by Min Jin Lee
It was the twelfth month of the year—a mild, wintry morning. When Sunja and Kyunghee arrived for work, Kim asked the women to have a seat at the square table pushed up against the wall outside the kitchen. This was where they usually took their meals and breaks. He’d already placed a pot of tea on the table. Once seated, Kyunghee poured each of them a cup.
“The restaurant will be closed tomorrow,” Kim said.
“For how long?” Sunja asked.
“Till the war is over. This morning, I gave up the last of the metal things. The kitchen’s almost empty now. All the steel rice bowls, basins, cooking pots, utensils, steel chopsticks were requisitioned. Even if I could find new ones and remain open, the police will know that we’ve kept things back and confiscate them. The government doesn’t pay us for what they take. We can’t keep replacing—” Kim took a sip of his tea. “Well, so it has to be.”
Sunja nodded, feeling bad for Kim, who looked upset. He glanced briefly at Kyunghee.
“And what will you do?” Kyunghee asked him.
Kim, younger than Isak, addressed her as Sister. Lately, he depended on her to accompany him to the market to support his civilian status when stopped. Suspicious of military service dodgers, the police and neighborhood association leaders routinely questioned any male not in uniform. To put them off, he’d taken to wearing the dark glasses of a blind man on the streets.
“Can you find another job?” Kyunghee asked.
“Don’t worry about me. At least I don’t have to fight”—he laughed, touching his eyeglasses; his poor vision had kept him from fighting and from working in the mines when other Koreans had been conscripted—“which is good, since I’m a coward.”
Kyunghee shook her head.
Kim stood up.
“We have some customers coming this evening from Hokkaido. I kept back two cooking pans and a few bowls for the meal; we can use those. Sister, I wonder if you can come with me to the market,” he said, then he turned to Sunja. “Will you stay here and wait for the liquor man to come? He’s supposed to bring a package by. Oh, the customer has asked for your bellflower muchim for tonight. I left a packet of dried bellflowers in the downstairs cupboard. You’ll find the other ingredients there.”
Sunja nodded, wondering how he’d found dried bellflowers and sesame oil.
Kyunghee got up and put on her old blue coat over her sweater and worker pants. She was still a lovely woman, clear skinned and slender, but now, fine crinkles around her eyes and marionette lines by her mouth appeared when she smiled. Heavy kitchen work had ruined her once-supple white hands, but she did not mind. Yoseb, who held her small right hand when they slept, didn’t seem to notice the red scaly patches on her palms resulting from day after day of pickling. After Isak died, Yoseb had become a different man—sullen, brooding, and uninterested in anything but work. His change had transformed their household and their marriage. Kyunghee tried to cheer up her husband, but she could do little to dispel his gloom and silence. At home, no one seemed to talk except for the boys. Yoseb was almost unrecognizable from the boy she had loved from girlhood. He had become this cynical, broken man—something she could never have predicted. So it was only at the restaurant that Kyunghee behaved like herself. Here, she teased Kim like a younger brother and giggled with Sunja while they cooked. Now, even this place would be gone.
After Kim and her sister-in-law left for the market, Sunja shut the door behind them. As she turned toward the kitchen, she heard the knock.
“Did you forget something?” Sunja asked, opening the door.
Hansu stood before her, wearing a black coat over a gray wool suit. His hair was still dark and his face more or less the same, with a slight thickening along his jawline. Reflexively, Sunja checked to see if he was wearing the white leather shoes he used to wear long ago. He wore black leather lace-up shoes.
“It’s been a long time,” Hansu said calmly, entering the restaurant. Sunja stepped several paces away from him.
“What are you doing here?”
“This is my restaurant. Kim Changho works for me.”
Her head felt foggy, and Sunja slumped down on the nearest seat cushion.
