‘You were here before, weren’t you? I recognise your face,’ says one of the more famous survivors.
‘Last year, I met you here last year,’ Emi admits.
‘Yes, I remember,’ she says, and glances at Emi’s lame leg. ‘You were looking for someone? Your friend?’
Emi blushes. Does she really remember, or is she merely being polite?
‘Yes, my friend. Hana. Her name is Hana.’
‘Hana, do any of you remember meeting a girl named Hana during the war?’
The women mutter among themselves, and Emi waits for them to travel back in time to that horrible place of memories shared between them.
‘I knew a Hinata,’ one of the newer ladies says, the one whose face Emi had yet to see. She turns to Emi and they search each other’s eyes for recognition.
‘Hinata?’ Emi says absent-mindedly, studying her aged face, trying to see it with younger skin, fewer marks, brighter eyes …
‘Yes. Sunflower,’ she says, interpreting the Japanese name into Korean.
‘We were all called flowers then, not our real names,’ one woman says without disguising her bitterness.
‘I hate flowers to this day,’ another one replies.
‘Yes, me too. I can’t enjoy them.’
‘Too many memories,’ another says.
‘None of us knew each other’s real names,’ the woman in the mittens tells Emi. ‘No one would know your friend’s given name unless she had a chance to tell them.’
‘But perhaps she spoke of her home … or me? My name is Emi, Emiko.’
The ladies repeat her name and one by one begin shaking their heads.
‘She was from Jeju Island. She was a haenyeo,’ Emi states, as though that makes all the difference in the world.
‘Haenyeo? They took her from so far away?’ one woman exclaims.
‘From all over,’ another answers. ‘Even China, the Philippines and Malaysia.’
‘And the Dutch girls, too. Remember that one who spoke out?’
‘Yes, the Dutch woman. She was brave to come forward.’
Emi remembers seeing the Dutch woman in the newspaper. Like so many of the other ‘comfort women’, she had hidden her story of rape and humiliation from her family for over fifty years. When the first Korean ‘comfort woman’, Kim Hak-sun, came forward in 1991, giving her grim testimony, she was followed by others. They were met with disbelief and branded as money-seeking prostitutes. It was then the Dutch woman, Jan Ruff O’Herne, joined them in a bold move, telling her story at the International Public Hearing on Japanese War Crimes in Tokyo in 1992, and the Western world took notice.
At that time, Emi was not yet ready to admit to herself that the hole in her heart was her sister’s absence. Nor was she ready to accept that her sister could have been one of these women.
‘Mother?’ Emi’s daughter arrives carrying her newly inscribed sign.
‘Your daughter?’ the red-mittened woman asks.
‘Yes, this is YoonHui,’ Emi replies, and smiles proudly at her daughter.
The women exchange polite greetings, but Emi soon loses interest in them. They cannot help her. She turns away and again searches the crowd, straining to see something familiar, a head held like Hana once held hers, a laugh, a certain way she had of walking, sitting, anything that might remind her of the girl who was lost.
The woman with the red mittens falls away from the group and stands next to Emi. ‘Do you know where they took her?’
‘I was told perhaps China or Manchuria, but I never knew for certain.’
‘She must have been a very close friend to you if you’re looking for her after all this time. I’m so sorry.’
Emi nods absently, remembering the day her mother told her what she knew of Hana’s whereabouts. It was a cold January afternoon, and Hana had been missing for months. Emi’s parents were too afraid to leave Emi alone on the shore or even at home. Soldiers had returned to the village not long after Hana’s abduction and stolen two more girls from a family on the other side of the tangerine grove. That was the day Emi learned to dive in the deep waters. She was only nine, but her mother wouldn’t let her out of her sight.
‘At least out here they will have to risk drowning before they dare take you from me,’ she said to Emi as they swam out beyond the shallow reefs.
