The Island of Sea Women

by Lisa See

  The scientists added a new dimension: food. They came to our houses three times a day to measure everything before we put it in our mouths. They asked us the same question we often joked about in the bulteok. “Who should have more food—a man or a woman?” We knew the answer, but their tests proved it. A haenyeo not only needed 3,000 calories a day compared to a nondiving woman, who typically ate 2,000 calories a day, but also ate more than any man they tested in Hado. “We have not seen this magnitude of voluntary heat loss in any other human,” Dr. Park effused, “but look how you make up for it!” But he was studying us at a very different point in our lives. I remembered back to when Mi-ja and I were girls just learning to dive, later when we were in Vladivostok, and later still in the lean war years. We’d never had enough to eat, and we’d both been very thin.

  Every woman—diver and nondiver—wanted to be hospitable. Each woman prepared her best dishes, so she could offer a meal to the scientist who came to visit. In my household, Do-saeng, Min-lee, and I pushed aside Kyung-soo, who usually did the cooking, so we could make the types of dishes we ate in the bulteok: grilled conch, steamed blue abalone, small crabs stir-fried with beans, or octopus on skewers. As the scientist of the day sat on our floor, eating, Joon-lee asked endless questions. What was it like in Seoul? What university did he attend? Was it better to be a research scientist or a medical doctor? Those men answered Joon-lee’s questions, but they watched her older sister whenever she crossed the room.

  When Dr. Park finally came to my house, I invited him to sit and poured him a bowl of rice wine. The low table was already set with side dishes: kimchee, pickled beans, lotus root, boiled squash, sliced black pig, salted damselfish, spiced bracken, and boiled, seasoned, and slivered sea cucumber. Just as we were about to start eating, Joon-lee’s teacher came to the door. Teacher Oh bowed and then made an announcement.

  “Your daughter has won an island-wide contest for fifth graders,” he said. “Joon-lee will now represent our side of Mount Halla in an academic competition in Jeju City. This is a great honor.”

  Joon-lee jumped to her feet and hopped around the room. Her sister and brother congratulated her. Do-saeng cried happy tears. I couldn’t stop smiling. After Dr. Park said, “The daughter is smart because the mother is smart,” I really couldn’t stop smiling.

  I invited Teacher Oh to join us. Space was made for him, and more rice wine was poured. When Dr. Park inquired about the competition, Teacher Oh responded, “Joon-lee is not just a bright girl. She’s the brightest student in our elementary school. The children from schools in Jeju City will have received better opportunities, but I believe she has a good chance of winning the entire competition.”

  These words of praise should have humbled my daughter. Instead, they encouraged her to ask, “If I win, Mother, will you buy me a bicycle?”

  My answer escaped my mouth too quickly. “Riding a bicycle is not for you. Everyone knows that riding one will give a girl a big butt.”

  Dr. Park raised his eyebrows, and my argument didn’t sway Joon-lee one bit. “But if I win,” she said, “don’t you think I should be rewarded?”

  Rewarded? Impatience flushed my face. The scientist politely changed the subject. “Did you catch this squid yourself?” he asked. “If so, can you tell me about the drying process?”

  After dinner, Wan-soon came to collect my daughters for their nightly walk. Teacher Oh left with them, and Do-saeng returned to the little house, taking Kyung-soo with her. I inquired about Dr. Park’s life in Seoul; he tried to delve deeper into my life as a haenyeo. It all went about as well as could be expected, which is to say fine. He was just leaving when Min-lee burst through the door.

  “Mother, come quick!”

  I slipped on my sandals and ran after her. Dr. Park trotted behind me. We followed Min-lee to the main square. There in a heap lay Joon-lee, her arms and legs tangled with a bicycle. She was crying softly. Yo-chan crouched over her. Of course. Yo-chan. His bicycle. My daughter. A wave of anger washed over me.

  “Get away from her,” I said.

  The boy backed off but didn’t leave. I squatted next to Joon-lee.

  “I think I broke my arm,” she whimpered.

  I started to lift the bicycle. She yelped in pain.

