“Take care of yourself!” he shouted, his voice quivering and his handsome face turning somber. He waved and I could see his mouth moving, but I could no longer hear what he was saying. The train let out a long, loud whistle and began picking up speed. I watched Junho desperately trying to run alongside the train. He started to push through the crowds, waving his arms wildly, but he quickly faded into the distance.
“Sit down,” Mother said, as she brusquely pulled me in and shut the window with a bang. Then, a second later, she said more calmly, “It’s not safe to hang out the window like that and I cannot afford to lose you. Open your flowers. They smell so sweet.”
I gently tore open the paper, and saw a single, crushed white lily with an envelope tied to the stem. I quickly put the envelope in my skirt pocket as I wanted to read it later when Mother and Inchun dozed off. The sweet perfume of the lily soothed my racing heart. I caressed the velvety petals that had gotten crushed and smeared with yellow pollen. The trees, houses, and hills that passed before me seemed like nothing more than a blurry line through my tear-filled eyes. I wished that I had some magical power to make the train go back to the station, where I would find Junho standing with his head hung low. I would ask him to hop on the train for a trip to Seoul. What a fine trip that would be!
Leaning their heads back, Mother and Inchun closed their eyes. Carefully, I took the white envelope from my skirt pocket. In his fine handwriting, Junho had written:
My White Lily
Amidst the barren fields,
Dark and gray with endless gloom,
Stood alone, a white lily in bloom,
Fragile but resilient,
Swaying in the wind,
Exuding its sweet scent.
Pure and simple
You are my white lily,
My hope, my strength.
Your everlasting friend,
Junho. Summer 1953
I read it over and over. He had signed it “Your everlasting friend, ” and I clung to those words. I wondered if I would ever see him again. Drawing the sweet perfume of the white lily deep into my lungs, I thought of the choir picnic when Haerin asked him to pick the yellow lilies.
Overwhelmed with memories, I looked out the window and watched the rice paddies and small farmhouses draw closer only to fade quickly into the distance. The sun was shining through the rain-streaked window. How strange life was! Everything that had happened during the last two and a half years had seemed like a distant dream, but with this letter, it all suddenly welled up before me: the shouting poet, Junho, the long climbs up and down the mountain, the Ewha School by the seashore. The lily and the poem made it all real for me; now I knew my memories would stay with me forever. I held the lily and the poem to my heart, and concluded that my life was not a series of sand castles. There was meaning to life, and precious memories even amidst the sadness.
A bright spot of sunlight leaped from Mother’s clasped hands to Inchun’s dark hair. How kind of them to give me these moments of peace with no questions asked. Mother was now pensively looking out the window with her eyebrows tightly knit and her upper teeth gnawing on her lower Up. I could tell how worried and frightened she was. Inchun stared at me as I studied Mother’s expression. He began to whistle, then stopped and smiled. I knew he had come up with an idea to distract Mother.
“Nuna, what are you going to do with that disgusting, wilted flower? Do you want me to take care of it?” Then he motioned to the window with his chin.
I gave him an angry stare, placed the flower on Mother’s lap, and pleaded for help. She put her hands over the lily and said with a sudden smile, “Oh, you two are keeping me going. Maybe we will find the rest of the family in Seoul.”
Relieved to see Mother smile and talk, Inchun kept taunting me. “Nuna, can I see that mushy stuff you read for hours? Junho probably copied something from a dead French poet and you think he’s talking about you. Can I see it?” Mother ruffled Inchun’s hair and he grinned.
The Seoul train station was up ahead and the platform was jammed with people hoping to find their loved ones on the train. Their anxious faces searched every window. As the train came to a stop, we gathered our belongings and battled the crowds. We were pushed off the train and propelled through the streets of Seoul. No one called after us.
