Echoes of the White Giraffe (2 page)

All I could do was stand there and look at her; it had all happened so fast. She was so frail that I was terrified she had hurt herself. Mother had fallen many times in our last few months here on the mountain, but never all the way down like this. Inchun ran after her, sliding and tripping, and almost landed on top of her. Stunned, they stared at each other, then looked up at me.

“Are you hurt Mother?” I yelled down to her.

“We're all right,” she shouted back.

Pensively, she sat there pulling the clumps of mud from her
chima.
She looked around her and smiled with resignation. Then suddenly, she tossed her arms way up, tilted her head back, and started to laugh hysterically. She laughed until tears came running down her cheeks. Deep laugh lines emanated from the comers of her closed eyes and covered her cheeks as unbridled laughter spilled forth from her wide-open mouth. It was the first time I had heard my mother laugh so heartily.

My heart pounded with a strange mixture of relief and anger. Then I heard my own laughter burst forth, too. I laughed uncontrollably, wiping the tears from my eyes. What else was there to do? What was the sense of getting angry? The war had brought us here to be taunted by this giant mountain. We were helpless. All we could do was laugh, pick ourselves up, and start all over again.

I saw Inchun watch us with a bewildered smile. He stood calmly, waiting for us to get up and continue the climb up the mountain. Although he was only twelve, three years younger than I, he acted as though he were the oldest, the leader and protector of our small family. He was painfully aware of the fact that he was the only male, now that we had not heard from Father and our three older brothers since we fled Seoul.

The drizzling stopped. Peeking through the slow-moving gray clouds, the setting sun spread its last glorious rays of orange and red upon the rows of little plywood houses. We continued climbing hurriedly and passed the only well on this side of the mountain. A long line of women and children stood there, holding buckets, bottles, and jars. Many women had small babies tied to their backs, and we could see the silhouettes of these young mothers swaying back and forth as they tried to soothe the crying babies.

I watched the shadows of these tired-looking figures and felt sad, for I knew Inchun and I would soon be a part of that line. Mother drew most of the water we needed at dawn when the line was shortest, but Inchun and I often fetched the water for the evening cooking. Even though we carried bucketfuls each day, we never had enough water to skip a day.

In silence, we kept climbing. We passed a woman bent over a small wire-frame stove. A baby was tied on her back with a large cotton strap, and as the mother leaned over to blow on the little pile of twigs to get the fire going, the smoke wafted into the baby's face, making it yelp with discomfort. At the next shack, an old man was fiercely sweeping the little patch of red dirt that was his front yard.

From the front door of our hut, we could see all the way down the mountain. Our home consisted of one room made of four thin plywood walls with a sliding door separating a small kitchen area from the main part of the room. Behind the shack, there was a steep drop-off, and it seemed as if a strong wind could blow our house off the mountain into the jagged crags below. Across the way was another mountain, also studded with rows and rows of refugee huts. The sun had already gone down, and as I looked down the mountain, I saw dark shadows moving about. Feeling afraid that the dark valley might swallow me, I quickly sat on the little wooden ledge by the sliding rice-paper paneled door, and looked down at the city of Pusan.

The pale round moon rose over the mountain, and the stars were sprinkled about the sky. Here at the top of the mountain, I felt very close to the moon and stars as I gazed down at the hundreds of dwellings now softly blanketed by darkness. Flickering candlelight danced out from some of the little houses and cast a warm glow on the plain plywood walls. The clinking and clanking of dinner being prepared and the low murmur of dinner conversation filled the air like a comforting tune. The moon rose higher and more stars appeared overhead.

I pretended that the ugly huts were special guest houses for the stars that came to visit Earth for the night. “Inchun, bring the bottles and bucket out,” I called, suddenly feeling warm and happy. “The moon is bright enough for us to see our way. Let's go and fetch some water.”

Inchun and I, swinging the empty buckets, headed down to the water line. “Sit down and rest while waiting your turn,” Mother called while chasing after us. She handed us two small apples to munch on while we waited.

