I remember, it was the previous summer, and I was walking back from a trip to Schnucks grocery store for my mother. It was hot. The weatherman said it was hottest day of the year. The hottest day in ten years they said that night on the news. Just my luck to be walking back fifteen blocks from the store, again. As soon as I walked outside from the store, I felt the hot air slap me in the face. It was brutal. Mom said it was okay to stop and get a Coke and she even gave me money for the soda machine.
Halfway home I stopped at Overland City Hall and went downstairs for a Coke. I got two. One for then and one for later. I drank one down almost completely then shoved the second one into my rucksack and started walking home again.
Only four more blocks to go, I thought to myself. Up ahead on the sidewalk I could see in front of me the unmistakable outline of an old Korean lady dressed in black all hunched over. It was Mrs. Moran. She was pulling her overloaded grocery cart. The heat must be really getting to an old woman like that, I thought. She was barely moving. My Uncle Frank, the cop, told me Koreans could work outside in the rice fields all day without so much as breaking a sweat. He used to say, “They are different from us; they can work outside in the hot sun forever.” I don’t care what he said; it was hot and she was barely moving.
As I came up behind her, she was resting against one of the huge sycamore trees, which lined our street. My house was only two blocks away.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Moran,” I said, as I walked around her. She mumbled something in reply. I kept walking, but something inside me made me stop and turn around. I looked at her. Her face was bright red, and her eyes looked glassy.
I stopped and walked back towards her. It was a step, which would change my life forever. My father always used to say, “Life has many paths,” and looking back I could see that my life changed on that day.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Moran?” I asked her as I approached. She didn’t know who I was, but everybody knew the old lady in black who pulled the shopping cart home every day. Her name was Moran, and she moved in down the street with her granddaughter and two grandsons.
She seemed startled. Her eyes were even more glazed now as if she was going to collapse. I set down my bags on the hot sidewalk and pulled the still-cold soda from my bag and handed it to her. She glanced at it as though it were poison. She stepped backwards. Did she understand English? I thought to myself. I opened the bottle with the P-38 can opener that Josh had given me and hung around my neck.
“Here have some. It’s okay,” I told her. “It’s cold, and I haven’t drunk out of it at all, honest.” I don’t know if she understood what I was saying, judging from the look on her face. I took her hand and gently touched it to the cold bottle. She smiled.
She looked at me then looked at the bottle before her; she began licking her lips. She took the bottle and drank a sip. She took another, and her lips once again took in the cold refreshing liquid. Her face was not as red.
“Go ahead, have another sip,” I urged her. This time she took a big drink and kept on drinking. Soon I watched my nickel investment disappear, with one last resounding bubble at the bottom of the bottle. But I didn’t mind; it was worth it to see the look on her face.
When she was finished, she burped then managed a little embarrassed grin. She then bent over in what appeared to be a slight bow of thank you from her crooked little frame. I felt better in that moment than I had ever felt in my whole life. I wanted my life to be frozen just at that second, so I could die with that feeling. I was so glad I stopped to help her.
I swung both my grocery bags onto my hip and then grabbed her cart and starting walking with her. It was heavy. It was hot. She looked at me, bewildered. Two blocks away, when we reached my house, I stopped and told her, holding up my hand, “Wait here, please.” I ran inside and set the groceries and my mother’s change on the table.
“Mom, I’m back,” I yelled to her and my sisters, who were downstairs in the basement watching my mom do the ironing.
“Okay. Did you get everything?”
“Yes ma’am, I did. I’ll be right back in a little bit.”
“Don’t be late for supper, Davey.”
“Okay, Mom.”
I grabbed a Howdy Doody glass we got when my Mom bought some Welch’s jelly and I filled it with ice and cold water.
Mrs. Moran was still standing right where I had left her. She looked at the glass of ice-filled of water, and for the first time her eyes grew wide and she managed a small smile. She drank the water and took a deep breath and started to grab the cart.
“Let me help you?” I asked. “Please? It’s only a couple of blocks.”
She smiled, nodded her agreement and handed me the handle to the cart but said nothing.
We did not say anything the whole time we walked to her house. I don’t think she spoke much, if any English. We walked down Lackland and then turned onto Charlack and walked down the sidewalk of the steep hill to her house at the end of the street a few blocks away. She grabbed my belt from behind me to steady herself. Her tiny little steps had a hard time keeping up with my large strides as we gained momentum down the hill. I slowed down, and she managed a weak grin at the bottom.
Hers was the last house on street, but next to it were three large vacant lots where we played baseball the summer before until it became overgrown with tall grasses and weeds. It was perfect place to play and was now part of our “territory” where Timmy and I played.
Her big, dark red brick house had a large porch on the front with a swing hanging from the ceiling and two metal rocking chairs. Many times, I saw her on the porch sweeping the leaves and dust from the big porch. I never saw anyone using the porch. I would occasionally see her grandsons coming home from high school, but then they would disappear inside the house. They never joined us on the ball-field, I guess because they were never asked.
