“I’m fortunate the mountain is making it easy for me today.” Junja bowed to the shrine before reaching into her waist bag. She pulled out the small handful of rice and dried jujubes Mother had given her for an offering. She placed the delicacies on the ledge, next to a small indentation filled with sand.
“Did you bring incense or candles?” asked the boy.
Junja shook her head as her cheeks flushed. “I was carrying too much.” Though she knew that the gods didn’t insist upon such niceties, Junja wondered if her gifts were too meager for this impressive shrine.
“Every drop of sweat spent to climb the mountain is worth a stick of incense.” The boy spoke formally, as if making a pronouncement.
“Who told you that?”
“I read it somewhere.” Suwol reached into his pocket and pulled out a candle. “Unlike you, I haven’t already proven myself by climbing up this far, so I brought this along.” The boy settled the candle into the small mound of sand. “May I join you in paying my respects?”
“Of course.”
Suwol lit the candle and knelt next to Junja in front of the altar. They pressed their palms together in front of their chests and closed their eyes, to offer their private prayers to the god of the mountain.
With her eyes closed, Junja sensed the shrine’s peaceful massiveness. Fluttering leaves stirred the air, mixing the richness of damp earth with the sparkling scent of water. As she repeated the mantra of gratitude under her breath, she imagined the old man of the mountain holding a wooden staff, companion tiger by his side, their eyes bright as flames. Mother, who had seen the god in all her forms, had told Junja that the mountain spirit might also make her presence known as a white-haired woman with a white stag.
The boy and the girl ended their prayers by prostrating themselves on the ground three times. They bowed in all four cardinal directions before thanking the sky and the earth.
As they turned from the altar, Junja waited for Suwol to break the silence. She cleared her throat, but when the boy still didn’t speak, she blurted out a question, unable to contain her curiosity. “What did you use to light the candle? Was it a lighter?” Suwol had not used a match, but a small object resembling a lighter that belonged to one of the men in her village. The man was so protective of his American-made Zippo that he never let anyone touch it.
Suwol pulled a slim cylinder out of his pocket and held it out. “You want to try it?”
Junja gingerly lifted the brass lighter, which surprised her by being cool to the touch. “I thought it would be hot. How do you make a flame with it?”
“You have to pull the flint wheel back to make a spark.” Suwol demonstrated.
Junja ignited the lighter on her second try and gasped in delight. “How clever! Where did you get it?”
“It was made by Austrian soldiers, from an empty bullet cartridge. The lighter used to belong to a Japanese general before it became my father’s. He gave it to me when I turned eighteen.”
The small object suddenly seemed to burn Junja’s hand. She hastily returned it to Suwol. Her words were careful. “Was the general someone your father knew?”
Suwol raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking if my father was friendly enough with the Japs to be given a gift by one of their generals? The answer would be no. The lighter was left behind when the dog Hirohito pulled his troops.” He spat.
Junja breathed out in relief. Everyone in her family loathed the Japanese, refusing to touch anything that once belonged to the bloodsuckers. The traitors who had collaborated with them were lower than thieves. “I’m glad they’re gone.”
Suwol nodded. “I am too.” His face darkened. “But their replacements may be just as bad.”
Junja, who had been warned not to talk about the political situation, changed the subject. “Could you show me the way back to the house, please? I don’t want your mother to think I’m avoiding my duties in the kitchen.”
Five
Dinner that night resembled a village feast, with as many dishes of banchan as there were people. Suwol’s mother, as the wife of the eldest son, wore her authority lightly, issuing soft-spoken orders to all the women in the kitchen with a gracious smile. A diminutive, plump beauty with dimples and the fairest skin Junja had ever seen, she was obviously not from Jeju, a difference that was underscored by her soft, undulating accent.
“Little Auntie, could you bring out more of your bean sprout soup? It’s so good that I don’t think one pot will be enough.”
“Won-Bin’s Mother, that batch of chive kimchi may be a tad past its prime. Could you taste it, please, before setting it out?”
Because the spring weather was so mild, the menfolk, including Suwol, were eating outside in the main courtyard, while the women and children ate in the kitchen courtyard.
Suwol’s mother offered Junja a bowl of gosari. “We pick these ferns from a special spot on the mountain, where they taste the best. It’s your mother’s favorite food to eat whenever she visits. Try!”
Junja hesitated, feeling guilty. She understood now why Mother made the yearly trip up the mountain to visit her friend. The two of them had met when the small woman first came to Jeju as a young bride; they had been close ever since. Though Suwol’s mother had welcomed Junja warmly, her disappointment had been obvious. “At least you resemble your mother enough for me to pretend you’re her.” As Junja helped prepare dinner, the small woman had peppered Junja with questions about her mother’s health, disposition, and work.
Suwol’s mother held out the bowl of gosari and urged Junja again. “Go ahead! Eat!”
Junja took a small taste to be polite. The meaty brown tendrils were tender and earthy. “Delicious!”
“Then you must have more.” Suwol’s mother dropped a fat clump of fern into Junja’s rice bowl with her chopsticks.
“This is far too much!” Junja gasped at the amount, which could have been shared by her entire family at dinnertime.
“Your mother could eat twice this amount!” The small woman’s dimples winked as she smiled. “For folks on the mountain, gosari is as commonplace as seaweed is to folks on the shore.” She gestured to Junja’s bandaged feet. “Do your feet feel better now? That honey salve is very effective.”
“They don’t hurt at all, thank you for asking. I think the water helped too. Your mountain spring is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”
Suwol’s mother laughed. “Suwol’s father always says that too. I, however, want to stand in my kitchen courtyard and pump water straight into a pot. That would be far more beautiful than lugging around heavy jugs of water, don’t you think?”
“Oh, that would be so nice.” Junja sighed. It was her duty to keep the earthenware pots filled with water from the village well. She made that trip twice a day, staggering under the urn strapped to her back.
“The world is changing very quickly.” Suwol’s mother patted her hand. “Someday every house in the village will be connected to the well by a pipe. When that happens, I promise, your mother will be first in line!”
A ruckus in the kitchen courtyard distracted the women. Suwol was being swarmed by a group of little children led by Peanut, who were all clamoring to be picked up and tossed in the air.