“You can’t meet your future husband like this!”
I laughed. “He’s not my future husband! His mother would never allow it!”
She dragged me into the shadows anyway. “You know what your grandmother said. Under no circumstances should the two of you see each other before the engagement meeting.”
We watched until every person had disembarked. I saw no one else who might be a potential husband.
“How lucky you are to marry someone you’ve known your entire life.” On the surface Mi-ja sounded happy for me, but underneath I heard the black dread of her coming circumstances, which I still didn’t understand.
“But we already know each other,” I said. “What difference will it make if he sees me?”
Nevertheless, Mi-ja kept me out of sight as Jun-bu threaded his way to the fishing boats to catch a ride home. “He’s a scholar and so smart. Lucky, lucky, lucky!”
I was thinking that he still had one more year of college, which meant that at least I wouldn’t have to live with him for very long before he went back to Japan, but I had other concerns too.
Hours later, after we returned to Hado, Mi-ja and I walked together to our customary spot in the olle and said our goodbyes. I watched her disappear around the corner, and then I ran home. The lantern light burning in the little house told me Grandmother was still awake. When I peeked in the door, she motioned me inside. I asked if she’d matched me to Jun-bu; she answered yes.
“But how could his mother ever want me?” I asked. “I’m a reminder of what Do-saeng lost. Yu-ri—”
“It’s true. Your mother-in-law will look at you and see tragedy, but now you can help care for Yu-ri.”
“I suppose you’re right.” This wasn’t what I was hoping for.
Grandmother ignored my despair. “On the good side, your mother was Do-saeng’s closest friend. Your presence will bring your mother closer to Do-saeng.”
“But doesn’t she blame me for—”
Again, Grandmother didn’t let me finish. “What other complaints do you have?”
“Jun-bu’s educated.”
Grandmother nodded somberly. “I discussed this with Do-saeng. You can now help pay for his schooling.”
“When I haven’t been able to help my own brothers?”
“Jun-bu is going to be a teacher—”
“Aigo!” I moaned. “I’ll always seem a fool to him.”
Grandmother slapped me. “You are a haenyeo! Never for one moment believe you are unworthy.”
I gave up trying to persuade her, and I hadn’t even mentioned that marrying someone I’d known my entire life felt more like marrying a brother than like gaining a husband to lie with and share love.
Do-saeng and her son came to the house the next day for the engagement meeting. I wore clean clothes and sat on the floor, staring straight ahead much as Mi-ja had done. Curiosity snuck up on me, though, and I peered over at Jun-bu a couple of times. He’d changed from his Western-style suit into homemade trousers and tunic. His glasses caught the light from where the side slats of the house were propped open, so I couldn’t see his eyes. Nevertheless, I could tell from his stillness that he was doing as good a job as I was at keeping his emotions hidden.
“Young-sook is a hard worker,” Grandmother began. “And she has bought or made the items needed to establish a home.”
“Her hips are like those of Sun-sil,” Do-saeng observed. The meaning was clear. She had only been able to bring two living babies into the world, while I might birth as many children as my mother had. “The little house in which the husband and wife will reside will give them the privacy needed to make their own meals and get to know each other.”
“Then let us proceed quickly to have the geomancer select a propitious date.”
Gifts were exchanged. I gave Jun-bu the radio I’d bought and the pair of straw sandals I’d made. He placed several lengths of cloth on the floor. They were not colorful. I’d be dressed in traditional persimmon-dyed clothing for my wedding ceremony. I’ll admit this was another disappointment.
With that, we were formally engaged. Mi-ja’s new family wanted her to move quickly into her new life; Do-saeng wanted things to happen rapidly too, because Jun-bu would return to college in Osaka in mid-September. As a result, Mi-ja and I traveled on swiftly moving, but distinctly different, currents.
To begin, two days after my engagement meeting, Mi-ja and Little Sister helped me carry the sleeping mats, blankets, bowls, chopsticks, and cooking utensils I’d acquired through my hard work to Do-saeng’s compound by the shore. The courtyard between the big and little houses was neat. Do-saeng’s diving gear was piled in a corner, and several overhead lines were hung with squid to dry in the sun. Yu-ri stood in the shade, a rope wrapped around her ankle to keep her from wandering away from home. This was the first I’d seen her since returning from Vladivostok. She smiled, possibly recognizing me, possibly not. Jun-bu was not there. The little house had one room and a small kitchen area. By the time we finished putting my things away, women and girls from the village began to arrive to see for themselves what I’d bought in my travels. That night, I stayed alone in my new house. The next morning, I went back to my father and siblings.
The following morning, just ten days after arriving back on Jeju, I helped Mi-ja pack her things. She made no attempt to be happy. I felt equally miserable. Whatever jealousy I’d once carried had been washed back to sea. Now all I could think about was that I would no longer see Mi-ja every day.
“I wish there was a way I could still share my heart with you,” I confessed.
“That we will be apart is too much to abide,” she agreed, her throat hitching.
I struggled to help her see the happiness of her situation. “You’ll go back to living as you did when you were a child. You’ll have electricity. Sang-mun’s family might even own a telephone.”
But even as I said these things, I thought how hard all that change would be for her. On one side, she’d lived in Hado for too long. On the other side, Jeju City was nothing compared to Vladivostok or the other big cities we’d gone to for leaving-home water-work.
“How will I know what you’re doing?” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes glistened with tears. “We can’t exchange letters. I don’t remember how to write apart from my name, and neither of us knows how to read—”
“We’ll send each other rubbings.” I squeezed her arm reassuringly. “Our pictures have always told our stories.”
“But how? I can’t write your address.”
“We’ll have our husbands do that.” But my suggestion was just another reminder that I was illiterate and beneath my future husband.
“Will you promise to visit me?” she asked.
“Maybe if I go through Jeju for leaving-home water-work…”
“You won’t have to do that now. You’ll be married.”
“The Kang sisters are married and have children,” I pointed out. “They still go.”
“But not you.” She seemed convinced. “Do-saeng wants you to help with Yu-ri, so promise you’ll visit me.”
“All right. I promise.” But I’d never be allowed to spend money on a boat trip to the main port—not with Do-saeng watching over me and collecting the money I earned to pay for Jun-bu’s education.
“I can’t imagine not seeing you every day,” she said.
“Nor I you.”
This was the bitter truth. We were two brides filled with sorrow, unable to change our fates. I loved her. I would always love her. That was far more important than the men we were to marry. Somehow we would need to find a way to stay connected.