Chapter 78: What It Means to Own a House in Arizona
When I entered a local bank in southern Arizona—
“How may I help you?”
The greeter standing by the entrance asked politely.
“I’d like to speak with someone about a loan.”
“Please give me your name and have a seat here for a moment.”
The man wrote my name down by hand on a piece of paper and passed it to the counter.
Banks in major cities like Tucson or Phoenix used numbered tickets and electronic display boards for their waiting systems, but real neighborhood banks in America still operated in an analog fashion.
As I sat in the waiting area and looked through the pamphlets displayed in front of me—
“Mr. Jason Kwon. We’ll assist you over here.”
The greeter guided me into a small office enclosed by glass walls.
“You’re here to apply for a home loan? Please give me your identification and Social Security number. We’ll check your credit score first.”
(Translator’s Note: Social Security Number — A nine-digit number issued by the United States Social Security Administration. In addition to its original benefits-related purpose, it is commonly used for employment, taxation, banking, and credit verification.)
Tap, tap—
The employee seated inside immediately began typing without even looking at me.
At the same time, her brow slowly furrowed as she stared at the monitor.
“Hmm... This isn’t looking good. You don’t have proof of regular income for the past two years, and there’s no record of installment or loan repayments. It also looks like you barely use your credit card... Even if you make a down payment of more than twenty percent, the chances of approval are very low.”
Her voice was extremely businesslike.
Just listening to her was enough to make someone give up on the loan.
That was only natural.
America was a country ruled by credit scores.
Ironically, however, credit scores rose when you repaid borrowed money properly.
And in order to repay borrowed money properly, you first had to borrow it.
In my case, I spent too little on my credit card—which was itself a form of short-term consumer credit—and had never financed a car, so my credit score was terrible.
“What if I use a VA loan? I heard veterans could use it without any time limit after discharge...”
But the moment the letters “VA” left my mouth, the finger she had been idly scrolling with stopped.
Then she leaned around the monitor and peeked at my face once more.
“...VA? One moment.”
Tap, tap, tap-tap—
Her typing became much faster and more energetic than before.
“Oh... sir, you were a Navy SEAL. And you were honorably discharged three years ago.”
She pulled her chair closer to the monitor as she spoke.
“That changes things considerably. Give me a moment. I’ll work out the best terms I can offer you.”
Whirr, whirr, whirrrrr—
She expertly printed out dozens of pages and placed them in front of me.
“First, veterans can qualify for the loan itself regardless of their credit score. You can also make a zero-dollar down payment. I lowered the interest rate as much as possible, and the best I can offer is zero-point-eight percent below the market rate. There is no early repayment penalty whatsoever. You’re also exempt from PMI, the private insurance that normally costs several hundred dollars per month when the down payment is low. Furthermore...”
(Translator’s Note: PMI — Private mortgage insurance, generally required on conventional mortgages when the borrower’s down payment is below a specified percentage, commonly twenty percent.)
After rattling off the explanation at machine-gun speed, the employee carefully slid another document toward me.
“You have service-connected disabilities due to tinnitus, nerve damage, and symptoms of PTSD. In that case, the funding fee—two-point-fifteen percent of the loan amount, or five thousand eight hundred dollars—is fully waived. In other words, you only need to pay six hundred twenty dollars in total costs.”
“Wait. Six hundred twenty dollars is all?”
Thinking I had misheard the number, I asked again.
Under normal circumstances, I would have needed to start by paying more than sixty thousand dollars in minimum down payment, loan fees, processing costs, appraisal fees, credit-check fees, registration fees, and other expenses.
“Yes. That is all. The government guarantees the rest, and the other charges are waived.”
She removed her red-framed glasses as she spoke.
“My younger brother is a veteran too. I know how difficult it can be to return to civilian life and settle down again. Service members deserve this kind of treatment. And... thank you for your service.”
Thank you for your service.
It had been a long time since I had heard those words.
Of course, I had not joined the military because I wanted to hear them or receive special treatment.
But the occasional gratitude and recognition still brought me great comfort, as though telling me that the years I had given and Daniel’s death had not been meaningless.
After that, I signed more documents than I could count and paid six hundred twenty dollars, completing the entire loan application.
