by Min Jin Lee
Sunja opened the palm of her hand to show him the pocket watch.
“Ajeossi, how much could you give us for this?”
The man raised his gray-black eyebrows and pulled out a loupe from his desk drawer.
“Where did you get this?”
“My mother gave it to me. It’s solid silver and washed in gold,” Sunja said.
“She knows you’re selling it?”
“She gave it to me to sell. For the baby.”
“Wouldn’t you prefer a loan for the watch? Maybe you don’t want to let go of it,” he asked. Loans were rarely repaid, and he’d be able to keep the collateral.
Sunja spoke slowly: “I want to sell it. If you don’t wish to buy it, I won’t trouble you any longer.”
The broker smiled, wondering if the pregnant girl had already been to his competitors. There were three pawnbrokers just a few streets away. None of the others were Korean, but if she spoke any Japanese, it would have been easy to sell the watch. The pretty woman who accompanied the pregnant one before him looked a little Japanese in the way she dressed; it was hard to tell. It was possible that the pretty one had brought the pregnant girl along to negotiate with him and that the watch belonged to her.
“If you have a need to sell it,” the broker said, “I always take pleasure helping a person from home.”
Sunja said nothing. In the market, say very little, her father had taught her.
Kyunghee marveled at her sister-in-law appearing calmer than she’d ever seen her.
The pawnbroker examined the watch with care, opening its silver casing to study the mechanical workings visible through its open crystal back. It was an extraordinary pocket watch, and impossible to believe that this pregnant woman’s mother could have owned such a thing. The watch was maybe a year old if that and without a scratch. He turned it faceup again and laid it on the green leather blotter on his desk.
“Young men prefer wristwatches these days. I’m not even sure if I can sell this.”
Sunja noticed that the broker had blinked hard after saying this, but he hadn’t blinked once when he was talking to her before.
“Thank you for looking at it,” Sunja said, and turned around. Kyunghee was trying not to appear worried. Sunja picked up the watch and gathered the tail end of her long chima, preparing to walk out of the office. “We appreciate your time. Thank you.”
“I’d like to help you,” the broker said, raising his voice slightly.
Sunja turned around.
“If you need the money right away, perhaps it would be easier for you to sell it here than walking around in this hot day in your condition. I can help you. It looks like you’ll have the child soon. I hope it’s a boy who’ll take good care of his mother,” he said.
“Fifty yen,” he said.
“Two hundred,” she said. “It’s worth at least three hundred. It’s made in Switzerland and brand-new.”
The two men by the window put down their cards and got up from their seats. They’d never seen a girl talk like this.
“If you think it’s worth so much, then why don’t you sell it for a higher price elsewhere,” the broker snapped, irritated by her insolence. He couldn’t stand women who talked back.
Sunja bit her inner lower lip. If she sold it to a Japanese pawnbroker, Sunja feared that the broker may alert the police about the watch. Hansu had told her that the police were involved in nearly all the businesses here.
“Thank you. I won’t waste any more of your time,” Sunja said.
The pawnbroker chuckled.
Kyunghee suddenly felt confident of her sister-in-law, who had been so helpless upon her arrival in Osaka that she had to carry her name and address written in Japanese on a card in case she got lost.
“What did your mother do back home?” the pawnbroker asked. “You sound like you’re from Busan.”
Sunja paused, wondering if she had to answer the question.
“Did she work in the markets there?”
“She’s a boardinghouse keeper.”
“She must be a clever businesswoman,” he said. The broker had figured that her mother must have been a whore or a merchant of some sort who collaborated with the Japanese government. The watch could also have been stolen. From her speech and dress, the pregnant girl was not from a wealthy family. “Young lady, you’re sure that your mother gave this to you to sell. You are aware that I will need your name and address in case there’s any trouble.”
Sunja nodded.
“Okay, then. A hundred twenty-five yen.”
