Echoes of the White Giraffe Read Online Free PDF

knowledgeable.”
    But I felt miserable and small, and wanted to run up the mountain and cry. "
Oppa,
she is not from Seoul,” interjected Haerin. “Father Lee told me Sookan originally came from Pyongyang; she was born and raised there. Can you imagine traveling from one end of the Korean peninsula to the other?!”
    Poking Junho in the arm, she said, “Go ahead,
Oppa,
ask her about that and ask her about the war, too.” Haerin urged Junho on eagerly, as if his asking were the only way to ensure a detailed answer from me.
    Haerin was rather pretty when she was being genuine. I suddenly felt a certain affection for her and forgave her ignorance. I untwisted the string of my shoebag and watched my blue fingers regain circulation. Feeling a little calmer, I told her that Pyongyang was not as far north as she thought and that there were many Korean cities farther north than that. Her eyes blinked with excitement and fascination, like a child’s. As I talked about Pyongyang, I could feel Junho staring intently at me, and I grew more and more embarrassed.
    I finished my sentence and quickly said goodbye, then ran toward the mountain without waiting to hear their responses. I made a point of not changing my shoes until I was halfway up the mountain and was sure that their house was well out of sight.

Chapter Four
    At the front of each classroom was a large blackboard supported by the long pieces of wood that Bokhi and I had found by the seashore and had dragged up to the lot one hot muggy day. When we struggled to carry these long poles through the streets, we had no idea they would be used to hold up the shiny blackboards. Eight long benches were neatly arranged in rows, and each bench seated about ten girls. As word spread of the new Ewha School in Pusan, many more former Ewha students who were now refugees came from faraway villages surrounding Pusan. Teacher Yun was sure even more Ewha students were in the area, and she placed a large notice at the refugee center where Mother worked: “Ewha students, all grades, welcome at the new Ewha school.”
    I was delighted to sit in the first row of the classroom I had helped build. As I listened to Teacher Yun speak of faraway lands, my heart leaped with joy. Those sweltering, hot days of labor seemed a million miles away. Using my lap as my desk, I furiously wrote down everything she said. There was so much to learn and not a minute to lose. The teachers had a few books they had borrowed from the Pusan School teachers, but we students had none, so we had to write everything down.
    There were seven teachers in all at our little school. Teacher Yun who taught literature and world history had always been my favorite. Bokhi’s favorite, however, was Teacher Lee, our French teacher. Long ago, Bokhi had decided that she wanted to enter the Sorbonne in Paris where Teacher Lee had studied.
    We were all most eager to learn. Some of us arrived at dawn, but our teachers were always there even earlier, writing the day’s lessons on the blackboard. We studied eagerly, engrossed in our lessons and anxious to catch up with all that we missed over the past several months. Overjoyed to be learning again, I memorized and recited and wrote until my head and hands ached.
    During our lunch breaks, Bokhi and I planted some seeds and bulbs in the little yard outside the classroom buildings. Each day we weeded and watered our little garden, waiting for the flowers. Marigolds, wild lilies, daisies, and cosmos soon grew abundantly. Tall sunflower stalks grew from the seeds Teacher Yun had planted, and their sun-baked yellow faces greeted us cheerfully in the morning.
    While we were gardening one day, Bokhi told me she was worried about her aunt, who had begun to stare at the front door day and night and mumble, “I can just feel it in my bones. Your uncle is near me. Go get him. Get him over here.”
    â€œI don’t know if she’s going crazy or if she can