The Mermaid from Jeju

by Sumi Hahn

  The two boys chased after the girl, who was following a large stream toward its source. The trees tried to push them away as branches clawed at their clothes. Just when they feared they would lose her, Junja stopped still in her tracks. She wiped her nose as she sniffed the air. She had found the unlikeliest of scents, so far away from shore.

  The fat boy noticed it too, though he didn’t know what it was. He rubbed his belly and sighed, remembering a bowl of red seaweed soup.

  Junja motioned for the boys to follow as she climbed over a sharp ridge of rocks. There, at the top, were three boulders, each one shaped like a man. The trio of stones were slouched in a huddle, as if they were sharing a secret.

  The girl prayed for permission before reaching into that conspiracy of stones. She pulled out the limbs of large branches and dug out a sodden pile of leaves. The rock guardians seemed to move apart as a gash opened up in the earth. Junja lay on her stomach and slipped through, disappearing as if she were swallowed. The two boys followed in her wake, tumbling headlong into the earth.

  The space was too small to stand in, so the three of them knelt in a crouch. Junja lit a candle, surprising the boys with a lighter. The cave was part of a tunnel made entirely of stone. Junja left a dried fish for the trio of stones, in thanks for allowing them passage. As she covered the mouth of the cave back up, the two boys sniffed, curious. The air underground seemed to move in a current and smelled salty, like the sea. Junja blew out the candle and apologized. They would be crawling in darkness for a while.

  When the boys asked where they were going, Junja’s answer baffled them. They didn’t ask her to explain, because her voice sounded so bleak.

  They were heading back toward the village, to the sea caves

  Thirty-Eight

  They crawled on their bellies, pushing their packs, grit crusting their mouths and noses. The darkness of the tunnel was so deep that Gun Joo began doubting his senses. Were they moving forward, or were they trapped in place, wriggling in the earth like worms? As his friend whimpered and cursed behind him, Gun Joo kept his silence. He thought of his father stroking his head when he used to wake crying from a nightmare.

  Junja clung to the faint scent of brine as she retraced a trail from the past. Mother had taught her how to navigate this twisting route at the end of Junja’s apprenticeship. Only full haenyeos were shown the secrets of the tunnel, which wound its way to the sea. “Imagine you’re diving and extend your senses beyond yourself.” Junja followed the memory of her mother as she crept through the dangerous maze.

  She was about to despair when she saw the glow, a shimmer in the dark. Candles had been placed near the end of the tunnel by those who understood its terrors.

  The girl and the boys stumbled out, blinking at the brightness around them. The sea cavern was filled with people, holding candles against the gloom. Their shadows loomed high on the rocky walls, stretching up to the dome of the ceiling. As everyone rejoiced in their reunion, the villagers thanked them for the risk they had taken.

  The plan had been clever, and its execution precise. Young children, elders, and anyone who might cry or stumble in the dark had gone to the caves during the day while the men patrolled the mountain. The last ones to leave were the cooks and the serving girls who prepared the food for the soldiers.

  Upon the lieutenant’s orders, they had sacrificed the cow. After a bellowing bath in the sea, her body was butchered for a feast. Her ruby flesh was sliced and seasoned, and her bones boiled into broth. Villagers sipped the milky soup, while soldiers grilled the meat. As fat dripped down upon the flames, the fire blazed and roared. That night, the soldiers slept the heavy sleep of men who had gorged on blood. Smoke charred their dreams as the first snow fell, cloaking the world in white.

  The first morning watch was still burping when they discovered the missing boys. After following the footprints to the road, the watchmen roused the rest of the camp for the search. The women waited for the signal. Two gunshots, and they would flee, disappearing like foam on the waves.

  * * *

  For seven days and seven nights, the people in the caves ate as much as they could, filling their bellies with food they had hidden from the soldiers: millet porridge with shredded radish and dried anchovies; salads from mung beans sprouted in the dark; kelp soup and stews of fermented cabbage and soybean paste. They cooked at night, near the mouth of the cave, so the winds could blow the smoke out to sea.

