by Sumi Hahn
The old woman wiped her nose before taking the stone. She squinted as she rubbed it between her fingers. “I never thought I’d see this again.”
“You’ve seen this pearl before?”
Grandmother nodded. Junja’s mother had found the stone in an area bordered by hidden currents and dagger reefs. She had risked her life to swim through those twin dangers and had discovered a sandy bed hidden by a forest of giant kelp. “Your mother was in Seogwipo to sell the pearl the day she met your father. She must have given it to him as a bridal gift instead. Bad luck to do that. No wonder the marriage didn’t last.”
There were local legends about the pearls that were discovered when Korea still had a powerful king. Chests brimming with pearls, mandarins, and abalone had once been sent to the royal court in annual tribute. As the old ways were forgotten, fewer divers found such treasures. But Junja had found one, and apparently her mother had as well.
After Junja coughed up the pearl, Grandmother had snatched the stone from the sand. Asked by the other haenyeo what it was, the old woman had shown them an ordinary pebble instead.
Grandmother told Junja to keep her mother’s stone a secret, to safeguard it from theft. “Tell no one until the time comes to sell it. Hide it on your body. Pearls must be kept near living flesh, to keep their luster.”
“I’ll hold onto the pearl forever, Halmung. As a memento of Mother.”
The old woman shook her head. “Unless you want to lose a husband too, you’re better off selling it. When the time comes, try to sell it on the mainland. It’ll fetch a better price there.”
Twelve
They went to the burial mound when the hour of the Ox gave way to the hour of the Tiger, as darkness turned into dawn. They arranged the offerings in wooden bowls that glowed with moonlight: millet, buckwheat, tangerines, pears, fish, rice cakes, bean sprouts, seaweed. Junja poured the water. Grandmother lit incense. They kneeled to pray, then prostrated themselves, touching their foreheads to the cool ground while holding their palms up to the heavens.
As the sky started brightening, Grandmother and Junja did the work of remembering. In the spring, Mother’s mound had been a bald pile of earth they smoothed with their hands while Junja wept and Grandmother wailed. Now, they were mowing the grass on her grave with the same scythes they used in cutting kelp.
The old woman glanced at Junja, whose eyes were swollen. Far too young to be tending her mother’s grave. She wondered how Jin and Gongja were faring, entrusted to the care of their flighty father and a stranger she didn’t know.
After the prayers were completed, the old woman and the girl gathered the offerings, placing the food into a basket to take home for a late breakfast. The remainder of the day would be spent visiting with friends and neighbors, sharing treats from the harvest festival.
Grandmother studied the enormous moon, still sharing the sky with the sun. “The water will go out very far this evening. The returning waves will be powerful.”
That meant long strands of kelp tossed on the sand, chilled from the deep. Crabs lured out of hiding by the lunar glow. Beds of clams laid bare. Driftwood and glinting scraps from boats lost at sea. Easy pickings, as long as a watchful eye was kept on the incoming tide, which could crush the unwary with a giant fist of water.
Junja nodded. “I promise I’ll be careful.”
* * *
The harvest moon burst with light. Waves slapped the sand. Junja darted between the exposed rocks. She scooped up emerald clumps of seaweed while timing the tides, counting under her breath.
She chased the receding wave, following its trail of foam to the rock tower that stood alone, far from shore. Her hands reached down, feeling for the mossy seaweed that grew at the boulder’s base. Something tried to squirm away, but her quick fingers grabbed it. Two more wriggling crabs were caught before Junja ran back, just ahead of the surf that crashed behind her, spraying her with mist. The waves washed her ankles.
The bulging bag squirmed. She tossed in several fistfuls of wet seaweed. She studied the water, wondering if she could chance one more trip.
“Junja!”
The girl whirled around. A voice, just audible above the ocean’s roar.
A tall silhouette stepped out from the shadows. “Junja!”
The bag slipped from her shoulder.
