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 work. 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.