With that, we were formally engaged. Mi-ja’s new family wanted her to move quickly into her new life; Do-saeng wanted things to happen rapidly too, because Jun-bu would return to college in Osaka in mid-September. As a result, Mi-ja and I traveled on swiftly moving, but distinctly different, currents.
To begin, two days after my engagement meeting, Mi-ja and Little Sister helped me carry the sleeping mats, blankets, bowls, chopsticks, and cooking utensils I’d acquired through my hard work to Do-saeng’s compound by the shore. The courtyard between the big and little houses was neat. Do-saeng’s diving gear was piled in a corner, and several overhead lines were hung with squid to dry in the sun. Yu-ri stood in the shade, a rope wrapped around her ankle to keep her from wandering away from home. This was the first I’d seen her since returning from Vladivostok. She smiled, possibly recognizing me, possibly not. Jun-bu was not there. The little house had one room and a small kitchen area. By the time we finished putting my things away, women and girls from the village began to arrive to see for themselves what I’d bought in my travels. That night, I stayed alone in my new house. The next morning, I went back to my father and siblings.
The following morning, just ten days after arriving back on Jeju, I helped Mi-ja pack her things. She made no attempt to be happy. I felt equally miserable. Whatever jealousy I’d once carried had been washed back to sea. Now all I could think about was that I would no longer see Mi-ja every day.
“I wish there was a way I could still share my heart with you,” I confessed.
“That we will be apart is too much to abide,” she agreed, her throat hitching.
I struggled to help her see the happiness of her situation. “You’ll go back to living as you did when you were a child. You’ll have electricity. Sang-mun’s family might even own a telephone.”
But even as I said these things, I thought how hard all that change would be for her. On one side, she’d lived in Hado for too long. On the other side, Jeju City was nothing compared to Vladivostok or the other big cities we’d gone to for leaving-home water-work.
“How will I know what you’re doing?” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes glistened with tears. “We can’t exchange letters. I don’t remember how to write apart from my name, and neither of us knows how to read—”
“We’ll send each other rubbings.” I squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Our pictures have always told our stories.”
“But how? I can’t write your address.”
“We’ll have our husbands do that.” But my suggestion was just another reminder that I was illiterate and beneath my future husband.
“Will you promise to visit me?” she asked.
“Maybe if I go through Jeju for leaving-home water-work . . .”
“You won’t have to do that now. You’ll be married.”
“The Kang sisters are married and have children,” I pointed out. “They still go.”
“But not you.” She seemed convinced. “Do-saeng wants you to help with Yu-ri, so promise you’ll visit me.”
“All right. I promise.” But I’d never be allowed to spend money on a boat trip to the main port—not with Do-saeng watching over me and collecting the money I earned to pay for Jun-bu’s education.
“I can’t imagine not seeing you every day,” she said.
“Nor I you.”
This was the bitter truth. We were two brides filled with sorrow, unable to change our fates. I loved her. I would always love her. That was far more important than the men we were to marry. Somehow we would need to find a way to stay connected.
She changed into the kimono sent by Sang-mun’s family. Once she was dressed, she picked up the straw sandals she’d made for the man who would be her husband.
“What use will Sang-mun have for these?” she asked.
It was hard to imagine.
The groom and his parents arrived. They presented Mi-ja’s aunt and uncle with a case of rice wine. My friend’s future father-in-law didn’t give her a piglet to raise and care for. She was told she wouldn’t need one in Jeju City. Mi-ja’s aunt and uncle gave the new in-laws three quilts. Sang-mun then handed Mi-ja’s aunt and uncle a box wrapped in silk to represent good fortune and tied with a cord to symbolize longevity. Inside lay the letter of declaration and a few gifts. Mi-ja and Sang-mun signed their names. Shaman Kim didn’t attend. No banquet was held, but two formal portraits were taken: one of the bride and groom, the other of the entire wedding party. Within an hour, the wedding celebration was over.
A smattering of villagers joined the procession to the road, where Mi-ja’s belongings were packed in the trunk of her father-in-law’s car. We didn’t have a chance for last words. She got in the backseat. Mi-ja waved to all of us, and we waved back. As the car pulled away, Grandmother said, “That girl has left Hado as she arrived—the daughter of a collaborator.” She sounded strangely triumphant, as though she’d finally won. She headed home with her chin raised, but I stayed on the road, watching until all I could see were clouds of dust.
My chest felt empty. I could not imagine what lay ahead for Mi-ja, but then I couldn’t imagine my life either. She’d sleep with her husband tonight. Soon I’d be sleeping with Jun-bu. Mi-ja and I would not be able to share a single thought or emotion about any of these things. I’d been devastated by my mother’s death, but now, without Mi-ja, I felt completely alone.
* * *
My wedding was more traditional but still condensed. Eleven days after Mi-ja and I returned home and one day after she left Hado, my father slaughtered one of our pigs. The meat was roasted on skewers, and we shared the meal together with our friends and family. Jun-bu and his mother didn’t attend. They were writing the letter of declaration and celebrating with their own family and friends. Since we were both from the same part of Hado, people came and went between the two houses. My father drank too much, but so did a lot of other men.
On the second morning, I made offerings to my mother and other ancestors, knowing that Jun-bu, his mother, and sister were doing the same to their ancestors. Grandmother helped me put on the trousers, tunic, and jacket I’d made from the cloth Jun-bu had given me. Little Sister combed my hair and pinned it into a bun at the back of my neck. I pinched my cheeks to bring color into them, then we waited in the open space between our big and small houses for Jun-bu and his family to arrive.
In the distance, I heard the groom’s procession coming closer and then stop at the village tree where Shaman Kim and her helpers beat cymbals and drums. The racket quieted, and Do-saeng’s loud haenyeo voice rang out: “My son is smart. He works hard. He is of good health. He follows the rituals and trusts in the gifts of the sea.” I’d seen this ceremony many times, so I knew what came next. Shaman Kim would take a special rice cake and throw it against the tree. I held my breath, listening for the reaction from the crowd. If the cake stuck to the tree, then my marriage would be blessed. If it fell, I would still have to marry Jun-bu, but we would forever be unhappy. Cheers rose up, and the drums and cymbals blared. My marriage would be a lucky one.