The Island of Sea Women(81)

I was in my ninth month and home alone. My mother-in-law had gone to the five-day market in Sehwa to see what staples she could buy. My father and brother had taken the children to my old family home, so I could nap. But as soon as they left and silence fell over the house, my mind got itchy with images and memories. To distract myself, I swept the courtyard. Then I decided to wash the children’s clothes and let them dry in the sun. I tied their garments in a piece of cloth, grabbed the bucket, washboard, and soap, and carefully picked my way across the rocks to the shallow area enclosed by rocks where we could wash clothes and our bodies without being seen. Stepping inside was like entering a bulteok: I never knew who would be there, but I looked forward to hearing the gossip. This time, a lone woman sat in the water, naked, scrubbing an arm and humming to herself. I recognized who she was by the curve of her spine. My insides spasmed protectively around my baby.

“Mi-ja.”

Her back stiffened at the sound of my voice. Then she slowly tilted her head to the side to peer at me out of the corner of her eye. “You’re as big as everyone says.”

That’s what she had to say to me?

“What are you doing here?” I choked out.

“My son and I live here now.” After a long pause, she added, “In my aunt and uncle’s house. Our home in Hamdeok and my in-laws’ house in Jeju City were destroyed by the typhoon. My husband has gone to the mainland. He’s working in the government. I—”

A second spasm hit me with such ferocity that I doubled over. I dropped my bucket and the other things I’d brought and steadied myself by holding on to the rock wall.

“Are you all right?” Mi-ja asked. “Can I help you?”

She started to rise. Water ran down her breasts and legs. Her skin rippled with goosebumps. As she reached for her clothes, I turned and staggered out of there. Another spasm. I bent at the waist, barely able to walk. I saw Do-saeng standing outside the house, scanning the beach. When she saw me, she let her shopping bags fall and scuttled as fast as a crab over the rocks to me. She put her arm around my midsection and hurried me up to the house. Mi-ja did not follow us, but I was weeping with anger, sadness, and pain.

“How can she be here?”

“They say her husband’s house was destroyed in the typhoon,” Do-saeng answered, confirming what Mi-ja had just told me.

“But there are other places she could go.”

“Hado is her home, and her husband—”

“Was sent to the mainland,” I moaned, finishing for her. “Why didn’t you tell me she was here?”

“Your father, brother, and I thought it best. We wanted to protect you.”

“But how can she be here? How can anyone let her live here after what she did?”

Do-saeng set her lips in a grim streak. This was painful for her too.

Another contraction gripped me. I was sure the baby would slip out easily, since I’d never had problems giving birth in the past. I was wrong. This baby had been difficult from the first moment I knew of its presence. Did it not want to come out? Or did I not want it to come out? All I know is that the baby took three days to push its way into the world. I threw up the entire time. I cried. I screamed. I thought about all I’d lost. I felt hate for Mi-ja and love for my baby. I felt the loss of Jun-bu, my son, and Yu-ri even as I brought a new life into the world. At last, Do-saeng pulled the baby from between my legs and held it up for me to see. A girl. I named her Joon-lee.

Do-saeng recited the traditional words. “When a girl is born, there is a party,” but I was exhausted, my body ached, and I couldn’t stop weeping. Joon-lee, worn out from her three-day journey, was too sleepy to take my breast. I flicked my fingernail on the bottom of her foot. She blinked and then closed her eyes again.



* * *



Mi-ja came several times to the house, bringing gifts for the baby, packets of tea, and bags of tangerines—all such extravagances. I relied on Do-saeng, my father, and brother to turn her away:

“Young-sook is sleeping.”

“Young-sook is nursing the baby.”

“Young-sook is not here.”

Some of those excuses were real; others were not. If I was home, her voice insinuated itself through the cracks in the walls:

“Tell Young-sook I miss her.”

“Tell her I would love to hold her baby girl.”

“Tell her I’m happy that such goodness came from such tragedy.”

“Tell her I will be her friend forever.”

Sometimes I peeked out to watch her walk away. She’d returned to Hado with a limp, which I hadn’t seen that day in the bathing enclosure. I heard people speculate about how she’d come to have it and what a shame it was that she’d lost her lovely gait. I didn’t care. I told myself that whatever had happened to her she probably deserved. Otherwise, I managed to avoid her. She went to the well early; I had a baby, so Do-saeng took Min-lee to fetch water. Like all little girls, Min-lee ran through the village to do errands for me and began caring for her younger siblings. “In this way, you are learning to be a wife and mother but also an independent woman,” I told her. “You need confidence and self-respect to lead your own household one day.” But having Min-lee out and about was also a way for me to elude Mi-ja.

At night, after the baby was asleep, Do-saeng and I would go down to the bulteok to talk about the responsibilities that lay ahead for me. “You will sit where I am now,” she said. “You will need to listen deeply. You know how we praise Shaman Kim for her eye sensitivity and her ability to read a group’s mood? These characteristics you need to nurture in yourself.” She made me memorize breeding seasons for different sea creatures. She taught me new ways to tie knots and the importance of keeping the bulteok neat: “A haenyeo does not need mess around her,” she explained. “Too much clutter in the dry world has the ability to litter the mind when it needs to be clean and aware in the wet world.”