I turn to face my dad. Even his shoes are polished, their sheen catching under the stage lights. None of this hides the fact that the lines across his face have grown deeper in recent years. And his brown eyes have not yet regained their spark. My annoyance fades.
I should have answered my phone, told him where I was. Slinging my bow over my shoulder, I walk to him and tug the looped ends of his tie, straightening the bow. Dad clears his throat. He wants to see you. Not Haraboji. Its smoothness calms me. Do I ever know. But you owe me, okay? I resolve to hit the target tonight and make Dad proud. Despite my flamingo-colored dress and eccentric grandfather. We leave the backstage area and head into the main lobby of the museum.
The crowds jostle around me, smelling of ginseng, lavender, and—I could swear—the foul Korean alcoholic drink soju. I stand on tiptoe and scan the circular lobby for Grandfather.
Thick swathes of red, black, and gold material drape from the ceiling, along with rice paper lanterns larger than me. A wide banner with the name of the exhibit, Illumination, scripted across it in Hangul and English hangs against the far wall next to the weaponry and warrior displays.
I can hear the deep tone of the six-string zither beneath the buzz of the crowd. And beyond all that, past the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, lies downtown Seoul, the horizon lined with sparkling towers shooting up like bamboo stalks. Dad points to a gray-haired man near the entrance of the traditional-housing exhibit. My grip tightens on my bow case. After our formal meeting at the Shilla hotel, I learned firsthand what he had been talking about.
During our short visit, Grandfather and Dad had got into such a heated fight about him bringing me to Korea that Dad and I left before they brought out the drinks. Complete humiliation.
Just remembering it makes my steps falter. I shrug that thought away and shift my bow case to my other hand as Dad and I cut through the crowd to join Grandfather. Most of my girl friends talk about their grandfathers as being like Santa Claus, all soft and jolly. Not my haraboji. He stands tall before me with his shoulders pulled back, chin raised, and arms clasped behind him.
I search for a smile. Warmth, maybe. Something other than the narrowed eyes and set mouth. I set down my case and lean forward to bow, but I move too quickly and almost fall over. Grandfather scowls. Definitely not the cute, sweet Korean granddaughter he really wants. It is not because I do not want you here. It is for your safety. I resist rolling my eyes.
Michelle is beside him, looking sophisticated in her black dress, which she said was in honor of my black belt status. Her long dark hair is combed straight to perfection and pinned back with two silver butterfly clips.
I chuckle as I adjust my shin guards. Only Michelle would come to a Tae Kwon Do belt test looking as if she were headed to the opera. My eyes pass over the empty seat next to them. The one they saved for Dad. Sure, he made it to my last belt test, but that was back in Malibu before we moved to Seoul. Before my world was turned upside down.
My thoughts are interrupted when my name is called. I stride to my quadrant of the giant mat, but before I bow and face the judges, I glance back up at Marc. My opponent meets me in the center of our section of the mat and nods to the judges. They frown at his lack of proper etiquette. His dobok is almost shimmering. His gaze finds mine and I gasp. We bow to each other, and a thread of unease curls through my belly.
I spring to the ready stance, bouncing on the balls of my feet. He comes at me with a quick front-kick. I retaliate by stepping to the side and giving a twisting-kick, smacking him in the side of his arm. I stumble, shocked at his power. My body flies backward and lands hard on the mat. Stunned, I gasp for air.
A shimmering dome rises from the floor and circles the two of us like some kind of shield, muffling the sounds of the stadium. My heart rams against my rib cage as I sit and frantically crane my neck. No one seems to notice anything. I stagger to my feet and scan the room for Marc.
I need to see him. I need to look into his eyes and know everything is going to be okay. Finally, I spot him moving in slow motion. The shield has somehow altered time. I can see the whites of his eyes despite our distance. My heart stops. I sprint toward the exit. My black belt is no longer important. But I smack into the shimmery barrier.
It bends slightly to my body weight as if made of a clear, rubbery substance, but it keeps me inside, trapped. I run its entire perimeter, pushing against it and hoping for a weakness. Tags: matterhorn pdf, matterhorn by karl marlantes, matterhorn epub, matterhorn mobi, matterhorn kindle, matterhorn read online, matterhorn download, matterhorn read online pdf, matterhorn online pdf, matterhorn pdf online, matterhorn download pdf, matterhorn book download, matterhorn online.
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