Mrs. Moran took her overloaded grocery cart from me at the base of the steps, but she was too weak to pull the cart up the steep set of stairs. I pulled it up the steps and then stopped at the door and for some reason I went to say goodbye with a slight bow. She shook her head as she unlocked the glass door and invited me within, with a slight motion of her hand. I hesitated but she waved again with a small smile motioning for me to come inside.
The interior of the house was dark but cool. The smell of unfamiliar foods and spices filled the air. A variety of red and yellow colors showed through the multitude of curtains that covered the windows. There was a small altar with candles on a table off to the side in the living room, next to her sofa. I could barely see the kitchen at the back of the house.
My feet were frozen in place, my eyes trying to take in my strange new surroundings. I took in all of the wonders of what I dreamed the Orient would be like, including the bust of a large smiling Buddha on a table in the next room, which appeared to be the dining room. I surveyed the living room and dining room with its large cherry table with lace placemats set for four along with ornate ivory chopsticks positioned on the side of the plates. There were family portraits lining the mantel of a fake fireplace leaning up against the living room wall. Stairs on the left lead upstairs with more family pictures on the wall, but I could see nothing more. Pictures of the snow-covered mountains in Korea were everywhere. Everything was very clean, neat, and orderly, and nothing seemed to be out of place. It was so quiet, like a church.
I saw a shadow move quickly in the other room by the stairs and then heard raised voices in the kitchen. Two darkened figures approached me from the back room; one was Mrs. Moran but the other person I could not see until she was out of the shadows and standing in front of me.
Mrs. Moran was accompanied by a young girl, about my age, perhaps slightly older, but about the same height as me; she was beautiful. A slightly built girl with long black hair that looked so soft I wanted to reach out and touch it and feel it between my fingers. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen in my life. My chin dropped, and my mouth opened wide. Her large almond eyes and calm, bewitching smile immediately put me at ease.
She held out a red apple to me. I looked down at it, but my gaze quickly returned to her. I could not take my eyes off her. It was then that I heard her angelic voice whisper, “My grandmother told me what you did.” To me it sounded like a prayer. “That was very kind of you. I thank you, and my granny would like to thank you.” She extended the apple once more, this time with a slight smile. “For you, please.”
I didn’t know what to say and just stood there staring at her, an apple in my hand. Finally, I took the apple and heard my mouth, which was now operating independently of my brain, say, “Thank you. Thank you very much. Will you marry me?”
She laughed and said something in a different language to her grandmother, but I was not deterred. “I’m serious,” I told her.
Mrs. Moran said something, and the hopefully future Mrs. Malloy, responded in the same language. Her grandmother laughed a hearty laugh while covering her mouth with her hand, chuckling. I guess it was somewhat funny.
“Perhaps later, when you are ready,” the young girl said coyly, once again captivating me with her wondrous smile. “In Korea,” she told me, “tradition has it that a girl must be asked three times before she consents to being married. It is to ensure that the suitor is serious and honorable in his intentions. And I have only just met you.”
“Okay. Then will you…”
She placed her fingertip on my lips. “Shhh.” Her touch was like that of an angel or the beating of a butterfly’s wings.
Regaining my senses, I told her, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” Then pointing to her grandmother, I said, “Please tell Mrs. Moran I was happy to be able to help her today and please thank her for the wonderful apple.”
“Mai Ran.”
“Excuse me,” I said, turning to face my future bride.
“Our family name is Mai Ran… not Moran. We are Korean not Irish,” she giggled, without the hint of a correcting tone, the sound of which I heard constantly in school. Twice in one day, I was embarrassed. A red flush started from my neck and traveled to my face. My embarrassment must have shown, because she took my hand and told me, “It is a common mistake here in America. My grandmother is honored to have you as a friend. A true friend is someone who does such a grand thing with no thought of payment. But I don’t even know your name and… if we are going to be married I think I at least need to know what people call you.”
“I’m sorry. My name is David Malloy,” I said still holding her soft, warm hand and looking for any excuse to continue holding it. “If you won’t marry me today, will you at least tell me your name?”
Again, a small smile crept onto her lips as she shook my hand. “My name is Sun Lei. My mother’s family is from Korea, and my father is from China. You are welcome in our house at any time, Mr. David Malloy. My grandmother has asked that perhaps you would honor us with your presence one evening and join us for dinner?”
“I would love to, but please, my friends call me Davey. I would like you to call me Davey… if that’s okay?”
“Of course,” she said, slowly withdrawing her hands from mine, under the watchful eyes of her vigilant grandmother.
“Thanks again for the apple,” and I turned to walk out the door, still lost in thoughts about my wonderful Sun Lei. Sun Malloy, it has a nice ring to it.