“Suwol?” She had not said his name aloud since their afternoon among the ferns.
The boy was standing in front of her, pale with moonlight. He was carrying a pack and a walking stick, looking just like he did the first time she saw him. Alongside the boy, Boshi wagged his tail and panted.
“Why are you here and not on the mountain?” In her shock, Junja forgot to greet him. She had to remind herself that Suwol was the first-born son of a nobleman, with a scholar’s honeyed tongue. She needed to stay alert.
The girl bowed. “It’s been a long time, sir.”
Suwol stepped forward, swallowing. The dog rushed back and forth between the boy and the girl. “It’s been a long time, yes—much too long. Are you feeling better now? Every time I came to offer my condolences, your grandmother turned me away. She said you were still in mourning.”
The girl took a step back. “I was sick for a while. But I’m better now. Thank you for your concern, sir.” She bowed again, sinking deeper than she needed to.
“Are you mad at me for leaving without saying goodbye? I tried to, but the other haenyeo wouldn’t let me in the house. I waited for as long as I could, but you never came back outside.” Suwol’s head drooped. “I’m so sorry about your mother.”
The girl’s eyes glimmered. “You’re not at fault for anything. No need to apologize.”
The dog nosed Junja’s hand and whined. The boy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Did you find the gosari where I left them for you?”
Someone had spread the wilted greens on a bank of hot sand to dry. When Junja found the fern buds, they had cured properly, turning dark and shriveled, like strange characters written on the sand.
“So you did that. Thank you.” She wanted to look away from the boy’s face but was unable to move her gaze.
Suwol took another step forward. Junja stayed put, trying not to shiver.
“I brought you chicken soup from my mother. I tried to stay until you woke up, but there were other people with me, and they couldn’t wait.” He took another step.
The girl could see the boy’s anguish, clear in the moonlight. “The soup was delicious. Please tell your mother that we are very grateful for her generosity, sir. Are you here to pick up the crock?”
Suwol’s knuckles whitened around the walking stick. “Why are you speaking to me so coldly? I thought we were friends.”
An agony of guilt roiled the girl. She couldn’t stop herself. “I should’ve gone home sooner. What happened to my mother is my fault.”
The boy shook his head. “It’s not your fault, those d—”
Junja interrupted. “My mother was supposed to go to the mountain that day, not me.” Her eyes brimmed. She wrapped her arms around herself.
Suwol put down his walking stick and took off the pack. “You must be cold.” He took another step toward the girl.
Junja took a half step back, shaking her head. Tears glistened on her face. “Thank you for your condolences, sir. You can go now.”
As the girl turned away, Suwol closed the gap, pulling her toward him. The heat from his body warmed Junja through her wet clothes. Suwol whispered against the back of her ear. “You’re too cold-blooded to be human. You really must be half fish.”
Junja broke free of his embrace. She turned around quivering, arm raised to strike.
Suwol stopped her hand as his lips fell upon hers.
* * *
The moon watched as Junja’s bag fell to the sand, spilling open. One by one, the crabs emerged, ragged claws scuttling on sand. They were pushed forward by every wave, toward the open sea, where lights bobbed on the water. On the cuttlefish boats, men held out t
heir nets, waiting for the soft creatures to swim toward the blaze of their torches.
* * *
“You taste like the sea.” Suwol breathed against Junja’s ear.
Junja quivered, though she no longer felt cold. “What does the sea taste like?”
“Salty. Sweet. Wild.”
The surf pounded the shore like a drum. The moon made Junja’s face glow. She had memorized Suwol completely: his eyes, his voice, his scent, his touch. “You taste like the mountain.”
The boy closed his eyes. Junja could hardly hear his question.
“What does the mountain taste like?”
“Mushrooms. And gosari.”
* * *
The yellow dog nosed the boy, whining softly. The bonfire had long since turned into ashes. Crab shells, roasted and sucked clean, were strewn on the sand. The moon, reaching its bright height, had started its nightly descent.