  As they ate, they shared stories of the past, before Jeju had been overrun by strangers, scaring away all the fairies and sprites. They remembered the old days when the goddess of Hallasan was a young girl who roamed the mountain astride a white deer. They told tales from the time when tigers could talk and dragons slept in the cavern, coiled like gargantuan cats. In the beginning, when the sea king had been in his wild prime, the waves had frothed with his vigor, seeding every oyster with a pearl.

  When Junja’s turn came, she gave thanks to her grandmother, who had conspired to protect them all. The women of the village beat their breasts and wailed, mourning the old woman’s lonely deathbed. Junja, eyes spilling, shared her grandmother’s last story: she had already had a funeral once. Long ago, to trick a god.

  The ruse had bought her an ordinary life. Yet a dark weed had taken root in the space reserved for the ancestral spirit that she had rejected at her parent’s request. After losing their sons to the Japanese, they refused to let their daughter serve gods who had failed in their duties.

  The Goh Auntie who harbored the spirit gave precise instructions, to stop the legacy from passing on at her death. The potion she gave her niece made the girl fall into a swoon so deep that her body resembled a corpse.

  As the family went into mourning, the auntie closed the door to her house. She had taken with her a chicken, a duck, and enough incense to burn for three days and three nights. The doors and windows of her hut were hammered shut with iron nails, and the seams covered with yellow paper. She wrote incantations on the walls, using her hair as a brush. Nothing could enter or leave that house, not the living nor even the dead.

  The auntie prayed for three days, accompanied by the clucking of the chicken and the quacking of the duck. On the dawn of the fourth day, she started pounding on the walls, screaming to be let out. She threatened to curse everyone in the family and singled out her niece, who had awakened from her temporary death. “There’s a space inside you waiting for the spirit, and if you do not fill it, that place will gather darkness instead!”

  As the sun set, the auntie’s cries grew hoarse, dwindling into croaks that collapsed into whispers. The rising moon finally silenced the auntie, and the family fell into an uneasy sleep.

  Around midnight the chicken began squawking so loudly that the noise shattered everyone’s slumber. The duck answered that sound with an unearthly barrage of its own. The screaming fowls tore apart the night with their argument. The hideous sounds they made resembled human words by avian tongues inadequate to the task.

  When sunlight struck the roof at dawn, the feathered screams were silenced. The two men the auntie had chosen for the task put on their protective amulets and pried open the front door. The auntie’s body lay on a mat. Her eyes had turned milky, and her lips bore the faintest of smiles. On one side of her lay the chicken, dead. On the other side lay the duck, panting and unable to move. With gloved hands, the men carried all the bodies to the woodpile.

  The flames caught immediately, roaring into a blaze so hot it scalded everyone’s cheeks. The air smelled of roasting meat, making mouths water and stomachs churn. When the fire died down, only ashes and knobby white rocks remained, and these were buried with reverence in the forest.

  * * *

  On their eighth night of hiding, the people in the sea cave began their preparations to leave. One last story was shared by candlelight as they finished their final meal. After clearing away every trace of their stay, they filled baskets and bundles with food, as much as they could carry. Children put on every piece
of clothing they owned, while mothers argued with fathers over what to leave behind.

  Junja led the group, with Gun Joo and Dong Min behind her. They crawled away from the sea this time, back toward the rock guardians in the forest. Grandmother had made a pact with the lieutenant. He would meet everyone and lead them to safety. Shadows pressed upon the girl from all sides, darker than the winding tunnel. What if Lieutenant Lee wasn’t there? How long were they supposed to wait?

  Junja stopped crawling, her concentration shattered. The tunnel had divided, and she couldn’t remember which way to go. Mother had warned her about not giving words to worry; Grandmother always said that fear was more dangerous than the tunnels themselves. The long line of people snaking behind the girl waited, wondering what was happening.