  “Here, you steady her arm,” Dr. Park said. “Let the boy and me move the bike.”

  He motioned to Yo-chan, who stepped forward. “It’s my fault,” he said.

  “Don’t worry about that now,” Dr. Park told him. “Let’s just work together to help her. All right? Are you ready?”

  While we pried the bike off Joon-lee, her older sister wept and muttered, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Not far from her, Wan-soon stood with her back against the village tree. She looked as pale as the moon.

  “I’ll drive her to the hospital in Jeju City,” Dr. Park said once Joon-lee was free.

  “I’m coming too,” I said.

  “Naturally. And the others can tag along too if they want,” he said. “There’s room.”

  I motioned for Min-lee and Wan-soon to follow us. Before we left the square, I turned back to look at Yo-chan. His head was bent, and his shoulders were hunched.

  * * *

  I hadn’t been to Jeju City’s hospital before. The electric lights glowed brightly. The nurses and doctors were all dressed in white. Joon-lee was put in a wheelchair. “Like Clara,” she said and smiled weakly. Then a nurse pushed her down a hallway and out of sight.

  “It’s not a compound fracture,” Dr. Park said. “You can be happy about that.”

  I closed my eyes so I could concentrate on finding tranquillity. He couldn’t possibly know how it felt for me to see my little girl hurt and to understand that Mi-ja’s son was somehow involved. What made it worse was that Yo-chan had probably taught Joon-lee how to ride a bike to get to her older sister. All those times Mi-ja and I had dreamed that her son and my daughter would marry one day burned in my chest. Never.

  It wasn’t long before the nurse came to the waiting room and took us to see Joon-lee. Her arm was in a plaster cast. Her cheeks were wan. The doctor tried to make sense of our group: a man clearly not from Jeju dressed in Western-style clothes, two sixteen-year-old girls, a younger girl, and me in our persimmon-dyed island pants, tunics, and scarves.

  “Joon-lee tells me she comes from a haenyeo family,” the doctor said. “Please be assured that her injury will heal well. She’ll be able to dive with you when the time comes.”

  During the drive back to Hado, the emotions in the car were so heavy that it felt as though it were weighted down by rocks. I stared out the window. The streets were nearly deserted, but a few women strolled with their men. Neon lights lit up bars and stalls that served barbecued pork. The city seemed much more modern now, although most of the houses were still made from traditional stone and thatch.

  Dr. Park drove as close to my house as he could get. When he turned off the motor and opened his door, I said, “Thank you for your kindness and help, but we can make it the rest of the way ourselves. I’ll see you in the morning at the usual time.”

  Joon-lee cradled her arm. Min-lee and Wan-soon walked ahead of us hand in hand. When we reached our house, Wan-soon said, “I’m sorry.”

  “I’ll discuss things with your mother tomorrow,” I informed her.

  Wan-soon and Min-lee exchanged glances. As Wan-soon padded away, I felt a stab, remembering what it was like to have a friend so close.

  When my daughters and I entered our courtyard, we found my son and mother-in-law sitting on the steps of the little house waiting for us.

  “Yo-chan came to tell us what happened,” Do-saeng said. “Are you all right, little one?”

  “I’m fine,” Joon-lee answered, her voice sounding small and tinny.

  “Can Kyung-soo stay with you tonight?” I asked my mother-in-law. “I need to talk to the girls.”

  My son jumped to his feet. “But I want to hear—”

  His grandmother pulled him back dow
n beside her.

  Once my girls and I were in the big house, I addressed Min-lee, keeping my declaration short to see how she’d respond. “You kept a secret from me.”

  “It would have stayed a secret too, if Joon-lee hadn’t fallen,” she admitted.

  “Are you blaming your little sister?” I asked.

  Before Min-lee could reply, Joon-lee said, “We like Yo-chan, and I wanted to learn—”

  “We?” I turned back to my older daughter, who turned red to the roots of her hair.

  “Joon-lee’s the one who wanted to learn how to ride a bike!” Min-lee exclaimed defensively. “She asked Yo-chan to help her.”