“Two hundred.” Sunja didn’t know if she’d get this amount, but she felt certain that the broker was greedy, and if he was willing to go to 125 from fifty, then surely the Japanese brokers would think it was valuable, too.
The broker burst out laughing. The young men were now standing by the desk, and they laughed as well. The younger one said, “You should work here.”
The broker folded his arms close to his chest. He wanted the watch; he knew exactly who would buy it.
“Father, you should give the little mother her price. If only because she’s so persistent!” the young one said, knowing his father didn’t like to lose a bargain and would need some coaxing. He felt sorry for the girl with the puffy face. She wasn’t the usual kind of girl who came up here to sell gold rings whenever she was in trouble.
“Does your husband know you’re here?” the pawnbroker’s younger son asked.
“Yes,” Sunja replied.
“Is he a drinker or a gambler?” The son had seen desperate women before, and the stories were always the same.
“Neither,” she said in a stern voice, as if to warn him not to ask any more questions.
“A hundred seventy-five yen,” the broker said.
“Two hundred.” Sunja could feel the warm, smooth metal in her palm; Hansu would have held firm to his price.
The broker protested, “How do I know that I can sell it?”
“Father,” the older son said, smiling. “You’d be helping a little mother from home.”
The broker’s desk was made of an unfamiliar wood—a rich dark brown color with teardrop-shaped whorls the size of a child’s hand. She counted three teardrop whorls on the surface. When she’d gone to collect mushrooms with Hansu, there had been innumerable types of trees. The musty smell of wet leaves on the forest carpet, the baskets filled to bursting with mushrooms, the sharp pain of lying with him—these memories would not leave her. She had to be rid of him, to stop this endless recollection of the one person she wished to forget.
Sunja took a deep breath. Kyunghee was wringing her hands.
“We understand if you don’t wish to buy this,” Sunja said quietly, and turned to leave.
The pawnbroker held up his hand, signaling her to wait, and went to the back room, where he kept his cashbox.
When the two men returned to the house for the payments, the women stood by the door and didn’t invite them inside.
“If I pay you the money, how do I know that the debt is totally gone?” Sunja asked the taller one.
“We’ll get the boss to sign the promissory note to say it’s canceled,” he said. “How do I know that you have the money?”
“Can your boss come here?” Sunja asked.
“You must be crazy,” the taller one said, in shock at her request.
Sunja sensed that she shouldn’t give these men the money. She tried to close the door a little so she could speak with Kyunghee, but the man pushed it back with his foot.
“Listen, if you really have the money, you can come with us. We’ll take you right now.”
“Where?” Kyunghee spoke up, her voice tremulous.
“By the sake shop. It’s not far.”
The boss was an earnest-looking young Korean, not much older than Kyunghee. He looked like a doctor or a teacher—well-worn suit, gold-wire spectacles, combed-back black hair, and a thoughtful expression. No one would have thought he was a moneylender. His office was about the siz
e of the pawnbroker’s, and on the wall opposite the front door, a shelf was lined with books in Japanese and Korean. Electric lamps were lit next to comfortable-looking chairs. A boy brought the women hot genmaicha in pottery cups. Kyunghee understood why her husband would borrow money from a man like this.
When Kyunghee handed him all the money, the moneylender said thank you and canceled the note, placing his red seal on the paper.
“If there’s anything else I can ever do for you, please let me be of service,” he said, looking at Kyunghee. “We must support each other while we’re far from home. I am your servant.”
“When, when did my husband borrow this money?” Kyunghee asked the moneylender.
“He asked me in February. We’re friends, so of course, I obliged.”
The women nodded, understanding. Yoseb had borrowed the money for Isak and Sunja’s passage.
“Thank you, sir. We shall not bother you again,” Kyunghee said.
“Your husband will be very pleased to have the matter settled,” he said, wondering how the women had raised the money so quickly.
The women said nothing and returned home to make dinner.
17
Where did you get the money?” Yoseb shouted, clutching the canceled promissory note.
“Sunja sold the watch her mother gave her,” Kyunghee replied.
