The Island of Sea Women(69)

But when we went to the polling place, a group of men barred us from entering. “Turn around. Go home,” they told us.

Once again, my news came from the bulteok as the haenyeo jabbered like chickens the next morning. In Bukchon, we hadn’t been allowed to vote, but that was nothing compared to what had happened elsewhere.

“The police, the constabulary, and the Northwest Young Men’s Association blocked—”

“Jeju’s main road going east—”

“And west—”

“So rebels wouldn’t be able to pass.”

Not for the first time, Ki-young’s daughter, Yun-su, seemed to have a clearer sense of what had transpired. “None of that mattered,” she said, and I heard something like pride in her voice. “Nothing stopped the rebels. They raided polling places and burned ballot boxes. They kidnapped election officials. They cut more telephone lines—”

And then the others were off again.

“Destroyed bridges—”

“And blocked the very roads they weren’t supposed to pass.”

In the end, no votes were counted from Jeju, and the Americans’ choice, Rhee Syngman, was elected president, although we hadn’t yet officially become a country.

The next morning, when I returned to the bulteok, yesterday’s nervous twittering had been replaced by anxiety. Surely, the government would punish us for the troubles of election night.

“I’m chief of our collective,” Gi-won said, “but as a woman, I have no choice in what happens next.”

“No woman has a say.”

“No child has a say. And the elderly?”

“They have no authority either,” Gi-won answered for all of us.

Most of our fathers and husbands had spent their days thinking grand thoughts and taking care of babies, so they were powerless too. But everyone—even the innocent, even the young and the elderly, even those who did not have a husband to read the propaganda to them from the newspaper, or those, like Yu-ri, with no comprehension of what was happening—was forced to take a side.



* * *



In late May, Mi-ja arrived one day at my door. She was alone. She’d lost weight and her color was bad. I invited her in, but I couldn’t help being apprehensive. While I made citrus tea, she visited with Yu-ri. “Have you been good?” she asked. “I’ve missed you.” Yu-ri smiled, but she didn’t recognize Mi-ja.

“I’ve missed you too,” she said when I came with the tea.

“You stopped coming to the olle,” I replied.

“You could have visited me.”

“I have the children—”

“A girl this time?” She scooted toward the cradle, where Kyung-soo slept.

I held up a hand. “A boy.” As she slid back to her original spot, I finished my excuse. “The children and Yu-ri are too much for me to take to Hamdeok. It’s not easy—”

“Or safe.”

“Or safe most of all,” I agreed.

Silence hung between us. I couldn’t fathom what she wanted. She took a breath and let it out slowly. “Sang-mun planted a baby in me not long after the march. I was sick, so I couldn’t come to see you.”

A pang of guilt. Of course, there had to be a reason.

“A boy or a girl?” I asked.

She lowered her eyes. “A girl. She lived two days.”

“Aigo. I’m so sorry.”

She regarded me, hurt. “I needed you.”

Whatever caution I’d felt disappeared. I’d failed my deep-heart friend.

“Your husband,” I ventured. “Has he been good to you?”

“He was gentle when I was pregnant.” Before the true meaning of her words could sink in, she went on. “You can’t know how hard it is for him. He goes from meeting to meeting and from place to place all over the island. The Second Regiment’s Third Battalion is now stationed in Sehwa nearby, but they’re headquartered in Hamdeok. It’s a lot of pressure.”

“That must be difficult—”

She sighed and looked away. “Many people, when they envision being faced with hardship, believe they will fight back. But when I was a child and had to live with Aunt Lee-ok and Uncle Him-chan, I learned what really happens. They didn’t feed me, as you know. By the time I wanted to fight back, I was too weak.”

I struggled to find something to say to boost her spirits. “That terrible situation brought us together. For me, it will always be a happy result.”

But her mind was not on friendship. “Some women imagine committing suicide, but how can that be a path for a mother?” Her eyes glistened with tears. “I have Yo-chan. I must live for him.”

I’d known Mi-ja a long time, and I’d never seen her so melancholy. Not only was she experiencing the turmoil around us but she’d also had the cataclysm of losing her child. And then there was her husband. She didn’t look bruised, but I wasn’t seeing her naked or in her water clothes. I put a hand on her arm.

“Women live quietly,” I said. “However angry or broken a woman might get, she does not think about beating someone, does she?”

“My husband is married to a bad person.”

Her comment baffled me. “How can you say that?”