by Sumi Hahn
Alarm prickled her as she considered the possibilities. Junja could hear Mother’s voice chiding her, reminding her that careless thoughts invited bad fortune. She muttered a good luck phrase under her breath.
Seven
Down by the main road, the cherry blossom trees had shed all their blooms, which lay in brown tatters on the ground. The constable that Junja met the day before was no longer guarding the pass. In his place was a thin man missing his front teeth, who scratched himself as he lisped through the interrogation. Halfway into Junja’s explanation about the abalone and the piglet, the man waved them forward.
“All right, all right. Go ahead already.”
As they walked out of hearing distance, Suwol cursed, startling the piglet, which dove into the green undergrowth. “Dogs. Acting so tough because the Americans loaned them some guns. I should take a tanker to Seoul and interrogate every mainlander walking over the Han Gang Bridge.”
Junja glanced around to see if anyone could have overheard Suwol’s outburst. She was startled by a green military motorcycle approaching on the road. She peered up into the forest canopy. Were Nationalist soldiers hiding in the trees as well? She tugged Suwol’s arm and shushed him.
The motorcycle slowed to a stop when it reached them. The soldier took off his goggles before speaking. He pointed to the vacant sidecar. “You two wanna ride?” His accent revealed him to be a local. “I’m headed to Seogwipo, if that’s where you’re goin’.”
Suwol was glaring at the young motorcyclist, so Junja decided to answer. “I’m going to Lonely Rock Village, which is on the way. He’s headed to Seogwipo, though.”
Suwol interrupted. His voice was clipped, but his language was polite. “Why are you wearing that uniform, sir?”
The young soldier rubbed his recently shorn hair. His face, darkened from sun, looked pleasant, and his hands were callused. “You think I had a choice in this? Where were you when they were conscripting? Hiding on the mountain, right?” He winked at Junja and snorted as if he had made a funny joke. “Wanna ride or not?” When Junja nodded, he grinned.
Suwol waved him away. “We don’t want to ride a Yankee motorcycle.”
Junja was quick to contradict him. “Yes, we do.” She turned to Suwol. “I’ve never ridden something like that before.”
“You don’t need to. And neither do I.” The boy crossed his arms.
The girl frowned. “We might have to walk for hours before someone else comes along.”
“Fine with me. I’d rather walk the whole way.”
“Well, I wouldn’t.” Junja placed her pack on the floor of the sidecar and stooped to lift the squealing piglet.
Suwol watched, fuming, as Junja, her pack, and the piglet settled into the sidecar. The motorcycle driver handed her the extra pair of goggles and shrugged at Suwol. “If you wanna come, you’ll have to sit behind me and close your eyes. Your choice.”
When it became clear that Junja was going to ride the motorcycle without him, Suwol climbed on at the last possible moment. Rather than wrap his arms around the driver as instructed, however, he opted to hold onto the back of the seat.
The young cyclist shouted to Suwol over the racket of the engine. “Your little sister, right?” He gestured to the sidecar.
Suwol’s answer was lost in the din, but the cyclist heard what he wanted to hear. “I could tell, the way you acted. All familiar like. She’s cute. Think she’d go for a guy like me?”
“I doubt it.”
“Typical big brother. Don’t be too overprotective. You don’t want her to become an old maid.” He glanced at Junja, whose gleeful smile encouraged him to gun the engine and speed up. “She likes to go fast, doesn’t she?”
Suwol, who had grabbed the cyclist when the motorcycle lurched forward, tightened his embrace.
“Easy there, ohrabang. I need to breathe to drive this thing. Whatcha doin’ in Seogwipo anyways?”
“Errands.”
“That could mean anything.” The cyclist glanced at Junja. “Lemme give you a tip, on account of your sister there. Things are a little tense in the city right now. You might wanna steer clear. But you didn’t hear that from me. In fact, you never saw me, and I never gave you a ride. Get what I’m sayin’?”
Suwol swallowed. “What’s going on?” He had been hoping the monk was mistaken.
“Commies are being jailed and questioned.”
“How do they know who the commies are?”
“Oh, we have our ways. Most of the time you can tell just by looking at their eyes.”
“That seems to be a rather inexact method.”
“That sounds like something a commie would say. You’re not a commie are you? ’Cuz I’d need to report you if you were.”
“I’m just another Jeju native like you. And like her.” Suwol pointed his elbow at the sidecar.
The young soldier glanced at Junja and revved the motorcycle again. “Your sister’s too pretty to be a communist, so I guess you aren’t one either.”
* * *
Junja was still shaking her head in wonder as the motorcycle roared away. Suwol, who had declined the offer of a lift all the way to the city, had bowed to the young man, thanking him for his advice, but looked troubled as Junja chattered about the miraculous machine that had brought them so quickly to the village.
“I can’t believe we’re already here! It’s like magic! Thank you, sir!”
Suwol had been too preoccupied to join the parting conversation. Junja attributed the boy’s dark mood to the flirting cyclist, who asked for her name and promised, with a broad wink, to return and give her another ride. She had been about to answer when Suwol responded for her.