Junja stood up. “I should go before my grandmother starts worrying.”
“Let me walk you home.” Suwol tried to take her hand, but Junja avoided him.
“Someone might see us.”
“I don’t care.”
“I’m an unmarried woman. Even if you don’t care, everyone else will.”
“What if the man holding your hand were your fiancé?” Suwol managed to grab the girl’s hand.
At the first prickle of contact, Junja flushed with both pleasure and exasperation. She tried to sound annoyed, but her voice wasn’t forceful enough. “A first-born yangban son choosing his own bride? I’ve never heard of that one before.” Junja managed to pull her hand free.
The boy crossed his arms. “I don’t believe in those dated, silly customs.”
“You’re assuming that I would want to marry you.”
“Why wouldn’t you?” Suwol grinned.
Junja sighed. “Think of your parents.”
“People should be free to marry anyone they want. Marriage shouldn’t be determined by families.”
“That’s Communist!”
“Don’t you agree?”
Junja looked around her. She had been warned never to talk about politics, not even in jest. Be careful and neutral. Silence was safest. “Mother used to say that as long as the government didn’t get in the way of us living our lives, she didn’t care who they were or what they believed.”
Suwol threw up his hands. “You have to care!” He was speaking in earnest now. “Jeju should be its own sovereign nation. The mainland is just a puppet of the Americans, who keep meddling in our business.”
Junja tried to cover Suwol’s mouth. “Shh. Someone might hear you.” The dirt path had grown wider, and they were approaching the village. Suwol’s dangerous words could not be overheard.
Boshi, who had been trotting behind them, stopped and growled. Nose working furiously, the white dog loped over to a dark bulk propped against the shadows of a doldam wall like a pile of logs.
Suwol whistled. The dog ran back, chewing and wagging his tail. “I have to go, Junja. I promise I’ll visit you again soon.”
The girl frowned. “Where are you going this late at night?”
Suwol squeezed Junja’s hands. “Nothing for you to worry about. You stay safe. Don’t take too many chances with the ocean, because I want to marry you.”
Junja slapped Suwol on the arm. “Shh, stop your crazy talk.” She wanted to sound angry, but her heart was thudding with such joy that she had to push Suwol away, to stop herself from embracing him. “Go ahead, get out of here.”
The boy laughingly bowed in jest and crossed his fingers, holding them up in promise as he jogged away.
Thirteen
Grandmother was lying on her pallet, listening for Junja and worrying about the wild moon. When she heard the creak of the kitchen door, the old woman closed her eyes. Relief turned into gratitude—she reminded herself to bring an offering to the sea king—before relaxing into exhaustion. The old woman sank into a dream.
She was young again, her body lithe and supple. She marveled at the rush of power charging through her body, nothing at all like the slow trickle that sustained her waking moments. She was walking on the shore, trying to calm the god of the ocean. Waves pounded the sand, but the sea king’s fists could not reach the object of his rage, which lay somewhere beyond the mountain.
His immense voice was the howling wind. The sea king issued a warning, a string of gusty syllables that whispered and shrieked. The word unspooled on the gale, a whistling pronunciation of unspeakable pain.
The incoming tide turned red around her ankles.
She stood defiant against the winds that lashed her. She screamed, using the most powerful utterance in every language known to man and beast and god. One word stood between her and the incoming sorrow, one bright twinkle against a rising wall of darkness. That scream withered her muscles, wrinkled her skin, and silvered her hair.
The old woman’s eyes flew open. They were running out of time.
Fourteen
When the first man disappeared from the village, no one paid any mind. A foul-tempered bachelor who once killed a pig for snorting at him, he wasn’t the sort of person anyone would miss.
When the next man vanished, some people joked that he had run away to join rebel leader Lee Duk Ho, who was rumored to hiding in the mountain. Wagging tongues whispered that the man was shacked up with a woman in another village. His wife, who discovered his absence after diving all day, swore that he was too spineless to join the Communists and too afraid of her to have an affair.
