Cobbler

Cobbler, simple to make. A comfort food, eliciting a number of sensations from those who experience its unassuming charms. If I'm honest, cobbler is the first food I have any specific memory of. It was my third birthday and it was peach. We were not a cake family, cake was too much work and required ingredients that were hard to get in the U.S. in the early 40's. The War had made many everyday items scarce, we needed them for the troops. A sacrifice we were all willing to make. Pie was also not welcome in our home. My mother thought pie was pretentious, it had to be pretty, taking away from the enjoyment by making itself center of attention. As a child, I didn't understand why my mother felt that way, I was too busy stuffing my face, but in time I would.

As we got older, my mother taught each of my three siblings and me the art of cobbler. A family tradition for as long as she could remember. As the youngest, I was the last to learn, my debut on Thanksgiving 1950, I was 10. It's a bittersweet memory, the last time my whole family would be together. December 1st my brother, and oldest sibling Richard, would be leaving for boot camp. He'd been drafted and would be going to Korea. I didn't even know where that was and understood even less why my brother had to go there. He and my parents spent many nights in quiet conversation, but me and my two sisters were not allowed to participate.

One afternoon, almost a year later, I came home from school to find an Army Chaplain and another uniformed man sitting in our living room. My mother had been crying. Dad looked shaken, but said we needed to wait for my sisters to get home before anything would be explained. Once all together, the other man, an Army officer, told us my brother had died. He said we should be proud he died fighting for freedom. None of us felt proud. We were devastated. To make matters worse, we didn't even get his remains. He and 4 other men took a direct hit from an artillery shell. What little they could find, couldn't be positively identified. We buried an empty casket.

After the funeral, we returned home, trying to deal with the gaping hole in our lives. When we entered the house, my parents stopped short and gasped. On the kitchen table was a picture of my brother surrounded by candles and a cobbler, blackberry, Richard's favorite. Seems my sisters had gotten up in the middle of the night and made it. How they did this without our mother's knowledge is still a mystery to me.

Almost without thinking, we sat as my sisters dished out the cobbler. For a while, we sat in silence eating, tears staining our cheeks.

"I remember his first one." My older sister Clara said. "It was awful. Way too much sugar and nearly burnt to a crisp."

We all chuckled, recalling the less than stellar attempt, then something happened. We started talking, remembering, sharing memories of good times with my brother. We talked for hours, laughing and crying, sharing our pain with each other and somehow, when we were done, we all felt at least a little better. We made an unspoken vow that day, even though Richard was no longer with us, we'd never forget him, never be afraid to speak his name or remember something he did or said. We would never be the same, but we would, in time, deal with it, each in our own way.

Some years later, I started high school. I had become aware of some of the other students talking about a new classmate. She was obviously Asian and speculation abounded as to where she was from. The popular guess was Japan or maybe China, but no one knew. She kept to herself and from what I heard, barely spoke any English. I paid her little mind, we shared no classes together, so it seemed pointless. As the gossip mill churned, a rumor started that her parents were Communists, sent here from China to take over America. I know it sounds far fetched now, but back then we were only a year or so from the end of Senator Joseph McCarthy's Communist witch hunt. There were still WAY too many Americans that continued to believe the crap that man spewed.

After lunch one day, a few weeks later, I heard a commotion in an isolated hallway by the lockers. A group of students were clustered together, surrounding someone. They were obviously angry at whoever they had trapped, taunting them and yelling some, frankly, obscene and hurtful things. I parted the crowd and found they had cornered the Asian student and were calling her all kinds of horrible things. I was livid. She barely interacted with anyone, how could they treat her like this?

"What the Hell is your problem?" I yelled, placing myself between her and the crowd. "What has she done?"

"She's a damned Commie." One of the guys spat.

"Yeah." Several agreed, bobbing their heads.

We argued back and forth for several minutes before I lost my patience with these idiots. "You want her, you gotta go through me." I seethed. I'd had my share of dustups in my school years and was known to be able to hold my own, even with guys larger than myself. I stood my ground, glaring at them. Mobs are dangerous, but individually, people are cowards. Grumbling empty threats, they dispersed, leaving me with a very scared girl cowering in a corner. She was maybe 5 feet tall and if she weighed 90 pounds, I'd be surprised. How anyone could see her as a threat was beyond my understanding.

"Are you OK?" I asked, moving closer to her.

She sank to the floor and started sobbing. "Please...no..."

