“You will know when I know,” I answered at last.
So, I worked even harder to help Jun-bu plant his seed before he returned to Japan. I liked how he made me feel between my legs, but the practicalities of marriage were, to my mind, not so great. My husband heated water for me to warm myself when I came home from the sea, but mostly he read books, wrote in notebooks, or joined other men by the village tree to discuss philosophy and politics. The only real ways his life had changed were that he prepared dinner for me to eat in our little house and had me next to him at night. As for me, I dove with Do-saeng’s collective, worked in the fields, and cared for Yu-ri—brushing her hair, cleaning her behind when she had accidents, washing those dirty clothes, making sure she didn’t harm herself by getting too close to the fire in the kitchen, looking for her in the olles if she got loose from her tether when her mother and I were in the sea. For the most part, Yu-ri was good humored, but she could be querulous at times. It wasn’t like dealing with an angry or unhappy child, because she was a full-grown woman—strong, obstinate, a typical haenyeo, even though she would never dive again. My heart went out to her, and I would happily take care of her for the rest of her life, but sometimes it all felt overwhelming. That’s when I longed for Mi-ja the most. I missed running out in the morning to meet her. I missed talking, laughing, and diving with her.
* * *
Twelve days after the wedding, Do-saeng and I were sitting in the courtyard, repairing nets, when Jun-bu came out of the little house. Like all mothers, Do-saeng regarded him with eyes of love. “If you don’t need your daughter-in-law,” he said, addressing her, “I’d like to borrow my wife.” What can a loving mother do with a request like that? In minutes, Jun-bu and I were walking through the olles, side by side, but not touching in public.
“Where are we going today?” I asked.
“Where would you like to go?”
Sometimes we went to the water’s edge. Sometimes we strolled through the olles. Other times we’d climb an oreum, stare out at the view, talk, and sometimes do nighttime activities in the broad daylight. I liked that a lot, and so did he.
I suggested that we visit the shadow side of an oreum not too far off. “It’s a hot day, and you might find it cooling to sit on the grass.”
He grinned, and I started to run. He followed close on my heels. He was a man, but I was faster. We snaked through the twists in the olles, broke into a field, and began to climb the steep cone. We lifted ourselves over the top and dropped down to the shady side. Soon we were rolling together in the grass and flowers. I still marveled at his pale skin next to my sun-browned flesh. He ran his hands over the muscles in my arms and the firmness of my bottom. The softness of his arms and torso seemed a physical manifestation of how gentle and nurturing he was. Later, after we’d pulled our trousers back on, we lay on our backs, staring up at the clouds as the wind pushed them across the sky.
I liked my husband. He was as warm and kind as he’d been when he was a skinny boy playing with us at the shore. He was also willing to share his knowledge with me. And it turned out I wasn’t as ignorant as I thought. I’d gone out for leaving-home water-work and had seen many places, while he’d only been to Hado and Osaka. He’d read lots of books, but I’d learned by listening and observing. I understood the seafloor, and he never stopped asking me questions about it; he had a better sense of the war and the world, which fascinated me. So, while at first I thought we’d have nothing to talk about, we had plenty of things to share and explore, each of us with our different perspectives on Jeju and the world beyond. He liked to talk about the long-ago time when Jeju was its own independent kingdom. I always felt confident with this subject, because Grandmother had taught me a lot about the Tamna. He also revealed to me things he’d learned about the Moscow Conference and the Cairo Conference, where Allied leaders had spoken about the future independence of Korea. I hadn’t imagined that world leaders would be talking about my country or that independence was possible.
“At college, I’ve met people from China and the USSR who say life can be different,” he said. “We should strive to make our own destiny for our country. The big land and factory owners should share their wealth with those who bleed their souls into the soil and into their work. Boys—and girls—should have compulsory education. Why should mothers, sisters, and wives work so hard and sacrifice so much?” He fell silent. Hadn’t we been married so I could help his mother pay for his tuition? “What I’m telling you, Young-sook, is we should want our sons and daughters to read, understand the world, and think about what our country can be.”
When he spoke like this, he reminded me of my mother in the days leading up to the haenyeo march against the Japanese. These things made me love him for the father he would be one day. And with that thought, I reached over and slipped a hand along his belly and under his trousers. He was young, and it turned out I could be persuasive.
* * *
On the first of September, Mi-ja’s mother-in-law arrived in Hado to speak to my mother-in-law. Madame Lee got straight to the point. “Mi-ja is not yet pregnant. What of your daughter-in-law? Is she with child yet?” When Do-saeng answered matter-of-factly that my monthly bleeding had not yet come since the wedding—and imagine how I felt hearing these things being discussed as though I weren’t in the room serving them tea—Madame Lee said, “Perhaps it is time for the daughters-in-law who’ve married into our families to visit the goddess.”
“They’ve only been married two weeks,” Do-saeng said.
“But your daughter-in-law is from village stock. I understand her mother was quite fertile.”
I didn’t like Madame Lee’s tone, and neither did Do-saeng, who must have also smarted at being reminded of her own infertility.
“There is only one way to make a baby,” Do-saeng said with a snort. “Perhaps your son hasn’t been able to—”
“I understand your son will be going back to Japan in two weeks. A baby needs to be planted before he leaves, don’t you think?”
Since I too wished for this, I was pretty sure that Do-saeng did as well. That was her job as Jun-bu’s mother and my mother-in-law.
Madame Lee pressed her case. “The local government is sending my son to the mainland to learn how better to oversee warehouses. I’m told he’ll be gone for a year.” She let my mother-in-law consider this information. If Sang-mun didn’t plant a baby in Mi-ja soon, it would be at least a year and nine months before Madame Lee would get a grandson. “My daughter-in-law may be from Jeju City, but your sea-village ways have seeped into her. She believes in your shaman and your goddesses.” The woman jutted her chin. “Since this is so, I will send her to Hado every other day, if your daughter-in-law will take her to visit the proper goddess.”
“The Japanese punish those who follow traditional island ways,” Do-saeng reminded her.
“This may be so, yet we hear you sea-village people do it all the time.”
“It’s dangerous,” Do-saeng insisted, but my whole life I’d seen her make offerings. I hoped she wouldn’t bargain too hard, because I really wanted Mi-ja to come.
“Which is why I will pay you for your troubles.”
Do-saeng, now sensing her advantage, waved off the idea as though it were a bad smell. “Mi-ja has an aunt and uncle living in another part of Hado. Let her stay with them.”
“I think we can both agree that a happy wife is more receptive to baby making.”
“But I’ll have another mouth to feed. And if your daughter-in-law is here, then how can my daughter-in-law perform her duties?”