Pachinko

by Min Jin Lee

  “No,” she said loudly. “No.”

  He decided not to fight her, because she was stubborn. He had learned this. Hansu pointed to the crates by Yoseb’s pallet.

  “I brought meat and dried fish. There’s also canned fruit and chocolate bars from America. I brought the same things for Tamaguchi’s family, too, so you don’t have to give them any of yours. There’s fabric in the bottom crate; all of you need clothing, I think. There’s scissors, thread, and needles,” he added, proud of himself for having brought these things. “I’ll bring wool next time.”

  Sunja didn’t know what she was supposed to do anymore. It wasn’t that she was ungrateful. Mostly, she felt ashamed of her life, her powerlessness. With her sun-browned hands and dirty fingernails, she touched her uncombed hair. She didn’t want him to see her this way. It occurred to her that she would never be lovely again.

  “I brought some newspapers. Have someone read them to you. The stories are the same—you can’t go back now. It would be terrible for the boys.”

  Sunja faced him.

  “That’s how you got me to come here, and now that’s how you’re trying to get me to stay in Japan. You’d said it would be better for the boys so I brought them to the farm.”

  “I wasn’t wrong.”

  “I don’t trust you.”

  “You are trying to hurt me, Sunja. That makes no sense.” He shook his head. “Remember, your husband would have wanted the boys to go to school. I also want what’s best for the boys and for you, Sunja. You and I—we’re good friends,” he said calmly. “We will always be good friends. We will always have Noa.”

  He waited to see if she would say anything, but it was as if her face had closed like a door. “And your brother-in-law knows. About Noa. I didn’t tell him. He figured it out.”

  Sunja covered her mouth with her hand.

  “You needn’t worry. Everything will be fine. If you want to move back to Osaka, Kim will make the arrangements. Refusing my help would be selfish. You should give your sons every advantage. I can give both your sons many advantages.”

  Before she could speak, Kim had returned to the barn. He walked past the boys, who were still absorbed in their books.

  “Boss,” Kim said. “It’s good to see you. Can I get you something to drink?”

  Hansu said no.

  Sunja realized she’d failed to offer him anything.

  “So, are you ready to return to Osaka?” Hansu asked Kim.

  “Yes, sir,” Kim said, smiling. Sunja appeared distressed, but he said nothing to her for now.

  “Boys,” Hansu shouted across the length of the barn, “how are the books?”

  Kim waved at them to come closer, and the boys ran to him.

  “Noa, do you want to go back to school?” Hansu asked.

  “Yes, sir. But—”

  “If you want to go back to school, you need to go back to Osaka right away.”

  “How about the farm? And Korea?” Noa asked, straightening his back.

  “You can’t go back to Korea for a while, but in the meantime, you can’t let your head become empty,” Hansu said, smiling. “What do you think of those exam books I brought you? Are they difficult?”

  “Yes, sir, but I want to learn them. I need a dictionary, I think.”

  “We’ll get you one,” Hansu said proudly. “You study, and I will send you to school. A boy shouldn’t have to worry about school fees. It’s important that older Koreans support young Koreans in their studies. How else will we have a great nation unless we support our children?”

  Noa beamed, and Sunja could not say anything.

  “But I want to stay at the farm,” Mozasu interrupted. “That’s not fair. I don’t want to go back to school. I hate school.”

  Hansu and Kim laughed.

  Noa pulled Mozasu toward him and bowed. They headed to the other side of the barn.

  When they were far enough away from the grown-ups, Mozasu said to Noa, “Tamaguchi-san said we could live here forever. He said we were like his sons.”

  “Mozasu, we can’t keep living in this barn.”

  “I like the chickens. I didn’t get pecked even once this morning when I got the eggs. The barn is nice to sleep in, especially since Aunt Kyunghee made us those hay blankets.”

  “Well, you’ll feel differently when you get older,” Noa said, cradling the thick volumes of the examination books in his arms. “Appa would’ve wanted us to go to university and become educated people.”

  “I hate books,” Mozasu said, scowling.

