The Island of Sea Women(103)

Young-sook stares into the girl’s eyes. The green flecks must come from her white father, but otherwise they’re Mi-ja’s eyes. What Young-sook sees in the depths of those eyes is pain.

“Granny always asked me the same question. ‘What would Young-sook have done if our positions were reversed?’?” Clara says. “Now I’m asking you. Would you have sacrificed your life or the lives of your children to save Sang-mun or Yo-chan? Somewhere inside, you have to know that she wasn’t aware—”

“Of how severe the consequences would be,” Young-sook finishes for her.

Clara releases Young-sook’s hands, removes her earbuds, and places them in Young-sook’s ears. There’s no music. Instead, someone is speaking. The voice belongs to Mi-ja. Tears have pooled in Clara’s eyes. She knows what’s on the recording, but each word hits Young-sook like sleet—icy and sharp.

“Every day I’ve forced myself to accept what I did by not doing,” Mi-ja says. Her voice is old, soft, and quavering. It does not carry the strength or volume of a haenyeo who’s been diving for sixty or more years. “I’ve prayed to Jesus, the Virgin, and God to grant me forgiveness—”

Young-sook yanks the wires from her ears. Clara takes her hands again and recites, “To understand everything is to forgive.”

“Who said that?”

“Buddha.”

“Buddha? But you’re Catholic.”

“My parents don’t know everything about me.” She lets that hang in the air for a moment. Then she repeats the saying. “To understand everything is to forgive. Now, put these back in your ears.”

Young-sook sits as still as a heron. The girl puts the earbuds back in place. Again, Mi-ja speaks.

“I tried so many ways to atone, becoming a Christian, making my entire family go to church and Sunday school, volunteering. I did what I could for Joon-lee . . .”

On the recording, Clara asks, “If you saw your friend today, what would you say to her?”

“Read my letters. Please, please, please, read my letters. Oh, Clara, if she would do that, then she would know what was in my heart.”

“But I thought you said you guys didn’t know how to read—”

“She’ll understand. I know she will. She’ll open them and know . . .”

Young-sook pulls out the earbuds. “I can’t. I just can’t.” She stands, steadies herself, and then, drawing on the strength that’s seen her through so much, she puts one foot in front of the other, leaving the girl on the bench.





PART V


Forgiveness


1968–1975





Born a Cow


Summer 1968

We sat on our haunches outside the bulteok as a man bellowed at us through a bullhorn. “Today the grandmother-divers will go out two kilometers for deep-water work. I’ll have the captain drop the small-divers in a cove that’s ripe with sea urchins. We have no baby-divers today, so we don’t need to worry about them. I keep telling you we need more baby-divers. Please continue to encourage the young women in your families to join the collective.”

It was galling enough to have a man tell us what to do, but shouting at us through the bullhorn made matters worse. We may have been hard of hearing, but everyone had always been able to understand me when we sat around the fire pit and discussed the day’s plan. I was still the chief of our collective, though, and the other haenyeo looked to me to put this man straight.

“How are we supposed to bring in baby-divers when you changed the rules about who can dive?”

“I didn’t change the rules,” he yelled, indignant.

“All right. You didn’t,” I agreed. “Politicians somewhere far from here passed a law, but what do they know about our practices and our traditions?”

The man puffed his chest. It truly wasn’t his fault, but the law that said one diver per household went into effect six years ago—without asking our opinion—and had been a terrible blow to all families who relied on grandmothers, mothers, and daughters for family income.

“It’s always been the case that if a woman married out or moved away, she lost her rights to that village,” he said.

“So? Years ago, when I married and moved to another village, I was readily accepted into that collective. Now, a woman can only apply for a license after living in a new village for sixty days. And if her mother-or sister-in-law is already a diver, then—”

“The point is,” Yang-jin cut in, “if only one diver can be licensed per household, how are we supposed to bring our daughters to the sea?”

“And even if I could bring them,” I asked, adding to the point my diving partner had made, “why would I?”

“Am I to hear about Joon-lee now?” the man queried with a pronounced sigh.

Yes, because I knew it irked him. “My younger daughter attends university in Seoul.”

“I know. I know.”

“While not all daughters are as lucky or as smart as Joon-lee, every young woman now has opportunities that are far less dangerous than diving,” I went on. “Look at my older daughter. As her mother, I can say Min-lee was never the cleverest girl, but she helps provide for her family by selling postcards, soda pop, and suntan oil to tourists.”