  Junja’s chest constricted in the scant air. Her blood drummed in her ears. Her fingernails scraped against stone, scrambling for something to hold.

  Gun Joo tapped her ankle gently. “Are you all right?”

  Junja could hardly breathe.

  Behind her, the women of the village understood her silence. The girl had lost her mother and her grandmother. Of course she would lose her bearings here, in this place that tested even the strongest. The tunnel was too narrow for someone else to take the lead, and no one knew which turn had given the girl pause.

  A quavering note formed in the dark, so low it sank into the shadows. The note was raised again by another voice, which lifted the tone higher. The tunnel began to swell with a choir of voices, twisting and plaiting together. They sang of drifting tides and fishing boats, of lovers lost and treasures found, of stormy winds and wild waters. The song of the haenyeo wrapped the girl in a promise: she was not alone here in the depths of the earth.

  Junja took a shuddering breath. She planted one palm in front of her and swallowed another sip of air. She began to crawl as the singing voices followed her, pushing her forward, helping her remember the way.

  * * *

  As the end of the tunnel drew closer, the air turned sharp with cold. Junja turned to whisper into Gun Joo’s ear. She would go out first to look for the lieutenant. He and Dong Min needed to stay hidden, guns ready, until she signaled that it was safe to emerge.

  Gun Joo touched her hand in acknowledgment, a light brush with his fingers. “We watch and wait for you.”

  Junja clawed through a frozen clot of branches and leaves, reaching a layer of crusty snow. She was breaking through that icy barrier when a hand reached inside and grabbed her, yanking her out with force.

  Gun Joo immediately turned and tapped Dong Min’s head. The other boy repeated the gesture, passing the sign for danger down the trembling line of bodies in the tunnel.

  The man who pulled Junja outside was not Lieutenant Lee. The stranger was dressed in animal skins, like a hunter. A bow was slung across his back, and a blade was strapped to his thigh. His fists were wrapped in rags, and his face bundled against the cold. Junja did not know the man by the clothes he was wearing, but when she looked up, she recognized his eyes. They belonged to a boy she had met in the spring, before her mother died.

  Thirty-Nine

  Suwol did not know Junja at first, though the girl began quivering at the sight of him. Grandmother had warned her that all first loves burnt hot, to quicken the heart, but this one would be branded upon her.

  Junja had to swallow, before she could speak. “Where is Lieutenant Lee?”

  As soon as Suwol heard Junja’s voice, he dropped her arm. His words sounded scorched. “He’s recovering from injuries, so I’ve come in his place.” His tone was formal, as if they were meeting for the very first time. “How many villagers are with you?”

  Junja kept a polite distance as well. “Several dozen. They’re waiting in the tunnels.”

  The half moon disappeared behind a cloud, casting the scene into darkness. The silence between the boy and the girl expanded. It filled with the memories of promises made, words that the world had broken.

  The click of a trigger broke the hush. Gun Joo had crept outside, unnoticed, as Junja and Suwol talked. The moon was shining on his gun. He stuttered, but his hands held steady. “You’re n-not Lieutenant Lee. W-who are you?”

  Suwol’s hand flew toward his blade. His eyes glared, and his voice curdled. He ignored Gun Joo to hiss at Junja instead. “Why did you come with a Nationalist cur? Is this some kind of dirty trick?”

  As Suwol’s eyes turned feral, Junja took a step toward him, placing herself between the gun and the knife. “His name is Gun Joo, and he’s helping us. There’s one more soldier in the tunnel. The villagers will vouch for what I’m saying.”

  “The lieutenant didn’t say anything about two soldiers.” Suwol’s eyes stayed fixed on the gun. His bandaged hands jerked toward Gun Joo. “Tell him to drop his weapon.”

  Junja watched Suwol’s hand clench the hilt of the blade. Her voice shook slightly. “Gun Joo, please put the gun down on the ground.” She took a breath before speaking again. “Suwol, let go of the knife. I have no reason to lie; you know that better than anyone here. Please believe me when I tell you this soldier is helping us.”