  “She’s a child,” I said, “but you’re old enough to know better. When I say no, I mean no. But this goes far beyond a bicycle, does it not? I don’t want you to see Yo-chan again.”

  She laughed. “How’s that supposed to happen? It’s a small village and—”

  I cut her off. “You’ve been given so much. Food. Schooling. You’ve had such an easy life that even your monthly bleeding has come early.” I gave her the sternest warning I could. “If you share love with Yo-chan, you could get pregnant.” I followed up with the worst curse a mother can give her daughter on an island with no beggars. “You’ll end up a girl who’s going to beg.”

  She cocked her head. I felt like I was watching her think.

  “It’s not like that,” she said at last.

  “He’s a boy. You’re a girl—”

  “I’ve known Yo-chan my entire life. He’s like a brother to me.”

  “But Yo-chan is not your brother. He’s a boy—”

  “Mother, we are not having sex.”

  I blinked, stunned. I was hinting at this certainly, but I never expected her to be so blunt, especially in front of her little sister. Trying to regain my footing, I turned my attention to Joon-lee. “Yo-chan is not your brother either. And he’s not your friend. Stay away from him.”

  Joon-lee lowered her eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Best is not enough,” I said. “So you understand how serious I am, tomorrow you will not be allowed down by the tents.”

  “But—”

  “Keep talking. For every word, you’ll stay home another day.”

  The next morning, Joon-lee moaned a bit about her punishment and how unfair it was, and I told her she should have thought about that before getting on a bicycle. Then Min-lee, Do-saeng, and I left the house together. We met Gu-sun and Wan-soon in the olle. Wan-soon apologized once more for her part in last night’s accident. Her eyes were swollen from crying and the color of her usually rosy cheeks had drained to an off-green. Acknowledging her suffering, I said, “Thank you, Wan-soon. I appreciate that you’ve taken greater responsibility for what happened than my own daughters.”

  “And I’ve made her promise she won’t be a part of anything having to do with Yo-chan or his mother in the future,” Gu-sun reported.

  Again, Wan-soon and Min-lee exchanged glances, wordlessly sending messages back and forth. Again, I thought of how Mi-ja and I had once done the same thing, which further convinced me that Gu-sun and I would need to keep an eye on these two.

  When we got to the laboratory tents, Dr. Park inquired after Joon-lee. I let him know she wouldn’t be coming today.

  “I hope to see her tomorrow,” he said. “She should be exposed to things that will put her ahead of the city children.”

  He was right, of course. The next day, I let Joon-lee return to the lab, where it seemed Dr. Park had confided to the others the news about the competition to which she’d been invited. For the first time, she was allowed to put a thermometer in a woman’s mouth and pump the cuff that went around her arm.

  * * *

  Two days later, Dr. Park and his team packed up their instruments and left Hado. They would return in another three months. I worked in my dry field, while my children started their fall semester. After school let out, when her brother and sister went to the shallows to visit friends and cool off, Joon-lee sat in the main room to do her homework, study for the competition, and read.

  The next diving period arrived on a Sunday, which meant that Wan-soon and Min-lee were able to come. It was a particularly blustery day, and wind pressed our clothes tight against our bodies. Waves frothed and sprayed as though pushed by a storm. Once inside the bulteok, Gu-ja took her honorary position. The rest of us sat according to our skill levels. Gu-ja was peevish. The recent visit from Dr. Park and his team reminded her how irritated she was that she’d been dropped from the study, but I figured she’d return to her normal irascible self after a day in the water.

  Forgoing the usual pleasantries, Gu-ja began. “Today is going to be hot—”

  “And it’s certainly gusty,” Gu-sun interrupted. “We’ll need to be careful where we dive—”

  Irritated, Gu-ja waved off her sister. “I’m willing to hear suggestions for where we should go. Anyone?” she asked.

  Although it seemed apparent that she was deliberately not asking her sister, Gu-sun offered the first idea. “Let’s walk to the cove north of us. The cliffs protect that area from the wind.”

  “It’s too hot to walk that far,” Gu-ja said.

  Gu-sun tried again. “We could stay here and dive off the jetty.”

