So, for a total of five years Mi-ja had signed her name and I’d placed my thumbprint on contracts saying we agreed to be away from home. During that time, the world—and not just our island—was shaken. For decades, Japan had been a stable—if wholly hated—power on Jeju. Korea had been an annexed colony for thirty-four years. Yes, we had tensions. Yes, the Japanese colonists could abuse us without consequence. Yes, they could take advantage of us. Our only recourse had been strikes and marches, but the Japanese always triumphed in the end. Then, three years ago, Japan—not content with Korea as a colony or with invading China—had launched attacks across the Pacific. America entered the war and fighting erupted all around us.
Mi-ja and I picked up news where we could—passing by the village tree when we were in Hado and overhearing the men in their discussions or listening to our dormitory’s radio in Vladivostok. When we were on Jeju, we saw with our own eyes that there were even more Japanese soldiers. They’d always been a danger to young, unaccompanied women, but they began to threaten women of all ages. They gave grandmothers, who’d once gathered on the shore to gossip and have fun, compulsory quotas of seaweed to collect and dry, because it was used as an ingredient in gunpowder. The risks for men and boys were perhaps the greatest as they were rounded up and conscripted into the Japanese army, sometimes without being given a chance to notify their families.
Now here we were—on a boat off the shore of Vladivostok. I’d recently turned twenty-one, and Mi-ja would celebrate her birthday in a few months. I hadn’t once stopped being grateful for her companionship, her beautiful singing voice, or her bravery. There was a time we’d thought we would eventually grow accustomed to Vladivostok’s cold on land and in the sea, because the air temperature on Jeju could go very low. On our home island in winter, snow lay in drifts around the tide pools and our diving clothes froze when we laid them on the rocks to dry. But it turned out conditions on our home island were nothing compared to those in Vladivostok. Mi-ja and I told each other it was worth the discomfort, because we had reached the age when we needed to save enough money to get married and start our own households.
The boatman turned off the engine. Our vessel bobbed in the waves like a piece of driftwood. Mi-ja, the Kangs, and I peeled off our coats, scarves, and hats. We were already dressed in our cotton water clothes with the lightweight cotton jackets to keep us warm. The others wore white, but I had on my black diving costume, because I had my monthly bleeding. Seventeen was a common age for bleeding to start, but it had been delayed for all of us by the daily cold and other hardships we experienced. We tied our kerchiefs over our hair, then stepped outside the cabin and into biting wind. I couldn’t see land in any direction.
I made a personal offering to the Dragon Sea God, as I did every time I left the hard earth for the watery realm, following the custom for any woman who’d lost a relative to the ocean. I quickly grabbed my gear. Then, one by one, we jumped off the side of the boat. No place had colder waters than Vladivostok, where only the salt kept the sea from freezing. The constant shiver that always hid deep in my chest overtook my entire body. I forced my mind away from the physical torment. I’m here to work. I took a breath, pointed my head down, and kicked. I was aware of the boat engine starting and felt the change in the current as the boatman pulled away, leaving the four of us alone in the sea. The old man was not our safety net. He was only our driver. He stopped not too far away—within earshot—but not close enough to help if one of us got into trouble. He usually dropped a fishing line or net just to keep from being bored.
Up and down I went. Mi-ja was always near, but not so close that she could grab something I already had my eye on. We were competitive but respectful of each other. We were also alert. We didn’t mind dolphins, but sharks were another matter, especially when I was bleeding into the sea.
A half hour later, we heard the boat slicing through the water toward us. An octopus I’d spotted in a crevice retreated into the dark hollows from the vibrations. I’d come back for it later. We returned to the surface and swam to the boat, where the old man hauled up our nets. We climbed the ladder—the brutal wind slicing through our wet cotton suits—and hurried into the cabin. The brazier was going, and the boatman had prepared a trough filled with steaming hot water for us to soak our feet. Mi-ja’s thigh rested against mine. Our flesh had goosebumps and our veins looked so thin and sad it was as if the blood within them had shrunk and slowed from the ruthless cold.
“I found five sea urchins.” Gu-sun’s words got lost in the clattering of her teeth.
The cold had an even worse effect on Gu-ja’s voice. “So? I found an abalone.”
“Lucky you, but I got an octopus.” Mi-ja grinned, proud of herself.
And on it went, because it was a haenyeo’s right and duty to brag.
Despite, or because of, the dangers, hardships, and sacrifices, each of us was striving for one thing: to become the best haenyeo. We all knew the risks in prying loose an abalone, but catching an octopus was a bigger triumph—and a bigger risk. However, if one of us could reach the level of best haenyeo on this boat, then the captain would reward her with a new pair of shoes and a pair of underwear.
“There is no impossible place for me in the sea,” Mi-ja crowed. Then she nudged me with her thigh, encouraging me to speak up.
“I’m so good in the sea that I could cook and eat a meal underwater,” I boasted. None of them could deny it or top me, because I could go deeper and stay down longer than anyone else in our group. Back home, people speculated that it was because I’d waited with my mother until her death, expanding my lungs beyond the usual capacity of someone of my age and experience.
When our half hour was up, we went back outside, grabbed our tools, and dove into the water. Once again, the boatman pulled away, so as not to disturb the creatures living on the seabed as we hunted for them. A half hour in the water, a half hour to warm up, back and forth. Some days we came to this site because it had a variety of things to catch. Other days we went to a rich abalone plot or to an abundant sea cucumber field. We’d even gone out at night, because it’s a known fact that you can find more sea urchins then.
During our fourth dive, the water began to reverberate with deep pulses. A ship was coming. The sea creatures retreated into caves and crannies. We wouldn’t be able to harvest again until the waters had calmed, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t profit. We’d been told that Japanese soldiers couldn’t get by without a daily ration of sea urchin roe, while the Chinese wanted dried squid, fish, and octopus to carry in their knapsacks. The Soviets were indiscriminate. They’d eat anything.
The boatman picked us up, and we put on our coats to cover our near nakedness from whoever was coming. The Soviets, who weren’t participating in the Pacific War, were considered relatively harmless. If it had been a Japanese ship, then we would have needed to get back in the water and let the old man handle business, because the cloven-footed ones were known to steal young women and take them to special camps to be used by their soldiers as comfort women. This ship, however, had an American flag.
Our small boat pitched as the destroyer neared. It was long but not that tall. Dozens of sailors bunched together against the railings, staring down at us and calling out. We didn’t understand the words, but they were young men away from home with no women on board. We could guess at their loneliness and their excitement. One man, wearing a different hat than the other sailors, gestured for us to come closer. A rope ladder was thrown down, and Gu-ja grabbed it. Five men moved like spiders down the webbing until they reached us. As soon as the first one was aboard our vessel, he drew a weapon. This was not uncommon. Four of us raised our hands; Gu-ja still held on to the ladder.