Echoes of the White Giraffe Read Online Free

reminding me of our dark cherry-wood doors at home in Seoul with the two brass door knockers shaped like dragons. This house was not as big and grand as our house in Seoul had been, but it looked so inviting that I wished someone would ask us in to rest.
    I could hear the clanking of dishes and the murmur of voices. How wonderfully peaceful life seemed here. Yet visions of bombs, burning trees, and smoldering buildings kept filling my head, and the horrible smell of smoke and death stayed with me. I shook my head from side to side, trying to rid myself of these horrible memories. Feeling miserable and helpless, I started to cry.
    â€œShhhhh, everything will be fine,” Mother said as she hugged me. “Don’t think of the past. We have to move forward and figure out what to do. Now, let’s just start climbing. We have a place to stay at the very top.” Placing me in front of her, she held me tight, and together, we gazed up at the ominous mountain.
    A brown dog ran out into the yard of the house I had been gazing at so wistfully. Speeding toward us, it jumped up to rest its paws on the low wall and barked furiously. Its deep brown eyes and short brown coat reminded me of my boxer Luxy in Seoul. I went over and patted him and he immediately lowered his head, whimpered, and wagged his long thin tail. I thought of my boxer’s stubby tail that wagged so busily, forming little pools of wrinkles on her back.
    The door of the house opened, and a girl in a bright pink lace dress ran out. She grimaced when she saw us, and said, “Browny, come here! Stop barking at the refugees. They all have to come this way now. They can’t find another path up the mountain. Come over here!” She shot a disdainful glance my way, and as the dog rushed in, she shut the door and quickly disappeared. But her shrill voice rang in my head. She had called me a “refugee.” That’s what I am now, I thought to myself. How terrible the word
refugee
sounded! She said it as if it were the name of some horrible disease. A chill ran down my spine, and I shivered. Through tear-filled eyes, I stared down at my tom shoes and dirty clothes. I fingered my stiff, dusty hair, which had not been washed since we left Seoul. My body ached, and my head pounded as my new name echoed through my mind. “Refugee, refugee, refugee.”
    I hoped that I would never lay eyes on the girl again, and I vowed to stay clear of her house every time I climbed the mountain. But it wasn’t meant to be. A month later, Father Lee asked me to join a choir he was forming with members from Pusan High School for Boys, Pusan Girls’ School, and students from Seoul. He thought it would be a good idea for us to get to know each other better; we might be in Pusan for longer than we had hoped. There was someone special he wanted me to meet, he said; someone with whom he thought I would have a great deal in common. We were about the same age, he noted. Haerin was sixteen, only one year my senior. We were both fond of music and loved to sing. So, at the refugee information center, Father Lee introduced me to a tall girl with long silky hair and unusually long bangs that gave some balance to her thin face and framed her protruding eyes. She stood proudly in her Pusan Girls’ School uniform, with hymnals under one arm and a thin black leather case under the other. I immediately recognized her as Browny’s owner.
    I lowered my eyes and fumbled for something in my pocket. I didn’t know what to do or say. My face burned, and I knew that even my neck had turned an embarrassing pink.
    â€œSookan,” Father Lee said, “I’ve been wanting you to meet Haerin. She will be the conductor of our choir. You two will have a lot to talk about. You can teach each other about your homes. Haerin knows all about Pusan. She has lived here her whole life.”
    When I mustered enough courage to look her in the eyes, I realized that she had