“This is a very complex situation. I don’t know why Channing took Kent’s watch. That was a stupid error. And then to run away when she knew the police wanted to question her,” Mr. Yun said.
Listening to him again focus on the watch brought some clarity to me. He was stuck on that one thing. Return the watch and all would return to normal. For my grandfather’s sake, I tried one more time, because otherwise I really wouldn’t be able to stand to be anywhere near this man.
“The watch makes it a crime, right? Kent knew Channing was going to tell everyone that he assaulted her; that’s why he made up a lie about her stealing his watch. He didn’t want her to accuse him of attacking her. And if he said she had hit him, people might not take it as seriously as a crime involving property. The watch is worth a lot of money. So he lied about it,” I told him.
He seemed to consider my words. I became hopeful that I’d gotten through. Then he shook his head. “Chief Harper is a witness.”
When I was silent, Mr. Yun sighed and continued, “I don’t understand this generation. Channing with no college education, no consistent job. My grandchildren jump around from job to job, too. It’s your whole generation.”
“We’re not the only generation that’s had to deal with men like Kent,” I said quietly.
“That’s not what I’m saying. You… you shouldn’t frighten your grandfather. He can’t handle this kind of stress.”
My shoulders sagged. “I know. But you have to understand, this is not Channing’s fault.”
“We’re not young anymore, these things you kids do.” He looked up at the sky. “We just want you to be safe.”
“Then help us be safe,” I said.
He gave me a weak smile. “You and Paul and Amy, you think you’re funny,” he said.
My grandfather came outside just then and said, “I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” He looked embarrassed. I should have hugged him then, told him not to worry. I would take care of everything and everyone and make him believe me. I regretted my outburst in the lawyer’s office. Mr. Yun was true about that one thing: I could have minded my temper. All I did was upset my grandfather and risk alienating people who had offered to help us.
I didn’t get a chance to reassure him in that moment. I was too busyfeeling sorry for myself. Did I ever really look after my grandfather? Why didn’t I ask how he was feeling?
Mr. Yun made a joke about how Harabeoji was beating his record for the greatest number of restroom visits in a day as they headed to the car to return to the Yuns’ house. I didn’t go back to the house with them and make sure Harabeoji was taken care of. Instead, I said I’d stay on Middle Street a while longer. I didn’t want to be around Mr. Yun another minute.
Chapter 31
Although there were photos of me with my grandfather when I was five years old, I didn’t have any memories from that time. It was as if getting on a plane and circling the world had erased them. I read that when you replace one language with another, you can lose memories, too. It was true that the Korean I spoke as a toddler was overtaken by the English I learned when we arrived in the US. I knew words and phrases and could understand more than I could speak, and I used to think it was because I didn’t grow up in a Korean community the way Channing did. But she didn’t speak much Korean either. I guess your language proficiency depended on whether your parents talked with you at home in that language and whether you yourself had a talent for it. Harabeoji kept after me and Channing with Korean words and encouraged us to speak. He spoke English pretty well—he was one of those who had a talent for languages.
Since I couldn’t remember the kind man who sat with me by a garden in Seoul that the photos showed, I count the time when I was nine years old as the first real experience of meeting my grandfather. It coincided with the day when Channing and I had an actual conversation.
My parents and I had traveled to East End in late June, a week before my aunt’s funeral, which was held in the Korean church in the center of town on a street with so many churches it was called Church Street.Everyone gathered at Channing’s house. It was even more crowded than the grand parties before my aunt’s death. This time, instead of being told to go upstairs with the other children, my mother put me to work, directing me to put serving spoons into bowls of food people brought. When we ran out of paper plates, she told me to get more from the pantry. It was a word I’d only read in books.
She pointed toward a door off the kitchen I’d never noticed before. Inside was a giant honeycomb of shelves full of boxes and cans in all colors and sizes that seemed endless. I closed the door behind me in reverence, as if it should be kept protected from the commotion in the rest of the house. Cautiously I walked down the aisle, noting the names in Hangul and English, my hand gliding over the shiny labels. I walked up and down aisles that reached the ceiling full of juices and sodas; bags of rice and packages of dried mee-uk; rainbow assortments of jelly beans, chocolates, jams; and every variety of almond, peanut, and cashew butter in glass jars. I’d never heard of cashew butter before. In the covered clear plastic bins were beans and several kinds of flour. Running my hand across the jars, I wondered if I could take a few jelly beans. My parents didn’t let me have any food with artificial dyes.
The jar was heavy and required me to stand on my tiptoes to reach it with both hands. I hugged it to my chest as I lowered myself to my knees and set it on the hardwood floor. The lid gave a soft suctioning release sound as I lifted it by the small metal handle on top. The jar had a wide mouth. I must have put the lid down beside me because the next thing I knew I had sunk both hands inside. The smell of sugared cherry, green apple, black licorice wafted up. So engrossed was I in picking through the various flavors, clutching a few in my sweaty palm with the same hand that was reaching for more, that I didn’t realize I was being watched.
Channing was sitting on the floor with her arms around her raised knees, huddled. She studied me as if I were a creature on her video screen she was hunting.
I pretended I didn’t notice her and walked away, hoping I could leave with the few jelly beans I had. The problem was I couldn’t find my way out of the pantry and had forgotten what I’d been sent there to retrieve. I just wanted to get away from Channing. Her stare had been hostile, as if I didn’t belong there, and held a bit of venom, too, as if I’d intruded on her privacy.
When I was afraid, I showed others I was not and walked with confidence in any direction. Picking an aisle, I went all the way down and around and knew I was doomed when I saw the jar of jelly beans again and my cousin’s huddled form. She was staring at me, with laser-sharp loathing. I wanted to run away.
“Get out,” she shouted.
I flinched. “I’m trying to! I can’t find the door.”
She got to her feet, stomped off, and I followed. When she pushed through the door, the sounds of the people talking and laughing in the kitchen shattered the cocooned quiet of the pantry. I’d missed the way out by only one aisle. I’d walked right instead of left. From the way people’s heads turned in my direction, I knew Channing had alarmed them by running away from me. I wanted to tell them I hadn’t done anything to her, none of it was my fault. I’d discovered her in the pantry by accident. The promise I’d made my aunt hovered in my mind. There was nothing I could do when she didn’t want my help, was there?
The day after the funeral, my mom told me to call Channing for breakfast. She’d seen her go out to the yard. I hesitated. Even if I told her to come, she might not. The day before, during the funeral, I’d been pushed toward a tall Korean man whom I was told was my grandfather. He stood before me now offering to accompany me.
I was relieved I wouldn’t have to face that mean cousin of mine alone. We walked alongside each other, and he asked me questions. No adult haddone that before except my aunt. I remembered she’d said that he was like a father to her. It made me feel closer to him.
He spoke to me in Korean and I replied in English, but I didn’t know this at the time. To me it seemed we understood the same language.
There was a moment when I felt a sadness cloak his face. He said he wished he’d moved to America sooner. As we walked, I told him about not having friends and wishing I lived somewhere else. “You were in the wrong place, but when you find the right place you’ll be okay, you’ll see, Dahee.”
