by Sumi Hahn
The crickets seemed to rise in volume, growing more shrill. Junja pulled the quilt over her ears and shifted position. She wondered if Suwol had fallen asleep yet, then chided herself for being silly. Someone studying to be a baksa would be studying late into the night, surrounded by lanterns. He was probably consulting books and writing on rice paper with a long wooden brush. Most likely he was grimacing in concentration, the wings of his black hair kept out of his eyes by a band of cloth around his forehead.
* * *
The next morning, one of the aunties roused Junja, who had finally fallen into a dreamless sleep after much tossing and turning.
“My apologies for oversleeping! I didn’t even hear the roosters crow!” Junja was mortified about appearing so inattentive and lazy. She started rolling her bedding. The little girls were nowhere in sight.
“The mountain air makes people sleep deeply,” said the auntie. “A good thing, because you’ll be well rested for your walk back. I brought more salve and new bandages for your feet. When you get home, soak them in seawater and dry them in the sun. There’s porridge in the kitchen, in one of the small pots. Help yourself. Peanut will bring your piglet to you.”
“Thank you for your hospitality.” Junja bowed to the woman, who smiled as she left with the bedding, which would be aired out in the sun and beaten before being returned to a camphor-scented wooden trunk.
The kitchen was empty, except for Boshi, who was curled in a small hollow near the stone hearth. The dog stretched, the ridge of his fur bristling as he arched, before scampering over to Junja. He wagged his tail and placed his paw on Junja’s knee.
The dog’s dark eyes followed every mouthful she took. When Junja finished, she ran her finger around the bowl and held it out for him to lick clean.
“Boshi is especially convincing when he wants food.” Suwol was grinning in the doorway, walking stick in hand and pack on his back. “I’m going to escort you to your village because I have some errands to run. My parents are paying their respects at the family shrine, so Mother asked me to say goodbye to you.”
Junja was surprised by her sudden rush of pleasure. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye to your mother in person. Please let her know how grateful I am for her hospitality.” Her bow was heartfelt.
Peanut peeked into the kitchen. She was holding a rope that was tied around the neck of a furry black piglet. “I picked my second favorite for you, because he’s a little fatter than my first favorite, who’s really smart and loves me too much to leave.” The little girl bent down to pick up the beast and held it up to Junja, who flinched. She knew too well that the bulk of a black pig’s diet came from the outhouse.
Suwol winked. “Don’t worry. That one was just weaned a few days ago. It’s only eaten leftovers. No adult fare until later, if you know what I mean.” He handed Junja her drinking gourd, now heavy with spring water, and the basket pack, lightened of its load. He took the piglet from his little sister and set it back down on the ground.
“Peanut, tell Mother and Father I’ll send word with the straw farmer if there are any delays. Take good care of Boshi while I’m gone, all right?”
The little girl nodded and threw her arms around Junja’s waist. “Come back and visit again soon.”
Junja smoothed Peanut’s hair. “If you visit me, we’ll look for the sea king’s palace together.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Six
As she walked down the mountain path alongside Suwol, Junja marveled. So much had happened since yesterday morning, which seemed like it belonged to another life. Something about herself felt altered, as if she had grown an entire year in a day.
Suwol surprised the girl by echoing her thoughts. “Some days go by and nothing in my life seems to change. Wake up, study, work, eat, sleep. Then do it all over again. But yesterday wasn’t like that. And today feels different too.”
Junja couldn’t help smiling. The piglet snuffled the humid scent of the ground, straining at the rope as it grunted.
Suwol stopped walking. “There’s something I want to show you. It will delay your return home, but I think you’d like it very much. Would you like to see it?”
“What is it?”
“Is it all right if I don’t answer that question? I want to surprise you. I promise you’ll be pleased.”
Junja laughed. “I’m so curious now that I have to say yes. As long as we don’t take too long. I promised my mother I’d help her today.”
The boy grinned. “You won’t regret this.” He studied their surroundings, poking his walking stick into the underbrush until he found what he was looking for, a gnarled evergreen with a twist in its lower trunk. “We leave the main path here.” He lifted a branch, gesturing for Junja to duck under it.
The two walked alongside each other for several steps until Junja, conscious of the proximity forced upon them by the narrow path, slowed down to allow Suwol to lead.
The boy, glancing behind him, cleared his throat. “How are your feet? I hope they aren’t bothering you.”
Junja felt a swell of gratitude for his concern. “The wrappings are so thick I could probably walk on a field of stones and not feel a thing.”
“Good … Because if your feet hurt, I’d carry you on my back.” Suwol looked behind him again. “You sure they don’t hurt?”
“Quite sure.” Junja demonstrated by kicking a stone.
“You must be so relieved.” Suwol’s pace quickened abruptly, forcing Junja to run to keep up. Because the girl didn’t say anything more, the boy held his tongue for as long as he could before blurting out the first question he could think of. “Are all haenyeo strong like you?”
A memory welled up, of a slim girl who used to play cat’s cradle with her. Junja blinked, relieved that Suwol couldn’t see her face.
“We can’t afford to be weak.”
“How long have you been doing water work ?”
