Free Echoes of the White Giraffe by Sook Nyul Choi

this building were two tall poplar trees, standing at attention. Everything exuded a sense of orderliness. Handsome soldiers, in their well-pressed uniforms and spit-shined shoes, marched by, saluting when they passed each other, or when their officers sped by in Jeeps. The birds, however, seemed oblivious and chirped noisily as they flew past the army headquarters toward the field of wildflowers. I could see why the church ladies had chosen this as the site for our picnic. The disciplined perfection of the army base against the colorful abandon of the fields created a strangely comforting and beautiful atmosphere.
    Led by Father Lee, we strolled around the grounds. Junho took off his jacket, slung it over his shoulder, and lagged behind, humming. Observing every move her
oppa
made, Haerin, too, slowed down to keep him company. I heard Junho say, “Haerin, maybe this is a good time for Sookan and me to practice our duets.”
    Pulling my sleeve, Haerin said, “Sookan, walk with us. Let’s sing.”
    Haerin was single-minded when it came to her choir, and Junho had cleverly seized the opportunity to get us together. I saw a broad smile spread across his face as I joined them. Walking backwards so that she could face us, Haerin waved her arms, and as we sang, she raised her eyebrows up and down and formed her mouth into little oh’s and ah’s to prompt us. Our songs carried in the crisp air, and even the disciplined soldiers smiled with approval as they passed us.
    The choir started breaking up into several groups to tour the exhibits at the army headquarters. But Junho, Haerin, and I headed for the field where the wildflowers and tall grass grew. I was thankful for Haerin’s company. Were it not for her presence, Junho and I wouldn’t have been able to walk, talk, and sing together. It wouldn’t have been proper for us to walk alone together unless we were engaged, and even then, we would have had to be chaperoned by a family member for propriety’s sake. With Haerin along, however, nothing seemed unusual, and I felt assured that we would not attract disapproving stares.
    As we walked farther into the overgrown field, we saw a cluster of unusually large, bright yellow lilies swaying in the wind. “Oh, look,
Oppa
! Those are the yellowest lilies I’ve ever seen! Go and pick some for me!”
    â€œHaerin, they will soon wilt in your warm hands,” he said disapprovingly.
    Haerin pouted and stormed ahead, stomping her feet. But when Junho broke into the Pusan High School song, she ran back, reclaimed her place next to her older brother, and joined him mid-verse. Haerin’s childish behavior amused me, and I saw how intensely she loved her brother.
    When the bus dropped us off back at the church that evening, Junho dashed upstairs and brought back two hymnals.
    â€œWhy are you going to take them home,
Oppa
?” Haerin asked, looking puzzled.
    â€œWell, I don’t think I know all the words to the Gloria, ” he said earnestly. “This book’s version seems a bit different from those we have at home. If Sookan and I are to sing a duet next Sunday, we’d better read through it carefully.”
    I was just about to say, “I know all the words. I don’t need to take it with me.” But something in Junho’s eyes and in the way he tightly clutched the books told me that it was better to keep quiet.
    We headed home, chatting and singing as usual, with Haerin walking between us. Once in a while, when we thought Haerin wasn’t looking, we’d share a brief glance. All too soon, we arrived in front of Junho’s house at the foot of the mountain.
    Handing me one of the two hymnals, he said with great formality, “Here, Sookan, you had better take one and go over the text again. It is on page one thirty-five. Be careful, as some of the pages are falling out.”
    I tried to think of something to say so that we could linger and talk a