The Island of Sea Women

by Lisa See

  “Where’s Father? Where are First and Second Brothers?”

  Before they could answer, the truck driver yelled out the window. “Hurry up! I can’t wait here all day!”

  With my siblings’ help, Mi-ja and I caught the rest of our things as they were tossed to us. Third Brother picked up what he could and started down the olle toward home just as Mi-ja’s Aunt Lee-ok and Uncle Him-chan appeared. Mi-ja bowed deeply to them, but they barely noticed, so focused were they on what we’d brought home.

  “Young-sook has arrived with more than you,” Mi-ja’s aunt nitpicked. “She’s thinner too. Did you eat your earnings?”

  I tried to intervene. “I bought different sizes of things. My pile only looks like more—”

  But Mi-ja’s aunt ignored me. “Did you buy white rice?” she asked Mi-ja.

  “Of course not!” I objected, trying again to protect my friend. “Mi-ja is always practical—”

  “Yes, Auntie Lee-ok, I have brought white rice.”

  I was stunned. Mi-ja must have purchased it when I wasn’t with her. She worked so hard and gave so much of herself. She shouldn’t have been buying them something so frivolous. This wasn’t the time to ask her about it, though, and I couldn’t have inquired anyway, because Third Brother came running back to help Little Sister and me. In minutes, I was trailing after my siblings, leaving Mi-ja alone with her aunt and uncle.

  The sounds of my sandals echoing in the olle and the waves rhythmically crashing to shore felt reassuring and welcoming. I was home! But as soon as we stepped through our gate, I sensed something was wrong. The space between the main house and the little house, where Grandmother lived, looked untidy. The side slats to Grandmother’s front wall were raised and sitting on bamboo poles. She slowly struggled from the floor to stand. She ducked under the slats and joined us. Even when I was a small child, she had looked old to me, but these last nine months had diminished her vitality. As I glanced questioningly to my brother and sister, a feeling of dread shuddered through me. Their greeting just minutes ago, I realized, had been less about happiness than about relief, for my sister especially. It had been her job to shoulder responsibilities for the family while I was away.

  Once again, I asked, “Where is Father? Where are our brothers?”

  “The Japanese took our brothers,” Little Sister answered. “They were conscripted.”

  “But they’re only boys!” Or were they? First Brother was nineteen and Second Brother was seventeen. Many soldiers in the Japanese army were far younger than that. “When were they taken?” I asked, thinking that if it had happened recently I might have a chance to get them back.

  “The Japanese grabbed our brothers just after you left,” Little Sister answered.

  So nine months ago.

  “Maybe I can trade some of the food and other provisions I bought in exchange for their release,” I suggested, trying to be positive.

  They looked at me sadly. Despair washed over me.

  “Have you heard any word of them?” I asked, still trying to find something auspicious in my homecoming, but the three of them stared at me woefully. “Are they here on Jeju?” That would mean only hard labor.

  “We haven’t heard anything,” Grandmother said.

  My family had been reduced yet again, and I hadn’t known. Whatever happiness I’d had coming back to Jeju—meeting Sang-mun, anticipating the joys of reaching home, and seeing my siblings’ faces—melted away, leaving my insides blackened by sadness. But I was the eldest in our family. I was a haenyeo. It was my purpose to be a provider of goods and stability. I formed what was surely a thin smile and tried to reassure my siblings.

  “They’ll come home. You’ll see,” I said. “In the meantime, let’s sell some of the things I brought home. We can use that money to send Third Brother to school for a while.”

  My sister shook her head. “It’s not safe. He’s barely fourteen. The Japanese will take him to help build one of their barricades or send him to battle. I’ve told him he needs to stay hidden at home during the day.”

  I was pleased to see that my sister had good judgment. This trait would serve her well as a haenyeo. Still, all this sorrow was hard to take in. But the news about my brothers wasn’t the worst shock. That came when my father staggered home very drunk long after midnight.