I reached the porch outside and was greeted by two large figures who lifted me off the ground, leaving my feet dangling in mid-air, one of my tennis shoes slipped off my feet and dropped to the ground below. They began yelling at me in a strange twisted language. Korean?
“Who are you?” they both yelled finally in English. “What are you doing at our house? Why are you stealing apples from our home? Where’s my halmoni?”
“Yes,” said the other one who was as big as a mountain. “What did you do with our grandmother?” I looked at each one, left then right, as they each pummeled me with questions, their eyes ablaze with impending fury.
“You think you can just walk right in and steal from us just because we are Korean? We will teach you!” said the bigger one.
The unseen blow landed in my stomach. The punch hurt my stomach and deflated my lungs, I could not breathe. I gasped louder and louder. My world began to spin. The voices were interspersed with words I could not understand, similar to what Sun Lei had spoken.
The door behind us opened wide and the little old lady dressed in black came out swinging and yelling both in English and what I took for Korean, “You dum’ boys! Leave him ’lone! He David. He good boy. You no touch, ever. You hear me, you dum’ boys! Let him down!” The world went black as I passed out on their front porch. I floated in darkness with an aching pain in my stomach.
I don’t know how long I was out, but when I awoke, I could hear her voice asking me, sounding a million miles away. “David? Davey are you okay?” a distant voice asked.
Her face was fuzzy, but soon I could make out her smile, then I saw the beautiful face of Sun Lei in front of me, applying a cool washcloth to my forehead. Her halmoni was leaning over her shoulder behind her whispering something in her ear.
“Are you all right?” she repeated.
“Yes, I’ll be all right,” I said coughing “… if you marry me,” I responded, figuring maybe I would catch her with her defenses down. Maybe she would take pity on me.
“He’s fine,” she said aloud in both English and Korean to everybody, before helping me stand up. Sun Lei brushed up against me, and I felt her small chest touch my arm. Our eyes met for a brief moment. I could smell the sweet subtle scent of her jasmine perfume when she leaned close to me, and then she placed a soft kiss on my cheek.
She kissed me! My heart soared, but before I could say anything else, my attention was diverted to her brothers who moments before had me dangling in mid-air. They were watching everything that was happening.
“These are my two dumb brothers, Mang and Trac,” said Sun Lei in a disgusted tone.
“We’re so sorry,” said the two contrite oversized boys. “We didn’t know who you were.” They were both as large as a house, with their heads hanging down, being cowed by a tiny, old, Korean woman. They extended their hands to me in remorse all under the watchful eye of the stern looking Mrs. Mai Ran. I shook their hands vigorously. I would rather have these two as friends than as enemies, I thought.
“No hard feelings?” they asked, both looking nervously at their grandmother.
“No,” I said. “You did what I would have done,” I told them, not really knowing exactly what I would have done. “But I have to go now, it is time for dinner, and my mom doesn’t like me to be late. Goodbye,” I told them, and for some unknown reason I bowed before I left, as a way of saying goodbye and out of respect. The two huge brothers and Sun Lei giggled but bowed in return.
I walked away as they returned inside. I looked back waiting, wishing, hoping she would turn to watch me, and then I saw her, she turned to look back at me, smiling.
What a day! I thought to myself as I ran home for dinner. I didn’t know it then, but I had found the one person in the world that I truly loved.
After that day, Timmy and I played in the fields next to her house regularly, and she began to join us. She turned out to be a real tomboy and said she just wanted to be with friends with us. I smiled to myself thinking back to that day last summer. We played together every day. That summer we became best friends until she went off to school. She was the best.
Now she was still on my mind, but this Saturday I would see her again at the American Legion pool. I could hardly wait. I was sure Timmy would be there.
My mom hollered from the kitchen. “Oh Davey, I nearly forgot. Mr. Jost dropped by earlier and left something for you. I put it on your bed.”
I ran to my room. On my bed was my new radio, the Blau-Bruin International IR-2600K! This was great, I could now talk to the world. I loved it. My thoughts drifted to Sun Lei and Timmy’s Smith & Wesson snub nose .38 pistol. But for now I had to figure out a way to pay for my newfound treasure. I knew just what I would do. I would…
“Carol?” Her reading was interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice, pulling her away, “Carol? Carol; are you ready for some lunch? I’m all done with the book signings, and I’m starvin’.”
Carol looked up from the manuscript she was reading; the book signing took longer than expected but was finally over, and she saw him standing there in front of her, watching, waiting. Mitch’s eyes seemed much bluer than she had remembered them just an hour or so earlier. Trusting blue, she thought. Warm and tender blue.
“Ready for lunch?” he repeated.
“Yeah, sure,” she said reluctantly putting the manuscript back inside her travel bag. “Interesting book. Let’s go eat.” She couldn’t wait to get back to reading it.
He helped her on with her jacket as they walked outside into the bustling midday Manhattan crowd.
She could see he already needed a shave and probably a drink. She could tell from the way he walked and held his head, today was not a good day for him.