The Island of Sea Women(53)

A few hours later, we arrived in Bukchon. I left the driver on the road to watch over Yu-ri, the pig, and my other belongings, then walked through the olles, past stone houses with thatch roofs, to the shore. Bukchon was built around a small, well-protected cove. The beach had more sand than Hado, but it still had plenty of lava rocks to step on as I made my way to the bulteok. With my baby in my arms, I entered. Three women sat by the fire pit, the sun shining down on them through the roofless structure. I bowed deeply several times as they scrambled to their feet. They shouted in their loud haenyeo voices, “Welcome! Welcome!”

After I introduced myself, I said, “My husband is the new teacher in your village. Can you tell me how to find the home of Yang Jun-bu?”

A woman in her forties, with muscled thighs and arms, stepped forward. “I’m the chief of our collective. My name is Yang Gi-won. Your husband told us you were coming. We hear you are an experienced haenyeo. We would like to offer you diving rights in our village.”

I bowed several more times in gratitude, but I had to add a condition. “I have to see what my husband says. He works, as you know.”

Mine was not a situation with which they were familiar, and they laughed good-naturedly.

“You and the baby must be tired,” Gi-won said. “Let us take you to your house.” Then the corners of her mouth turned up, and she added, with plenty of insinuation in her voice, “Your husband has been eager for you to arrive.”

The others howled. I blushed.

“No need to be bashful with us. You didn’t get that baby by just looking pretty.”

She motioned for me to follow, but the others came along too. We threaded through another series of olles. Up ahead I caught sight of the school. To the right was a series of small houses, each behind its own stone wall.

“All the teachers live in these,” Gi-won said. “Here is yours.”

One of the other women yelled, “Teacher Yang, your wife is here!”

With lots of giggling, the three women pushed me through the gate. Then they sauntered back down the olle, leaving Jun-bu and me to greet each other privately. When I saw his silhouette in the doorway, all the worry of these last months—being separated, caring for a newborn without her father, the impending battle on our stepping-stone of an island—drained out of me. I was a haenyeo—independent and resilient—but I’d missed my husband. He rushed to me, stopping a meter away so we could bow and exchange endearments.

“I missed you.”

“I’m glad you’re safe.”

“You look well.”

“You look thin.”

“Your daughter. I named her Min-lee.”

He peeled back the piece of persimmon cloth that protected her face from the sun. He smiled. “A beautiful girl. A beautiful name.”

“I have Yu-ri in the cart,” I said.

A shadow passed over his features. Perhaps this was not the reunion he’d anticipated, but then his expression shifted. “Let’s go get her and everything else,” he said.

The driver lugged my things. Jun-bu escorted his sister. I prepared a place for her next to the warmth of the kitchen wall. Jun-bu and I put away my belongings. Min-lee fell asleep in her cradle. Without eating the dinner my husband had prepared, we lay out our sleeping mats. He was hungry for my flesh. I was hungrier still for his. We did not worry about Yu-ri watching or hearing us. When we were finished, and I curled myself into the crook of his arm, I sent a prayer to Halmang Samseung. Plant a son in me tonight.

The next day, the emperor of Japan signed the agreement officially ending the war, which sent many soldiers on Jeju out of their caves and tunnels like ants flooded from their homes. They didn’t wait for military transport. They just booked passage on ferries and left. But thousands of soldiers remained, still camped on the hillsides. Barely a week later, the cycle of the moon told me that the month’s first period of diving had almost ended. I stood in my doorway, Yu-ri sitting at my feet, as haenyeo from other parts of Bukchon made their way past my house to the sea. Many of them called out, “Join us” or “Come to the bulteok.” I just waved and watched them go. In the afternoon, after I’d swept the courtyard, washed Yu-ri, and pickled vegetables for winter, I watched them come home—happy, loud, and strong. I found myself missing the company of Kang Gu-sun and Wan-soon, the comforts and companionship of the bulteok, and so much else.

On September 10, the Committee for the Preparation of Korean Independence met for the first time in Jeju City. The members had all led or participated in anti-Japanese movements. The goals, of course, were to have true independence for the island and all Korea and to have our first-ever elections. Eventually, this organization became the People’s Committee. On Jeju, every village started its own chapter to create youth clubs, peacekeeping units, and women’s associations. With the help of these committees, every village instituted literacy efforts. All boys were to be educated, but women and girls were also encouraged to attend classes.

“Village leaders want to instill political awareness in women like you,” Jun-bu said. “I hope you will go.”

“My mother wanted me to be literate, and she surely was political,” I responded.

“Now you can be an inspiration to our daughter as your mother was to you.”

But I wondered what use I would have for an education when all I wanted to do was dive.