  * * *

  On my first morning home, the weather was miserable. Thick clouds blanketed the island. The hot and humid air felt oppressive. A downpour would begin soon, but it wouldn’t refresh. It would just be more warm liquid to mix with my sweat. I spent the day bent over, digging up sweet potatoes without damaging the skins, then dividing the tubers into three bins: what we would eat soon, what we would sell to the refinery to be made into alcohol, and what we would slice, dry, and store—another tedious chore—for winter eating. I would have much preferred to be under the sea.

  I felt unsettled. It wasn’t that I missed honking cars, buses, and trucks, or the roar of factories, canneries, and refineries. Rather, I missed hearing Jeju’s whistling wind, which was drowned out by the rumble of Japanese planes as they took off without stop from the three air bases they’d built on the island. The roar of the engines of those birds of death was an endless reminder of Japan’s intentions for the Pacific.

  So, above me, images of death. Beneath me, the soil. Beside me, Mi-ja, as always. Next to her, Little Sister, who wouldn’t stop talking about boys. She was more interested in them than we were, and she kept asking about when she would get married.

  “Custom says I should wed first,” I said. “Whining won’t change that. You’re too young anyway!” I tried to soften my tone. “You’re a pretty girl, and if you turn out to be a hard worker, Grandmother will easily find a match for you.”

  “Easily?” Little Sister echoed as she dug deep into the earth with her spade, lifted out a sweet potato, and gently shook away the loose dirt. “There aren’t many Jeju men left. Haven’t you noticed?”

  I recited the usual excuses: “Our men have died at sea in typhoons and other storms. They were killed or exiled by the Mongols, and now—”

  “Now they’re being conscripted by the Japanese,” my sister finished for me. In her concern for her own nuptials, she didn’t seem to care that she was talking about something that had happened to our own brothers. “I’ve seen lots of girls my age already go into arranged marriages, but no proposals have come for me.”

  “I haven’t received one either,” Mi-ja said. “Maybe it’s because we don’t have mothers to make the connections.”

  My sister’s eyes gleamed. “Or maybe it’s because we haven’t been willing to share love—”

  “Be quiet and do your work!” I had to stop this chatter, because I remembered how the Kang sisters used to brag about sneaking off to be with boys. Those girls were lucky they didn’t get pregnant. Come to think of it, hadn’t the younger sister’s marriage come a little too soon after her older sister’s wedding? Gu-sun’s first son was born . . .

  “You know what they say,” my sister continued dreamily. “Having sex is ‘sharing love.’ ”

  Sharing love. Now the Kang sisters liked to talk about sharing love with their husbands and how wonderful it was and how much they missed it and their men when we were away.

  “I’m not so sure about marriage,” Mi-ja said. “When a woman gets married, she has the best food for three days. That must last her a lifetime. If that’s not so, why would our elders say that?”

  “Why are you so gloomy today?” I asked. “You’ve always said you want to get married. We’ve talked about what we desire in our husbands—”

  She cut me off. “Maybe being with a man is what we’re supposed to wish for, but maybe it just brings misery.”

  “I don’t understand your change of heart,” I said.

  Before Mi-ja could respond, Little Sister rang out, “Sharing love! That’s what I yearn to do.”

  I smacked her hand. “Let’s hear no more talk about sharing love! Just do your w
ork. We still have three more rows to finish before we go home.”

  Mi-ja and Little Sister fell silent, leaving me to my own thoughts. Mi-ja and I both needed to get married. This was the normal path. We were clearly thinking about it all the time, even if we didn’t always discuss it. I already had my heart set on an impossible choice—Sang-mun. I hadn’t yet told my friend about my feelings for him, because I was waiting until she set her heart on someone. But her new attitude confused me. How could she suddenly not want to get married when we’d spent the last months saving money so we could buy wedding necessities?

