I asked more questions. Every answer showed him to be unlike anyone I’d ever met. Through it all, Mi-ja stared down the road, ignoring the conversation. Her disinterest gave me even more confidence.
“I grew up following the comings and goings in and out of the harbor,” he explained. “I anticipate I’ll take over for my father one day, but for now I work for the Jeju City government. I oversee their food warehouses and other stockpiles.” This was another confirmation of his status: he was not just a collaborator but a high-ranking one. Working for “the Jeju City government” meant that he was employed by the Japanese military. “I’ll admit it,” he said. “I have big dreams. My job may not seem very important, but you have to start somewhere.”
A flatbed truck pulled up. The driver leaned out the window and shouted that he’d be heading east on the coastal road, passing through many seaside villages, including Hado, before reaching his final destination of Seongsan, where the remaining haenyeo could take a last ferry home to the small island of Udo just offshore. About a dozen women peeled away from the crowd and began throwing their bags on the truck.
“Come on,” Mi-ja mumbled. “This is us.” She promptly got to work, wordlessly tossing our belongings up onto the flatbed. Sang-mun and I helped too, but we were still trying to exchange as much information as possible.
“In which part of Hado do you live?” he asked.
“I live in Gul-dong,” I answered. I tried to look modest, but it was hard. He wouldn’t make an inquiry about where I lived if he wasn’t interested in me. Then, because Mi-ja was standing there and I didn’t want to appear overeager, I added, “My friend lives close by in Sut-dong.” She responded by closing her eyes and bringing a closed fist to her heart. If she thought that made her look dainty, she was right. I fought another wave of jealousy.
I thanked Sang-mun for helping us. Mi-ja climbed onto the truck, reached down a hand, and helped pull me up. The driver ground the gears, the truck lurched, and we started rolling. I waved goodbye to Sang-mun, but Mi-ja had already turned her back and joined the circle of haenyeo seated on the flatbed. She unfolded a kerchief in which she’d packed some fruit. I opened a basket and pulled out rice balls. The other women added dried cuttlefish, jars filled with homemade pickled turnip and kimchee, and a bunch of green onions. One woman passed around an earthenware jug filled with drinking water. Another opened a jug of fermented rice wine. Mi-ja took a swig and squinted in response to the taste. When the liquor poured down my throat, my chest burned with the taste of my birthplace.
Ordinarily, Mi-ja and I would have picked apart every detail of the encounter with Sang-mun, just as we had with Vlad, Alexi, or any of the other boys we’d met in this or that port. Not this time. When I commented that it was lucky that Sang-mun had come along when he did, she replied defensively, “I never would have let you stay alone on the dock.”
“Did he ask about me?”
“He said nothing about you,” she answered tersely. “Now let’s not talk about it anymore.”
After that, she wouldn’t answer a single question I asked, so we gossiped with the other women. The food, wine, and knowledge that we were home buoyed everyone’s spirits.
Each kilometer of the bumpy ride revealed another familiar or beloved vista. We passed through Samyang, Jocheon, Hamdeok, Bukchon, and Sehwa, stopping at each to let off a woman or two. The low stone walls of the olles snaked along the hillsides. They also surrounded fields, creating a patchwork of colors and patterns. Flocks of crows lumbered across the sky. In the sea, we spotted pods of haenyeo, their tewaks bobbing. And always in sight at the center of the island loomed Grandmother Seolmundae. As beautiful and welcoming as it all was, I couldn’t stop creating images in my head: Maybe Shaman Kim could conduct the rituals for my marriage celebration. Maybe I could wear my mother’s wedding clothes. Or maybe Sang-mun would give me fine cloth to make my own. Or maybe he’d prefer for me to wear a Japanese kimono and have a Japanese ritual, as was required by the colonists. Yes, that was probably it. No shaman, but yes to a Japanese kimono. Maybe Father would pay for banquets in Hado and Jeju City, although I didn’t see how.
“We’re almost there,” Mi-ja said and began to gather the bags. The few people who were working in the fields lifted their heads when the truck stopped. We jumped off. The loud island voices of our neighbors greeted us.
“Mi-ja!”
“Young-sook!”
A mother sent one of her children to run to my house to announce my arrival. Women on the truck threw our belongings down to us. We were about half done unloading when whoops and calls began to reach my ears. There, running up the olle, were Third Brother and Little Sister. They looped their arms around my waist, burying their faces into each of my shoulders. Then Little Sister pulled away, hopping about in excitement. She was sixteen now and already working as a haenyeo in Do-saeng’s collective. Our lives would be easier now if the Jeju saying held true: A family with two daughters of diving age will have no problems borrowing money or paying their debts. I was so happy to see her! But not everyone had come, and I looked down the olle for the rest of the family.
“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.