The Island of Sea Women(39)
“I am Lee Han-bong, Sang-mun’s father.”
“Please join us,” Mi-ja’s uncle said. “My niece will serve tea.”
Father and son slipped off their shoes, then ducked their heads as they stepped under the overhang and into the house. I was not invited inside, but I wasn’t asked to leave either. I edged away, sat on my knees in the sun, and hung my head.
We didn’t have a bride price on Jeju like they did on the mainland, but there were other formalities that needed to be negotiated, which Grandmother arbitrated with little dissent or argument from either side. The geomancer had already been hired to examine the years, months, days, and times of Sang-mun’s and Mi-ja’s births, and he’d announced a date five days from now for the wedding to take place. Although the groom’s family was clearly well off, they preferred that the ceremonies be kept to one day instead of the traditional three.
“It is not typical for someone from the mid-mountain area to marry someone from the seaside,” Sang-mun’s father explained. “Their ways are too different. Nor does someone from the western side of the island wish to marry someone from the eastern side of the island.”
What he meant was that mid-mountain men were more sophisticated compared to haenyeo brides, while men from the western side of the island didn’t like the snake-worshipping women from many eastern villages. Clearly, he was building to something with his double meanings. I lifted my head to see how the others were taking his comments. The eyes of Mi-ja’s aunt and uncle had fallen to half-mast, shielding their reactions, while my friend stared straight ahead. Her body was there, but it was as if her mind had flown out of the house and was soaring high above the sea. But I knew Mi-ja too well. She wasn’t feigning being a delicate and modest bride in the Japanese model, nor was she hiding her feelings of sadness or worry that she’d be marrying Sang-mun. She was trying to ignore me. Grandmother, meanwhile, had a most disagreeable look on her face. She’d been given a position of privilege and respect, but I worried what she would say.
“It is good for a city boy to be matched with a city girl,” Grandmother remarked, when what she could have said was that the sons and daughters of collaborators deserved each other.
“Exactly,” Sang-mun’s father agreed. “We don’t need to have families traveling back and forth between Jeju City and here.”
At last, I understood. Lee Han-bong didn’t want to have anything to do with Mi-ja’s family or the village she’d called home for the last fourteen years. What a disgusting man. And what a terrible loss of face for Mi-ja’s aunt and uncle. But they didn’t say anything. They may have spent years being cruel to Mi-ja, but now they could benefit from the Lee family’s influence. They were showing their usual hypocrisy.
“You will find that Mi-ja has not lost her city ways,” Grandmother went on smoothly. “In fact, she has lived and worked abroad. She has much experience—”
“I knew the girl’s father and even her mother,” Lee Han-bong interrupted. “I’m guessing the girl doesn’t remember me, but I remember her very well.” Even at these words, Mi-ja didn’t glance in his direction. “She always wore a big white bow in her hair.” He smiled. “She looked pretty in her little boots and petticoats. Most people prefer to bring in a daughter-in-law who has grown up in a large family, because it shows that she has the skills to get along with everyone.”
“And work hard—”
“But my son is an only child as well. Sang-mun and Mi-ja have this in common.” He went on to discuss other benefits of the match, which had less to do with the idea of sharing provisions than it did with Mi-ja’s and Sang-mun’s physical characteristics. “Neither of these children has skin too dark,” he commented. “I’m sure you’re aware how surprising this is for a sea woman. But once Mi-ja is married to my son, her days of working in the sun will be over. Her face will return to that of the girl I once knew.”
I listened to all this with a breaking heart. I watched the formal exchange of gifts. I knew Mi-ja had bought her future husband a camera, but I couldn’t tell from the shape of Sang-mun’s family’s gift what it might be, except that it wasn’t a traditional roll of cloth for her to make wedding clothes. (But why would Japanese collaborators give her such a Korean gift?) As soon as the negotiation ended and small glasses of rice wine had been poured for the men to cement the deal, I slowly rose, backed out of the yard, and ran through the olle toward home. Tears poured down my cheeks until I couldn’t see. I stopped, covered my face, and wept into the rock wall. How could I have had such ridiculous dreams? Sang-mun never could have been interested in me, and I shouldn’t for one instant have wanted to marry the son of a collaborator.
“Young-sook.”
I cringed at the sound of Mi-ja’s voice.
“I understand why you’re sad,” she said. “I couldn’t even look at you back there for fear I would begin to weep. We wanted to marry boys in Hado, so we would always be together. And now this . . .”
In my jealousy and hurt, I hadn’t absorbed that Mi-ja would be leaving Hado for good. How could I have let one short encounter with a man with a handsome face and an enchanting laugh so sway me away from my friend that I hadn’t thought about what the consequences of a marriage to him—whether hers or mine—would mean to our friendship? Mi-ja and I would be separated. I might see her if I was going through the port for leaving-home water-work, but otherwise no responsible wife would spend money frivolously on a boat ride around the island or a truck carrying produce to a five-day market just to see a friend. I had been disconsolate before, but now I was devastated.