Thanks to the skilled and efficient employee, the process moved without delay.
“Whew... I really went through with it.”
When I stepped outside the bank and looked up at the sky, already glowing with sunset, reality suddenly struck me.
But what was done was done.
I should hurry, pick up Dusty, and sleep at the house tonight.
My heart pounded at the thought that, for the first time in my life, I had a home of my own.
“All right, Dusty. What do you think? We’re going to live here from now on.”
“Woof! Woof!”
Dusty had been wagging his tail furiously from the moment we entered the driveway.
Because we had often visited while Donnelly was alive, the place and its smells were familiar to him.
The same was true for me.
But now that I thought of it as my own home, it felt completely different.
When I entered, I found the living room bare and empty after all the furniture and belongings had been removed.
Even so, it somehow felt warm and comfortable.
First, I need to buy a sofa, a bed, and a washing machine right away. I can probably use the refrigerator and microwave I already have.
As Dusty and I moved between the living room, bedroom, and bathroom, I pictured each piece of furniture and household item I would need.
Then, in the room Donnelly had used as a study, I found an old-fashioned wooden desk.
What’s this? Did Susan forget it?
When I approached, I saw a Post-it note and a framed photograph resting on top of it.
The photograph showed Donnelly and me standing in front of the Corvette.
The Post-it read:
[This walnut desk was part of my mother’s wedding trousseau. I hope you’ll use it, Jason. May you find stability and happiness in this home. —Susan]
The message had been written in neat handwriting.
Susan...
When I said I would buy the house, Susan had lowered the price dramatically, saying Donnelly had been unable to maintain it properly for some time.
Even after accounting for future repair costs, the price was close to an unbelievable bargain.
It had been unexpected and certainly not what I intended, so I had tried hard to refuse.
But Susan was Donnelly’s daughter, and her stubbornness was every bit as formidable as his.
And now this too...
I slowly ran my fingertips along the desk’s smooth, polished edge.
It was a precious gift filled with genuine feeling, something that could never be replaced.
I lost track of time while looking around the house, and before I knew it, night had fallen.
As planned, I climbed into the sleeping bag I had prepared and tried to sleep.
“Think of it as camping indoors, Dusty.”
The fastest way to properly understand the condition of a house was to spend a night inside it.
Still, using a sleeping bag indoors felt strangely awkward.
I’m used to sleeping like this outside.
Dusty could sleep anywhere as long as I brought his cushion, so I was not worried about him.
Though he had grown enough that the cushion was beginning to look a little small.
About thirty minutes after I closed my eyes to spend the historic first night in the first home I had ever owned—
Rustle—
A small sound came from the bedroom wall.
Dusty’s ears pricked up before mine, and he frowned.
Grrrr!
“Shh, Dusty. Be quiet.”
When Dusty settled down at my words, a rapid tatatatak came from the ceiling.
What is that? A mouse?
Southern Arizona was desert country, but a surprising number of animals lived there.
Among them, desert rodents had to be controlled because, if left alone, they gnawed through electrical wiring and caused short circuits.
That was not the only problem.
Toward dawn, the wind grew stronger, and a draft began blowing in from somewhere.
Whooooo—
The cold and the sound of the wind themselves were nothing serious.
The problem was my curiosity.
Has the wooden window frame warped?
I closed my eyes and tried to sleep again, but thoughts of exactly where and how the air was leaking kept returning to my mind.
This won’t do...
In the end, I gave up on sleeping, took out a flashlight, and inspected every window frame in the house one by one.
In two places, I found small holes and something resembling sawdust.
They were signs of the enemy homeowners least wanted to encounter.
Termites.
I need to arrange pest control first thing tomorrow.
Termites were terrifying because they destroyed the wooden structure of a house from the inside.
They worked without rest, twenty-four hours a day, for years on end.
The one great stroke of luck was that Donnelly’s house was built from concrete masonry units rather than the wooden framing commonly used in American homes.
(Translator’s Note: Concrete Masonry Unit — A manufactured concrete building block, commonly abbreviated CMU. It is widely used in durable masonry construction, particularly in hot and dry regions.)
At least I don’t have to worry about the house collapsing...