  * * *

  Three mornings later, after we’d reestablished our household routines, I sent Little Sister to haul water and collect firewood. Father was still asleep, while Third Brother had tucked himself against the back wall of the house, hidden from prying Japanese eyes. I’d just gathered my tools and burlap sacks when Mi-ja surprised me by coming to pick me up. We were about to set out for the field when Grandmother beckoned to us from the little house. “Come sit for a minute. I have things to discuss with you.”

  We slipped off our sandals and entered.

  “The groom builds the house, and the bride fills it,” she recited.

  I smiled. Here I was, on only my fourth full day home, and I was hearing the traditional words for a wedding and happy years of marriage. Mi-ja, though, kept better control of her emotions.

  “Your lives have always been entwined,” Grandmother continued. “Therefore, it would be best that you marry at the same time.”

  “You will easily find a husband for Young-sook,” Mi-ja said. “But who will marry me after . . .” She hesitated, searching her mind for what she wanted to say. “I mean, with my troubled background?”

  “Ah, girl, this you have wrong. Your aunt told me that she has received interest in an arrangement for you. She asked me to speak for your family, since you were like another daughter to Sun-sil. Didn’t your aunt tell you?”

  I couldn’t have been more surprised or happier, but Mi-ja’s brow darkened.

  “Auntie Lee-ok will finally be rid of me.”

  “In some ways your circumstances will be much improved,” Grandmother said.

  I wasn’t sure what that meant, and Mi-ja didn’t ask. She looked far from joyous. I was about to start asking questions when Grandmother went on: “And you, my dear Young-sook, will be married in the same week as your sister in heart. Your mother would have been pleased to know that.”

  With those words, all concern for Mi-ja evaporated. “Who will be my husband?” I asked, excited.

  “And who will be mine?” Mi-ja’s voice sounded as heavy as lead.

  “I didn’t see my husband until the day of my wedding,” Grandmother said gruffly, “and I was afraid to look at him for many weeks after that.”

  Was she warning us that we wouldn’t be happy with our husbands? Mi-ja gripped my hand. I squeezed back. No matter what happened, we’d always have each other.

  * * *

  The next day, again, dawned heavy with heat and humidity. I was used to working in the water, so I was accustomed to having my body washed clean every day. Now, for the sweet potato harvest, I had to be grateful that my clothes didn’t show as much dirt as was already on them or would be added today and that the persimmon-juice dye kept them from smelling as bad as they could, but my face twisted at the unpleasantness of it all as I stepped into my trousers and pulled a tunic over my head. After my father, grandmother, and brother were fed and settled, my sister and I started toward our dry field. We met Mi-ja at her usual spot in the olle.

  “Auntie Lee-ok and Uncle Him-chan told me I have to do chores for them today,” she said. “But can we meet at the seaside for a talk and swim tonight?”

  Already sweat trickled down the back of my neck, so I readily agreed to her plan. After a few more words, Mi-ja walked away, and my sister and I continued to our field. We pulled up sweet potatoes, sweated, drank water, and repeated the whole routine again and again. Every time I straightened my back, I saw the ocean in the distance, shimmering and inviting. I looked forward to tonight’s swim with Mi-ja. Or maybe we’d just sit in the shallows and let the waters swirl around us. Healing. Soothing. Reviving. Without a drop of energy spent.

  At the end of the day, my sister and I, feeling tired and filthy, were walking along the road toward home when we heard the sound of an automobile. So rare! It slowed and pulled up next to us. The car had a driver. In the backseat were two men. Sitting on the far side was Sang-mun, wearing a Western-style suit. My stomach practically swallowed my heart.

  The man closest to me—he had to be Sang-mun’s father—was dressed similarly. He rolled down the window and leaned his elbow on it as he peered out at me. I bowed deeply and repeatedly. I prayed that through my humility and respect my future father-in-law would see that I was more than just a girl with a dirty face and hands. He would see a hard worker, who would care for his son, help with family finances, and make a good home. At least I hoped so. I peeked at my sister. Now that she’d finished bowing, she stared slack-jawed at the two men with their foreign clothes, their car, and their driver. She’d never been out of Hado, so she was just as unsophisticated as I once had been. Still, I felt a wave of shame. I noticed, though, that Sang-mun stared straight ahead and had not acknowledged me, as was proper for a young man on an engagement mission.

