Echoes of the White Giraffe (12 page)

Hyunchun's room was bare. Until recently, he had not spent much time at home. His job teaching typing seemed to keep him busier and busier. Mother and I chuckled about his tremendous success at the typing school. We were sure that many girls registered for his class because of his good looks and charm rather than his teaching expertise. He typed no better than I did, and often looked at a book called
All You Need to Know About Typing.

Every Sunday, we had a large family dinner and invited many friends and neighbors. Father Lee was a regular guest, and Teacher Yun and Bokhi often joined us. The dinners lasted for several hours, as the men all discussed their jobs, school, and, of course, international politics. Mother rushed back and forth from the kitchen, constantly bringing more hot food, tea, and warm rice wine. She beamed as she watched everyone enjoy her cooking, and she listened attentively to the discussions.

One Sunday evening, I left the table early to go study for the government test. The setting sun shone warmly on the wide pine boards in the hallway leading to my room. It seemed an inviting place to sit and relax, and so I sat down, basking in the setting sun and staring out the window at Mother's green garden. The sound of distant voices, laughter, and the rattling of chopsticks and dishes was comforting.

Why couldn't I just sit in the dining room with the rest of the family and enjoy being with them? Why was I always running around trying to learn more and do something different? Why did I want to leave and go so far away, especially now that everything seemed to be settling down? I always felt so empty, restless, and incomplete. What was I searching for? I didn't know exactly, but I felt I had to go away to find something that would fill the emptiness inside me.

I heard a knock on the front door. Jaechun answered the door, and then, I heard the murmur of men's voices. I remained in the hallway, and saw Jaechun walk back to the dining room. Mother then rushed to the door. “Oh, come in!” she said with surprise. “Oh, of course, this way.” Mother and the guest stepped out of the front alcove into the hallway, which was within my view. The guest was Junho.

“Sookan,” she called. “Look who's here! It's Junho. He wants to visit with you for a while.” She led him to me. “You can either sit in the living room, or you can go to your room and talk. Your room is pretty at this hour with the sun setting.”

She left Junho and went back to the dining room. Everyone in the dining room fell silent, and then I heard Mother's voice. I was sure Jaechun and my other brothers were demanding an explanation.

I was stunned to see Junho standing nervously in front of me. But my initial shock quickly turned to elation. How brave of him to come here and ask to see me. It was clever that he asked to see my mother first instead of asking for me. I wouldn't have known what to do.

“My room is around the comer, at the end of the hallway. It's small, but we can see the whole city from there,” I said nervously. He followed me, having already regained his composure.

Mother appeared right behind us, carrying a small chair to my room. She saw to it that we sat opposite each other at the table in my room, and said, “I'll bring you some tea. Junho, have you eaten? I can bring in some snacks.”

“Oh, thank you, but I can only stay a few minutes,” he said emphatically. “There is no need for you to bring any tea. I must be going very soon.”

“Well, all right, then. But if you change your mind, it's no problem. I hope you will stay awhile.” She walked out and closed the door halfway.

I remembered telling Junho that I lived at the foot of Namsan Mountain, but I had never expected him to show up here. Still amazed to see him before me, I stared at him, studying every noticeable change. His strong but gentle features were now more chiseled and distinct. There was a maturity and strength that I hadn't noticed before. He wore a dark suit, and clutched a Dongkuk University hat in his hand, so I knew he was a student there. From my room, I could even see some of his university's buildings.

“Would you like to put your hat down?”

He responded with an embarrassed smile. Though he seemed calm and composed, I saw his hand tremble as he placed his cap on the desk.

“How long have you been a student at Dongkuk University? And how long have you been in Seoul?” I asked.

“I have been here several months. Since I graduated from Pusan High School. I live at a boarding house near the university.”

“Oh,” I said awkwardly. There were so many things I wanted to tell him. I wished I could tell him how happy and excited I was to see him. I wanted him to know how I treasured our photograph, and that I could recite his poem by heart. But I just sat quietly and watched the sunset from my window.