“Five years.” Junja stared at Suwol’s back. What a strange boy to be so curious about women’s business.
“What age do girls start diving?”
“We start swimming as soon as we can walk. But the diving doesn’t start until we’re thirteen or fourteen. As soon as our bodies have some fat on them. Otherwise, the water would be too cold. That’s why women do the diving, because we last longer in the water than men.”
Suwol turned around. “Is that true? Or is it one of those old wive’s tales that’s been repeated so many times everyone believes it?”
“Why do we do all the diving, then? It certainly isn’t because men work harder than women.”
Undaunted by the prickle of irritation in Junja’s voice, the boy continued his interrogation. “How old are you?”
Junja answered, to be polite. “I was born in the year of the sheep.”
“I’m a dragon.” Suwol looked pleased by his advantage of years and adjusted his language accordingly. “The dive—what’s that like?”
Suwol’s relaxation into informal speech surprised Junja, who could not take such liberties as a woman. She wondered if he was being condescending, but the boy didn’t seem to be talking down to her. She decided to accept that this young scholar was treating her like a friend, and her mood grew more buoyant.
“Diving is always cold and exhausting. But it’s also fun, especially when the harvest is abundant.”
“It’s quite dangerous too, isn’t it?”
Junja thought again of the slim girl, how her body floated up, cold and blue. The sea, Grandmother had explained, was ruthless in its culling.
“That depends on your fate and whether the sea god favors you.” Junja took a deep breath. “Some girls die on their first dive. And there are old grannies who’ve gone out thousands of times, who can barely creep about on land but swim faster than anyone else in the sea.” Just like her own grandmother.
When Suwol didn’t respond immediately, Junja thought that perhaps he had satisfied his curiosity at last.
> But the boy asked another question. “That whistling sound you haenyeo make when you surface—why do you do that?”
“Sumbisori?” It’s just what we do, Junja thought, as she tried to remember what she had been taught. “We make that noise to make sure all the bad air comes out. And to let the other divers know that we’ve surfaced.”
Suwol stopped walking. He was grinning, and that smile rearranged his motley features in a way that made it impossible for Junja not to smile back. “Could you please make your sumbisori right now?” He planted his walking stick and waited.
“Here?”
“Yes!” Suwol’s eyes glinted.
Junja considered. This bright mountainside was nothing like the shadowy depths. Without the sea bearing down and the desperate need of her body, was it possible to make the same noise? Not if the boy kept looking at her like that. She flushed. “You’ll have to turn around first.”
Suwol swiveled immediately. “Take all the time you need. I’ll stay put until you’re done.”
Junja closed her eyes, drawing air deep into her belly. She imagined herself plummeting. The water pulsated and swirled, as vital and vast as the mountain she was standing on. Her hands reached out, searching for the light above. The breath she was holding started fluttering against her chest. She let it escape.
Birds shot out of the trees as the piglet jumped, squealing. After a moment of surprised silence, the mountain resumed its usual din: insects buzzed, birds chirped, leaves rustled.
“You sound like a hawk.” Suwol turned around. His smile was so wide that it swallowed his eyes.
Junja blushed.
* * *
To the crow flying overhead, the boy and girl walking through the forested foothills of Hallasan were curious enough to merit a second pass. There were no interesting smells or shiny baubles worth stopping for, so it swooped up and flew away, loud in its disappointment.
Junja almost jumped when Suwol’s hand touched her shoulder. His voice was so close to her ear that she could feel the heat of his breath. “Look over there.”
He was pointing down, toward a small shoot unfurling from the ground.
“Gosari.” He held out his arms. “This is my secret spot. It’s warmer down here, so the ferns bud earlier. If we pick for an hour, we could gather enough for you to take home to your mother. You could eat them all summer.”
The boy stepped into the patch of green curls and squatted down to unfold two large squares of cloth. “One for you and one for me.” He gestured to a place beside him.
Junja crouched next to the boy, pulling one of the squares toward her. She could feel her heart pounding. Why did it sound so loud? Could Suwol hear it too?
“You can use this knife.” Suwol laid the blade on the ground, making sure to turn the sharp tip away from her.
Did he plan all of this just for her? Deep inside Junja, an unfamiliar sensation bloomed, soft and warm.
The two of them worked wordlessly, side by side, close enough for the boy to sense the warmth of the girl’s body mixing with the cooler mountain air. Junja could feel the whoosh of Suwol’s breathing, more sensation than sound. Their knives cut the stems, while their hands twisted the ferns free.
Small clouds drifted across the sky. The sun climbed higher. The boy and girl laughed and murmured. Gosari, young and tender, began spilling over the squares of cloth.
Suwol’s hands stopped.
Time to go, Junja thought. She closed her eyes and sighed, not wanting to leave. If she could, she would live forever in this quiet green moment.
Suwol shifted, moving so close that Junja could smell his musk. Her skin prickled, suddenly aware. She could hardly breathe, and she didn’t dare move.
His finger touched her, lightly, on the cheek.
The boy’s voice was so soft that the girl wasn’t sure whether the words were being spoken aloud or whether she was imagining them.
