Hanuel & Malcolm

Jiwon stood in the elevator, dog-tired and fresh off a fourteen-hour flight, flowers in hand for his best friend and his uncle. The gentle music of the elevator made him more exhausted than he already was. His favorite uncle and godfather was sick, and as soon as Berlin called, he was on the first thing smoking.

Berlin and Samchon Malcolm were his favorite family—the ones he could be himself around—and there was nothing that would keep him from supporting his best friend in this moment.

Yawning, Jiwon watched as the doors opened and the huge nurse’s desk came into view. Several nurses moved about, and as he stepped off, he cleared his throat, snagging the attention of one.

“I’m sorry, can you show me where Mr. Hayes’ room is?” He smirked and held up his flowers.

The woman smiled at him, holding her clipboard to her chest. “Oh, are you a friend of the family?”

“He’s my godfather,” Jiwon answered with a smirk. “I’m named after him. Jiwon Malcolm Park.”

The nurse covered her mouth, blinking back tears. “I’m an easy crier—oh my, that’s so cute! Follow me. His daughter has been here every day, hours at a time.”

Jiwon chuckled. “Berlin, yeah. She’s going to be annoyed with me. She told me to rest at the hotel first.”

Stopping outside the door, the nurse gave him a small smile and leaned in. “Between you and me, I’m glad you didn’t listen to her. She’s been worrying herself to death.”

The older woman opened the door, and the familiar scent of Berlin’s favorite perfume—Flowerbomb—filled Jiwon’s nostrils. Ever since he bought it for her twenty-first birthday, it had been the one perfume she constantly wore. And he always made sure to buy her another on her birthday, just in case it ran out.

“You have a visitor,” the nurse sang softly, and Berlin jumped up from her chair.

“Jiwon.” She crossed the room quickly, her arms wrapping around his neck. “Thank you for coming.”

He shifted the flowers out of the way and wrapped his arms around her. She smelled amazing and looked even better. Her hair was braided, the scent of rosemary oil wafting into his nostrils. The warm brush of her breath ghosted along his neck, and Jiwon closed his eyes, settling into the feeling of her.

“Where else would I be?” he whispered back, kissing the top of her head as she pulled away.

“Boy, you ain’t have to be here,” Uncle Malcolm said from the bed.

As Berlin moved away, gently scolding her father, Jiwon held back his tears. Uncle Malcolm was one of the strongest men he knew. Lying in a hospital bed made him look small, defeated—and that went against everything Jiwon knew to be true about him.

“What else was I going to do?” Jiwon shook his head. “Video chat and wish you well?”

“Yes.”

The funny thing was, Uncle Malcolm was serious.

Berlin gently took the flowers from Jiwon as he stepped closer. “The roses are for you,” he told her, earning a pointed look as she set them on the table. The carnations she placed in a vase filled with water.

Leaning over the bed, Jiwon clasped his uncle’s hand in a dap. They patted each other’s backs before separating, and Uncle Malcolm chuckled as he settled back.

“Rubbed off on you too good, my boy,” he laughed before a deep cough forced him to suck in air.

The thick, raspy sound in his chest didn’t sound good. Neither did his pallor. Jiwon reached out and squeezed his uncle’s hand hard.

“When do you think they’ll let you out?” Jiwon asked.

“Don’t get him started,” Berlin snapped. “He’s been asking me, and he’ll stay in here until he’s stable.”

Berlin’s eyes were always large. Jiwon’s father was fond of calling her Tokki

because of her round, brown, soft eyes. Today they were outlined in deep red liner and flecked with gold shadow. Her gaze drifted from her father back to Jiwon.

“My dad will be here tomorrow,” Jiwon said, changing the subject. “You know he’s going to try to convince you to come back to Korea for treatment.”

“Ah hell,” Malcolm sighed, his chest wheezing. “I’m fine where I’m at. This is a VA hospital.”

“You know how he is,” Jiwon shrugged.

“Overly cautious,” Jiwon and Malcolm said at the same time, making each other laugh.

“Yeah, well,” Malcolm sighed, closing his eyes. “I just need to rest, take this nasty-ass medicine, and I can get my black ass out of here.”

Berlin frowned, flicking her eyes to Jiwon.

“Dad,” she took his hand. “Stop.”

“She’s babying me, Jiwon. Get your friend.”

Jiwon held up his hands, smiling. “I’m older, but she’s in charge.”

