Chapter 4
On the way to the Yuns’, the boys howled and snapped at each other.
I was stuck with them in the back seat, which made their antics worse.
Lucky for me, Harabeoji cleared his throat, a low rumble that startled the boys into silence.
He looked over his shoulder and asked if they knew the Korean story of two brothers who found gold.
“Were they like us?” Austin asked, and Harabeoji said they were.
My grandfather went on to say there was a land with rivers and bridges, where gold was more valuable than paper money.
“What do you mean paper?” Austin asked, and Edison told him it meant cash.
Austin made a sound as if he understood, but I suspected he didn’t.
Harabeoji continued, “So in this land, fish were plentiful, and these brothers were in their small fishing boat.
That was their favorite way to spend the day, to fish together.
They took a break as they always did, ate lunch on the shore, and decided to walk over a bridge to eat wild grapes that had ripened on a vine on the other side.
The brothers were nearly across when one of them saw something shiny in the water.
He jumped in and emerged with two pieces of gold of equal size; they each fit in a palm of his hand.
“The man who had found the gold gave one to his brother, and then they sat on the banks of that river and talked about what they would do with their new fortune.”
As we shuttled across town, I looked at the houses we passed.
A secret I’d never told anyone, even when Channing’s father in his sober moments talked about returning to East End someday, was that I searched real estate listings online for this area on occasion.
I wished I could buy a house for us all to live together in this town.
The car slowed, and Channing warned that we were almost at our destination. My grandfather cleared his throat again, softer now, and continued, “So they got back into their boat and started to make their way home.”
“What kind of boat was it?” Edison asked.
“A rowboat,” my grandfather replied. “They took turns with the oars. While one was rowing, the other brother couldn’t help but stare at the gold that lay between them.
If he had two pieces, he could buy even more boats.
He didn’t like the feeling that grew inside of him.
Still, he came up with a plan to steal his brother’s gold when his brother slept that night and run away.
Before they reached the shore, however, he became so angry with himself for having such thoughts that before his brother could stop him, he reached over, grabbed both pieces of gold, and threw them overboard.
They sank deep into the rushing water. The brother who was rowing stopped and asked, ‘Why did you do that?’ The brother who had thrown the gold into the water told him about his selfish thoughts.
The one rowing admitted he had thought the same, and they felt relief and pride in each other for not giving in to greed and ruining their special bond as brothers. ”
“Then what happened?” Edison said when my grandfather was quiet.
“They lived happily ever after,” Austin said.
“That’s only in American stories.” Edison’s words made me think of myself when I was his age.
“They live happily ever after in Korean ones, too,” Channing corrected. I was silent. That was Channing’s version. I knew there were many endings, but the boys seemed content and the timing was perfect. We pulled into the Yuns’ driveway.
There was a flurry of activity as soon as Channing parked the car.
I looked down at my feet, suddenly self-conscious.
Everyone shouted hello, and a thunderous voice joined in that sounded familiar.
The children jumped down and disappeared, their voices blending—“I call first, no, I call first, no, I”—and they were off, running through the yard toward something I couldn’t see.
I pushed open my own door slowly and was hit with the smell of fresh-cut grass, birdsong in the evening air, the sharp bright turquoise front door of the maroon-and-gray Victorian house.
In the side yard heading straight for my grandfather was a slender man with a narrow face, hitching up his red Bermuda shorts as he walked, fast for a man with such a shock of white hair.
He wore long athletic tube socks with blue stripes and matching blue Crocs.
I had no idea who he was. When my sandals touched the asphalt driveway, I had such a sudden sense of déjà vu it took my breath away, and I had to hold the car door handle for balance.
Channing stood nearby. “You okay?” she asked.
I shook off the sensation of time twisting like a bow tie and said sure, flexing my fingers. “Here we go then,” she said, and patted the side of her sweatpants with the flat of her hand. That would stick with me later. As if she knew this was the beginning.
The man in the red shorts turned out to be Mr. Yun.
He and my grandfather bowed to each other and clapped each other on the back.
Mr. Yun accepted the squash and peaches as if they were a treasure he’d never imagined existed.
And then he said what I roughly understood to be “Finally, I’ve been asking you to come, and now because of your granddaughter, you’re here.
I told my wife this morning I feel like a young man.
Seeing your friends reminds you of the old days.
Oh, my heart is warm because you’re here. ”
The children made a beeline for a trampoline up on short stilts with tall netting around it on the other side of the grassy yard.
Channing had been walking with me but changed direction to follow them.
I watched them for a while. Edison and Austin leaped as they ran as if there were invisible hurdles in the yard, while my cousin strolled in her dancer’s stride, toes pointed outward, after them.
She’d taken lessons in everything when she was a child: ballet, gymnastics, swimming, ice skating, riding horses.
As the boys increased their speed, she broke into a sprint.
I was going to join them but I suddenly needed a drink, so I trailed Mr. Yun and Harabeoji to the terrace instead.
A short woman whose wavy white hair looked identical to her husband’s chattered away with Harabeoji.
She was clearly Mrs. Yun by the way she directed me to sit near her on a teak chair with what I could now see were purple-and-orange flowers patterned on the cushions.
She held a sleeping infant in her arms, wrapped in a rosebud-dotted quilt, and told me it was her great-granddaughter.
Just then, an Asian woman and a white man walked out of the house with their arms around each other.
They scooped the baby out of Mrs. Yun’s arms and made cooing sounds over her together.
Mrs. Yun introduced them to me as Alice and Jesse, the parents of the baby.
Alice was Mr. and Mrs. Yun’s granddaughter.
“You’re my sister’s age,” Alice said to me when I explained that I was Channing’s cousin. “Jesse and I were four grades above you.”
I nodded as if I knew her sister. I wanted her to say more so I could pick her out of the groups of children at Channing’s house in my memory.
Before I could reply, Harabeoji greeted Alice and Jesse with enthusiasm and commented on how their child was flourishing.
They seemed to know my grandfather well and branched off into mentioning mutual friends who were married or engaged.
“So many weddings now, every year three or more,” Mr. Yun said, and Mrs. Yun told us he secretly loved them even though he complained.
Mr. Yun chuckled and raised his phone toward us.
“Always taking pictures to post on social media,” Mrs. Yun said, shaking her head.
“I want to remember special days,” he replied.
“Every day is special to my grandfather,” Alice said with a lean toward her husband, who squeezed her shoulder.
“Hey, smile,” Mr. Yun called, and snapped a photo of them.
I was glad my parents weren’t with us that day. They’d have a lot to say about how they hoped I’d be married soon based on conversations I’d overheard, even if to me they said they didn’t mind as long as I was happy. I had trouble figuring out if they were being honest with me.