  “I love them. I could read books all day and do nothing else. Appa loved to read, too.”

  Mozasu plowed into Noa in an attempt to wrestle him, and Noa laughed.

  “Brother, what was appa like?” Mozasu sat up and looked at his brother soberly.

  “He was tall. And he had light-colored skin like you. He wore glasses like me. He was very good at school and good at teaching himself things from books. He loved learning. He was happy when he was reading; he told me so.”

  Noa smiled.

  “Like you,” Mozasu said. “Not like me. Well, I like manga.”

  “That’s not real reading.”

  Mozasu shrugged.

  “He was always nice to umma and me. He used to tease Uncle Yoseb and make him laugh. Appa taught me how to write my letters and remember the multiplication tables. I was the first one in school to know them by heart.”

  “Was he rich?”

  “No. Ministers can’t be rich.”

  “I want to be rich,” Mozasu said. “I want to have a big truck and a driver.”

  “I thought you wanted to live in a barn,” Noa said, smiling, “and collect chicken eggs every morning.”

  “I’d rather have a truck like Hansu ajeossi.”

  “I’d rather be an educated man like appa.”

  “Not me,” Mozasu said. “I want to make a lot of money, then umma and Aunt Kyunghee wouldn’t have to work anymore.”

  9

  Osaka, 1949

  After the family returned to Osaka, Hansu gave Kim the job of collecting fees from the store owners at Tsuruhashi market. In exchange for these fees, Hansu’s company gave the owners protection and support. Naturally, no one wanted to pay these not-insignificant sums, but there was little choice in the matter. On the rare instances when someone cried poor or foolishly refused to pay, Hansu sent his other men, not Kim, to address the situation. For a store owner, such fee payments were a long-established practice—just one more cost of doing business.

  Any agent who worked for Hansu had to look the part of the larger organization, and the men who worked for Hansu, both Japanese and Korean, took special pains to keep a low profile, avoiding any unnecessary negative attention. Except for his nearsightedness, corrected with his thick eyeglasses, Kim was a pleasant-looking man—humble, diligent, and well-spoken. Hansu preferred Kim to do the collection because Kim was effective and unfailingly polite; he was the clean wrapper for a filthy deed.

  It was Saturday evening, and Kim had just collected the week’s payments—over sixty packets of cash, each covered in fresh paper and labeled with the name of the business. No one had missed a payment. When he reached Hansu’s parked sedan, Kim bowed to his boss, who was just stepping out of the car. His driver would pick them up later.

  “Let’s have a drink,” Hansu said, patting Kim on the back. They walked in the direction of the market. Along the road, men continuously bowed to Hansu, and he acknowledged them with nods. He stopped for no one, however.

  “I’m going to take you to a new place. Pretty girls there. You must want one after living in a barn for so long.”

  Kim laughed out of surprise. His boss didn’t normally discuss such things.

  “You like the married one,” Hansu said. “I know.”

  Kim kept walking, unable to reply.

  “Sunja’s sister-in-law,” Hansu said, looking straight ahead as they walked down the narrow market street. “She’s still good-looking. He
r husband can’t do it anymore. He’s drinking more, nee?”

  Kim removed his glasses and cleaned the lenses with his handkerchief. He liked Yoseb and felt bad for not saying something. Yoseb drank a lot, but he was not a bad man. It was clear that the men in the neighborhood still admired him. At home, when Yoseb felt well enough, he helped the boys with schoolwork and taught them Korean. On occasion, he fixed machines for some factory owners he knew, but in his condition, he couldn’t work regularly.

  “How’s the house?” Hansu asked.

  “I’ve never lived so well.”

  Kim was telling the truth. “The meals are delicious. The house is very clean.”

  “The women need a workingman to watch over them. But I worry that you’re too attached to the married one.”

  “Boss, I’ve been thinking more about going back home. Not to Daegu, but to the North.”

  “This again? No. End of discussion. I don’t care if you go to those socialist meetings, but don’t start believing that horseshit about returning to the motherland. The heads of Mindan are no better. Besides, they’ll kill you in the North, and they’ll starve you in the South. They all hate Koreans who’ve been living in Japan. I know. If you go, I will never support it. Never.”