"Hey, I won't hurt you." I assured, sitting on the floor next to her. "I'm Artie."

"Ma-Ri." She nearly whispered. "My name Ma-Ri. Why they no like me?"

I shrugged. "I wish I knew."

"They call me ca..commie. What...?" She sputtered, trying to find the words.

"What is a commie?" I offered.

She nodded.

"It means Communist, do you know what that is?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"Like China, that Mao guy." I explained.

Her eyes grew wide and she gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth. "No, no, no..."

We sat and talked for some time. Her limited English hampered our talk, but I was able to determine she wasn't Chinese, or Japanese for that matter, but was Korean. Her father was an interpreter for the U.S. Army during the war. He was killed shortly after the armistice by North Korean sympathizers, hence her horror over being called a communist. The Army moved her and her mother here in appreciation of his sacrifice.

She noticed my mood change during the conversation. She lightly touched my hand, looking into my eyes. "You sad."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement. "Yes." I answered, eyes starting to tear. "My brother was killed in the War."

"So sorry." She said, sincerely.

"You lost a lot more than I did." I stated. "Don't be sorry."

She sat thinking. "War was not for brother, was for Korea... he die for..."

"Nothing." I said flatly.

She nodded. She, more than anyone I knew, understood what I felt, she'd lost someone too.

I helped her up from the floor and walked her to her next class. "Gomawoyo... ah, thank you." She smiled.

I nodded then headed for class myself.

After school I saw Ma-Ri again. She was trying to leave, but a couple girls were blocking her, calling her names.

Not this again I thought. The girls saw me approach and stiffened. "Thought I told you to leave her alone." I growled.

"What are you gonna do about it?" They taunted. "Big bad Artie gonna hit a girl?"

"No." I grinned. "But Kate will." Kate is my youngest sister, 2 years older than me and a Senior, she's not exactly girly.

They blanched and left in a hurry.

"Can I walk you home?" I asked her.

She smiled and nodded.

Talking as we walked, I found out she was an only child and her mother worked at the local hospital cleaning rooms and washing linen. They were getting by and grateful to be here, away from the political strife in their home country. Arriving at her home, she smiled, thanked me again and hurried inside.

That night at dinner, my mother noticed I seemed distracted. "What's up Artie?" She asked.

"Why are people so mean?" I responded. I recounted my day and how my fellow students had treated Ma-Ri. "She didn't do anything to them."

"People fear what they don't understand." She answered. "I'm very proud you stood up for her."

"But part of me feels like I should be mad at her too." I stated. "Richard is dead because of them, but I can't blame her. She lost her Dad, because he tried to help us. What kind of jerk would I be if I held that against her?"

My mother smiled and hugged me, a small tear sliding down her cheek. "If more people thought like you, the world would be a much better place."

I left a little early the next morning so I could catch Ma-Ri before she made it to school. I caught her a couple blocks away. "Hey, wait up." I hollered.

She turned startled, then smiled and waved. "Annyeong...ah...hello R...T."

"Artie, one word Ma-Ri." I grinned. "Can I walk with you?"

She blushed and nodded. "Yes, I like."

More than a few of our classmates shot dirty looks our way, but from that day on, nobody bothered Ma-Ri again. There were the occasional snide remarks, but nothing beyond that.

We walked to school together every day, rain or shine. Ma-Ri's English improved rapidly during our conversations and we became better acquainted. She was so eager to learn about her new country and its customs. I explained what I could and we'd go to the school or public library to research anything I couldn't. One thing that really confused her was Halloween, she understood honoring the dead, but Dracula, Frankenstein and the like really boggled her mind. Then there was trick or treating. I tried my best to explain, but fell short. She'd just have to experience it.

The first school dance of the year would be the Fall Cotillion, scheduled for the Saturday before Halloween. My best friend, George, asked if I was going. "I want to ask Alice." He said. "We could go together."

I hadn't really thought about it. I'd never has a girlfriend before, honestly, girls had only recently popped up on my radar. "I'm not sure anybody would go with me." I admitted.

"What about Mary?" He asked.

"Which Mary?" I answered. "There's at least six of them in our class alone."

"No, the foreign girl." He explained. "You two hang out all the time."

"Her name is Ma-Ri moron." I kidded. "We're just friends."

"So." George said. "My Dad tells me that's the best way to win over a girl, friend first, then..."