Everything around the station had been bombed, and nothing looked familiar. Bricks, wood, and cement blocks were stacked everywhere. The city looked like one giant construction site. We headed down what we thought was the road to our house. Trucks carrying lumber wove through the streets and honked loudly at us. Many small tents and temporary dwellings had been set up to shelter small children and old folks. Women and children were cooking in front of some of these meager homes, watchful of trucks and passers-by that might disturb their preparations.
After a long walk, we made it through the busy streets and turned down the familiar little dead-end road that led to our house at the foot of Namsan Mountain. I looked up and saw a part of our gray tiled roof from behind our big cherry tree. What a relief to see our house still standing! We walked as fast as we could, but the street was covered with broken bricks, fallen branches, chunks of concrete, and broken glass.
Memories of running from the house during the last bombing came rushing back. Mother had kept screaming for me to hurry. The sounds of sirens, airplanes, and exploding bombs had rung in my head, and whenever I looked back, I could see buildings collapsing behind me. I shuddered as I remembered the awful smell of smoke. To rid myself of these memories, I gazed up at the clear blue sky. How thankful I was for the peaceful sky above me.
Chapter Ten
We finally reached the big stone steps leading up to our house. The thick, cherry-wood doors, scorched and marred by gaping holes, still hung stubbornly from their hinges and retained some of their former elegance. The brass door knockers shaped like dragons were blackened and hung askew, but tenaciously claimed their place. Overwhelmed with relief and excitement, I ran up the stairs, all twelve of them, and stepped over the broken branches and pieces of stone strewn about on the steps.
“Sookan, no!” Mother shouted as I was about to open the door. “Wait. It could cave in. Wait.”
Suddenly a thin man appeared in one of the side windows. “Finally! You’re back!” a voice exclaimed. It was Jaechun! “Mother, don’t worry, we already secured the doors,” he shouted. I could hear him running to let us in.
It was like a dream come true. Inchun and Mother rushed up, and Hanchun, Hyunchun, and Jaechun came running to greet us. I stared at them in awe. They looked so different from the last time I had seen them. They were so much older, taller, and thinner, and their skin was dark and leathery. Their T-shirts were covered with sawdust and ash, and they all had pencils stuck behind their ears, and tools in hand.
Mother’s mouth hung open as she stared wide-eyed at her three older sons. “Can this be possible?” she gasped. “All three of you safe and sound and waiting for us here at the house!”
All I could do was stand and watch as she hugged all three of them and cried with joy. Jaechun lifted Inchun way up in the air and spun him around. Hanchun patted me on the head and pinched my cheeks as if I were still a little girl. “Oh, how big you got!” he said.
“And your father?” Mother asked, expecting him to appear any minute.
“We thought he was with you,” Hanchun blurted out.
Dead silence fell over us all. Hyunchun cleared his throat and said, “It’s still too early. It’ll take a while for everyone to make it back home.”
Mother’s face grew somber. She looked down at her hands and didn’t seem to have heard a word he said. “We must check all the hospitals. He must be sick somewhere. That’s the only thing that would keep him from us,” she said emphatically.
“Mother, there you go worrying again,” Jaechun said. “I bet you thought we were all lost, but here we are safe and sound. Father will come. Let’s wait a few days.”
Mother smiled sheepishly
at her sons.
“The three of us just met up here at the house over the past four days,” Hanchun said. He told us that when we had all run from the house, he, Hyunchun, and Jaechun had been following right behind us. But all too quickly, they had lost sight of us. Retreating army trucks were jamming the streets, and several officers were calling for men to join the army and help fight the enemy. Each of them had ended up jumping on a separate truck, and from that moment on, had been separated. Hanchun and Hyunchun spent most of their time near the battle fields. Jaechun, because of his poor health, worked as a translator for a war correspondent near the battle zone.
Hanchun went on to say that over the past few days, they had been busy clearing the road, the steps, and the yard. When they first arrived, they could barely make their way up to the house. Now they had begun repairing the inside of the house.