  “The leader Kim Il Sung fought against Japanese imperialism—”

  “I know his guys. Some of them might actually believe the message, but most of them are just trying to collect a pay envelope each week. The ones in charge who live here are never going back. You watch.”

  “But don’t you think we must do something for our country? These foreigners are cutting up the nation into—”

  Hansu put both his hands on Kim’s shoulders and faced him squarely.

  “You haven’t had a girl in such a long time that you can’t think straight.” Hansu smiled, then looked serious again. “Listen, I know the heads of both the Association and Mindan”—he snorted—“I know them very, very well—”

  “But Mindan’s a mere puppet of the American—”

  Hansu smiled at Kim, amused by the young man’s sincerity.

  “How long have you worked for me?”

  “I must’ve been twelve or thirteen when you gave me a job.”

  “How many times have I really talked politics with you?”

  Kim tried to remember.

  “Never. Not really. I’m a businessman. And I want you to be a businessman. And whenever you go to these meetings, I want you to think for yourself, and I want you to think about promoting your own interests no matter what. All these people—both the Japanese and the Koreans—are fucked because they keep thinking about the group. But here’s the truth: There’s no such thing as a benevolent leader. I protect you because you work for me. If you act like a fool and go against my interests, then I can’t protect you. As for these Korean groups, you have to remember that no matter what, the men who are in charge are just men—so they’re not much smarter than pigs. And we eat pigs. You lived with that farmer Tamaguchi who sold sweet potatoes for obscene prices to starving Japanese during a time of war. He violated wartime regulations, and I helped him, because he wanted money and I do, too. He probably thinks he’s a decent, respectable Japanese, or some kind of proud nationalist—don’t they all? He’s a terrible Japanese, but a smart businessman. I’m not a good Korean, and I’m not a Japanese. I’m very good at making money. This country would fall apart if everyone believed in some samurai crap. The Emperor does not give a fuck about anyone, either. So I’m not going to tell you not to go to any meetings or not to join any group. But know this: Those communists don’t care about you. They don’t care about anybody. You’re crazy if you think they care about Korea.”

  “Sometimes, I’d like to see my home again,” Kim said quietly.

  “For people like us, home doesn’t exist.” Hansu took out a cigarette, and Kim rushed to light it.

  Kim had not been back home in over twenty years. His mother had died when he was a toddler, and his tenant farmer father died not much later; his older sister did what she could for him but eventually married, then disappeared, leaving him to beg. Kim wanted to go to the North to help with the reunification efforts, but he also wanted to go to Daegu to clean his parents’ graves and do a proper jesa now that he could afford it.

  Hansu took a long drag of his cigarette.

  “You think I like it here? No, I don’t like it here. But here, I know what to expect. You don’t want to be poor. Changho-ya, you’ve worked for me, you’ve had enough food and money, so you’ve started to think about ideas—that’s normal. Patriotism is just an idea, so is capitalism or communism. But ideas can make men forget their own interests. And the guys in charge will exploit men who believe in ideas too much. You can’t fix Korea. Not even a hundred of you or a hundred of me can fix Korea. The Japs are out and now Russia, China, and America are fighting over our shitty little country. You think you can fight them? Forget Korea. Focus on something you can have. You want that married one? Fine. Then either get rid of the husband or wait until he’s dead. This is something you can fix.”

  “She’s not going to leave him.”

  “He’s a loser.”

  “No, no, he’s not,” Kim said gravely. “And she’s not the kind of woman who’d just—” He couldn’t talk about this anymore. He could wait until Yoseb died, but it was wrong to want a man to die. He believed in many ideas, including the idea that a wife must be loyal to her husband. If Kyunghee left a broken man, she would be less worthy of his devotion.

  At the end of the street, Hansu stopped walking and tilted his head toward a plain-looking bar.

  “You want a girl now, or do you want to go back to the house and want someone else’s wife?”

  Kim stared at the handle of the door, then pulled it open, letting his boss enter first before following him inside.