“You have a beautiful view from here. Your house must have been wonderful before the bombing,” Junho said as he gazed at the orange sunset.

I smiled, and I felt like crying out, “Junho, how glad I am to see you! How often I thought about you!” But I couldn't seem to say a word. I was so frustrated at not being able to express my feelings.

“Are you planning to go abroad to study?” he asked with great urgency.

“Yes, I will leave as soon as I pass the government exam. I'm taking the test right after graduation. Father Lee promised to help me apply for a scholarship. I have filled out all the paperwork, and Teacher Yun has written my recommendation.”

Then, anxious to know whether it was true that he wanted to be a priest, I asked, “What are you studying now? Medicine? Philosophy? Theology?”

Junho took a long breath and smiled. “Well, there have been a lot of changes in my life since our last long conversation. I am not going to be a doctor. I am now studying literature at the university, but eventually I want to enter the seminary in Seoul.”

I thought of how Dr. and Mrs. Min and Haerin must blame me. I knew they must miss him now that he was so far from Pusan. Was I responsible for his coming to Seoul? Had he decided to go to the seminary because I had told him of my plans to enter the convent? I thought of our days in Pusan together. He was always reading poetry, philosophy, and theology, and pondering the meaning of life. Perhaps he was meant to go to the seminary. I couldn't have changed all his plans.

Junho looked into my eyes and asked, “Do you still have the picture?”

“Yes!” I said.

“The poem, too?”

“Yes!”

“May I have them back? That is why I have come,” he said in a low voice as he looked down at his hands.

“No, I can't give them to you. I won't!” I retorted, surprised and confused. My face grew hot. Why did he want them back?

Junho watched my face flush with anger and embarrassment. Then his eyes twinkled gently, and a smile came to his lips. He let out a long breath of relief.

“I must go now,” he said, as he stood up.

Still sitting, I looked up at him and realized that he had not come for his poem or our picture at all. He just wanted to know if I still cared. He seemed relieved and happy that I wouldn't give them back to him. Sorry that I had ever doubted his everlasting friendship, I watched the last glorious rays of sun cling to the distant hills of Seoul. Although he didn't say that this was the last time we would see each other, I somehow sensed a finality in this meeting. I felt that he had come here to close a chapter in his life. Helplessness engulfed me and I sat in silence.

His voice trembled as he said, “Sookan, don't look so sad and dark. I will never stop thinking of you. Nothing will end; nothing ever does. Everything good that touches our lives becomes part of us forever. You know that.” I nodded in silence.

“We'll always be friends,” he said. “We're taking the same path, you know: you will eventually go to the convent, and I will be at the seminary. We will help others, and in doing so, our lives will be rich and meaningful. Who knows? Maybe someday we will even work on the same project together.”

I managed a small smile and asked, “When are you going into the seminary?”

“Oh, I don't know. I have met with the Fathers there already. Now I must wait patiently. When they call me, I will go. ”

I heard Mother coming down the hallway, and could see the glow of the candle she was bringing to us. She watched us as we gazed at the sunset, and said, “You know, Junho, I often think of the fine hymns you and Sookan used to sing.”

“Thank you,” he said pensively.

Mother placed the candle on my desk and walked out. Junho and I both realized that it was now time for him to go. It would not be proper for us to chat unchaperoned in my room any longer. I knew my brothers wore disapproving scowls as they anxiously waited for him to leave.

There was so much I wanted to talk to Junho about, but we didn't have the time.

“I'd better go before I get you into trouble with your mother and brothers.”

I stared helplessly at the flickering candle. I wished he could stay just a few minutes longer. As if he read my sentiments in my gaze, he sat down again. In silence, we both watched the candle burning, shedding hot tears of wax.

Sadly, he softly whispered, “I must go.” He turned to the door and walked out of my room.