Hansu had located her eleven years ago when she’d pawned the silver pocket watch he’d given her. The pawnbroker had tried to sell him that watch, and the rest had been simple detective work. Since then, Hansu had been tracking her daily. After Isak went to prison, he knew she needed money and created this job for her. Sunja learned that the moneylender who’d loaned Yoseb the money worked for him as well. In fact, Hansu’s wife was the eldest daughter of a powerful Japanese moneylender in Kansai, and Hansu had been legally adopted by his father-in-law, Morimoto, because the man did not have a son. Koh Hansu, whose legal name was Haru Morimoto, lived in an enormous house outside of Osaka with his wife and three daughters.
Hansu led her back to the table where she’d sat only a few moments ago with Kim and Kyunghee.
“Let’s have some tea. You stay here, and I’ll get a cup. You seem troubled by my appearance.”
Familiar with where everything was, Hansu returned from the kitchen right away with a teacup.
Sunja stared at him, still unable to speak.
“Noa is a very smart boy,” he said proudly. “He’s a handsome child and an excellent runner.”
She tried not to look afraid. How did he know these things? She now recalled every conversation she’d ever had with Kim about her sons. There had been numerous occasions when Noa and Mozasu had been with her at the restaurant when there’d been no school for Noa.
“What do you want?” she asked finally, trying to appear calmer than she felt.
“You have to leave Osaka immediately. Convince your sister and your brother-in-law to go. For the safety of the children. However, if they don’t want to go, there’s little you can do. I have a place for you and the boys.”
“Why?”
“Because the real bombing will start soon here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The Americans are going to bomb Osaka in a matter of days. The B-29s have been in China. Now they found more bases on the islands. The Japanese are losing the war. The government knows it can never win but won’t admit it. The Americans know that the Japanese military has to be stopped. The Japanese military would kill every Japanese boy rather than admit its error. Fortunately, the war will end before Noa is recruited.”
“But everyone says Japan is doing better.”
“You mustn’t believe what you hear from the neighbors or what the newspapers say. They don’t know.”
“Shhh—” Sunja looked around instinctively at the plate glass window and the front door. If anyone was caught saying such treacherous things, he could be sent to jail. She had repeatedly told her boys to never, ever say anything negative about Japan or the war. “You shouldn’t talk like this. You could get in trouble—”
“No one can hear us.”
She bit her lower lip and stared, still unable to believe the sight of him. It had been twelve years. Yet here was the same face—the one she had loved so much. She had loved his face the way she had loved the brightness of the moon and the cold blue water of the sea. Hansu was sitting across from her, and he returned her gaze, looking kindly at her. However, he remained composed, certain of every measured word he uttered. There had never been any hesitation in him. He was unlike her father, Isak, her brother-in-law, or Kim. He was unlike any other man she had ever known.
“Sunja-ya, you have to leave Osaka. There’s no time to think about it. I came here to tell you this, because the bombs will destroy this city.”
Why had he not come sooner? Why had he kept back like a watchful shadow over her life? How many times had he seen her when she had not seen him?
The anger she felt toward him surprised her. “They won’t leave, and I can’t just—”
“You mean your brother-in-law. He might be a fool, but that’s not your problem. The sister-in-law will go if you tell her.
This city is made of wood and paper. It’ll take no more than a match for it to incinerate. Imagine what will happen with an American bomb.” He paused. “Your sons will be killed. Is that what you want? I’ve already sent my daughters away a long time ago. A parent must be decisive; a child cannot protect himself.”
She understood then. Hansu was worried about Noa. He had a Japanese wife and three daughters. He had no son.
“How do you know? How do you know what will happen?”
“How did I know that you needed work? How did I know where Noa goes to school, that his math teacher is a Korean who pretends to be Japanese, that your husband died because he didn’t get out of prison in time, and that you’re alone in this world. How did I know how to keep my family safe? It’s my job to know what others don’t. How did you know to make kimchi and sell it on a street corner to earn money? You knew because you wanted to live. I want to live, too, and if I want to live, I have to know things others don’t. Now, I’m telling you something valuable. I’m telling you something so you can save your sons’ lives. Don’t waste this information. The world can go to hell, but you need to protect your sons.”