Concrete-block houses built in the 1960s and 1970s were sturdy, but they had weaker insulation than modern all-wood houses, and their roofs still used wooden structures, leaving plenty of areas that required repair.
This doesn’t seem like the time to shop for furniture.
Like the old Corvette, this house—Donnelly’s legacy to me—seemed to need the touch of a restorer.
“These are subterranean termites. They’ve been very diligent about building their routes.”
(Translator’s Note: Subterranean Termites and Mud Tubes — Subterranean termites live in underground colonies and construct narrow earthen tubes to travel between the soil and wooden structures while retaining moisture.)
Manuel, a technician from the pest-control company Desert Shield, pointed toward the living-room baseboard.
When I crouched down and looked closely, I saw something resembling a thin stem made of mud running up the wall.
“It’s called a mud tube. They build these paths directly from the soil underground to prevent their bodies from drying out in Arizona’s dry air.”
Manuel took out a thermal-imaging camera designed for termite inspections and swept it across the wall.
Amid the blue areas on the screen, several spots glowed especially red.
He tapped those sections with the handle of a screwdriver.
They answered with a light, hollow sound.
“They’ve been having quite a feast. Fortunately, it’s December, so their activity is slower. This is the perfect time to eliminate them. You also said you heard sounds that made you suspect rats, correct?”
“Yes. At first, I thought they were inside the walls, but they seem to spend most of their time running across the roof.”
“Hmm. The roof...”
After hearing my explanation, Manuel moved into the kitchen.
When he opened an upper cabinet above the sink and shone his flashlight inside, black droppings like scattered grains of rice appeared in one corner.
“You were right. It’s a roof rat. Fortunately, there don’t seem to be many of them, and they don’t appear to have settled in very long ago.”
(Translator’s Note: Roof Rat — A climbing rat species that frequently nests in trees, attics, ceilings, and roof spaces. Overhanging branches can provide direct access to buildings.
He called that fortunate.
I did not understand Manuel’s standards, but I quietly listened to the professional’s assessment.
He thoroughly inspected every corner of the kitchen and laundry room before suddenly exclaiming.
“Found it. See this hole beside the washing-machine pipe?”
“Yes, but it’s extremely narrow.”
The gap he pointed to was so small that my thumb would barely fit through it.
“Rats can squeeze through an opening this size by compressing their bones if they have to. Especially when nighttime temperatures fall like they do now, they desperately force their way into warm places such as engine bays and houses. Now that we’ve identified the targets, let’s deal with them in order.”
Drill, drill, drill—
Manuel began using a rotary hammer to make holes at regular intervals along the exterior wall of the house.
Then he injected chemicals into each hole using something that looked like a large syringe.
“This is called Termidor. It’s the best treatment for termites.”
(Translator’s Note: Termidor — A professional termite-control brand whose treatments commonly use fipronil to create a treated zone around a structure.)
After sealing the drilled areas so neatly with cement that they were almost invisible, he began placing black plastic boxes around the house.
“These are bait stations. They contain rodenticide that rats mistake for food. We’ll also block every possible entry hole with steel wool. Rats dislike the sharp texture and can’t chew through it.”
Snip, snip—
Meanwhile, I borrowed Manuel’s equipment and pruned the branches of a citrus tree that touched the roof.
According to him, they served as the perfect bridge for rats traveling to and from the rooftop.
Looks like I’ll need to buy gardening tools too.
About two hours later—
“Whew. That should cover the basics for now.”
Manuel packed up his pest-control equipment and handed me a document.
The estimate listed a total of $2,250.
That included a five-percent discount for handling both the termite and rat problems at the same time.
“Living in an Arizona house means fighting an endless war against creatures like these. Keep dog food and garbage in metal containers, and when you water the yard, avoid splashing the exterior walls as much as possible. Termites love moisture. I also recommend replacing the electrical panel with something sturdier. It looked quite old when I checked it earlier.”
I carefully wrote down every word without missing anything.
“And... this is only my personal opinion, but if it were my house, I’d replace every window frame. Trying to patch them up badly will only make the costs pile up.”
Manuel wiped his sweat-soaked forehead with his sleeve.
“I see.”
I stopped writing and looked up at the ceiling.
All right. Since it’s come to this...
It seemed I would have to remodel the house on a large scale.