The Island of Sea Women(2)

The young man wanders off. He tries to talk to another woman, Kang Gu-ja, who’s working about ten meters to Young-sook’s left. Gu-ja, always crotchety, won’t even look up. He presses on to Gu-ja’s younger sister, Gu-sun, who yells at him. “Go away!” Young-sook snorts appreciatively.

When her small bag is full, she shakily gets to her feet and shuffles to the collection of larger bags she’s been filling. Once the small bag is emptied, she hobbles to an area of the beach untouched by the others. She settles back down, positioning her cushion beneath her. Her hands, though gnarled from work and deeply creased from years of exposure to the sun, are agile. The sound of the sea . . . The caress of warm air . . . The knowledge that she is protected by the thousands of goddesses who live on this island . . . Even Gu-sun’s colorful epithets can’t sour her mood.

Then in Young-sook’s peripheral vision she glimpses another family group. They aren’t dressed alike, and they don’t look alike. The husband is white, the wife is Korean, and the children—a small boy and a teenage girl—are mixed. Young-sook can’t help it, but seeing those half-and-half children makes her uncomfortable: the boy in shorts, a superhero T-shirt, and clunky tennis shoes, the girl in shorts that scarcely cover what they’re supposed to cover, earbuds plugged into her ears, and wires trailing down over her barely-there breasts. Young-sook guesses they’re Americans, and she watches warily as they approach.

“Are you Kim Young-sook?” the woman, pale and pretty, asks. When Young-sook gives a slight nod, the woman continues. “My name is Ji-young, but everyone calls me Janet.”

Young-sook tries out the name on her tongue. “Janet.”

“And this is my husband, Jim, and my children, Clara and Scott. We’re wondering if you remember my grandmother?” Janet speaks . . . What does she speak exactly? It’s not Korean, but it’s not the Jeju dialect either. “Her name was Mi-ja. Her family name was Han—”

“I don’t know that person.”

The softest frown crinkles the space above the bridge of the woman’s nose. “But didn’t you both live in this village?”

“I live here, but I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Young-sook’s voice comes out even sharper and louder than Gu-sun’s, causing both Kang sisters to look her way. Are you all right?

But the American woman is undeterred. “Let me show you her photograph.”

She scrounges through her satchel, pulls out a manila envelope, and paws through it until she finds what she’s been looking for. She stretches out her hand and shows Young-sook a black-and-white photograph of a girl dressed in the white bathing costume of the past. Her nipples are like a pair of octopus eyes peering out from the protection of a cave. Her hair is hidden under a matching white scarf. Her face is round, her slim arms show the definition of muscles, her legs are sturdy, and her smile is wide and unabashed.

“I’m sorry,” Young-sook says. “I don’t know her.”

“I have more photos,” the woman goes on.

As Janet once again peers into her envelope, rifling through what must be more photographs, Young-sook smiles up at the white man. “You have phone?” she asks in English, which she realizes must sound far worse than his wife’s Korean, and then holds an imaginary phone to her ear. She’s used this tactic many times to save herself from bothersome intruders. If it’s a young woman, she might say, “Before I answer your questions, I need to talk to my grandson.” If it’s a man—of any age—she’ll ask, “Are you married yet? My great-niece is lovely, and she’s in college too. I’ll have her come so the two of you can meet.” It’s amazing how many people fall for her tricks. Sure enough, the foreign man pats his pockets as he searches for his phone. He smiles. Bright white, very straight teeth, like a shark’s. But the teenage girl gets her phone out first. It’s one of those new iPhones, exactly like the ones Young-sook bought for her great-grandchildren for their birthdays this year.

Without bothering to remove her earbuds, Clara says, “Tell me the number.” The sound of her voice further ruffles Young-sook. The girl has spoken in the Jeju dialect. It’s not perfect, but it’s passable, and her inflection causes goosebumps to rise along Young-sook’s arms.

She recites the number, while Clara taps the buttons on the phone. Once she’s done, she unplugs the phone and extends it to Young-sook, who feels strangely paralyzed. On impulse—it has to be impulse, right?—the girl leans over and puts the phone to Young-sook’s ear. Her touch . . . Like lava . . . A small cross on a gold chain slips out from under the girl’s T-shirt and swings in front of Young-sook’s eyes. Now she notices that the mother, Janet, wears a cross too.

The four foreigners stare at her expectantly. They think she’s going to help them. She speaks rapidly into the phone. Janet’s brow furrows once again as she tries to understand the words, but Young-sook has spoken pure Jeju, which is as different from standard Korean as French is from Japanese, or so she’s been told. Once the call is done, Clara tucks the phone in her back pocket and watches, embarrassed, as her mother starts pulling out more photographs.

“Here is my father when he was young,” Janet says, thrusting a blurry image before Young-sook’s eyes. “Do you remember him? Here’s another photo of my grandmother. It was taken on her wedding day. I was told the girl beside her is you. Won’t you please take a few minutes to talk to us?”