We typically took precautions and hid our activities as best we could, but this annual event was too large to be held in private. Not just my collective but all the collectives from the different villages that made up Hado had come together. Unlike the Jamsu rite, which was for haenyeo alone and honored the Dragon King and Queen of the Sea, this ceremony included fishermen. The women wore padded jackets, scarves, and gloves. The handful of men stamped their feet, seeking warmth in movement.
“I call on all the gods and goddesses of Jeju,” Shaman Kim beckoned. “We welcome Yeongdeung, the goddess of the wind. We welcome all ancestors and spirits who accompany her. Enjoy the peach and camellia that are blooming. Embrace the beauty of our island. Sow the seeds of the five grains on our land. Sow seeds into the sea, which will grow into underwater crops.”
Offerings of fruit, bowls of rice, dried fish and squid, bottles of homemade liquor, and hard-boiled eggs spilled across the makeshift altar. Every woman and girl from our collective was here. Kang Gu-ja sat in a prominent spot. Her sister, Gu-sun, sat nearby, with her sixteen-year-old daughter, Wan-soon, beside her. Min-lee and Wan-soon had become friends when we moved back to Hado. Min-lee tended toward melancholy, for which I blamed myself, so to see the two girls giggling together was wonderful. Do-saeng and Joon-lee, who would turn twelve in the fall, sat together. Yang-jin, my diving partner, was next to me. At the far end of the gathering, as far as she could be from me, Mi-ja sat with her collective. Everyone had bathed and wore clean clothes, yet she somehow managed to look fresher than the rest of us.
Shaman Kim swirled in her hanbok. Her helpers had made a new drum from a gourd, since only the sounds from this instrument can reach the ears of spirits, and hammered flat a cooking vessel to use as a gong to waken the spirits of the wind and waters. Shaman Kim rang a bell, which she’d hidden during the raid of her home, to rouse the spirits who live on the earth. Her tassels were now made from shredded pieces of persimmon cloth. We feared for her, because if she was caught with any of these things, she would be arrested.
“I pray to the goddess of the wind to look after the haenyeo,” Shaman Kim implored. “Don’t let a tewak drift. Don’t let tools break. Don’t let a bitchang get stuck or let an octopus pin a haenyeo’s arms.”
We knelt and prayed. We bowed. Shaman Kim spat water to keep evil spirits at bay. She commented on the weather and tides, cajoling the goddess of the wind to be gentle in the coming months. “Let our haenyeo be safe all season. Prevent our fishermen from being lost to a typhoon, cyclone, or tempestuous seas.”
When the ceremony ended, we ate some of the offerings and then threw the rest of the food into the sea for all water and wind goddesses and gods to enjoy in hopes they would show us favor. Then it was time for dancing. Min-lee and Wan-soon held hands as they swayed. They looked free and happy. Last year, when Min-lee turned fifteen, I’d given her a tewak made of Styrofoam. Wan-soon was given one as well. Gu-sun and I had taught our daughters to dive, but their destinies lay elsewhere. I’d thought Jun-bu crazy when he’d said he wanted all our children to be educated, but now I did everything possible to respect his wishes. If you plant red beans, then you will harvest red beans. Min-lee was in high school, Kyung-soo in middle school, and Joon-lee in elementary school. My two eldest children were only so-so students, but Joon-lee was truly her father’s daughter. She was smart, diligent, and studious. Each year, her teachers proclaimed her the smartest person—boy or girl—in class. Gu-sun had also saved money to send Wan-soon, her youngest child, to school, so our daughters only dove with us if their free days corresponded with the right tides. Since they worked so little, Gu-sun and I had told them they could use their earnings to buy school supplies, but they mostly treated themselves with ribbons for their hair or candy bars.
For the next two weeks, while the goddess of the wind was on Jeju, we’d remain idle. We wouldn’t dive and fishermen wouldn’t board their boats or rafts, since the winds the goddess brought with her were particularly fierce and fickle. No other chores could be done either. It was said that if you made soy sauce at this time, insects would hatch in it. If you repaired your roof, it would leak. If you sowed grains, a drought would come. Hence, this was a time to visit neighbors, talk long into the night, and share meals and stories.
“Mother, come see!” Joon-lee called.
I peeked out the door as she came into the courtyard with the water she’d drawn from the village well. Through the open gate, I saw men filing past, one right after the other like a string of fish.
“Hurry here!” I cried, fearful. Joon-lee left the jar on the ground and ran to my side. I pushed her protectively behind me. “Where’s your sister?” I asked.
Before Joon-lee could answer, Min-lee came through the gate. She set down her water and jogged over to us. “They’re strangers,” she whispered. Of course they were. They wore black trousers with sharp creases. Their shoes were made of leather. Their jackets were unlike any I’d seen before, making them look puffy and awkward. Some of them were Korean. They had to be from the mainland. But there were also Japanese and white men. I automatically took them to be Americans, because they were tall and sandy-haired. Not one of them wore a uniform. They weren’t armed either, as far as I could tell. At least half of them wore glasses. My initial anxiety was replaced by curiosity. The last man strode past. Friends and neighbors, chattering, pointing, and craning their necks to get a better glimpse, trailed behind him.
“I want to see who they are,” Joon-lee said, grabbing my hand. She was too young to understand terror, but for some reason I wasn’t afraid, and neither was Min-lee. I even called to Do-saeng to join us.
We stepped into the olle and were swept along the shore road.
“Who are they?” Joon-lee asked.
Her older sister asked the more important question. “What do they want?”
More women came out of their houses. I saw my diving partner, Yang-jin, up ahead, and we rushed to catch up to her.
“Are they going to the village square?” I asked.
“Maybe they have business with the men,” she replied.
But we didn’t turn inland toward the village square. Instead, we spilled onto the beach. Once there, I saw that there weren’t so many of us after all. Maybe about thirty women and children. The strangers turned to us. With their backs to the sea, the frigid wind ruffled their hair and flapped through their trousers. A small, compact man stepped forward. He spoke in standard Korean, but we were able to understand him.
“My name is Dr. Park. I’m a scientist.” He motioned to the men around him. “We’re all scientists. Some of us are from the mainland, but we also have scientists from around the world. We’re here to study the haenyeo. We’ve just spent two weeks in a village near Busan, where many haenyeo go for itinerant work. Now we’ve come to the native home of the haenyeo. We hope you will help us.”
We had six haenyeo chiefs—one for each of the sections that made up Hado—but not one of them was with us. I nudged my mother-in-law. “You’re the highest ranked among us,” I said. “You must speak to them.”
She set her jaw, determined, and then stepped out of the crowd and crossed halfway to the men. “I am Yang Do-saeng. I’m the former chief of the Sut-dong collective. I’m listening.”
“We understand you have just greeted the goddess of the wind and will be free from activity for the next two weeks—”
“A woman is never free from activity,” she said.
Dr. Park smiled at her comment but chose not to address it. “You may not know this, but the cold-water stress that the haenyeo endure is greater than for any other human group in the world.”