That year was unusually dry, and the farms had suffered. The divers, however, managed not to go hungry by working longer hours even in winter. Instead of remaining in the water for the one-to-two-hour time slots they usually adhered to, they remained two and sometimes three hours in the freezing sea, warming themselves afterwards at campfires on the shore. Emi had learned to prop herself onto the buoy while guarding the net when her mother dived in the deep waters. Her mother allowed her to dive in tandem with her nearer the shore, where she could find oysters and sea urchins along the reef. Emi took to the water quicker than her mother had expected. She had a smaller build than her big sister, and she had not previously been a strong swimmer. It was as though Emi had no choice but to thrive in her new circumstances. Her mother seemed pleased, the only positive emotion she had expressed since her sister was taken.
After a long morning of diving, they had swum back to shore to bring in their catch and to rest near a blazing fire. Emi had found an oyster on the reef and was prising it open with a small knife. Inside, she found a pearl hidden in the flesh.
‘A pearl,’ she exclaimed, and held it out to her mother.
The other divers leaned in for a glimpse of Emi’s find.
‘Ha!’ they exclaimed. ‘It’s so small, nothing to be so excited about.’
Her mother glanced at the tiny pearl, too. ‘Too bad you couldn’t have found it a few years from now. It would have been a magnificent pearl. Such a waste.’ She shook her head and went back to counting and separating her catch.
After Hana’s abduction, her mother had grown distant and quiet. Though even in her distance, she kept Emi close to her side, which made playing with her friends more difficult.
‘It wouldn’t be here in a few years,’ one of the women said, her tone filled with resentment. ‘Those Japanese oyster hunters, they leave nothing for us to find. Enjoy your little pearl, Emi. It may be the only one left in these waters.’
Emi held it up to the bright winter sun. She had never seen a pearl up close before, and only two divers had ever found one that she knew of. The Japanese had ravaged the oyster beds for pearls since they first arrived over thirty years ago, leaving none for the haenyeo to find. Now they searched for seaweed and abalone and creatures living deeper than the Japanese cared to fish.
What if she hadn’t pulled the oyster from the reef that morning and instead found it years from now as her mother had said? She rolled the tiny sphere between her thumb and forefinger in the sunlight.
‘I wish Hana was here,’ she said. ‘She would have been happy for me.’ She kissed the pearl and let it fall into the sand.
At the mention of Hana’s name, Emi’s mother dropped the sea urchin she was cleaning and sucked in a breath through her front teeth. She glared at Emi. The other divers averted their eyes, giving them privacy without actually moving away. Unfazed by her mother’s evident animosity, she continued.
‘You never talk about what happened to her. Why don’t you?’
Her mother reached down to retrieve the sea urchin. She quickly gutted its edible flesh with her knife and tossed its remains into a bucket. Without a word, she continued separating, gutting and counting.
Emi shivered from the cold. She usually helped her mother with the tasks so they could quickly get the catch to market, then head home for a hot bath and warm clothes. But she was too angry to drop the topic.
‘You know what happened to her, don’t you? That’s why you won’t speak her name. Tell me where they took her.’
Her mother didn’t look up. She kept sorting and gutting and discarding. When she dropped another sea urchin onto the sand, she audibly expelled her breath in e
xasperation. Emi prepared herself for a reprimand, but her mother didn’t speak right away. Instead she looked out over the sea. Emi followed her gaze, shielding her eyes from the sunlight glinting on the ocean waves. They seemed to freeze beneath her mother’s sharp glare, the white crests unmoving in the distance. It was as though time had ceased. Even the wind died into silence. Emi and the other divers held their breath, anticipating her mother’s wrath. Finally, her mother looked at her.
‘They took her to the front lines in China, or possibly even Manchuria, we’ll never know. But I do know that she will not come back.’
The last thing Emi had expected was an answer to her question, and it caught her off guard.
‘You know where she is? You’ve known all this time?’ she cried out too loudly. The other divers shrank away from her raised voice. ‘Then why didn’t Father bring her back?’
‘Hush, child. You don’t understand. He couldn’t bring her back. Not from … there.’
‘Then I will go! I’m not afraid. Just tell me where to find her.’ Emi stood, ready to begin the search for Hana.
