When Mother placed a heavy gourd in a sling around her neck, the girl had to refrain from grunting at the added weight. “Don’t drink from the gourd. It’s seawater to keep the kelp wet. You can drink from streams along the way, once you’re on the pass. The first stream is at the foothills of the mountain, after you pass the last sweet potato field. A couple hours later, you’ll see a large rock that resembles a dol hareubang. Take the pack off there and pour the seawater onto the seaweed. By this time, you’ll be very close, only three thousand paces away. The sun will be high, so you will need to walk quickly, or else the abalone will die, and the trip will be wasted.”
The weight of the pack made Junja stagger as she took her first step.
“You’re eighteen years old now and very strong,” Mother said to steady her. “Even stronger than I was when I first climbed the mountain.”
“What if I stumble?” Junja considered whether this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Gathering seaweed was boring, but it wasn’t hard work.
“Then you will get up and keep walking.”
“What if I take too long, and the abalone go bad?”
“Then you will disappoint the pig farmer’s wife, and we will eat no pork this winter. And I will think you are a stupid girl instead of a clever one. Do not speak about bad fortune, or your breath may give it life. Put those kinds of thoughts out of your mind,” Mother hissed, willing the bad luck away from her daughter toward herself.
She draped a small purse around Junja’s neck, tucking it out of sight in her shirt. “One coin for the cart, two for the constable at the pass. Tell him why you are going, using these words exactly: ‘I am delivering goods from the haenyeo of Lonely Rock Village to the pig farmer of Cloud House Farm.’ If he asks you to show him what’s in the basket, then do so quickly.”
Junja nodded. Her sudden misgivings faded, giving way to excitement about her first trip away from the village by herself.
“Make sure you give the wife of the eldest son my greetings as well as my apology.” Mother bit her lip. “Keep your wits about you. If you see anything suspicious, leave the road and try to avoid being seen.”
“What do you mean by ‘suspicious,’ Ummung?” Junja tried to reach down to tug at her sock, but the bulky pack limited her movement.
Mother pretended to adjust the bindings on the pack. Just the other day, Nationalist soldiers had done the unthinkable, entering a bulteok while divers were warming themselves by the bonfire. The men had stood there, leering, until a stooped granny chased them out with a stick, muttering. If the men had understood her, they would not have laughed, as she had cursed them in the old tongue, which no mainlanders understood.
Junja’s mother undid and retied a knot. She never thought she would miss those Japanese vermin. They, at least, would not have sullied themselves by entering a lowly female space.
“Just make sure you pay attention to everything around you. Don’t get distracted. You don’t want to be surprised by a snake or a boar on the mountain.” Mother shooed Junja toward the direction of the big road. Her parting words served as both reminder and talisman, to ward off forgetfulness and misfortune.
“Your load will feel light, and you will move with sure feet. You will climb the mountain path, passing two bangsatap. When you reach the dol hareubang, you will water the contents of the basket, knowing that you are almost there. Walk quickly. Someone from the pig farmer’s family will meet you. You will stay one night and come home tomorrow with a healthy piglet.”
* * *
The night stars were still winking in the western sky as Junja closed the wooden gate at the main entrance of the village. She balanced against the wall to remove a pebble embedded in the sole of the shoe. Her feet felt stifled. The pack pulled at her, hard, and she had to remind herself that she was a haenyeo, a woman stronger than most men.
The footpath from the village widened gradually as it merged with the paved main road. Junja slowed her steps, hoping for an agreeable farmer with a cart to pass by soon. On the dirt, the straw shoes had been tolerable, but on this hard surface she could feel every ridge and bump in the braiding.
The discomfort reminded Junja to stamp her feet and spit on the pavement, just like Grandmother always did on the roads that the Japanese built. Grandmother told her that when she was a girl, everyone walked or rode their horses all over Jeju by using the dirt-trailed olle. “It took days to travel from one end of the island to the other, but it was a beautiful journey that we made on special occasions. We would take food and visit friends and relatives in villages along the way. Each olle had a guardian spirit, a special tree, rock, or stream that we would pray to, or leave small gifts for, like flowers or nuts. When the Japs invaded, they bulldozed and paved most of the ancient footpaths, which our ancestors formed a thousand years ago. Modern roads were better, they said. Travel would be easier for everyone. Ha! Faster roads and the contraptions that used them only made it easier for those bloodsuckers to steal from us.”
By the time the first horse-drawn cart made an appearance, only the morning star and humpbacked moon still hung on the glowing horizon. The eastern sky was a pale violet, streaked with orange, while Hallasan was a looming silhouette of a woman, luxuriant in repose. At this early hour, Junja could almost see the goddess of the mountain breathing, her bosom rising and falling as she stretched out, long hair cascading down to the sea.
Junja waved her arms to attract the cart driver’s attention. “Are you heading toward the mountain pass, sir?” Junja hoped that her bow was convincing enough, restricted as she was by the pack.
The man shook his head and urged the horse to go faster.
Junja spluttered as the cart wheeled away. Not a word of greeting or even apology! She had never encountered such rudeness before. All sorts of stories were being whispered about the strangers on the island; now she had one of her own.
Another cart appeared around the bend moments later. Junja’s relief, however, turned into disappointment when she saw that a passenger was already sitting beside the driver. Her feet dragged as the pack grew even heavier.
The cart slowed down when it pulled up alongside her. The passenger addressed Junja in a voice that was noticeably deep and sonorous. “Excuse me, miss, but where are you going with that large pack?”
A young man with a kind face smiled down at her. He was wearing the same baggy hemp trousers and rusty shirt that all Jeju men wore, except that his head was clean-shaven.
Junja lowered her head in respect before speaking. “Good morning, sunnim. I’m going up to Cloud House Farm to deliver abalone from Lonely Rock Village.”
The monk beamed. “What a fine coincidence! I’m headed up that way too.” He turned to the driver, who cut the monk off before he could ask his question.
“Nope, my horse can’t pull all three of us that far. Not with that load she’s carrying.”
The young man’s smile didn’t flicker. “I see. Then one of us must get off the cart to assist this young maid with her heavy burden.”
The driver snorted. “Won’t be me. My cart, my horse.”
“Then it is I who must go.” The monk gathered his walking stick and bag and thanked the driver, handing him a small coin. “May you travel safely, sir.” He climbed out of the cart and offered his place to Junja with a smiling nod.