Invariably, each night on their street, someone was yelling or a child was crying, but loud noises had never come from their house. Yoseb, who didn’t anger easily, was enraged. Sunja stood wedged in the back corner of the front room, her head lowered—mute as a rock. Tears streamed down her reddened cheeks. Isak wasn’t home yet from church.
“You had a pocket watch worth over two hundred yen? Does Isak know about this?” he shouted at Sunja.
Kyunghee raised her hands and put herself between him and Sunja.
“Her mother gave her the watch. To sell for the baby.”
Sunja slid down the wall, no longer able to stand. Sharp pains pierced her pelvis and back. She shut her eyes and covered her head with her forearms.
“Where did you sell this watch?”
“At the pawnbroker by the vegetable stand,” Kyunghee said.
“Are you out of your mind? What kind of women go to pawnbrokers?” Yoseb stared hard at Sunja. “How can a woman do such a thing?”
From the floor, Sunja looked up at him and pleaded, “It’s not Sister’s fault—”
“And did you ask your husband if you could go to a pawnbroker?”
“Why are you getting so upset? She was just trying to help us. She’s pregnant. Leave her alone.” Kyunghee averted her eyes, trying to keep from talking back to him. He knew full well that Sunja hadn’t spoken to Isak. Why did Yoseb have to pay for everything? Why did he control all the money? The last time they’d argued was when she’d wanted to get a factory job.
“Sunja was worried about us. I’m sorry that she had to sell that beautiful watch. Try to understand, yobo.” Kyunghee laid her hand gently on his forearm.
“Stupid women! Every time I walk down the street, how am I supposed to face these men again, knowing that some foolish women paid my debts? My nuts are shriveling.”
Yoseb had never spoken in such a vulgar way before, and Kyunghee understood that he was insulting Sunja. He was calling Sunja stupid, Sunja foolish; Kyunghee was also being blamed because she’d allowed it to happen. But it was smarter for them to pay off this debt; if she’d been allowed to get a job before, they would’ve had savings.
Sunja couldn’t stop crying. The agonizing pains around her lower abdomen had returned with greater force, and she didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t clear what was happening to her body.
“Yobo, please, please understand,” Kyunghee said.
Yoseb said nothing. Sunja’s legs were splayed out like a drunk on the street with her swollen hands holding up her enormous belly. He wondered if he should’ve let her into his house. How could a gold pocket watch have come from her mother? It had been years, but he’d met both her mother and her father. Hoonie Kim was the crippled son of two peasants who’d operated a boardinghouse on a minuscule rented plot. Where would his wife have gotten such a valuable thing? Their lodgers were mainly fishermen or men who worked at the fish market. He could’ve accepted that the girl had been given a few gold rings worth thirty or forty yen by her mother. Perhaps a jade ring worth ten. Had she stolen the watch? he wondered. Could Isak have married a thief or a whore? He couldn’t bring himself to say these things, so Yoseb opened the corrugated metal door and left.
When he came home, Isak was alarmed at the sight of the sobbing women. He tried to calm them so they could speak more coherently. He listened to their broken explanations.
“So where did he go?” Isak asked.
“I don’t know. He doesn’t go out normally. I didn’t realize he’d be this—” Kyunghee stopped, not wanting to upset Sunja any further.
“He’ll be all right,” Isak said, and turned to Sunja.
“I didn’t know you had such a valuable thing from home. It’s from your mother?” Isak asked tentatively.
Sunja was still crying, and Kyunghee nodded in her place.
“Oh?” Isak looked again at Sunja.
“Where did your mother get this, Sunja?” Isak asked.
“I didn’t ask. Perhaps someone owed her money.”
“I see.” Isak nodded, not sure what to make of this.
Kyunghee stroked Sunja’s feverish head. “Will you explain this to Yoseb?” she asked her brother-in-law. “You understand why we did this, right?”