“My brother-in-law will not abandon his house.”
He laughed. “The house will be a pile of ashes. The Japanese will not give him a sen for his pain when it’s gone.”
“The neighbors said that the war will end soon.”
“The war will end soon, but not the way they think. The wealthy Japanese have already sent their families to the country. They’ve already converted their cash into gold. The rich do not care about politics; they will say anything to save their skin. You’re not rich, but you’re smart, and I’m telling you that you have to leave today.”
“How?”
“Kim will take you, your brother-in-law and sister-in-law, and the boys to a farm outside Osaka prefecture. A sweet-potato farmer owes me a favor. He has a big place, and there’ll be plenty of food there. All of you will have to work for him until the war’s over, but you’ll have a place to sleep and more than enough to eat. Tamaguchi-san has no children; he won’t harm you.”
“Why did you come?” Sunja began to cry.
“It’s not the time to discuss this. Please don’t be a foolish woman. You’re smarter than that. It’s time to take action. The restaurant will be destroyed no different than your house will be,” he said, speaking quickly. “This building is made of wood and a few bricks. Your brother-in-law should sell his house immediately to the next idiot and get out. Or at the very least, he should take his ownership papers with him. Soon, people will be fleeing here like rats, so you have to leave now before it’s too late. The Americans will finish this stupid war. Maybe tonight, maybe in a few weeks, but they’re not going to put up with this nonsense war for very long. The Germans are losing, too.”
Sunja folded her hands together. The war had been going on for so long. Everyone was sick of it. Without the restaurant, the family would have starved even though everyone was working and earning money. Their clothes were threadbare and holey. Cloth, thread, and needles were unavailable. How were Hansu’s shoes so shiny when no one had any shoe polish? She and Kyunghee loathed the neighborhood association’s endless meetings, yet if they didn’t go, the leaders would take it out on their rations. The latest military drills had become ludicrous—on Sunday mornings, grandmothers and little children were required to practice spearing the enemy with sharpened bamboo spears. They said American soldiers raped women and girls and that it would be better to kill yourself than to surrender to such barbarians. Back in the restaurant office, there was a cache of bamboo spears for the workers and the customers in case the Americans landed. Kim kept two hunting knives in his desk drawer.
“Can I go back home? To Busan?”
“There’s nothing to eat there, and it isn’t safe for you. Women are being taken away from smaller villages in greater numbers.”
Sunja looked puzzled.
“I’ve told you this before: Never listen to anyone who tells you there’s good factory work in China or any of the other colonies. Those jobs don’t exist. Do you understand me?” His expression grew severe.
“Is my mother all right?”
“She’s not young so they won’t take her. I’ll try to find out.”
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Worried about her boys, Sunja hadn’t paid enough attention to her mother’s welfare. In Yangjin’s sparse letters, written for her by a harried schoolteacher, she’d say that she was fine, expressing more concern for Sunja and the boys than for herself. Sunja hadn’t seen her mother in as many years as she had not seen Hansu.
“Can you be ready to go tonight?”
“Why would my brother-in-law listen to me? How can I possibly explain—”
“Tell him that Kim told you that you must leave today. He’s talking to your sister-in-law now. Tell him that he learned this privileged information from his boss. I can send Kim to speak to him at your house.”
Sunja said nothing. She didn’t believe that anyone could convince Yoseb to leave.
“There should be no hesitation. The boys have to be protected.”
“But Sister will—”
“So what about her? Listen to me. Choose your sons over everyone else. Don’t you know this by now?”
She nodded.
“Bring everyone here at dusk. Kim will keep the restaurant open. No one should know where you’re going. You want to get out of here before everyone else tries to as well.” Hansu got up and looked at her soberly. “Leave the others if you have to.”