Hanchun carefully opened the front door. We stepped inside, and found ourselves standing in a large, empty space. All of the walls had crumbled, and there were mounds of debris gathered in the comers. In the piles of rubble, I saw pieces of our furniture, broken records, and clothes; everything was an ashen gray and was barely identifiable. The wide glass doors that led out to Mother’s garden had shattered, and the metal door frames were rusted and twisted like an odd sculpture. One whole corner of the house was missing, and I could see straight out to the backyard. Mother’s pretty greenhouse in the far corner of the garden was now just a pile of broken glass. The grapevine trellis, under which I had loved to read while eating the deep purple grapes, was now a heap of charred wood. The front doors had been terribly deceiving. After seeing all this destruction, I was amazed that the doors still stood.
“It’s going to take a long time,” Hanchun said, “but we can make this place livable again. For now, we should all sleep in the basement."
For the next few weeks, while we were hard at work repairing our house, my brothers secretly took turns checking all the hospitals and information centers for any news of Father. They didn’t say anything to Mother, and she never asked. She just kept hoping for good news.
Father Lee finally discovered the sad truth. Father’s name was on a list of men who had died during the bombing. Mother did not cry when she heard the news. She somberly stared down at her hands, just as she had when we first returned to the house and learned that Father was not there. I think she knew then.
I ran out and stood staring at the duck pond that Father had made for Mother. Out of smooth, gray pebbles, he had built it in the shape of the Korean peninsula. It had been a surprise for her birthday. I furiously began cleaning the pond, and Mother eventually came out and joined me. Thinking of Father, we worked in silence for several days to restore the little pond. Jaechun brought three ducklings home one day, and Mother often sat by the pond and fed them. Whenever she got up, the ducks would waddle after her into the garden.
Jaechun repaired my comer room, which once had large picture windows on two sides so that I could see the city of Seoul. Knowing how much I loved looking out at the sky, he managed to obtain several large plates of glass, which he pieced together. It was far from what it used to be, but I once again had a full view of the sky and of downtown Seoul. In the basement I found a small broken desk, a brass candleholder, and a rickety chair that Jaechun had nailed back together. I took out Half Moon, which held the dried petals of my white lily, and I placed it on the desk. I had safely tucked Junho’s picture away in my bookbag to keep it from my protective older brothers.
Fortunately, the Ewha School had not been damaged much, and it soon reopened. I was happy to see so many friends I hadn’t seen in three years, and we shouted and embraced. We didn’t speak of those who weren’t present, for none of us wanted to hear more bad news. I was glad to see Bokhi there, as I hadn’t seen her since we left Pusan. She was still living with her old aunt and uncle, and now many of her first and second cousins had come to live with them too. Her aunt and uncle were pleased to take care of them, and, in return, the young people worked hard to repair what was left of their house.
Teacher Yun worked harder than ever to get Ewha back up and running. As the oldest survivor in her family, she now had many little nieces and nephews to take care of at home. She often had to bring the little ones to school, and Bokhi and I babysat during recess.
Mother spent several days sorting through the piles of rubble in our house. I occasionally joined her, but it was a constant reminder of the precious things we used to have, none of which seemed salvageable. I threw everything back in distaste and wondered why Mother kept at it so diligently. I wanted to ask, but she looked so sad that I felt she just needed something to do to get over her grief. After she had gone through the piles in the house, she started carefully digging up every inch of the backyard, like an archeologist.
I joined her for a while, and I did recover one thing I couldn’t part with. It was my Luxy’s wooden bowl. Three-quarters of it, that is. It was broken and dirty, but I took it to my room anyway. Luxy used to bring this wooden bowl to me on hot days and whimper for cool water. I missed her.
When Jaechun saw the remains of Luxy’s bowl, clean and shiny, on my desk, he said gently, “Sookan, you do know Luxy is alive and well, don’t you?”
“No, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I said as tears started streaming down my face. “I’ve been wondering all this time, but was afraid to ask. How do you know? I have been afraid to help Mother dig up the backyard. I thought I might find Luxy buried there.”
