Echoes of the White Giraffe Read Free

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.
    â€œInchun, what was that? Who said that?” I asked excitedly.
    â€œYeah, 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.
    â€œHello, 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!”
    â€œOld 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!”
    â€œOh, 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