The early morning light began creeping through the cracks in the rice-paper paneled door. Stretching out over the wooden rafters, the slivers of light danced overhead. From under the door, a wider beam of light glistening with color shone through, intersecting the dancing rays. The fusion of these beams of vibrant light turned the walls into a wondrous canvas. But the cold wind seeping through those same crevices made me close my eyes again, and draw my knees into my chest to curl up under the thin blanket. I wanted to sleep a bit longer before heading down to fetch water.

Suddenly, a voice rang out through the sleepy mountain.

“Good morning, all you refugees. Good morning! Rise up and greet the sun!”

The mountain echoed, “morning ... morning ... rise, rise ... greet the sun, sun, sun-...”

I sat up, my eyes wide with delight. I turned toward the far right side of the room where Inchun lay. With his head resting on his folded arms, he was staring up at the beams of light dancing on the ceiling.

“Inchun, what was that? Who said that?” I asked excitedly.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I heard. Why get so excited? It's probably a crazy man, probably a crazy poet who thinks nothing of waking people up at dawn,” Inchun said flatly. But I saw how his dark eyes twinkled. He, too, was hoping to hear more. I even saw his toes wiggle with restless anticipation.

To our delight, the voice bellowed forth again, this time louder and stronger.

“Hello, all you refugees on these mountains. Rise and shine. Remember it is a new day, a brand new day. Hello, hello.”

The happy mountain called back, “shine ... and shine. A new day, new day ... hello, hello, hello.”

How deep and resonant his voice was! How sweetly it reverberated through the mountain, slowly dissipating in the vast morning sky.

The sleepy mountain came alive. I heard some men grumble and cough loudly. An old man who lived below us grumbled, “So early in the morning! Be quiet, you, you rice bucket!”

“Old man, you're waking up my grandchild. You hush!” an old woman from another hut farther down the mountain yelled out. Babies were crying, and pots and pans were clanking as the young women set about making breakfast. The thin plywood walls and rice-paper doors didn't muffle any noise. I felt as if I were in the middle of one big room with everyone else.

I was itching with curiosity. I wanted to see this bold and enchanting man. How rude of all these refugees not to respond to his friendly greeting. Only the mountain had responded to him. I wanted to shout back a morning greeting myself. What did he look like? Which mountain top was he shouting from? I imagined a strong and handsome, but tormented, poet with so much more than a morning greeting pent up inside him. I could picture him standing bravely at the top of a mountain with white fluffy clouds overhead, and his echoes wafting around him. How grand it would be to see him and to shout back at him. I should. I must.

I jumped out of bed and dashed outside, ignoring Inchun's wide-eyed stare. I went around to the back of our shack and climbed the remainder of the way to the very top of our mountain. For the first time, I was happy that our little house was the very last one on this side of the mountain. It took over an hour to climb up here from the streets of Pusan city, but now, with a little hop, I was at the very top, where the view was clear.

Standing on the other mountain top was a thin man in a white T-shirt with his head cocked way back to face the blue skies and with his hands cupped over his mouth. He shouted another morning greeting, and then cupped his hands around his right ear to hear his greeting echo through the mountains.

Standing on tiptoe, I stretched my arms way over my head and waved them back and forth. Jumping up and down, I shouted as loud as I could, “H-e-l-l-o, h-e-l-l-o, good morning to you, too!”

“Oh, hello, little girl. You have a great day!” He shouted back with delight, waving his arms wildly. His enthusiastic response made me jump with excitement. I cupped my hands around my mouth just as he had. I wanted to shout to him, “Are you a mountain poet?” Mother suddenly grabbed me, and whispered harshly, “What on earth are you doing? A grown-up girl shouting at the top of her lungs, and so early in the morning, too. What a crazy thing to do! What a disgrace! One more step backward and you might even have fallen.”

I was so enchanted by the shouting poet, I hadn't seen Mother storm up the mountain. Her face was flushed and she was panting. She held my hand firmly, dragged me home, and pulled me inside, shutting the door tightly behind her.

