to study history there.

“I often wonder what Americans think about a small country like Korea. Our peninsula is so tiny and yet it is constantly being occupied or fought over. My family and I ran away from the Russians in Pyongyang; then, once we settled in Seoul and were living a normal, happy life, we were driven away by the North Koreans and Communist Chinese. I don't understand how history and politics work, and maybe if I study in America, I will understand better.”

Junho knit his brow as he listened. “Well, I still think America is too far to go. But if that is your dream, I suppose you should follow it. You sound as if you have given a lot of thought to the matter.”

He seemed puzzled and disturbed, and fell silent. I watched his somber expression and could almost see him ruminating on our conversation. Having lived in Pusan all his life, I wondered if he could understand a girl's desire to go so far away. I saw him trying to form a smile to mask his confusion.

“Well, it's still a long time before I even graduate from Ewha High School,” I said. “What about you? Do you know what you want to be?”

“I know what I
have
to be. My parents expect me to go to Pusan College this coming spring and then on to Pusan Medical School. I am expected to open an office right next to my father's. I am to be the town doctor, just like my father and his father before him. I must not break the Min family tradition.” He stared gloomily at his folded hands.

“You could sing for your patients to ease their pain. You could be the first great singing doctor,” I said cheerfully, not quite knowing the right response.

Junho's face brightened at the thought, but then he sighed deeply. “I am more interested in philosophy. I love reading the works of the great philosophers, but my parents think it's a waste of time. They wish I would pore over the medical books we have at home instead. I've just finished reading a book on Thomas Aquinas, and Father Lee said he would be happy to discuss it, if I wanted to. Maybe I will go see him.”

“Sookan, look, look at the beautiful rainbow!” Mother exclaimed as she came back into the room. Junho and I looked out. I hadn't even realized that the rain had stopped. A brilliant rainbow shimmered gloriously in the western sky. But for the first time I was not happy to see such a magnificent sight.

Junho got up, took his hat and coat, and quietly mumbled to me, “I must be going. I have no business staying now.”

I didn't say anything. I just stood up beside him and stared out at the blue-gray evening sky, wishing it would suddenly start to pour again. There was so much more that I wanted to talk about with Junho, but I knew he couldn't stay any longer.

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.

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.