“At least you recognize that,” Berlin stuck out her tongue, and Jiwon still saw the ten-year-old girl who slapped his arm at every opportunity.

Malcolm groaned as he sat up, and Jiwon jumped forward to help.

“Boy, I don’t need no damn help. Thank you, though.”

Just like Uncle Malcolm. Jiwon shook his head. “Tell me what they have you in for.”

“Nothing.”

“Pneumonia,” Berlin sighed. “A nasty bout of it, too. Apparently someone had walking pneumonia, and it decided to get worse.”

“Thought it was a cold,” Malcolm shrugged.

“Dad, please.” She rubbed her forehead, braids falling over her shoulder. “His lungs don’t look good. There’s a mass on one.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not, Dad!” She turned to Jiwon. “He hid it from me for six months.”

“Berlin.”

“Never went to his doctor’s appointments—”

“Berlin, please.”

“Don’t get me started on the medicine he wasn’t taking.”

“Go get me a soda, Berlin.” Malcolm shook his head. “Strawberry Fanta.”

Jiwon looked between them. That was the one thing he had always been envious of between Berlin and Malcolm. She could argue with him, speak her mind, give her opinion—and even if he didn’t agree, he allowed her to be.

If only Jiwon’s father had picked that up.

“You don’t need it, Dad.” Berlin sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, tapping her foot as she tried not to cry. She always did that when she was trying to stop herself from crying.

“Jiwon… kindly ask Berlin to go get her father a soda. I am asking her because I want to talk to you alone for a little bit.”

Jiwon smirked at her, only for Berlin to narrow her eyes at him. “That’s all you had to say.” She stood up slowly, walking behind the curtain surrounding his bed.

“I wasn’t trying to be rude, ma’am,” Malcolm chuckled. “Girl thinks she runs me.”

“I do,” Berlin called as the door closed behind her.

Jiwon rubbed his lips together. “I stopped fighting with her when we were twelve. It also helps that she hits hard.”

Malcolm leaned his head back, laughing. “Best thing Dae-hyun and I ever did was come into each other’s lives and choose to be friends.”

Jiwon nodded. “Don’t know where I’d be without you two.”

He stared at his uncle. Sixty-three wasn’t old, not really—but illness had a way of accelerating time. It gnawed at him. It nagged at Jiwon something fierce. Bothered him beyond all belief.

Uncle Malcolm was always laughing, smiling, willing to listen, eager to be present. Even when Jiwon’s father wasn’t or couldn’t be. Jiwon knew he was able to confide in uncle Malcolm. He was closer to the man than he was to his own flesh and blood uncle. Jiwon had no sisters, no brothers, and Berlin was the only person he considered close as a sibling.

Even if things had heated once between them. Still, he looked at her like the only person he could trust because she was.

The Hayes family was everything to him because they considered him one of theirs, just like Berlin was to his family. Jiwon’s father was very fond of saying that Berlin was the only daughter he had, and it was that very reason that he was on his way to Washington, D.C. right now to be with his best friend and god daughter.

“She worries too much about me,” Uncle Malcolm started. “I worry about her.”

Jiwon didn’t want to think of: ‘what if his uncle perished,’ instead he focused on when he was going to leave. “You don’t have to Berlin can take care of herself, but she’s also quick to ask me anything.”

“She worries too much about me,” Malcolm said softly. “She’ll need you soon.”

“We’ll be here,” Jiwon said. “You don’t have to worry.”

“I need you to take care of her, Jiwon—”

Jiwon closed his eyes, pressing his forehead into the antiseptic-scented mattress. “Samchon, jebal ileoji maseyo

.”

He couldn’t think of that. He didn’t want to. Jiwon was never one to deal with grief well, and that wouldn’t start now, especially when he had to be strong with and for Berlin.

The tears came before he knew what was happening.

Malcolm’s hand settled on the back of Jiwon’s head, warm and steady. Suddenly, thirty-one felt like twelve again.

“Jokaya, nae mal-eul jom deul-eobolyeom.”

Malcolm’s voice was always deep. A bass that thundered inside the chest. Scary when it was in anger, but comforting right now. Jiwon ever only knew comfort from this man.

Sniffing, Jiwon lifted his head, he rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm and nodded. “I’m listening.”

“Berlin loves you.” Malcolm smiled. “You two are peas in a pod. Instant friends.”

Jiwon nodded. He loved Berlin too… more than he ever let on, and definitely more than she would ever admit.