“I’m Kim Dok Mun, and she’s E-Hwa. Actually, we don’t live here. We live near the pass, where you picked us up. We’re bringing some ferns to trade with the haenyeo here.” He had loosened one of their bundles to reveal its green contents.
“Why did you lie to that guy?” Junja asked the question after the cyclist rode away.
“Because it’s never a good idea to give your real name to a soldier, if you can help it. You never know what might be done with the information.”
Grandmother and Mother would have agreed. “I wasn’t thinking. Thank you. Did you tell him that we were brother and sister too?”
“He made that part up himself.”
The two of them walked from the main road toward the village, stopping every now and then for Junja to yank the piglet, which insisted on sniffing every plant. Several passersby shot Junja odd looks that the girl attributed to the unknown boy walking besides her. When they reached the public reservoir at the heart of the village, Suwol suggested that they stop to refill his gourd.
Junja took a long swallow from the ladle before giving it to Suwol. The piglet tugged at her, so she glanced down to shush it. When she looked back up, a ladleful of water hit her in the face. Junja spluttered as she wiped her eyes.
Suwol was grinning, holding the dripping ladle. “You gonna take a ride with every soldier on a fast motorcycle, little sister?”
“Only with your permission, ohrabang!” On the last word, Junja threw the contents of the bucket at Suwol, who retaliated by throwing more ladles of water from the reservoir. The two of them were soaked through and laughing loudly when one of the village grandmothers scuttled toward them, wringing her hands and wailing.
“Junja—go home quickly! Your mother! Something terrible happened!”
The smile dropped from Junja’s face. After a shocked pause, she ran through the dusty streets, dripping water and dragging the alarmed piglet behind her. Suwol chased her, his longer legs allowing him to catch up to the girl. She was panting, wild-eyed. He took the leash for the squealing piglet out of her hands.
Outside Junja’s house, standing among the clucking chickens, a group of haenyeo stood sentry, damp in their water clothes.
“Her daughter’s here at last!”
“Has she returned in time?”
“H
urry, hurry!”
Grandmother opened the door, silencing the women.
Junja rushed forward. “What happened? Where’s Mother?” Water dripped from her hair onto the front stoop. Suwol helped Junja take off the pack.
The old woman looked at the boy and the piglet and then down at the dark puddle of water pooling below them. She said nothing as she pulled her granddaughter inside and shut the door.
Junja could not see in the sudden dimness. She closed her eyes as the old woman pushed her through the doorway to the room where they all slept.
A woman she didn’t recognize was lying on her mother’s mat. Junja’s younger sister and brother were beside her, clutching each other and hiccupping with sobs. A white-haired woman was rubbing prayer beads between her hands. Beside her, a young girl shook a rattle over the prone body.
When the shaman sensed Junja’s presence, she stopped her ministrations and motioned for her to come closer.
Junja fell to her knees, shaking her head. That swollen face did not belong to Mother. That was a stranger lying on Mother’s pillow.
Grandmother’s voice was too loud. “Your eldest, Junja, has returned.”
This person could not be Mother. This was a shriveled thing, mottled with bruises. Mother would never lie down during the day. Mother was never sick. Junja began to shiver.
The swollen eyes tried to open. A word escaped the bleeding lips. “Junja.”
Grandmother nudged the girl. “Answer, quickly.”
Junja shook her head, trying to rise, away from the imposter on the floor. Grandmother pulled her back down. She wiped the girl’s damp hand against her clothes before wrapping Junja’s hand around the woman’s.
The woman on the mat coughed. A pink froth bubbled out of her mouth. The stranger’s eyes were staring at something beyond Junja’s shoulder. The girl looked in that direction but saw nothing.
The woman’s hand gripped Junja’s, hard. “The piglet?”
Mother’s voice. Unmistakable. Horror surged through Junja.
“I-I got a good fat one. He’s outside.” The girl was trying not to retch. She was rubbing her mother’s hands, which felt like ice. Mother squeezed her hand. Surely everything would be all right. Mother’s grip was still so strong.
“Good girl …” Mother’s voice trailed away as her eyes closed.
Junja shook her mother’s hand, which still held hers. “Mother?” The girl’s voice rose high.
Mother’s eyes opened again. She looked at Junja as if she wanted to say something more, but no sound came out of her mouth.
The hand that Junja held grew soft.
* * *
When Suwol saw the white-haired woman and the girl leave the house, he stopped them.
“What’s happening? Is Junja’s mother all right?”
The shaman glanced down at the girl standing by her side. The girl stared through Suwol, her black eyes glittering. She cocked her head.
The white-haired shaman finally answered. “Her mother was badly hurt.”
“During a dive?”
The white-haired woman studied the boy before answering. “The others brought the girl’s mother home.” She nodded toward the waiting women, who stood by, silent as stones.
“Shouldn’t you go back inside? To help?”
The shaman gave her beads, knives, and rattles to the little girl, who put them into a basket. The woman turned her gaze up, staring at the sky above the thatched hut. The trees shivered in a sudden breeze. She turned her white head to listen.
Inside the house, someone started screaming.
The boy blinked, stunned, as the haenyeo surged past him, pouring inside. He started to follow before remembering the piglet. He stopped to tie the beast to a fence.
