The Island of Sea Women(22)
The next morning, Mi-ja wasn’t at her spot in the olle. When we got to the bulteok, Do-saeng wasn’t there either. “We’ll have to dive without them,” Mother said and then made her assignments. The true grandmothers and baby-divers would work the area at the end of the jetty. “Everyone else, we’ll swim out a kilometer. Since Mi-ja and Do-saeng aren’t here today, my daughter will dive with me. It’s time for her to harvest an abalone.”
I could barely believe what I’d heard. It was an honor far beyond anything I deserved as a baby-diver. As we changed into our water clothes, a couple of women congratulated me.
“Your mother taught me everything I know about the sea,” one of them said.
“You’ll get your abalone. I’m sure of it,” said another haenyeo.
I could not have been happier.
Once we were ready, we filed out, tewaks and nets slung over our shoulders, our sea-farming tools strung in satchels from our waists, our spears in hand. One by one, we dropped into the sea. The baby-divers and elders, including Grandmother, swam together to the right. The small-divers, actual grandmother-divers, and I looped our arms over our tewaks and began paddling away from the shore, following my mother to our designated spot. The sun spilled gloriously on our faces, arms, and shoulders. The water was cerulean blue. The swells were gentle, giving us nothing to fight against. I wished Mi-ja could see me.
“Here we are,” Mother yelled loud enough for her voice to reach the others over the wind and waves. She spat on her bitchang to bring good luck. I did the same. Then together we dove down. The water wasn’t too deep, and we wove in and out between large rocks, with Mother pointing out sea urchins and other creatures we could come back for later. First, though, an abalone for me. How fortunate I was to have my mother teach me this skill.
Back up for breath, then down again. I had years to go before I’d have my mother’s lung capacity, but she didn’t complain. She was patient. Back up for breath, then down again. She spotted a boulder dotted with abalone. They could camouflage themselves so well, no wonder I hadn’t seen them before. Now that I had, I would always know what to look for—a grayish blue or black bump, not all that smooth, rising from the cragged contour of an algae-covered boulder. Back up for a breath.
“Remember everything you’ve been taught,” Mother advised. “I’ll be right by your side, so don’t be frightened.”
We each took several deep breaths, then down again. We approached slowly so as not to disturb the waters. As fast as a snake striking its prey, I thrust my bitchang under the lifted edge of the abalone and flipped it off its home before it had a chance to clamp down. I grabbed it as it started to fall to the seabed. Seeing I was successful and having more air than I did, Mother thrust her bitchang under another abalone just as I started to kick for the surface. I broke into the air with my prize raised above my head. My sumbisori sounded triumphant. The haenyeo, who were resting on their tewaks, cheered for me.
“Congratulations!”
“May this be the first of many!”
Following tradition, I slowly rubbed the abalone on my cheek to show my affection and gratitude and then carefully placed it in my net. I was ready to dive down again, eager to harvest another abalone, when I realized my mother still hadn’t come up for air. She could hold her breath a long time, but she should have surfaced by now. A breath, a breath, a breath, and then under . . .
As soon as I set myself in the head-down position, I could see Mother still at the boulder, exactly where I’d left her. She was struggling to reach for something in the sand below her. Filtered sunlight caught the edge of her knife lying just out of reach. I gave two more strong kicks and glided next to her. That’s when I saw that her bitchang was trapped under the abalone. She had needed her knife to cut off the leather strap. Never panic was the greatest safeguard under the sea, but I was terrified. I concentrated hard as I pulled my knife from my belt, afraid I might drop mine as Mother must have dropped hers. By now, though, my lungs were already pressing hard against my chest. Mother had been underwater far longer. She had to be in agony. I pulled myself closer and tried to slip my knife under the leather loop, but it had tightened in the water as it was meant to do. My heart pounded. Blood throbbed in my head. I needed air, but Mother needed it more. I didn’t have time to go to the surface for help. If I did, by the time I got back . . .
Now we were both desperate. She grabbed my knife and tried to slice through the leather. In her rush, she slit a deep gash in her forearm. The blood turned the water murky, making it even harder to see where she was cutting. Her legs began to kick frantically, trying through sheer strength to free herself from the abalone’s grip on the bitchang. I pulled on her arm, trying to help. I couldn’t last much longer . . .
Suddenly, Mother stopped struggling. She calmly set the knife on the boulder and placed her now free hand over my wrist, getting my attention. Her pupils were dilated—from the darkness, from terror. She stared deeply into my eyes for a second or two, taking me in, remembering me. Then she released her breath. Her life bubbles burbled up between us. Another second passed. She still held my wrist, but I placed my other hand on her cheek. A lifetime of love passed between us, and then my mother sucked in water. Her body jerked and flailed. I badly needed air, but I didn’t leave her side until she was gone, floating peacefully, still attached to the rock.