Two days later, Dr. Park and his team packed up their instruments and left Hado. They would return in another three months. I worked in my dry field, while my children started their fall semester. After school let out, when her brother and sister went to the shallows to visit friends and cool off, Joon-lee sat in the main room to do her homework, study for the competition, and read.
The next diving period arrived on a Sunday, which meant that Wan-soon and Min-lee were able to come. It was a particularly blustery day, and wind pressed our clothes tight against our bodies. Waves frothed and sprayed as though pushed by a storm. Once inside the bulteok, Gu-ja took her honorary position. The rest of us sat according to our skill levels. Gu-ja was peevish. The recent visit from Dr. Park and his team reminded her how irritated she was that she’d been dropped from the study, but I figured she’d return to her normal irascible self after a day in the water.
Forgoing the usual pleasantries, Gu-ja began. “Today is going to be hot—”
“And it’s certainly gusty,” Gu-sun interrupted. “We’ll need to be careful where we dive—”
Irritated, Gu-ja waved off her sister. “I’m willing to hear suggestions for where we should go. Anyone?” she asked.
Although it seemed apparent that she was deliberately not asking her sister, Gu-sun offered the first idea. “Let’s walk to the cove north of us. The cliffs protect that area from the wind.”
“It’s too hot to walk that far,” Gu-ja said.
Gu-sun tried again. “We could stay here and dive off the jetty.”
“Did you not notice how the wind is pushing the surf?” Gu-ja scanned the faces in the circle, but her sour mood invited no other proposals. “All right then. Let’s row straight out to sea to the plateau. Hopefully the waves will be milder than what we’re seeing from shore, and the deeper waters will be colder.”
Next to me, Yang-jin muttered under her breath, “This is not good.”
I agreed. Gu-ja was the chief, but she’d made her decision just to be contrary.
We changed into our water clothes, strapped our face masks on the tops or sides of our heads, gathered our gear, and filed out to the boat. Gu-ja’s mood may have been off, but she was right that on this unseasonably hot day the deeper and cooler waters would feel refreshing. We took our places on the boat. Min-lee and Wan-soon sat across from each other. Soon we were bending over our stomachs and pulling back, dipping our oars into the water together. The girls’ voices sounded clear and fresh as we sang. A single wisp of a cloud raced across the sky, seagulls soared and swooped, and just as Gu-ja had predicted the sea was uneasy but not as bad as at the shore. Nevertheless, ruffling whitecaps were not welcomed by those with weak stomachs. A haenyeo pregnant with her fourth child pulled in her oar, threw up, and then resumed rowing. We cheered for her and then went back to our singing. I noticed, though, that Wan-soon’s complexion had faded to an even more unsettling green. She didn’t look well, but in the year and a half she’d been diving with us I hadn’t known her to get seasick.
Gu-ja raised an arm, signaling us to stop. After the anchor was dropped, she made the traditional offerings to the sea gods. When she was done, she said, “Together, let us scour the ocean floor.” With that, we pulled our face masks from our foreheads, rubbed mugwort on the glass, and positioned them over our eyes and noses. Each woman double-checked her tools. Then two by two, women threw their tewaks into the water and jumped in after them. Gu-sun and Gu-ja went down together. I told Min-lee to be careful, as I always did, and then she and Wan-soon dropped over the side of the boat. I nodded to Yang-jin, and together we entered the sea.
We were far from shore, as Gu-sun had wanted, but the underwater geography made it ideal for divers of all levels. Unlike the spot my mother had chosen for my first dive, which had a deep canyon, here a wide plateau rose up—high, flat, easy to reach but deep enough not to scrape a boat’s hull, and so wide it presented a vast field of opportunity. In the murky waters, I couldn’t see the full circumference, but if the baby-divers stayed together, they’d be fine.
Down I went. Yang-jin and I stayed within sight of each other but not so close that she would invade my territory or I hers. I went up for sumbisori and to put what I’d harvested in my net. The water felt wonderful. Down. Up. Sumbisori. Down. Up. Sumbisori. The concentration involved to stay safe, grab as much as I could, and forget the troubles of land created the pattern of my life.
Once our nets were full, Yang-jin and I returned to the boat. We stored our gear and began to sort what we’d harvested. As Gu-ja, Gu-sun, and the other women came in, we helped them haul their nets into the boat. Many of these women also sorted their harvests, while others drank cups of tea. A few propped themselves against their full nets and allowed the rocking of the boat to lull them to sleep. I kept an ear tuned to the sumbisori of the haenyeo still in the water, always relieved when I heard Min-lee’s distinctive hrrrr. She was still learning how to dive, but I trusted her skills. That said, my shoulders relaxed when I saw her loop her arms over the side of the boat. But when she didn’t try to push her net on board or hoist herself up, I knew something was wrong.
“Has anyone seen Wan-soon?” she asked.
At these words, Gu-sun’s head snapped up.
“I saw her out that way,” a woman said, pointing off the bow.
“So did I,” Yang-jin added. “When we came up for sumbisori at the same time, I told her to dive closer to the boat.”
“Then where is she now?” Gu-sun asked, turning to her older sister.
“Don’t worry,” the chief responded. “We’ll find her.”
A couple of stragglers paddled toward the boat. Gu-sun shouted to them, but no, they hadn’t seen Wan-soon either. Gu-sun and Gu-ja stood, rooting their feet to the deck as the boat bobbed in the swells.
“There!” Gu-ja shouted. “Her tewak.”
I knew this area well—all the grandmother-divers did—and seeing that the tewak had drifted farther out to sea was concerning.
Those of us on the boat picked up our oars and began rowing, leaving several divers in the water. We wanted to get to Wan-soon’s tewak quickly, but to be efficient we had to keep our rhythm. When we reached the tewak, Gu-sun and Gu-ja dropped their oars and stood. Gu-sun yelled at us to be quiet, so we could listen for Wan-soon’s sumbisori, but it was nowhere on the wind. Slowly turning in circles, the sisters scanned the swells. They must have tried for five minutes, far longer than a haenyeo could stay underwater. The aunt looked terrified and desperate, while the mother looked sad and resigned.
“Everyone,” Gu-ja said, “we need to get back in the water. Hurry.” Then she spoke the words no one wanted to hear. “We must find Wan-soon’s body before it’s lost to the sea and she becomes a hungry ghost.”
Face masks were fitted back into place, and everyone leapt into the water. Those who were already in the sea were coming closer. Gu-sun called to them. “We’re looking for Wan-soon. Search the area where you are.”
The baby-divers, including my daughter, fanned out across the plateau. If an abalone had grabbed Wan-soon’s bitchang or if her hair or clothing had somehow gotten caught on a rock, they’d find her body. The small-divers and grandmother-divers swam down the sides of the plateau. Nothing. Every time I resurfaced, women yelled questions across the cresting waves, which were growing larger now. Did you search here? Did you search there? Nothing here. Nothing there. Down again.
The next time I surfaced, I spotted Min-lee with her arms draped over Wan-soon’s tewak. I was not much younger than she was now when Yu-ri had her accident, so I knew the guilt and remorse my daughter had to be feeling. I swam over to her.
“Wouldn’t she need to be near her tewak?” Min-lee asked before sucking in her lips to hold in her emotions.