Because no one knew what happened to these two men, they weren’t included in the official count of villagers who were rounded up by the military police and jailed in Seogwipo. Seven men had been languishing in those cells all summer. One was released after his wife paid a large bribe. Upon his return, the family packed their belongings onto a skiff to escape to one of the smaller outlying islands. They warned everyone else to follow their example.
The absence of nine men slowed down the harvest and burdened the women, who had to toil in the fields after they emerged exhausted from the water. Everyone looked to Grandmother for advice, but the old woman withdrew into an uncharacteristic silence. Everyone expected her to go into town to broker the men’s release. Instead, she ignored the situation.
None of this, however, worried Junja so much as the fact that Grandmother had stopped diving. The old woman let Junja take over her dives, explaining that the girl was skilled enough to take on the added responsibility. In the mornings, Grandmother opened her eyes just long enough to remind Junja to say her prayers before turning over to fall back asleep. The other haenyeo expressed Junja’s private concerns out loud.
“Not diving again? Is she sick?”
“Why does she spend so much time with that clown of a constable? If she weren’t so old, you’d think they were having an affair!”
Junja held her tongue but watched her grandmother carefully. The old woman now spent most of her days in meditation and prayer, rousing herself only for Mr. Lee’s visits, when she would prepare elaborate meals. The two of them would linger over tea for hours, their favorite topic of discussion always the same. As she eavesdropped, Junja wondered how it was possible for them to ignore everything else to fixate so single-mindedly on food. Had her grandmother gone soft in the head?
* * *
“The next government shipment into Jeju includes a thousand sacks of rice and a hundred pallets of beer, sent on direct orders of President Rhee Syng Man himself.” Constable Lee held out his cup.
Grandmother poured the barley tea. “Is it true he’s married to an American woman?”
“I don’t know what she is, but she’s definitely not Korean. President Rhee attended university in America and met her there.”
“Is she as ugly as they say?” As soon as Junja heard her grandmother ask this question, the girl wanted to scream.
“Even uglier.”
“He’s no beauty either, I’ve heard.” The old woman offered the cons
table a peeled tangerine, which he stuffed whole into his mouth. “The ugly ones always have something to prove, don’t they?” She chuckled before asking another question. “How much of that rice is going to be sent down to the regiments here in the South?”
The constable chewed juicily and swallowed before answering. “Half. And by the time everything changes hands, a lot less.
“We’re going to need more grain to make it through winter. It’s going to be a bad one.” Grandmother glanced at Junja, who was washing the dishes from their lunch and pretending not to listen.
“That reminds me—” The constable reached into his rucksack to pull out a squat tin. “Those fiendishly clever Americans have figured out how to put boiled pork into cans, so it doesn’t spoil. It stays good for weeks!”
“What kind of meat doesn’t spoil?” The old woman made a face as she took the offered can. “Unnatural.”
“It’s not bad if you know what to do with it.” The constable pointed to a small metal pick stuck to the bottom of the tin. “Pull that off and then thread it on the tab there. As you twist, the can will open. I’m curious to see what a good cook could do with it.”
“If that’s a challenge, I accept.” Grandmother waved Junja over. “Does this smell like pork to you?”
The girl sniffed the can and shook her head.
The constable shrugged. “If you like it, I’ll bring more. The Americans eat this stuff all the time. They just slice it up and fry it.”
Junja interrupted. “Halmung?”
“Yes, child?”
“Are you going to dive this afternoon?”
The old woman waved her away. “Go ahead without me.”
* * *
“I’m worried about my grandmother.” Junja was holding onto one side of a dripping net full of kelp and abalone while Suwol grabbed the other.
The boy had managed several visits in between mysterious errands that he refused to talk about. Junja had invited him to lunch once, but when Suwol heard that the constable would be present, he declined. The sight of a Nationalist uniform, he told her, made him lose his appetite.