Honestly, my parents had told me the same where girls were concerned, but did I want this. I didn't want to lead Ma-Ri on. She was having a rough time in school, if we had a falling out, she'd have nobody.

"Let me think about it and I'll get back to you." I said.

That night, after dinner I cornered Kate. "Can I ask you something?" I asked.

"What's up little brother?" She teased. I hated it when she called me that, especially when I was almost 6 inches taller than her.

"You're going to the dance, right?" I inquired.

"Tommy asked me." She said. "I haven't answered him yet. Why?"

"Well..." I sputtered.

"No!!" She grinned. "Little brother's got a girlfriend."

"She's just my friend." I protested. "But I did want to ask her to the dance, would that be wrong?"

"Who's the lucky girl?" She asked.

"Ma-Ri." I answered, looking at my feet.

"She's the Korean girl, right?" Kate inquired.

I nodded.

"Be careful." She instructed. "Make sure you make your intentions known, whether it be friend or boyfriend. We don't know the dating customs in her country. What might seem trivial to us might be very serious to her. Just make sure you understand each other."

"Thanks Kate." I beamed. "You're the best."

On our walk home a couple days later I asked Ma-Ri to the dance.

Her eyes twinkled. "I must ask Eomma...mother." She said. "I will tell you tomorrow."

I didn't sleep much that night. Girls were still a very new and very strange addition to my world.

The next morning I met Ma-Ri in front of her house. I looked at her expectantly, but she just smiled at me and started walking toward school.

"Well?" I asked, standing in front of her, blocking her way.

"You must ask mother." She said. "Tonight, at dinner."

Obviously dating in Korea was much more formal than here, I thought. I bet if her Dad was still alive, I'd have to ask him instead, so maybe this isn't so bad.

Ma-Ri explained that it was traditional for a girls family to meet a potential suitor. If they did not approve, the date would not happen but she reassured me that her mother would like me. She was very grateful that I had helped her and more than anything wanted to thank me in person.

That afternoon when I got home, I looked for my mother, finding her in the back yard hanging out laundry.

"Hey Mom." I chirped.

"How was your day Artie?" She asked.

"Well, I kinda need to tell you something." I said.

"You're not in trouble are you?" She inquired, turning her full attention to me.

"No." I sputtered. "I sorta asked Ma-Ri to the dance...and...well, her Mom wants me to come to dinner tonight."

"That's not unusual, your father and I have done that a time or two with your sister's boyfriends." She smiled.

"She's not my girlfriend mom." I protested.

"But you asked her on a date. It kinda comes with an expectation." She explained. "Be very careful, especially since she's foreign."

"Kate told me the same thing." I admitted. "Different customs and such."

"Make sure you dress nice, don't want her family to think I raised a heathen." She giggled.

"I will Mom, thanks." I answered.

"You've got time, make a cobbler, butter 'em up a little." She said. "And if you get her mother's blessing, bring her by tomorrow for dinner. I'd like to met her. I'm sure all of us would."

I rolled my eyes. "Jeez mom, I'm already nervous enough."

"You'll do fine honey, you've got your father's charm." She grinned. "Just don't tell him I said so."

I arrived at the house at the appointed time and knocked on the door. Ma-Ri opened it, smiling. "Hello Artie."

"Hey." I replied nervously. "I made a cobbler, I hope you and your Mom like it."

She looked at the dish in my hands, furrowing her eyebrows. "What is cobbler?"

"It's like a pie, crust with a fruit filling." I explained. "Dessert, we eat it after dinner."

"Ma-Ri nodded and smiled, but I wasn't sure she really understood. She took the cobbler from me and instructed me to sit in the living room. She walked into the kitchen and exchanged a few words, in what I assumed was her native language, then sat the dish on the counter.

Returning to sit next to me Ma-Ri said. "Eomma will be here soon."

I nodded, waiting nervously. Not long after, Ma-Ri's Mom appeared. Roughly the same size and build as her daughter, Mrs. Jeong walked into the room and sat in a chair facing me.

"Hello...Ar-Artie." She spoke, haltingly.

"Nice to meet you ma'am." I smiled.

Ma-Ri spoke a few words in Korean, Mrs. Jeong smiled and nodded.

"Eomma is still learning English." Ma-Ri explained.

We talked back and forth for several minutes, Ma-Ri translating, where needed. She thanked me for helping and befriending her daughter. Explaining the dance was more difficult than I'd expected. Dating was a foreign concept. Most couples in Korea were in arranged marriages and only got to know each other afterwards, I was informed.