“When I first saw you on the mountain, I thought you were a gumiho. So fierce and wild.” He swallowed. “And, last night, after looking at the stars … I couldn’t concentrate at all.” His finger traced the curve of her lip.
Junja looked up.
Tiny images of her face were reflected in Suwol’s eyes. How had she lived her entire life by the sea without knowing that he was here, on the mountain?
Her hands trembled as they rose toward his face and then stopped. Junja felt herself flush. She scooted away to fuss with her bundle of ferns, trying to hide her face.
Suwol pulled his hand back. “My apologies. That was presumptuous of me. I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad.”
The girl shook her head. This wasn’t anger, but something else that felt just as hot and red. What would Mother think? Junja could almost see her mother’s face, contorted by emotion.
“Don’t you feel as happy as I do?” The boy looked anxious.
Joy and dread pierced Junja in equal measure. What kind of happiness was this, to be shadowed by such anxiety? She glanced at the forest undergrowth. If someone had been watching, what would they have witnessed? His fingers touching her face. Her hand rising and then stopping. Nothing terribly shameful. She shushed the boy. “Something might hear you.” It was never a good idea to tempt fate by crowing about one’s happiness or good luck.
Suwol laughed. “I’m not very superstitious.”
Junja managed a smile. “I’m being silly, aren’t I?” Still, she couldn’t help shivering. Had a cloud passed over the sun?
As they tied their bundles of fern, a heaviness tugged at the girl. Even when Suwol took hold of Junja’s hand, the girl couldn’t let go of her dark premonition.
* * *
“Have you ever thought about the kind of life you’d like to live?” Suwol released Junja’s hand to poke at the undergrowth with his walking stick. The girl’s anxiety spiked with this break in contact, so when he grabbed her hand again, she squeezed his hand and smiled.
“I’m not sure what you mean.” Junja puzzled over Suwol’s strange question. Life was about survival and duty, working to feed and care for one’s family. She had always done what needed to be done. Water work, housework, fieldwork, schoolwork … For a woman on Jeju, life was nothing but work, as Mother always said.
“What I mean is, do you want to be a haenyeo, like your mother and grandmother? Or do you want to do something else and live a different kind of life entirely?”
The questions puzzled Junja with their assumptions. Did he think she had a choice in such matters? She didn’t want to appear dull, so she chose her words carefully. “My mother always says that in her next life she doesn’t want to be born a haenyeo. Maybe I wouldn’t either.”
“I’m asking you about this life, not the next one.”
Junja shrugged. “In this life, I’m a haenyeo.”
Suwol’s stride lengthened as he spoke. “My father’s family has always lived on the mountain. No one has ever left. I want to be the first. I want to go to America.”
Might as well fly to the moon on the backs of magpies. “Why America?”
Suwol stopped walking. “Did you know that people in America don’t have to draw or pump their water? All they do is twist a metal handle, and water flows right into their homes.”
Junja tried to imagine such a device, but could not fathom how it would work without flooding the house.
“I swear it’s true. And here’s something more amazing: they use porcelain chamber pots connected to pipes. When they finish, they pull a handle, and everything washes away.”
“Where does it go?”
“I thought that maybe it went to the pigsty,” said Suwol, “but apparently it goes somewhere far away to be cleaned.”
“Then what do their pigs eat?”
“Apparently, there’s so much food in America that they feed their pigs corn.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Suwol took a breath. “Actually, I didn’t start this conversation to talk about what pigs eat, but to ask for your opinion. Do y
ou think I’m crazy? Or would you want to go to a place like America too?”
Was he asking her to join him? Junja didn’t dare presume. “What would you do there?”
“I’d want to learn English at one of their universities. That’s what I’d do first.”
“How do you know so much about America?”
“Remember the missionaries who visited Jeju?”
Who could forget? Though they had no right to complain, the Japanese officers had raised a ruckus about the foreigners. There had been rumors in the village about these strange people starting a school that children could attend for free.
Suwol continued, “The missionaries stayed with us for several days. Father let me listen to their stories. They talked a lot. Especially about their god.”
Junja had heard about their god as well. An entire neighboring village had converted all at once, to ally themselves with the deity that had cast out the Japanese. Their minister visited Junja’s village often, trying to convince everyone that the Christian god was more powerful than all the gods of Korea combined.
“My grandmother says that anyone with a lick of sense would know that the gods of Jeju would not allow a foreign god to meddle here.”
Suwol rolled a stone away from the path with his stick. “Not everyone believes in gods and spirits, you know. Some people believe that only the physical world exists.”
Junja’s eyes opened wide. Birds flew in the air. Fish swam in the water. Men walked on land. And spirits lived in the shadow realm of dreams, darting in and out of the world of men and animals as they pleased.
“How do these people explain bad luck? Good fortune? Coincidences? What do they think happens when we die?” Junja could hardly believe such people existed.
Suwol shrugged. “They think that when we die, we’re gone. That’s it. The end.”
Junja shuddered. Such people were missing an elemental sense, like the baby that had been born without eyes. The thing had been mercifully smothered, and the shaman had purified the home of its taint. People who denied the spirit world were monstrous like that baby, missing parts that made them fully human. Without a spirit sense to guide their actions, such people would be capable of unthinkable deeds.