Echoes of the White Giraffe Read Online Free PDF Page B

sense something. What do you think?” Bokhi asked.
    When I just shrugged my shoulders, not knowing what to say, Bokhi spoke again. “I put many notes up on the bulletin board about my uncle and my parents, but no one has heard anything about them. During the bombing, we all went running out of the house. My parents and my uncle were right behind my aunt and me, but by the time we reached the main road, we had gotten separated. When I find my uncle, I know I will also find my parents. I’m sure of it,” she said, her face flushed with hope.
    â€œI know! I’ll tell my mother and she can ask everyone about your uncle and your parents. Maybe someone will come up with good news.”
    Bokhi suddenly looked pensive, and shook her head sadly. “It’s been almost two years since the war began. If they were alive, we probably would have heard something by now. Maybe I’m fooling myself.”
    â€œNot necessarily,” I replied. “Many people fled Seoul, and they’re scattered all over the southern part of the country. Pusan is not the only southern city where refugees came. There are lots of smaller cities and towns. That’s what makes it so hard to locate people. Everything is so crazy now, but somehow we’ll all get back together, if we wait and trust. ” My mother had said the same thing to me when I was afraid that I might never see my brothers and my father again.
    â€œSince your aunt feels your uncle might be near, why don’t we concentrate on finding
him
for now. Maybe he’s here. Old ladies sometimes feel things, you know. So, what is his name? He is your father’s older brother, right?”
    â€œYes, yes, his name is Changil,” said Bokhi, looking less solemn.
    â€œLee Changil. I’ll write a big note tonight for Mother. She will remember and she will keep asking about him whenever she sees a new face in town. She hasn’t stopped looking for information about the rest of my family. She says that if we last saw them alive, they must be alive. That’s how we should think about it.” Bokhi looked a little more cheerful, and I knew she was thinking of the day she would see her parents again.
    A few days later, Mother did find someone who had met a man named Lee Changil in a nearby town. Mother sent someone there and confirmed that he was indeed Bokhi’s uncle. As her uncle was in poor health, Bokhi and her aunt went to fetch him. The joy of seeing her uncle, however, was eclipsed by his confirmation that Bokhi’s parents had died in the bombing. Their house had collapsed and they were trapped. Unable to save them, he had watched them die.
    Bokhi did not come to school for several days. Finally, Mother received a note from Bokhi’s aunt asking if I could stay with Bokhi for a while at their shack by the seashore. Mother agreed that I should go and try to comfort Bokhi, and get her to go back to school.
    For two days and nights, I sat with Bokhi in utter silence. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her lips were sealed tight. She didn’t talk to anyone, not even me. Her aunt and uncle’s wrinkled faces wore a look of helplessness, and their eyes seemed to plead with me to bring their sweet niece back to the world of the living.
    Bokhi sat in the corner of the room, flipping mindlessly through her French dictionary. She was in her own dark world and seemed not to see anything around her. It scared me to look into her sunken eyes, partly concealed by wisps of tangled hair. Bokhi was always the sensible, orderly, practical one. She didn’t believe in wasting time or energy and was always eager to learn and live life to the fullest. I had often thought it strange that she wanted to be a poet. Although she loved poetry, she seldom dawdled, distracted by silly thoughts, as I did. But now, time did not exist for her.
    Hoping to bring her back to the world, I asked, “Bokhi, what page are you on now? How many new