“I don’t think I’m gonna make it out of here… so you watch my baby, alright boy? That’s your charge. “Na-ege yagsoghae jwo.”

“But you will,” Jiwon countered. “I’ll do it, but you will.”

Malcolm laid his hand over Jiwon’s. “I never had a son. Never needed one. I got you.”

“I love you,” Jiwon whispered.

Uncle Malcolm was different. His was formed into a man by his parents genes, but many of the moments that marked masculinity belonged to Jiwon and Uncle Malcolm, and for that? There was no replacing this giant in front of him.

“I love you too, boy. Now chin up. She’ll be back.”

***

True to Jiwon’s word, his father, Dae-hyun, did try to convince Malcolm to come to Korea for treatment. Berlin watched the men as they argued good-naturedly. They joked about each other’s clothes, about how Malcolm slipped in and out of Korean so easily, and how Dae-hyun still couldn’t cuss properly in English. Malcolm, meanwhile, cursed in Korean with ease.

They spoke about children—no grandchildren yet—scolding both Berlin and Jiwon. They talked about the days of Republic of Korea army formations. The nights in Panama. Training. Bombs. Jungle trekking. Saving each other, and so much more.

Berlin smiled and laughed. She shook her head and rolled her eyes when her uncle teased her about when she was getting married. Apparently, he knew many eligible bachelors in Korea. Good men.

Jiwon had something to say about all of them—rolling his eyes, scoffing whenever a name was mentioned.

Berlin thought her father was doing well. Better, at least. He was smiling. His color looked improved. He was eating more. He had plenty of scares—at least, that was what she called them.

This one was different.

She arrived early in the morning, before anyone else, and found her father sitting up in bed, the blinds drawn all the way open as pink and orange dawn crept up behind the medical buildings. The concrete was painted in blush, mourning doves cooing and strutting along the sills.

“You’re up early,” she cleared her throat as she stepped inside. “Feeling good?”

“Something like that.” Her father leaned back against the bed. “Come hold my hand, girl.”

Something frigid—hard and immovable—dropped into Berlin’s stomach as he said that. “Do you need a nurse?”

“No.” She slipped her hand into his and took a deep breath. Malcolm looked at his daughter. “I just wanted to look at you.”

Berlin was a spitting image of her mother, with Malcolm’s ears. Smooth, seal-brown skin. Round brown eyes.

Tokki, Dae-hyun called her.

His daughter was as beautiful as her mother, with his fire, wit, and tendency toward disrespect when she felt inclined—which was often.

“You’re scaring me a little,” Berlin smirked. “Are you sure?”

Malcolm nodded. He knew more than he was letting on. It is an odd thing to be so close to the end—to feel it coming and yet not be able to articulate it, at least not to those closest to you. His wife had gone to glory just six years earlier, a heart attack out of nowhere, and now here he was, preparing to leave Berlin behind.

He was sorry for it. Incredibly so.

Yet Malcolm believed in God, and now he understood why the good Lord had brought him and Dae-hyun together.

Korea had been rough—emerging into industrialization in the 1950s, fresh off a war that tore the country apart and thrust it into the modern age without a pot to piss in.

Racism was rampant on the peninsula, thanks to white folks, though some Koreans held their own. They knew who their enemies were, even when those enemies weren’t Korean—the same ones Black Americans had.

Dae-hyun had never let it slide, not among white GIs nor his Korean counterparts. A rare form, and one Malcolm valued deeply.

So they protected each other.

They formed a friendship over music and food.

It bloomed into something beautiful.

They were each other’s best men at their weddings. They celebrated the births of children. They became godfathers to those babies.

Berlin Hanuel Hayes. She was named for Dae-hyun’s mother. The woman who embraced Malcolm as a son.

Jiwon Malcolm Park. He gave the boy his name, his father’s name, and his father’s father name.

A legacy.

She would be okay.

She would be just fine.

“I love you,” Malcolm said, bringing her hand to his face. To him, it was the same tiny hand he had held when she was born.

“I love you too, Dad,” she whispered.

A tear slipped down his cheek as he turned his face toward the rising sun. “Let’s watch the sun rise.”

They held hands as the ball of fire climbed higher into the sky. It wasn’t until Berlin heard her father take a deep, heavy breath that she felt his grip loosen.

That she realized he was leaving her.

She turned, shock and grief and fear written across her face, and watched her father smile at her one last time—

before he closed his eyes forever.