Her mother grabbed her by the elbow. ‘It is too late. They took her to the front lines of the war. That means she is already dead.’
She spoke so matter-of-factly that Emi was struck dumb. Her knees went weak. She sank back down onto the rock. The waves began to swell and the winds began to roar once again. The seabirds cried their childlike calls above their heads, and the women began chatting among themselves to talk away the strangeness.
Emi stared at her mother’s muted face, trying to determine whether what she had said was a known fact or a supposition. She was concentrating so fervently that she didn’t realise she was squeezing the blade of her knife in the palm of her hand.
‘What are you doing?’ her mother shouted, rushing to Emi’s side and seizing the knife. Blood oozed from the cut in her palm. As her mother bound the wound in scraps of rags torn from her own swimming shirt, Emi searched her mother’s face until she finally found her voice.
‘Why did they take her to the front lines? She’s not a soldier. She’s a girl. They only take boys to fight.’
Her mother tied the makeshift bandage before speaking. She held her daughter’s injured hand in her lap. She seemed to think about her words, while gently caressing the top of Emi’s hand. The wind had begun to blow again, and a chill settled in Emi’s thin bones.
‘There are things in this world you should never have to know, and I will shield you from these things for as long as I am able. That is my duty as a mother. Do not ask me this again. Hana is dead. Miss her, mourn her, but never speak of her to me.’ Her mother suddenly stood up, lifted her bucket and walked away. When her mother looked back over her shoulder, Emi knew she needed to follow. Even though no more words would be spoken, she would never leave Emi on her own.
When her father arrived at the market, Emi was sent home with him. She couldn’t explain to him why her mother was angry. Instead they ate a light meal of fish soup with seaweed and oyster mushrooms. Her father had grown quiet when Hana was taken. He no longer sang, recited poetry, or even played his much-loved zither. Once in a while, he would catch Emi’s gaze, and the two of them would exchange a sad smile, neither knowing how to cheer up the other.
Night fell before her mother returned home from the market. Emi had stayed awake sitting with her father.
‘Come, daughter,’ she said as soon as she walked through the door, as though she knew Emi would still be awake.
‘Where are we going?’ Emi asked, afraid her mother was still angry with her for asking about her sister.
‘Husband, come, too.’
The three of them walked down towards the sea, guided only by the stars. The rush of waves crashing along the shore far below the cliffs warned them to turn away in case they fell down into the rocky waves. As they neared the edge of the cliff, Emi realised where they stood. It was a high perch overlooking the beach and the black rocks below where she once guarded their catch several long months ago.
Her mother lit an oil lamp and set it on the ground. Then she opened her bag and retrieved a flower. It was a chrysanthemum, a symbol of mourning for Koreans. The imperial seal of Japan was the yellow chrysanthemum, a crest symbolising the imperial family’s power. Emi had wondered which came first, the symbol of power or mourning. Her father lifted the lamp and held it aloft to illuminate the white bloom against the hazy, starlit sky.
‘We offer this flower to the Dragon Sea God in the name of Hana, our child and a daughter of the sea. Aid her spirit, great one, so she may find her way in the afterlife; guide her to our ancestors.’ She tossed the flower over the edge of the cliff, where it disappeared as though into oblivion, gone forever. Just like Hana.
Her mother turned to Emi and bade her to perform sebae to the Dragon Sea God. The three of them faced the sea, executing three deep, ceremonial bows. When they stood for the final time, tears streamed down their faces as they prayed to an omnipotent god to bring their loved one’s spirit home to rest.
The walk back to the warmth of their house was slow and dreamlike, reminding Emi of the gut ritual for her sister’s induction as a haenyeo so many years ago. Emi had been just four years old, but she remembered the shaman’s circling ribbons and the ache in her heart to follow her sister and become a haenyeo, too. You will be standing here one day soon, Little Sister, and I will be right beside you to welcome you … Her sister’s words from that night echoed through her mind.