I desperately wanted to say, “Let's see each other just one more time before you enter the seminary.” But I couldn't utter a sound. My mouth was parched, and my lips glued tight. My body trembled with sadness and anger.
Why can't we sit and talk
?
What is wrong with that
? I thought.

I rested my gaze on his broad shoulders and followed him with my eyes. I thought of the happy days when I stood next to him and reveled in the sound of our voices ringing through the chapel. Quickly I caught up with him in the hallway. “Did you sing much after I left the choir?”

Stopping briefly, he said, “No, I dropped out of the choir when you stopped coming. I haven't sung once since. I don't think anyone else can sing with me as you did.” Then he smiled, knowing how happy he had made me.

My family and friends were still in the dining room, and we could hear low murmuring and the sound of silver chopsticks clinking against each other. When Junho reached the alcove by the front door, he slipped on his shoes and took a long look at me, as if for the last time. “You've gotten so tall. You almost come up to my shoulders now,” he said as he moved to my side, just as we had always stood in choir. “Well, good luck on your test,” he added with a forced smile.

He opened the door and ran down the stone steps. Without uttering a word, I followed him. When he reached the bottom, he kept walking without looking back. I stopped and watched as he disappeared into the darkness.

Rubbing my teary eyes, I wanted to shout, “Come to visit me just once more, or maybe we can meet somewhere!” But suddenly I felt it was all hopeless. What was the sense? What good was one more nervous visit? I would be leaving for a faraway place and he would be going his way.

Slowly, I walked back up to the house and closed the wooden door behind me. I stayed in my room watching the city lights, knowing that Junho was out there somewhere, walking back to his dreary boarding house. The candle had almost burned out, and the smell of the burned cotton wick pervaded the room. I touched the puddle of wax at the bottom of the candle dish. It was warm and soft. This was the candle that had burned for Junho and me, giving us light by which to see each other. I collected the pool of wax, formed it into a small round ball, and sat playing with it for a while. I was relieved not to hear foot steps coming toward my room. Even the next day, no one said anything about my special visitor. Although my brothers were curious and concerned about the visit, they seemed to know that Junho was too dear to me to even be discussed.

With our diplomas in hand, we listened as the underclassmen sang a farewell song to us. Many of us wept as we launched into our school song for the last time. Our high school years had been difficult ones. They had been interrupted by the war, and we had lost many friends. Standing side by side on the bleachers, we all noted how small our class had become, and how many teachers were missing. But no one dared mention them. We just looked at each other with resignation and understanding. There was a lump in my throat as I thought of leaving Ewha, but my mind quickly began to race with all the things I still had to accomplish in order to go abroad.

I had filed all the necessary papers with the Ministry of Education and I had gathered all the recommendations, transcripts, and health forms for the application to college in the United States. My scholarship had already been arranged by Father Lee. But I had learned that before I could even take the government test, I was required to have either a diploma from a four-year liberal arts college or a two-year certificate in science and economics. Although I had already been accepted at Ewha University, I quickly enrolled at a smaller college where I could obtain my science and economics certificate in a year by taking extra night classes. For the next twelve months, I immersed myself in my studies.

I was finally able to join the hundreds of applicants at the test site. I entered a room full of men. Some of the older men glared at me, seeming insulted that a girl dared to be there. A proctor rushed toward me and yanked my papers from my hand to make sure that I was in the right place. I was finally allowed to take the two-day test. On the first day, I had to answer questions on history, economics, science, art, music, and current affairs. The second day was even more grueling than the first. I had to write several long essays in English explaining my proposed course of study and my life goals, describing how my studying abroad would benefit both my host country and my native country. I wrote diligently until the bell rang. I was the last one to leave the testing room.

For two weeks, I anxiously waited. Finally, the names of those who passed were posted on the big bulletin board at the Ministry of Education. I had passed! Amidst the long list of men's names was my own. My brothers were so stunned that they called the Ministry of Education to make sure that it was not a mistake. Everyone had thought it would take several tries. I knew that they had hoped I would give up, join my friends at Ewha University, and then join the convent to be with my sister.