Inchun took one look at my ghostly white face and erupted with laughter. Pointing his long, bony finger at me, he laughed so hard he doubled over. Nearly choking with laughter, he gasped, “Mother, you have to watch out for Nuna. She is just as mad as that crazy shouting poet.
Nuna's
poetic heart knows no shame and has no sense.” He pounded on his knee with one hand, and held his stomach with the other, as tears of laughter pooled in his eyes. “I am not going down the mountain with you this morning,
Num.
Oh, how embarrassing, how embarrassing! How I wish I had a camera. What a sight it was, what a sight!”

Mother's stem face softened and laugh lines appeared around her dark almond eyes. She covered her mouth to stifle her laughter, and then, looking in my direction, she forced a stem look back on her face. “Sookan, my dear, sit down next to me. Listen very carefully. It is a disgrace for a well-brought-up girl to shout like that with such abandon. You are a young lady now. You cannot afford to be so impulsive anymore. People are going to say you are growing up wild and without manners because you have no father and no older brothers. I expect you to behave like a proper young lady at all times. Do you understand?”

Mother felt the absence of my father and three older brothers in every facet of our lives. I, too, thought of them often and missed their presence, especially when I saw children in Pusan walking by with their fathers and older siblings. That always looked like such a perfect picture. My family wasn't perfect anymore. I often felt lonesome, sad, and scared.

The hut we lived in always felt empty somehow, and I liked hearing the sound of a man's voice, even if it were that of a crazy shouting poet, a total stranger. His hearty morning greeting made me feel safe and happy somehow. Despite Mother's reprimand, I hoped that someday I would meet that brave and unusual man. There were many questions I wanted to ask him.

Inchun was still grinning, shaking his head in disbelief as he stared at me. Mother looked pale and drained as she quietly looked down at her clasped hands. I felt silly in front of Inchun, and I was ashamed that I had worried Mother. “Shall I go down to fetch some water before I go?” I asked, hoping to distract her.

“Oh, no! You two are due at church soon. I'll take care of the water. I am getting quite good at balancing the jug on my head these days,” she said with a forced smile.

I tied a bag containing my good shoes securely around my waist, and started down the mountain. Tilting my body backwards, I held my arms out for balance and took each step cautiously to avoid sliding. Halfway down the mountain, I passed the long line of women waiting for water from the well. All those women standing patiently in line suddenly seemed to me like bold heroines waging a daily battle, determined to win just one day at a time. I knew how difficult it was. Carrying the water uphill was the worst part. The bucket was always half empty by the time I got up to our small hut.

A thin woman with a jug of water poised on her head and a baby tied to her back walked past me. The baby hung heavily on her back, and the cotton strap knotted tightly in front made her look so fragile. She breathed rapidly, and her face was red. With her eyes glued to the ground and her arms outstretched, she carefully moved forward. I watched her in admiration as she passed me and went up the hill. When she reached the slippery part, she held the water jug in place with her right hand and put her other hand on the baby's back to soothe him.

Noticing the sun way up in the mountain sky, I started running down the mountain. I would rather risk falling and bruising myself than walk in late and have Haerin, the choir conductor, roll her eyes at me. After a good deal of skidding, I finally reached the bottom of the mountain, where I stopped to make myself presentable. I wiped the dirt from my face, smoothed my hair, and beat my blouse and skirt to get rid of the fine mist of red dust that had settled on me. Then, I hurriedly took off my grimy sneakers.

Just then, I heard someone whistling a familiar tune. I turned and saw Inchun, looking cool and collected. His dark hair was neatly combed in place, his white shirt was crisp and fresh, and his city shoes shone. He looked as if he had just stepped out of one of the houses on the city street.

“I saw you dawdling and watching the women at the water line,” he teased. “You didn't even see me speed past you, did you?”

I glared at him, annoyed at his composure while I was still busily emptying the pebbles from my sneakers. Despite what he had said earlier about not wanting to be seen with me, he had been waiting for me.

While I put my city walking shoes on, he said, “Hurry up! Father Lee is waiting for me. I have to help him break in a new altar boy, since I am getting too tall and too busy with my science classes these days.” I gave him another sour look for bragging about his height. I looked so short walking next to him.