"Wow." I whistled, shaking my head. "Please explain that I'm not looking for a wife, I'm still way too young, I just want to get to know you better." I told Ma-Ri.

Again, Ma-Ri and her mother spoke back and forth. Finally, Mrs. Jeong nodded, smiling, then looked at me. "Yes, dance OK."

"Thank you ma'am." I said.

Ma-Ri giggled and touched my arm. "Thank you, Eomma."

Mrs. Jeong ushered us into the dining room for dinner. I must admit, the smells were completely unidentifiable, but very appetizing. Ma-Ri pointed at a chair, and I sat. In front of me was a bowl with 5 or 6 different ingredients, topped with an egg. Ma-Ri said it was called Bibimbap, a traditional Korean food.

"It smells wonderful." I grinned, nearly drooling.

They passed a jar around, taking some of the contents and placing it on a small plate. Ma-Ri passed me the jar and I followed suit. After I'd been shown how to use chopsticks, of course.

"Kimchi." Ma-Ri explained.

It smelled interesting, to say the least. Kinda reminded me of sauerkraut.

I took a tentative bite of each of the dishes, wrestling with my first contact with Korean utensils. I was amazed I didn't gouge out one of my eyes.

Mrs. Jeong smiled and chuckled as my face lit up and I plowed into the meal. I had no idea what I was eating, but it was fabulous.

After the meal it was my turn to explain. Ma-Ri and her mother had never had cobbler before. I told them it was a family tradition. Something Mrs. Jeong was very enthusiastic about. Seems tradition is a very strong element of Korean culture.

It was a bit comical watching them attempt to eat cobbler with chopsticks. It can be done, but a spoon or fork is much more effective.

They were both surprised at the taste and texture of the fruit and crust. Mrs. Jeong even had seconds. I think it was a hit. She was very surprised to learn I made it. In Korea, men don't cook, at least not at home. Honestly, it wasn't very common for men to cook in America at the time either. My father couldn't boil water if his life depended on it. Barbecue, was another thing all together, though his 'brown when it's cookin' black when it's done' wasn't received with much enthusiasm.

After dinner, Ma-Ri and I sat on the front porch steps and talked while her mother cleaned up.

"Artie?" She asked, eyebrows furrowed. "I am...not understanding. Dance is for yeoja chingu, ah...girlfriend. Is that right word, girlfriend?"

I nodded. "Usually, but not always."

"If I go, will I be your girlfriend?"

"I-I uh, well." I sputtered. "Would you really want to? I mean, I like you and you're my friend, but..."

"You do not want me?" She frowned, eyes welling with tears.

"No, no its not that." I tried to explain, reaching out and taking her hand in mine before the thought even registered. I took a deep breath and tried to calm my thoughts. "Ma-Ri, I've never had a girlfriend before. Until I met you, girls weren't even something I thought about. I'm..."

She looked up at me, her eyes locked onto mine and she smiled. "I am scared too." She said so softly I almost missed it.

"I don't know what to do." I admitted. "Would you even want to be my girlfriend?"

"Heumppeog...very much." She whispered.

"Why, I'm nobody special." I asked.

"You are wrong." She protested. "You have honor and bravery. You defended me. You have a good heart." She leaned in and kissed me ever so softly on the cheek, her eyes shining like obsidian. "And I want you to be my namja chingu...boyfriend."

I was totally overwhelmed. She wanted to be with me, plain old me. I tried to speak, but my mouth refused to cooperate. A single tear slid down my cheek and I grinned like a madman. "Yes, when we go to the dance together, you will be my girlfriend."

Ma-Ri hugged me, burying her head in my chest and sighed, but only for a moment. She sat up abruptly, then looked behind us. "Mother would be angry. She does not understand American customs. In Korea most couples never touch before being married. Here, it is very different. I...I like it very much." She blushed.

"We will be careful, then." I stated. "I wouldn't want her to be mad at you."

She smiled and nodded, agreeing with me.

As tomorrow was a school day, I needed to go. We stepped back inside and I thanked Mrs. Jeong for a wonderful dinner. "Oh, by the way." I said. "My parents wanted to invite Ma-Ri to dinner tomorrow. Would that be OK?"

Mrs. Jeong spoke with her daughter in Korean for a moment, then she nodded. "Yes, dinner OK."