  Neither boy moved. Suwol and Gun Joo turned their attention away from the girl who stood trembling between them. They stared at each other, one red with rage, the other white with shock. Neither boy blinked. A gust of wind made Gun Joo shiver as he removed his finger from the trigger. He bent over to lay the gun on the ground, while Suwol drew out the knife.

  Junja, who saw the metal glint, shifted her stance, a small half-step. Suwol noticed her move away and understood: she would shield the soldier with her body. His hand dropped, empty, to his side. The manic gleam in his eye faded. His voice was flat when he finally spoke.

  “We have to move quickly. Tell everyone to come outside.”

  * * *

  The people from the sea caves staggered their departures, fanning out across multiple routes. Some groups headed west, toward Mosulpo, while the rest traveled south to seek refuge in the smaller islands.

  Suwol distributed the papers that the lieutenant had forged, along with instructions for each group. After guiding the last family to the road, Suwol returned for Junja, Gun Joo, and Dong Min. The three of them would be taking the long route to Jeju City, along the eastern perimeter of the island.

  Suwol studied the packs that Gun Joo and Dong Min were wearing, which bulged with supplies from the cave. He asked about the food they were carrying and proposed an alternate route. By cutting across the lower slope of the mountain, they could shorten their journey by half. If he could guide them past the military blockades, would they give him half of their provisions?

  Gun Joo understood what Suwol was unable to admit. The need was clear in the pinch of his cheeks and the sharpened line of his jaw. Though desperate enough to ask, he was too proud not to pay.

  Gun Joo glanced at Junja, seeking her permission. The anguish on her face was his answer, revealing more than he wanted to know. He reminded himself of how she had stood her ground to defend him. His stutter disappeared as he answered, confident he spoke for them both.

  “Get us across the mountain safely, and you can have all the food we’re carrying.”

  Dong Min, who had said nothing since emerging from the tunnels, started in shock at his friend’s rash generosity. “Did you just give all our food away?”

  Gun Joo’s voice held firm. “We’ll move faster if we aren’t carrying so much.”

  * * *

  The four of them crept in silence across the eastern foothills, through naked forests and barren fields of rock. Trees tried to ensnare them, and the shadows of stones made them stumble. The darkness sharpened every noise, giving rise to irrational fears. The snap of a twig rang like a shot, while the leaves seemed to crackle like thunder.

  The sounds of the night disappeared as they passed through a dark field of stones. The ground was hard and flat in that place, as if a giant had stomped in a rage. Nothing grew out of the blackened earth, which had been c
laimed by piles of rocks. The eerie stillness was so absolute that even their footsteps lost their sound. Suwol covered his mouth with his hands, warning them not to speak. He quickened his pace and kept his eyes fixed on the path, gesturing to the others to follow. Though the far end of the field was always in sight, they couldn’t seem to reach it. They seemed to be walking in circles, as though they were stuck in a maze.

  When they finally crossed to the other side, the forest reached out with its branches. The sounds of the night redoubled in force, pushing away that unnatural silence. Frozen leaves crunched under the ice, which shattered loudly under their steps. The sound of their breathing returned with a whoosh, as did the anxious thump of their hearts.

  When Suwol signaled that it was safe to speak, everyone sighed in relief. His voice was a monotone as he explained. “That field is the largest break in the blockade. It’s a dangerous place for an ambush. So many soldiers have died there that it’s rarely patrolled.”

  Junja looked puzzled. “I don’t understand why it took so long for us to walk through it. The end of the field was always in sight.”

  “The place was cursed, a long time ago. Some people get lost there and never come out.” Suwol looked away as he spoke, his hands balled into fists.

  Gun Joo gave Suwol an odd look while Dong Min swore under his breath. “I hope we didn’t attract any ghosts,” the fat boy said as he touched his mother’s amulet.

  But the dead were not following them, and neither were the living. They met no other souls as they walked through to the end of that night.