7
1945
On the day that Hansu told her to take the boys to the country, Yoseb got a job offer. Earlier that afternoon, a friend of a friend had stopped by Yoseb’s biscuit factory and told him of the position: A steel factory in Nagasaki needed a foreman to manage its Korean workers. There would be a housing camp for men, including room and board, but Yoseb couldn’t bring his family. The pay was almost triple his current salary. The family would be separated for a while. When Yoseb came home, excited about the offer, Kyunghee and Sunja had news of their own. Hansu’s hand was in everything, but what could Sunja say?
At dusk, Kim moved the women and boys to Tamaguchi’s farm. The next morning, Yoseb quit his job at the factory, packed one bag, and locked up the house. That afternoon, Yoseb headed to Nagasaki, recalling the time he left Pyongyang for Osaka—the last time he’d left on a journey by himself.
Short months passed before the bombings started, but once they began, the bombing continued through the summer. Hansu was wrong about the timing, but he was right that the neighborhood would turn to ashes.
Tamaguchi, a fifty-eight-year-old sweet-potato farmer, did not mind having the extra pairs of hands. His regular workers and seasonal ones had been conscripted years ago, and there were no able-bodied men to replace them. Several of his former workers had already died in Manchuria, with two badly disabled in battle, and there had been scant news of the others sent to Singapore and the Philippines. Each morning, as Tamaguchi rose from his futon, he suffered from the routine aches that accompanied aging; however, he was relieved to be old, since he would not have to fight the stupid war. The shortage of men impaired his ambitions for his farm, especially at a time when there was a growing demand for potatoes. Tamaguchi could command any illegal price he wanted, it seemed, and now that he had tasted wealth, so much so that he’d been forced to hide troves of treasure in various parts of the farm, he was willing to do whatever it took to squeeze every golden drop from this national calamity.
Night and day, Tamaguchi cultivated potato slips, turned the earth, and planted. Without men, it was nearly impossible to complete the endless chores of the farm, and without men, there was no one to marry his wife’s two sisters, whom he’d been forced to take in—worthless city girls not built for any kind of work. With their chatter and made-up ailments, the sisters distracted his wife from her labors, and he hoped he wouldn’t be saddled with them f
or much longer. Thankfully, his wife’s parents were dead. For seasonal work, Tamaguchi had been hiring the elderly men and women in the village, but they were given to endless whining about the difficult nature of planting in the warm weather and harvesting in the cold.
It would never have occurred to Tamaguchi to hire city Koreans or to board them on his farm when he’d turned away many city Japanese who’d sought refuge, but Koh Hansu he could not refuse.
Upon the receipt of Hansu’s telegram, the farmer and his overworked wife, Kyoko, configured the barn to make it habitable for the Korean family from Osaka. Only days after their arrival, however, Tamaguchi learned that it was he who’d gotten the better end of the bargain. Hansu had furnished him with two strong women who could cook, clean, and plow; a young man who couldn’t see well but could dig and lift; and two clever boys who took instruction perfectly. The Koreans ate plenty, but they earned their keep and bothered no one. They didn’t ever complain.
From the first day, Tamaguchi put Noa and Mozasu in charge of feeding the three cows, eight pigs, and thirty chickens; milking the cows; collecting the eggs; and cleaning the henhouse. The boys spoke Japanese like natives, so he was able to take them to the market to help sell; the older one was excellent with calculations, and his letters were neat enough for the ledger. The two Korean women, sisters-in-law, were fine housekeepers and hardy outdoor workers. The skinny married one was not young but very pretty, and her Japanese was good enough that Kyoko tasked her with the cooking, washing, and mending. The shorter one, the quiet widow, tended the kitchen garden ably and worked in the fields alongside the young man. The two labored like a pair of oxen. For the first time in years, Tamaguchi felt relaxed; even his wife was less irritable, scolding him and her sisters less than usual.
Four months after their arrival, Hansu’s truck drove up to the farm at dusk. Hansu stepped out of the truck, and he had with him an older Korean woman. Tamaguchi rushed to meet him. Normally, Hansu’s men came by in the evenings to pick up the produce for sale in the city, but it was rarely the boss himself.
