Chapter one: The boy

When the unbearable heat and high humidity in Seoul made the dark clouds billow so that we could almost hear the static in the air,we called it an electricity day

On those day in late June everything seemed resstless.Our dog whimpered,then barked for no reason,and sparrows fluttered

around the yard.We felt uneasy until the lightning struck and the first heavy drops hit the ground.Then changma,the long season of rain,began.

On the first days of changma,Grandmother would sit in the living area and slowly fan herself.As she surveyed the yard,mused over the damage the rain could bring us that

year.Grandmother was always calculating,if not the cost of the roof tiles and gutters during changma,then the price of newly harvested rice in autumn. From time to time,she would stop fanning and count something with finger until a worried look came over her. The rain usually continued for three to four weeks with brief breaks until everything in the house clothes,food

papered walls,and even the wooden floors soaked up the dampness.A moldly smell drifted a surrounded us constantly,and everywhere our bare skin touched felt sticky.My sisters and i sat side by side and watched the yard through the thick lines of rain.The rose petals dropped heavily,

pushed towards the ground by the pelting drops, and the earth that couldn't soak up

any more water spat out mud.The patter of rain hitting the marble steps har-monized

with the softer sounds that came as it felt on earth.

With not much else to do, we waited for and welcomed any visitors who came by. We liked hearing the local news and sometimes even more important national news about changma. Every so often a community and everyone and everything were buried. We could not quite visualize houses sliding down the mountains, pigs, and cows swimming, or people drowning in rain. But in the summer of 1969,during particularly long and bad changma,we met one of its victims. We were bored from playing jacks all day and the sight of Grandmother boksoon,one of our grandmother's church friends, perked us up, We sat with Grandmother and the guest, waiting for Mother to bring in a plateful of fresh peaches and grapes. But when Grandmother started to pray, as she did with all her guests, her friend began to cry and grandmother shooed us out of the room .

Changhee Uhnni,my older sister,and I sat close to the ricepaper sliding doors andtried to what the guest was saying.Our younger sister just watched usGrandmother Boksoon said that her daughter,son in law,

and grandchildren were sleeping when part of a mountain slid down and buried their house. No one survived except for one grandson who dug his way out ,Crying, she said that she couldn't afford to keep this grandson because she was too poor.She wanted to know how god could make her so poor and make this happen to her too.