  Feeling that no introductions were necessary, my future father-in-law addressed me. “Girl—”

  Nervous and still embarrassed by my appearance, I blurted, “Let me take you to my grandmother and father.”

  Sang-mun started, looking at me in curiosity. His father was more discreet, hiding his surprise. He didn’t laugh at me or sneer, but his expression left me deeply humiliated. “I have come to meet the family of Han Mi-ja,” he said smoothly. “Can you guide us to their home?”

  Mi-ja? Of course. My lips tightened, and my heart dropped down to my bowels. She was more beautiful. She’d grown up in Jeju City. Her father was a collaborator, so this was to be a like-to-like marriage. It all made sense, but how stung I was by Mi-ja’s secrecy and my grandmother’s treachery. I hadn’t told Grandmother of my feelings for Sang-mun, but surely through her arranging she’d learned that he and I had met. It was all I could do to keep from bursting into tears, but I couldn’t lose any more face than I already had.

  “You’ll need to leave your automobile here,” I said, “and walk the rest of the way.”

  The driver parked by the side of the road, and then came around to open the father’s door and then the son’s. Sang-mun still didn’t acknowledge me. It was a hot day, and each house we passed had one wall propped up and open on bamboo poles in hopes of catching a breeze, so everyone on our route witnessed our procession. When we reached Mi-ja’s home, her aunt and uncle also had their wall open and were sitting cross-legged in the main room. On one side of them sat my grandmother, wearing her cleanest and best-kept trousers and tunic. On their other side, Mi-ja sat Japanese-style with her bottom resting on her heels and her hands placed delicately on her knees. She wore a cotton kimono printed in a peony pattern. Her hair had been teased and pinned in the Japanese fashion. Her face was nearly white, not from Japanese makeup but from something else. Sadness? Guilt? Perhaps only I could see that her eyes were rimmed pink, as though she’d been crying. The four of them rose and bowed deeply to the strangers. Sang-mun and his father bowed in return but not as low.

  “I am Lee Han-bong, Sang-mun’s father.”

  “Please join us,” Mi-ja’s uncle said. “My niece will serve tea.”

  Father and son slipped off their shoes, then ducked their heads as they stepped under the overhang and into the house. I was not invited inside, but I wasn’t asked to leave either. I edged away, sat on my knees in the sun, and hung my head.

  We didn’t have a bride price on Jeju like they did on the mainland, but there were other formalities that needed to be negotiated, which Grandmother arbitrated with little dissent or argument from
either side. The geomancer had already been hired to examine the years, months, days, and times of Sang-mun’s and Mi-ja’s births, and he’d announced a date five days from now for the wedding to take place. Although the groom’s family was clearly well off, they preferred that the ceremonies be kept to one day instead of the traditional three.

  “It is not typical for someone from the mid-mountain area to marry someone from the seaside,” Sang-mun’s father explained. “Their ways are too different. Nor does someone from the western side of the island wish to marry someone from the eastern side of the island.”

  What he meant was that mid-mountain men were more sophisticated compared to haenyeo brides, while men from the western side of the island didn’t like the snake-worshipping women from many eastern villages. Clearly, he was building to something with his double meanings. I lifted my head to see how the others were taking his comments. The eyes of Mi-ja’s aunt and uncle had fallen to half-mast, shielding their reactions, while my friend stared straight ahead. Her body was there, but it was as if her mind had flown out of the house and was soaring high above the sea. But I knew Mi-ja too well. She wasn’t feigning being a delicate and modest bride in the Japanese model, nor was she hiding her feelings of sadness or worry that she’d be marrying Sang-mun. She was trying to ignore me. Grandmother, meanwhile, had a most disagreeable look on her face. She’d been given a position of privilege and respect, but I worried what she would say.