  “Did you not notice how the wind is pushing the surf?” Gu-ja scanned the faces in the circle, but her sour mood invited no other proposals. “All right then. Let’s row straight out to sea to the plateau. Hopefully the waves will be milder than what we’re seeing from shore, and the deeper waters will be colder.”

  Next to me, Yang-jin muttered under her breath, “This is not good.”

  I agreed. Gu-ja was the chief, but she’d made her decision just to be contrary.

  We changed into our water clothes, strapped our face masks on the tops or sides of our heads, gathered our gear, and filed out to the boat. Gu-ja’s mood may have been off, but she was right that on this unseasonably hot day the deeper and cooler waters would feel refreshing. We took our places on the boat. Min-lee and Wan-soon sat across from each other. Soon we were bending over our stomachs and pulling back, dipping our oars into the water together. The girls’ voices sounded clear and fresh as we sang. A single wisp of a cloud raced across the sky, seagulls soared and swooped, and just as Gu-ja had predicted the sea was uneasy but not as bad as at the shore. Nevertheless, ruffling whitecaps were not welcomed by those with weak stomachs. A haenyeo pregnant with her fourth child pulled in her oar, threw up, and then resumed rowing. We cheered for her and then went back to our singing. I noticed, though, that Wan-soon’s complexion had faded to an even more unsettling green. She didn’t look well, but in the year and a half she’d been diving with us I hadn’t known her to get seasick.

  Gu-ja raised an arm, signaling us to stop. After the anchor was dropped, she made the traditional offerings to the sea gods. When she was done, she said, “Together, let us scour the ocean floor.” With that, we pulled our face masks from our foreheads, rubbed mugwort on the glass, and positioned them over our eyes and noses. Each woman double-checked her tools. Then two by two, women threw their tewaks into the water and jumped in after them. Gu-sun and Gu-ja went down together. I told Min-lee to be careful, as I always did, and then she and Wan-soon dropped over the side of the boat. I nodded to Yang-jin, and together we entered the sea.

  We were far from shore, as Gu-sun had wanted, but the underwater geography made it ideal for divers of all levels. Unlike the spot my mother had chosen for my first dive, which had a deep canyon, here a wide plateau rose up—high, flat, easy to reach but deep enough not to scrape a boat’s hull, and so wide it presented a vast field of opportunity. In the murky waters, I couldn’t see the full circumference, but if the baby-divers stayed together, they’d be fine.

  Down I went. Yang-jin and I stayed within sight of each other but not so close that she would invade my territory or I hers. I went up for sumbisori and to put what I’d harvested in my net. The water felt wonderful. Dow
n. Up. Sumbisori. Down. Up. Sumbisori. The concentration involved to stay safe, grab as much as I could, and forget the troubles of land created the pattern of my life.

  Once our nets were full, Yang-jin and I returned to the boat. We stored our gear and began to sort what we’d harvested. As Gu-ja, Gu-sun, and the other women came in, we helped them haul their nets into the boat. Many of these women also sorted their harvests, while others drank cups of tea. A few propped themselves against their full nets and allowed the rocking of the boat to lull them to sleep. I kept an ear tuned to the sumbisori of the haenyeo still in the water, always relieved when I heard Min-lee’s distinctive hrrrr. She was still learning how to dive, but I trusted her skills. That said, my shoulders relaxed when I saw her loop her arms over the side of the boat. But when she didn’t try to push her net on board or hoist herself up, I knew something was wrong.

  “Has anyone seen Wan-soon?” she asked.

  At these words, Gu-sun’s head snapped up.

  “I saw her out that way,” a woman said, pointing off the bow.

  “So did I,” Yang-jin added. “When we came up for sumbisori at the same time, I told her to dive closer to the boat.”

  “Then where is she now?” Gu-sun asked, turning to her older sister.

  “Don’t worry,” the chief responded. “We’ll find her.”

  A couple of stragglers paddled toward the boat. Gu-sun shouted to them, but no, they hadn’t seen Wan-soon either. Gu-sun and Gu-ja stood, rooting their feet to the deck as the boat bobbed in the swells.