“Yes, of course. Brother borrowed the money to help me. Sunja sold the watch to pay that debt, so in fact she sold it to help us get here. The passage here was expensive, and how was he to raise all that money so quickly? I should’ve thought it through. I was naïve and childish, as usual, and Brother was just taking care of me. It’s unfortunate that Sunja had to sell the watch, but it’s right for us to pay our debts. I’ll say all this to him, Sister. Please don’t worry,” he said to the women.
Kyunghee nodded, feeling a little better finally.
A spasm flared through Sunja’s side, knocking her back almost. “Uh-muh. Uh-muh!”
“Is it? Is it—?”
Warm water rushed down Sunja’s leg.
“Should I get the midwife?” Isak asked.
“Sister Okja—three houses down on our side of the street,” Kyunghee said, and Isak ran out of the house.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Kyunghee cooed, holding Sunja’s hand. “You’re doing mother’s work. Women suffer, don’t they? Oh, my dear Sunja. I’m so sorry you’re in pain.” Kyunghee prayed over her, “Lord, dear Lord, please have mercy—”
Sunja took a fistful of her skirt material and put it in her mouth to keep from screaming. It felt as if she was being stabbed repeatedly. She bit down hard on the coarse fabric. “Umma, umma,” she cried out.
Sister Okja, the midwife, was a fifty-year-old Korean from Jeju who’d delivered most of the children in the ghetto. Well trained by her aunt, Okja had kept her own children housed and fed through midwifery, nursing, and babysitting. Her husband, the father of their six children, was as good as dead to her, though he was alive and living in her house several days a week in a drunken stupor. When she wasn’t delivering babies, Okja minded the children of the neighborhood women who worked in the factories and markets.
This delivery was no trouble at all. The boy was long and well shaped, and the labor, as terrifying as it might have been for the new mother, was brief, and thankfully for the midwife, the baby didn’t arrive in the middle of the night but only in time to interrupt her making dinner. Sister Okja hoped her daughter-in-law, who lived with them, hadn’t burned the barley rice again.
“Hush, hush. You did well,” Okja said to the girl who was still crying for her mother. “The boy’s very strong and nice looking. Look at all that black hair! You should rest a little now. The child will need to feed soon,” she said, bef
ore getting up to leave.
“Damn these knees.” Okja rubbed her kneecaps and shins and got up leisurely, making sure that the family had enough time to find her some money.
Kyunghee got her purse and gave Sister Okja three yen.
Okja was unimpressed. “If you have any questions, just get me.”
Kyunghee thanked her; she felt like a mother herself. The child was beautiful. Her heart ached at the sight of his small face—the shock of jet hair and his blue-black eyes. She was reminded of the Bible character Samson.
After Kyunghee bathed the child in the dinged-up basin normally used to salt cabbage, she handed the baby, wrapped in a clean towel, to Isak.
“You’re a father,” Kyunghee said, smiling. “He’s handsome, isn’t he?”
Isak nodded, feeling more pleased than he’d imagined he’d be.
“Uh-muh, I have to make soup for Sunja. She has to have soup right away.” Kyunghee went to check on Sunja, who was already fast asleep, leaving Isak with the child in the front room. In the kitchen, as Kyunghee soaked the dried seaweed in cold water, she prayed that her husband would come home soon.
In the morning, the house felt different. Kyunghee hadn’t slept. Yoseb hadn’t come home the night before. Isak had tried to stay awake, too, but she’d made him go to sleep, because he had to give a sermon the next morning and work at church the whole Sunday. Sunja slept so soundly that she snored and had only gotten up to feed; the child latched on her breast well and fussed very little. Kyunghee had cleaned the kitchen, prepared breakfast, and sewed shirts for the baby while waiting for Yoseb. Every few minutes, she glanced at the window.
While Isak was finishing his breakfast, Yoseb came in the house smelling of cigarettes. His eyeglasses were smudged and his face stubbly. As soon as Kyunghee saw him, she went to the kitchen to get his breakfast.
“Brother.” Isak got up. “Are you all right?”
