Echoes of the White Giraffe by Sook Nyul Choi Read Free Book Online Page B

whole world to weep for my shouting poet.
    I went outside and stood in the middle of my dirt yard. My feet sank into the red mud, which was quickly washed away by the torrents of rain. I kept thinking of the poet. Why did he have to die? Didn’t he know that I needed him? I wished I had seen him up close just once. The rain streamed down my face, carrying my salty tears with it. Too many things kept changing in my life and I wondered what else would be taken from me. I couldn’t be sure of what tomorrow would bring. I was afraid. Cold and drenched, I just stood there in the rain, trembling with fear and sadness.
    Mother ordered me to come inside. Standing by the door, I continued to gaze outside and watch the rain fall. My poet’s voice still rang in my ears when I looked at his mountain. Behind this veil of rain, I felt I could see his thin, gray figure waving to me. He was telling me he would shout his morning greeting to me in my dreams, just as they had written on his tombstone. Too tired to cry anymore, I remained standing by the door, looking down the mountain.
    A man was walking up the muddy path. Hunched over, with his head bent to watch his next step, he seemed to be heading right for our house. I squinted to see who it was. As he drew closer, he paused, looking right and left. He then looked straight up at our shack. I could see him better. It was Junho.
    My heart stopped. What was he doing here? Why was he coming up here in such bad weather? Was he coming to see me? Would Mother let him? It was not permitted for a boy to come visit a girl unless they were engaged. What was I to do? My head ached from trying to think so fast, but my heart raced with excitement. I couldn’t help thinking how wonderful it would be! I could really talk to him, ask him all sorts of questions, and tell him everything I had always wanted to. Was Haerin coming too? I looked down the road and didn’t see anyone behind him.
    As he drew closer, I saw that his shoes and the bottom of his slacks were caked with red mud. Even his coat sleeves were red and muddied; he must have fallen several times. It must have been quite a climb for him in this downpour. Not knowing what to do, I just watched him draw closer and closer.
    As he came to the door, Mother saw him and jumped up. “My stars! Junho? What brings you here on such a treacherous day? You must come in and dry out. Hurry, Sookan! Run, get a big towel.”
    Blushing awkwardly, he said, “Oh, thank you. I’m sorry to intrude. I need not trouble you. I just came to give this to you.” He carefully pulled out a small, well-wrapped package from inside his raincoat. “Father Lee asked me to bring this piece of white silk for you to paint on.”
    A few months earlier, a wealthy Pusan resident had wanted a special painting for a wedding cushion, and Father Lee had told him about Mother. When people saw how beautiful and delicate her silk screen paintings were, many began asking Father Lee to ask Mother to paint for them. Father Lee always made sure that Mother was paid and that the paint and the silk were supplied for her.
    â€œThank you,” Mother said to Junho as she took the package. She was pleased, for she loved to paint, and we always needed the money. “But it is so far for you to have come,” she added. “Come in. You must at least have a cup of tea before you venture downhill.”
    I quickly nodded with enthusiasm, but stopped short, afraid Mother would see how inappropriately pleased I was at the prospect of his staying for tea. It was clever of Junho to have had such an appropriate excuse for coming to see me. And I was glad that Inchun happened to be out on a science field trip, for he would have given me disapproving stares all through Junho’s visit.
    Junho sat by the door and I sat on the opposite side of the room. In silence, he looked around the tiny room that served as both our living room and bedroom. The blankets