Post by morriss003 on May 2, 2014 13:55:57 GMT -5
Behind the Heating Ducts-Sasha and Kim
I was born in Korea; all the evidence points in that direction. Iris says that she talked about this, one time, with my father who she knew as “Mr. Kim.” That’s why I’m named Kim. I can remember two Korean words. “Umma” means mother, and “Apba” means father. I’m not sure of the spelling, because I was six when my mother and I left Korea to join my father in California. I have a vague memory of an older woman. Perhaps she was my grandmother, or an aunt, or maybe just a friend of the family.
I believe we lived in Palo Alto, but that may have been where my father worked. According to Iris, he worked for one of the technology companies in what was known as Silicon Valley. I don’t remember the name of the company, and it doesn’t matter now, since everyone who was there died on the day the Fog came. My family wasn’t home at that time; we were at a resort in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. That was shortly after my mother and I left Korea. I was seven years old. I know that because they threw me a party the day before we left for the mountains.
There were a lot of people at the Retreat, including some kids, but I only knew a few words of English. My parents could not watch me all the time, so occasionally I slipped away from them to seek out the other children. I remember Sasha and her brother, James, but she was older than me, and I was a boy, so she ignored me. Once, James and I found an old ragged tennis ball and rolled it across the floor to each other, but when we were spotted doing this, we were scolded. The ball belonged to a dog.
I don’t know when my father died. I know that he was quarreling with the men who had taken over Eagle’s Retreat, but I don’t remember the day he disappeared. I remember asking my mother where he was, and I remember becoming very alarmed when she burst into tears. I begged her not to cry, and I told her that I would search for him. She stopped crying and told me very sharply not to leave our room. She sounded angry, and I was thoroughly confused.
When we had first arrived at Eagle’s Retreat, we had taken our meals, buffet style, in a big room with everyone else, but after my father disappeared, our meals were delivered to us by a very mean looking man, and they were nothing like the huge plates, loaded with food, that I had been used to. I remember my mother arguing with the man, but he laughed at her and called her a name that had her seething with anger. Gradually we received less and less food at each serving. My Mother began hoarding food, even when I complained that I wanted more.
One day she made up a game. She took the floor vent off our heating duct and told me that it was a secret tunnel. She was going to leave our room, and after a short time I would not hear and feel the air coming out of the duct. When that happened, she said, I was to get into the duct and explore the secret tunnel. Before she did this, she gave me her watch and spent an hour teaching me how to tell time. When she was satisfied that I had learned this lesson, she left the room. Soon I realized that the air had stopped moving by the heating duct, so I dropped into the secret tunnel. I was in a short rectangular can, and when I crouched down I could enter each side of the duct.
I didn’t have any trouble negotiating the passageways, and I could easily turn around when I needed to do so. The heating duct was located in the basement, and it ran the length of the building. An inclined portion, hidden in the walls, led up to the upper tier which was overhead of the second story rooms. In those rooms, the vents were in the high ceilings. By pressing my body against the sides of the duct and wiggling, I was able to reach the upper level. I explored most of the building’s heating ducts before I felt air moving again. Quickly, I scrambled back to the can leading to my own room. I pulled myself out, put the vent back, and pushed a chair against it, just as my mother had showed me.
Seconds later, I heard loud noises, and the mean man shoved the door open. He was holding my mother by her upper arm and yelling at her. He pushed her to the floor, and that’s when I noticed the big bruise around her eye. I hadn’t learned enough English to know what he was saying, but I could see that she was terribly afraid of him. He pointed to me and said something, and she responded by bowing and saying something. By that time, she was crying, and I started crying, too. The man left, and my mother hurried to me and wrapped me in her arms.
After that day, the building always seemed to be cooler, and less heat flowed from the vent. My mother taught me a new game. At night I was to get into the duct and creep around very quietly. If she heard me, she scolded me soundly, even spanking me if I had been too loud. I soon learned to be very quiet when traveling through the vent. Then she gave me a tiny screwdriver from her purse, and she told me to stick my hand through our vent and practice removing the screws that held the vent to the heating duct. It did not take me long to become proficient at this.
On the last day, I got into the heating duct at her command, and she left the vent by the side.
“I don’t know when it will be safe to come out,” she said. “Stay inside. If I bring you food, you must eat a little every day, not all at once. Promise me.”
She sounded very stern when she said this, so I promised her that I would stay in the vent until she said otherwise, and I promised to eat only a little of what she brought me. From the vent, I watched her remove a pillowcase from the pillow. She pulled the electrical cord of a heavy lamp from its socket and placed it on the floor by the door, and then she left the room. Of course, I was quite puzzled by her actions.
Soon I heard the rush of footsteps, and she barreled through the door, holding the pillowcase. She ran to the vent, pushed the pillowcase into my hiding place, slammed the vent into place, and pushed the chair against it.
“Go! Hide!” she screamed.
I knew I should obey my mother, but I could not leave her. I watched from the vent, tears streaming from my eyes. She grabbed the lamp, stood by the door, and when the mean man charged through, she smashed the lamp against the side of his head. He fell to the floor, bleeding from his temple, and she hit him again and again.
She appeared to be as shocked at I, but she saw me watching from the vent and she whispered, “Go!”
I grabbed the pillowcase containing the food she had taken from the bad men and slithered into the vent. Behind me, I heard a commotion from the room. That was the last time I saw my mother. On a rare occasion, at night, I left the heat ducts to steal food or just to stand straight, but other than that, I lived in them for two years until I was nine.