Jaechun told me that as he was running out of the house that day, he heard Luxy whimpering. He grabbed her and rushed out into the crowds. An army officer stuck his head out of a Jeep and shouted, “Handsome boxer you have there. Is he well trained?”
“Yes, sir! She’s very intelligent and obeys orders.”
The officer looked at Luxy’s clear brown eyes and cocked ears and said, “Hop on. You can’t run with the dog like that.” They rode all the way to the army base. Jaechun was immediately assigned some work translating, and the officer decided to keep Luxy. Jaechun said he often saw Luxy riding around in the Jeep with the officer, and she seemed proud and happy. Every time she passed Jaechun, she barked to say hello. After about a month, the officer was transferred to a safer zone, and took Luxy with him. Jaechun was sure that Luxy was still alive and that she was being well cared for by the officer.
I wasn’t sure how much of his story to believe, but it was comforting. I hoped he was right and that Luxy was safe and happy somewhere.
Mother went on digging up the backyard for days. She examined every rag and every piece of wood, pottery, or metal she found. Occasionally I saw her smile as she put something in her pocket. I still didn’t know what she was doing.
Finally, she proudly held out her treasures for me to see. She had found a piece of her gold bracelet, twisted and flattened. Her gold butterfly pin was mostly intact, except for the wings, which were broken. She even found her silver hair pin, crushed flat and caked with dirt.
“I have finally been rewarded for all that digging. I found these in the most unlikely places. They were buried deep in the earth. The bomb’s force was tremendous.”
“They’re all broken and dirty. What good are they?” I said with disappointment.
“Mr. Han, the jewelry craftsman, can melt these pieces down and make something new. He will buy these from me.”
Mother was right. The jeweler did buy those scraps from her, and she earned enough money for a special Requiem Mass for my father. She asked Father Lee to have the organist and the choir there. She ordered a large bundle of fresh flowers and arranged for refreshments afterwards for all the relatives and friends who came to the Mass.
Myungdong Cathedral was filled with people. All the women sat on the left side and the men on the right. I looked over at my four brothers, who all looked very handsome. Mother and I stood across from them. Just this once, I wished we could all sit together. I felt terribly sad and wanted the whole family together. But that was
not allowed.
Teacher Yun, who was Presbyterian, and Bokhi, who was Buddhist, cautiously walked into the cathedral and sat together at the end of a pew. They bowed to Mother when we looked over. I could tell Bokhi was scared to be in a Catholic church for the first time. Behind Inchun was his science teacher, with whom he had spent so much time in Pusan. He gently touched Inchun on the shoulder to say hello, and Inchun turned and bowed.
Standing next to his three older brothers, Inchun looked very grown up. He was now one of the men. He did everything with our older brothers these days. He played basketball with them and went hiking with them. On Sundays, he went to Mass with them. They were inseparable. It was as if they had made a pact to spend every possible minute together to make up for the time they had been apart during the war. Inchun loved being with his older brothers and no longer had any reason to spend time with me. Though he still loved me, I was a girl, after all, and he had little business hanging around with me. I saw Mother look over at the boys, and suddenly I felt lonesome, alone, and different from all of them.
Under the morning light, the tall stained-glass windows of Myungdong Cathedral cast bright blue and purple shadows on our faces. The organ started to play as Father Lee slowly walked down the aisle in his black funeral vestment. How sad that our first big Mass together since we had returned from Pusan had to be for such a somber occasion. I faithfully mouthed the prayers and songs and walked up to the altar for communion, but my mind was a million miles away. I felt anxious and confused. I was tired of this war that kept haunting me. I looked at the beautiful cathedral and remembered how delighted I used to be to come here. The wondrous stained-glass windows depicting the saints used to fill me with awe. The sun filtering through these colored windows and the resounding organ music used to transport me to another world. But, now, I just felt unhappy and restless.
Echoes of the White Giraffe Page 8