Paying the Piper

Thirteen: Cold Comfort

Author's Note: A small glossary follows this chapter with definitions of a couple Korean words used

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When we finally reached Sugar Loaf proper, the sight took away all other emotions and wiped me clean again. The top of the hill was cleared of most trees and shrubs—all that remained were slabs of rock. The rock formation named Sugar Loaf was the only object left on the top of the hill. It towered above us about eighty feet high and fifty feet wide. A new wind now blew that we hadn't been able to feel when lower down among the trees.  It was uncanny how the limestone Sugar Loaf itself stood clear of anything else, like aliens had dropped it down on top after everything was formed. However, Ryland had explained, courtesy of Wikipedia, that the hilltop had actually been quarried, so the chimney of rock that remained was formed by humans.

Swathes of limestone sand blanketed the area in pockets where the wind and rain had left it. No doubt in the distant future, the rain and wind and elements would beat the remainder of Sugar Loaf into a rounded lump and trees would grow atop it, taking away its majesty and turning it into the normal, everyday miracle of life.

The view from atop the bluff itself was enough to make you a statue as you took it all in. We could see Lake Winona, Winona city, the university, the sprawling big-name stores like Wal-Mart that had infiltrated despite the locals' best attempts to keep it out. Even the Mississippi River appeared at the northern end of Winona. And interspersed through it all, rainbow trees. The early fall had taken a lot of leaves before their time, but here, what color there could be found this autumn shone from the hills. Rusty red, butter yellows, faded oranges, deep green pines: they formed a blanket on these hills. And I could see how Gendormi had gotten its name, for these same bluffs continued out to our hometown as well.

Gendormi, from the French géant endormi: sleeping giants. But the non-French speakers struggled with all the syllables, and it had eventually been shortened to just "gendormi." The hills really did look like sleeping giants, blankets pulled up over them and grown over with trees. At any moment, the giants might rise and cast off their moldy coverings, leaving the hills to transform into rippled fields instead.

I found myself saying all this to Ryland, wishing I had my notebook to write it in instead. "I'm a total nerd, I know," I concluded, embarrassed for letting so much of my true self—my passion—shine through.

"No, I think it's cool. I didn't know where the name had come from, actually." He laughed. "You'd think I would ask, but to me, it was just one more word to know that wasn't Korean. I didn't actually wonder what language it could be."

"Now that you mention that, it's made me wonder...is 'Ryland' your real name?" In the distance, a bird of prey soared on thermals, making it seem so easy to fly if only I were to leap from this hillside. 

He laughed. "What, it doesn't sound like a name I should have?"

"No, I just mean...don't you have a Korean name too, at least?"

"Oh, you don't think 'Ryland' has a Korean ring to it, do you?" His grin convinced me he was teasing, so I waited. Sure enough, after a beat, he said, "Ryland is my American name, yeah. Back in Korea, I'm known as Park Yeong-Jae. Yeong-Jae would be my first name."

The way he pronounced his name was with the Korean diction—not with an American accent. Hearing him shift between the two languages impressed me. I had never managed to stick with a second language even in high school. One year of French was all I had.

"Yeong-Jae," I parroted, trying to emulate his pronunciation. Cheeks coloring, I realized I didn't have the right accent.

Ryland repeated his Korean name again. The "Yeong" just sounded like "young," but the "Jae" threw me, especially when he spelled it for me. "It sounds like a cross between AE and EH for the vowel sound."