make this place livable again. For now, we should all sleep in the basement."
For the next few weeks, while we were hard at work repairing our house, my brothers secretly took turns checking all the hospitals and information centers for any news of Father. They didnât say anything to Mother, and she never asked. She just kept hoping for good news.
Father Lee finally discovered the sad truth. Fatherâs name was on a list of men who had died during the bombing. Mother did not cry when she heard the news. She somberly stared down at her hands, just as she had when we first returned to the house and learned that Father was not there. I think she knew then.
I ran out and stood staring at the duck pond that Father had made for Mother. Out of smooth, gray pebbles, he had built it in the shape of the Korean peninsula. It had been a surprise for her birthday. I furiously began cleaning the pond, and Mother eventually came out and joined me. Thinking of Father, we worked in silence for several days to restore the little pond. Jaechun brought three ducklings home one day, and Mother often sat by the pond and fed them. Whenever she got up, the ducks would waddle after her into the garden.
Jaechun repaired my comer room, which once had large picture windows on two sides so that I could see the city of Seoul. Knowing how much I loved looking out at the sky, he managed to obtain several large plates of glass, which he pieced together. It was far from what it used to be, but I once again had a full view of the sky and of downtown Seoul. In the basement I found a small broken desk, a brass candleholder, and a rickety chair that Jaechun had nailed back together. I took out
Half Moon,
which held the dried petals of my white lily, and I placed it on the desk. I had safely tucked Junhoâs picture away in my bookbag to keep it from my protective older brothers.
Fortunately, the Ewha School had not been damaged much, and it soon reopened. I was happy to see so many friends I hadnât seen in three years, and we shouted and embraced. We didnât speak of those who werenât present, for none of us wanted to hear more bad news. I was glad to see Bokhi there, as I hadnât seen her since we left Pusan. She was still living with her old aunt and uncle, and now many of her first and second cousins had come to live with them too. Her aunt and uncle were pleased to take care of them, and, in return, the young people worked hard to repair what was left of their house.
Teacher Yun worked harder than ever to get Ewha back up and running. As the oldest survivor in her family, she now had many little nieces and nephews to take care of at home. She often had to bring the little ones to school, and Bokhi and I babysat during recess.
Mother spent several days sorting through the piles of rubble in our house. I occasionally joined her, but it was a constant reminder of the precious things we used to have, none of which seemed salvageable. I threw everything back in distaste and wondered why Mother kept at it so diligently. I wanted to ask, but she looked so sad that I felt she just needed something to do to get over her grief. After she had gone through the piles in the house, she started carefully digging up every inch of the backyard, like an archeologist.
I joined her for a while, and I did recover one thing I couldnât part with. It was my Luxyâs wooden bowl. Three-quarters of it, that is. It was broken and dirty, but I took it to my room anyway. Luxy used to bring this wooden bowl to me on hot days and whimper for cool water. I missed her.
When Jaechun saw the remains of Luxyâs bowl, clean and shiny, on my desk, he said gently, âSookan, you do know Luxy is alive and well, donât you?â
âNo, why didnât you tell me sooner?â I said as tears started streaming down my face. âIâve been wondering all this time, but was afraid to ask. How do you know? I have been afraid to help
For the next few weeks, while we were hard at work repairing our house, my brothers secretly took turns checking all the hospitals and information centers for any news of Father. They didnât say anything to Mother, and she never asked. She just kept hoping for good news.
Father Lee finally discovered the sad truth. Fatherâs name was on a list of men who had died during the bombing. Mother did not cry when she heard the news. She somberly stared down at her hands, just as she had when we first returned to the house and learned that Father was not there. I think she knew then.
I ran out and stood staring at the duck pond that Father had made for Mother. Out of smooth, gray pebbles, he had built it in the shape of the Korean peninsula. It had been a surprise for her birthday. I furiously began cleaning the pond, and Mother eventually came out and joined me. Thinking of Father, we worked in silence for several days to restore the little pond. Jaechun brought three ducklings home one day, and Mother often sat by the pond and fed them. Whenever she got up, the ducks would waddle after her into the garden.
Jaechun repaired my comer room, which once had large picture windows on two sides so that I could see the city of Seoul. Knowing how much I loved looking out at the sky, he managed to obtain several large plates of glass, which he pieced together. It was far from what it used to be, but I once again had a full view of the sky and of downtown Seoul. In the basement I found a small broken desk, a brass candleholder, and a rickety chair that Jaechun had nailed back together. I took out
Half Moon,
which held the dried petals of my white lily, and I placed it on the desk. I had safely tucked Junhoâs picture away in my bookbag to keep it from my protective older brothers.
Fortunately, the Ewha School had not been damaged much, and it soon reopened. I was happy to see so many friends I hadnât seen in three years, and we shouted and embraced. We didnât speak of those who werenât present, for none of us wanted to hear more bad news. I was glad to see Bokhi there, as I hadnât seen her since we left Pusan. She was still living with her old aunt and uncle, and now many of her first and second cousins had come to live with them too. Her aunt and uncle were pleased to take care of them, and, in return, the young people worked hard to repair what was left of their house.
Teacher Yun worked harder than ever to get Ewha back up and running. As the oldest survivor in her family, she now had many little nieces and nephews to take care of at home. She often had to bring the little ones to school, and Bokhi and I babysat during recess.
Mother spent several days sorting through the piles of rubble in our house. I occasionally joined her, but it was a constant reminder of the precious things we used to have, none of which seemed salvageable. I threw everything back in distaste and wondered why Mother kept at it so diligently. I wanted to ask, but she looked so sad that I felt she just needed something to do to get over her grief. After she had gone through the piles in the house, she started carefully digging up every inch of the backyard, like an archeologist.
I joined her for a while, and I did recover one thing I couldnât part with. It was my Luxyâs wooden bowl. Three-quarters of it, that is. It was broken and dirty, but I took it to my room anyway. Luxy used to bring this wooden bowl to me on hot days and whimper for cool water. I missed her.
When Jaechun saw the remains of Luxyâs bowl, clean and shiny, on my desk, he said gently, âSookan, you do know Luxy is alive and well, donât you?â
âNo, why didnât you tell me sooner?â I said as tears started streaming down my face. âIâve been wondering all this time, but was afraid to ask. How do you know? I have been afraid to help
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