‘You lied,’ Emi whispered to no one, and for the first time, Emi felt that Hana was dead. In that moment, she decided never to think of her again, because the pain felt like her heart might implode and kill her. Breathless, she doubled over and fell to her knees, saying farewell to her sister for the final time.
Emi recalls that pain as she stands before the red-mittened grandmother. She feels a hint of it even now. The moment the flower disappeared over the cliff, the shock of it, and then the certainty that followed when she truly believed her sister was dead. Like the grandmothers, she, too, has not been able to enjoy flowers since that day, especially chrysanthemums, white or yellow. Looking up at the grandmother, she shakes these memories from her mind. The old woman’s quiet patience warms Emi’s heart.
Hana
Manchuria, Summer 1943
As the weeks pass, Hana finds herself trapped in the numbing routine despite the increased camaraderie with the other girls. The only variation in her day comes with the brothel’s bad-tempered rooster. The old Chinese couple also keeps hens locked up in cages; the captive hens lay eggs that the girls are never offered. Hana has come to hate the scruffy creature, which stalks the grounds like a sentry.
The cock hounds her whenever she goes outside. When she washes her dress in the yard, the mean-spirited bird sneaks up behind her and pecks the backs of her legs, drawing blood, before she can turn to kick it away. Sometimes, when she is fetching water from the well, it jumps onto her back as she leans over to haul out the bucket, scaring her, and she drops the bucket and has to draw the water all over again. The bird seems to possess an angry spirit determined to make her life at the brothel more miserable than it already is.
Each morning when the rooster crows, she awakens with the thought that SangSoo’s spirit has indeed followed her to this place and is haunting her. She tries to make peace with the cock. She even starts saving a few grains of rice in her pocket to offer to the cruel bird. It merely pecks the grains until they disappear into its gullet and then proceeds to peck at the flesh of her palm.
Nearly two months have passed when the crowing of the demonic creature rouses Hana from a fitful sleep one night. Lying in the dark, she waits for the intolerable bird to crow again, for its habit is to crow three times in slow procession, concluded by a final, longer herald, but nothing follows. Hana begins to doubt whether it is the cock that woke her in the first place. Perhaps it is something else that disturbed her.
Two stars whose names she does not know flicker th
eir dying light beyond the iron bars of the narrow window, high on the wall. The night sky tells her it is well past midnight but not yet near dawn. Hana listens through the silence, concentrating on the familiar noises of the brothel. The ceiling creaks overhead with each gust of wind, crickets chirp in unison under the floorboards, and the constant pitter-patter of the mice’s tiny feet inside the walls and floors suggest all is as it should be. Then, somewhere beneath her room, a door clicks shut, and footsteps trail through the main room on the ground floor.
It is too early for a change of the night guard, which happens at dawn. The footsteps are muffled. None of the guards care enough to step quietly through the house. In contrast, they seem to want to announce their presence, marching throughout the wood-planked rooms below without a thought for the sleeping girls above their heads.
The careful footsteps reach the staircase, and Hana quickly lies back down. The footsteps draw closer and closer, until all at once they stop outside her door. She pulls her blanket up to her neck. It can’t be an officer’s visit. Their presence is usually announced with dinner, drinks and ceremony as they choose a girl and take her upstairs. The thin gap beneath the wooden door glows with the dim light of a torch. She begins to wish she hadn’t shunned all of the soldiers who vied for her attentions, that she had chosen a protector. With a protector, unscheduled visits are not allowed, for fear of retaliation by the man who has claimed the girl. Perhaps this is one of the soldiers she rebuffed, returning to take his revenge. How can she explain to him before he murders her that it isn’t personal, that she equally loathes them all?
The doorknob squeaks as it turns, and Hana feigns sleep. The door swings open and a stream of light shines on her shut eyelids. She relaxes the muscles in her face and mimics the deep breaths of slumber, forcing her chest to rise and fall in a slow, steady rhythm. The torch flicks off. The room falls back into darkness. Footsteps pad inside. The door clicks shut. Hana stops breathing.
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