The Island of Sea Women

Day 4 (continued): 2008

“I’m fine,” Young-sook confesses, although she can’t imagine why she does to Mi-ja’s great-granddaughter, of all people. “It’s just hard to be here.”

Clara thinks that over. Then, “Have you been inside the museum yet? Don’t go.” She pauses for a moment before adding, “I mean, I just learned that our plane landed on a mass grave. A lot of the bodies have been dug up and reburied, but still. How gross is that?”

Clara is a nuisance. No doubt about it. But Young-sook feels compelled to caution her. “You may be a foreigner, but be careful in what you say. These are still dangerous times, perhaps even the most dangerous.”

Clara cocks her head and pulls out an earbud. “What?”

“Never mind. I should get back to my family,” Young-sook says.

“Why? So you can see all the names of the dead? Or what’s inside the museum? I’m telling you. Don’t do it.”

Nevertheless.

Young-sook gives a last glance to the statue of the mother, cradling her baby and being draped by the white cloth, and then begins to walk away. Clara follows along. “Halmang Mi-ja always said—”

“You called her Halmang Mi-ja?” Just hearing her name that way leaves Young-sook unaccountably shaken.

“I usually called her Granny, but she preferred Halmang. She definitely didn’t like to hear the word great. She said it made her sound old. Anyway, she always said she had a hard life. I never met my great-grandfather, but Granny Mi-ja said he was a bad man. He beat her, you know. A lot. That’s why she had the limp. Did you know that?” Clara stares at her intently, waiting for a response. When one doesn’t come, she goes on. “He terrified her. He had total control over her.”

Young-sook gazes into the distance. Many women are beaten, but they don’t betray their closest friend. She doesn’t say this, suspecting the American girl wouldn’t understand.

Clara continues. “When she first moved to Los Angeles…” She shrugs. “It’s not easy being an immigrant. I learned that in school, and it was true for Granny.”

Young-sook stumbles, and Clara takes her arm. “We’d better sit down. Mom will get really mad at me if something happens to you.”

They find a bench. Young-sook tries to calm her racing heart. Clara looks worried. Young-sook needs to get her talking again.

“So Mi-ja had a shop,” she prompts.

“In Koreatown. A mom-and-pop grocery. Only minus the pop. You know what I mean?”

“Of course.” Although she doesn’t really. “Did Mi-ja have more children?”

“No.”

“Her son and his wife—”

“My grandparents.”

“Yes, your grandparents. Did they have more than just your mother?”

“My mother is an only child.”

“Didn’t Mi-ja have her daughter-in-law make offerings and pray to Halmang Samseung?” Young-sook asks, perplexed.

“Who’s Halmang Samseung? Is she another one of my great-grandmothers?”

“Halmang means granny and goddess,” Young-sook explains. “Halmang Samseung is the goddess of fertility and childbirth. Surely, Mi-ja would have taken her daughter-in-law to visit the goddess—”

“I never met my grandmother. She died not long after she moved to the States. Breast cancer.”

The girl doesn’t seem to notice how white Young-sook has gone, because she keeps chattering.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure no one went to visit the goddess. They wouldn’t have made offerings either. We don’t believe in things like that. Especially not Granny Mi-ja. She was the biggest Christian of them all—”

“But your grandmother—”

“I already told you. I never met her. After she died, Grandpa Yo-chan brought Granny Mi-ja to L.A. He needed someone to take care of my mom, who was only a baby. Later, when I was born, Granny Mi-ja took care of me. And then my brother. She lived with us.”

Being here at the memorial opening makes these stories even more agonizing, and Young-sook can’t help being distrustful of Clara. Because why is this girl so persistent? Why do her parents keep sending her to talk to Young-sook? Why can’t they all just leave her alone?

“I know the pain Granny Mi-ja caused you and your family,” Clara says. “But after what happened, she did everything she could to help you and your family.”

“You don’t know anything about it!”

But, horrifyingly, the girl seems to know all about it. “You and Granny ran through the olles. You were trapped in the schoolyard. You begged Granny to take your children. She said she could only take one. She made you choose. Then she didn’t take him. The soldiers killed your husband, your first son, and the one they called Auntie Yu-ri. Granny told me so much about her.”

Clara regards the wizened face of the sea woman. “For as long as I can remember,” she says, covering Young-sook’s hands with her own, “I’ve had to think about the dark shadow side of friendship. This is the person who knows and loves you best, which means she knows all the ways to hurt and betray you.” A fleeting wisp of sadness crosses her face. “And surprise! I don’t have any friends. Mom and Dad worry about it. They keep wanting to put me in therapy. I’m not going to therapy!” She shakes her head, realizing she’s gone off-track. “Granny Mi-ja hurt you. Every single day, she tortured herself. You should have seen the way she cried at night. And the nightmares.”

Young-sook stares into the girl’s eyes. The green flecks must come from her white father, but otherwise they’re Mi-ja’s eyes. What Young-sook sees in the depths of those eyes is pain.

“Granny always asked me the same question. ‘What would Young-sook have done if our positions were reversed?’ ” Clara says. “Now I’m asking you. Would you have sacrificed your life or the lives of your children to save Sang-mun or Yo-chan? Somewhere inside, you have to know that she wasn’t aware—”

“Of how severe the consequences would be,” Young-sook finishes for her.

Clara releases Young-sook’s hands, removes her earbuds, and places them in Young-sook’s ears. There’s no music. Instead, someone is speaking. The voice belongs to Mi-ja. Tears have pooled in Clara’s eyes. She knows what’s on the recording, but each word hits Young-sook like sleet—icy and sharp.

“Every day I’ve forced myself to accept what I did by not doing,” Mi-ja says. Her voice is old, soft, and quavering. It does not carry the strength or volume of a haenyeo who’s been diving for sixty or more years. “I’ve prayed to Jesus, the Virgin, and God to grant me forgiveness—”

Young-sook yanks the wires from her ears. Clara takes her hands again and recites, “To understand everything is to forgive.”

“Who said that?”

“Buddha.”

“Buddha? But you’re Catholic.”

“My parents don’t know everything about me.” She lets that hang in the air for a moment. Then she repeats the saying. “To understand everything is to forgive. Now, put these back in your ears.”

Young-sook sits as still as a heron. The girl puts the earbuds back in place. Again, Mi-ja speaks.

“I tried so many ways to atone, becoming a Christian, making my entire family go to church and Sunday school, volunteering. I did what I could for Joon-lee…”

On the recording, Clara asks, “If you saw your friend today, what would you say to her?”

“Read my letters. Please, please, please, read my letters. Oh, Clara, if she would do that, then she would know what was in my heart.”

“But I thought you said you guys didn’t know how to read—”

“She’ll understand. I know she will. She’ll open them and know…”

Young-sook pulls out the earbuds. “I can’t. I just can’t.” She stands, steadies herself, and then, drawing on the strength that’s seen her through so much, she puts one foot in front of the other, leaving the girl on the bench.