I was born in Korea; all the evidence points in that direction. Iris says that she talked about this, one time, with my father who she knew as “Mr. Kim.” That’s why I’m named Kim. I can remember two Korean words. “Umma” means mother, and “Apba” means father. I’m not sure of the spelling, because I was six when my mother and I left Korea to join my father in California. I have a vague memory of an older woman. Perhaps she was my grandmother, or an aunt, or maybe just a friend of the family.
I believe we lived in Palo Alto, but that may have been where my father worked. According to Iris, he worked for one of the technology companies in what was known as Silicon Valley. I don’t remember the name of the company, and it doesn’t matter now, since everyone who was there died on the day the Fog came. My family wasn’t home at that time; we were at a resort in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. That was shortly after my mother and I left Korea. I was seven years old. I know that because they threw me a party the day before we left for the mountains.
There were a lot of people at the Retreat, including some kids, but I only knew a few words of English. My parents could not watch me all the time, so occasionally I slipped away from them to seek out the other children. I remember Sasha and her brother, James, but she was older than me, and I was a boy, so she ignored me. Once, James and I found an old ragged tennis ball and rolled it across the floor to each other, but when we were spotted doing this, we were scolded. The ball belonged to a dog.
I don’t know when my father died. I know that he was quarreling with the men who had taken over Eagle’s Retreat, but I don’t remember the day he disappeared. I remember asking my mother where he was, and I remember becoming very alarmed when she burst into tears. I begged her not to cry, and I told her that I would search for him. She stopped crying and told me very sharply not to leave our room. She sounded angry, and I was thoroughly confused.
When we had first arrived at Eagle’s Retreat, we had taken our meals, buffet style, in a big room with everyone else, but after my father disappeared, our meals were delivered to us by a very mean looking man, and they were nothing like the huge plates, loaded with food, that I had been used to. I remember my mother arguing with the man, but he laughed at her and called her a name that had her seething with anger. Gradually we received less and less food at each serving. My Mother began hoarding food, even when I complained that I wanted more.
One day she made up a game. She took the floor vent off our heating duct and told me that it was a secret tunnel. She was going to leave our room, and after a short time I would not hear and feel the air coming out of the duct. When that happened, she said, I was to get into the duct and explore the secret tunnel. Before she did this, she gave me her watch and spent an hour teaching me how to tell time. When she was satisfied that I had learned this lesson, she left the room. Soon I realized that the air had stopped moving by the heating duct, so I dropped into the secret tunnel. I was in a short rectangular can, and when I crouched down I could enter each side of the duct.
I didn’t have any trouble negotiating the passageways, and I could easily turn around when I needed to do so. The heating duct was located in the basement, and it ran the length of the building. An inclined portion, hidden in the walls, led up to the upper tier which was overhead of the second story rooms. In those rooms, the vents were in the high ceilings. By pressing my body against the sides of the duct and wiggling, I was able to reach the upper level. I explored most of the building’s heating ducts before I felt air moving again. Quickly, I scrambled back to the can leading to my own room. I pulled myself out, put the vent back, and pushed a chair against it, just as my mother had showed me.
Seconds later, I heard loud noises, and the mean man shoved the door open. He was holding my mother by her upper arm and yelling at her. He pushed her to the floor, and that’s when I noticed the big bruise around her eye. I hadn’t learned enough English to know what he was saying, but I could see that she was terribly afraid of him. He pointed to me and said something, and she responded by bowing and saying something. By that time, she was crying, and I started crying, too. The man left, and my mother hurried to me and wrapped me in her arms.
After that day, the building always seemed to be cooler, and less heat flowed from the vent. My mother taught me a new game. At night I was to get into the duct and creep around very quietly. If she heard me, she scolded me soundly, even spanking me if I had been too loud. I soon learned to be very quiet when traveling through the vent. Then she gave me a tiny screwdriver from her purse, and she told me to stick my hand through our vent and practice removing the screws that held the vent to the heating duct. It did not take me long to become proficient at this.
On the last day, I got into the heating duct at her command, and she left the vent by the side.
“I don’t know when it will be safe to come out,” she said. “Stay inside. If I bring you food, you must eat a little every day, not all at once. Promise me.”
She sounded very stern when she said this, so I promised her that I would stay in the vent until she said otherwise, and I promised to eat only a little of what she brought me. From the vent, I watched her remove a pillowcase from the pillow. She pulled the electrical cord of a heavy lamp from its socket and placed it on the floor by the door, and then she left the room. Of course, I was quite puzzled by her actions.
Soon I heard the rush of footsteps, and she barreled through the door, holding the pillowcase. She ran to the vent, pushed the pillowcase into my hiding place, slammed the vent into place, and pushed the chair against it.
“Go! Hide!” she screamed.
I knew I should obey my mother, but I could not leave her. I watched from the vent, tears streaming from my eyes. She grabbed the lamp, stood by the door, and when the mean man charged through, she smashed the lamp against the side of his head. He fell to the floor, bleeding from his temple, and she hit him again and again.
She appeared to be as shocked at I, but she saw me watching from the vent and she whispered, “Go!”
I grabbed the pillowcase containing the food she had taken from the bad men and slithered into the vent. Behind me, I heard a commotion from the room. That was the last time I saw my mother. On a rare occasion, at night, I left the heat ducts to steal food or just to stand straight, but other than that, I lived in them for two years until I was nine.