The white-haired shaman touched his arm. “Are you kin?”
He shook his head. “I helped bring the piglet.”
The woman studied Suwol, intrigued. “Not related … yet the course of your blood runs the same.”
“I don’t understand.” The boy thought of his mainlander mother, who had always feared the shamans of Jeju.
The white-haired woman grabbed his arm, urging him to listen. “Stay away from the mountain.”
“I can’t. Hallasan is my home.”
The shaman dropped her hand. Not all truths were meant to be told. Instead, she gave him a blessing, as the little girl by her side watched.
* * *
One by one, the villagers brought nourishment to the mourning household, leaving their sympathies tidily bundled on the front stoop. While the gut was still numb with shock, foods needed to slip down, for easy digestion: watery soups, porridges, custards. Later, the offerings grew more tempting to whet appetites dulled by sorrow: roasted mackerel, glistening with fat; wild garlic shoots pickled in soy sauce and honey; steaming abalone and mussel stew.
Junja dutifully served these meals to her grandmother and siblings. Her brother and sister were already smiling again, the fullness of their bellies distracting them from their pangs for Mother. Junja, however, could only choke down a few mouthfuls. She gave her scrapings to the piglet, which squealed with joy.
After three days of mourning, Junja and her grandmother returned to the sea. The other divers urged them to rest longer, worried that their sorrow was too heavy. They promised to share their catch.
Grandmother waved aside their concerns. Junja’s cheeks were too pale, and the girl was visibly dwindling. The depths would numb any sorrows that were submerged. The old woman calculated and concluded: better for the sea king to take his tithe than for the girl to succumb to sorrow. Still, the old woman prayed for mercy.
Their dives were abundant, a god’s way of compensating for what had been lost.
At night, after Junja fell asleep, her grandmother chanted by her side, trying to ease the girl’s anguish.
Every morning, Grandmother asked the same question. Every time, Junja’s answer was the same.
“Nothing, Halmung. I didn’t dream anything at all.”
Instead, little brother Jin and little sister Gongja shared their dreams, their voices shrill against Junja’s monotone.
“I dreamt I was growing huge,” said Gongja. “I grew as big as the house and was wearing it like a dress. My head crashed through the roof, and my arms stuck out of the windows. I grew as tall as a tree!”
Grandmother nodded, keeping an eye on Junja. “Twelve is the right age for the growing dream. It means that your body is readying itself to become a woman. You will dream this dream several times more. Once your body has gone through the change, the dream will stop visiting you.”
Jin piped up. “I dreamt that I was flying like a bird. If I hopped up like this and raised my arms, I would float up in the air. That’s how I found Ummung in the sky. She was flying too, so I followed her. We flew away toward the mountain together.”
Grandmother smoothed the little boy’s hair. “Do you remember where you flew with your mother?”
Jin thought for a moment. “We flew away from the village, over the mountain. I don’t know where I went. But Ummung wasn’t with me anymore when I got there.”
“That’s as it should be,” said the old woman. “Your mother lives in the spirit world now, and you are too young to join her there. You have to finish this life first before you can be reunited with her.”
“What does my dream mean, Halmung?
“You will be going on a trip soon.”
“Really?” Jin jumped up.
Grandmother glanced at her eldest grandchild. Junja was taking the breakfast dishes to the kitchen, where she would scour them with sand before rinsing them.
Grandmother leaned toward her youngest grandchild. “Don’t tell anyone about your flying dream. Such a good dream must be kept safe from jealous imps.”
The little boy nodded. Dotchebbi were always stealing his favorite rocks and sticks, hiding them so that he couldn’t play with them. He was a smart boy and knew how to keep a secret.
Eight
The girl closed her eyes, trying not to awaken completely. She wanted to drift for a while longer, in that quiet place where everything she wanted to forget remained distant, on the edge of memory. Yet she could not stop the incoming waves of her restless mind.
The moon lighting a path through the night sky against a choir of crickets. The bracing sweetness of a mountain spring. Suwol’s fingers, white against the green ferns. Blood staining Mother’s socks, red rusting into brown.
Junja curled into a ball, trying to squeeze the sensations out of her chest.
That ache pushed Junja out of bed, away from the warmth of the other sleeping bodies. She felt her way along the uneven wooden floor on her hands and knees. Mother’s chores were now hers. Time to start the fire for the morning porridge.
On that morning when she had taken Mother’s place, Junja had lain drowsing in bed until she remembered that Mother was going to the mountain. The girl had bolted up, making Grandmother mutter, to join Mother in the kitchen. As Junja added kindling to the flames, Mother had ladled water into the black pot holding the leftover millet from the evening meal. Junja had stirred the porridge as she begged Mother to let her go to the mountain instead. Mother had shaken her head as she added eggs and minced green onion to the pot.
Junja dressed herself in the dark, feeling bereft as she put on her mother’s house shift and hair wrap. She wanted to cocoon herself in Mother’s fading scent. When Grandmother first saw Junja dressed in those clothes, the old woman had muttered darkly about gwishin. She was too practical, however, to waste anything and allowed her granddaughter to wear her dead daughter’s belongings.