  The new house in Osaka was two tatami mats larger than the old one and sturdier—built out of tile, solid wood, and brick. As Hansu had predicted, the bombings had razed the original house. Kyunghee had sewn their legal documents in the lining of her good coat, and when it came time, Hansu’s lawyer made the municipal government recognize Yoseb’s property rights. With the gift money Tamaguchi had given them when they left the farm, Yoseb and Kyunghee bought the vacant lot adjacent to their original house. They rebuilt their home with the help of Hansu’s construction company. Again, Yoseb told none of their neighbors that he was the owner of the house—it always being wiser to appear poorer than you are. The exterior of the house was nearly identical to the other dwellings on their street in Ikaino. The family had agreed that Kim should live with them, and when Yoseb asked him, he did not refuse. The women papered the walls with good-quality paper and bought strong, thick glass for their little windows. They spent a little extra for better fabric to make warm quilts and floor cushions and bought a low Korean dining table for meals and for the boys to do their homework.

  Though from the facade the house didn’t look like much more than a roomy shack, inside was an exceptionally clean and well-organized house with a proper kitchen that had enough space to store their food carts overnight. It had an attached outhouse, which could be entered from the kitchen door. Yangjin, Sunja, and the boys slept in the middle room, which during the day served as the main room; Yoseb and Kyunghee slept in the large storage room by the kitchen, and Kim slept in the tiny front room, its two walls made up of paper screen doors. All seven of them—three generations and one family friend—lived in the house in Ikaino. Considering the neighborhood, their accommodations were almost luxurious.

  Late in the evening, when Kim finally returned home from the bar, everyone was asleep. Hansu had paid for a Korean girl, an exceptionally attractive one, and Kim went to the back room with her. Afterward, he’d wanted to go to a bathhouse, but the ones near the house were closed for the night. He washed up as well as he could in the sink by the outhouse, but he still had the waxy flavor of the girl’s frosty pink lipstick in his mouth.

  The girl had
been young, twenty if that, and when she wasn’t in the back rooms, she worked as a waitress. The war and the American occupation had toughened her, like the other girls who worked at the bar, and because she was so pretty, she had been with many men. She went by the name Jinah.

  In one of the back rooms reserved for paying customers, Jinah shut the door and took off her floral-print dress right away. She wore no underwear. Her body was long and thin, with the round, high breasts of a young girl who didn’t need a brassiere and the skinny legs of a hungry peasant. She sat on his lap, making a soft grinding gesture, and made him hard, then gingerly led him to an oxblood-colored pallet on the floor. She undressed him, wiped him expertly with a warm, wet towel, then put a prophylactic on him with her painted mouth. It had been a long time since he had been with a girl. He’d only been with whores, but this one had the loveliest face and figure, and he could understand why she cost so much even though he wasn’t paying this time. Jinah called him Oppa, and asked if he wanted to enter her now, and he had nodded, astonished by her skillfulness—at once charming and professional. She pushed him down gently and clambered on his hips and pulled him inside her in a single thrust. She kissed his forehead and hair, letting him bury his head between her breasts as they fucked. He didn’t know if she was pretending, but she seemed to like what she was doing, unlike the other whores, who’d pretended to be virginal. There was no false protest, and Kim found himself deeply excited by her and came almost right away. She lay in his arms for a little while, then got up to get a towel for him. As she cleaned him, she called him her handsome brother and asked him to return to see her soon, because Jinah would be thinking about his eel. Kim almost wanted to stay the night to try to have her again, but Hansu was waiting for him at the bar, so Kim promised to return.

  In his room, someone had already unfolded his pallet to make his bed. Kim lay down on his clean, starched cotton pallet, imagining Kyunghee’s slender fingers smoothing down the blankets on which he rested, and as usual, he imagined making love to her. A married woman could not be surprised by sex, he thought, but he wondered if she could enjoy it the way Jinah seemed to. What would he think of her if she did? In the barn, he’d always fallen asleep before the women, and he was grateful for this schedule, because he could not bear the idea of Yoseb being on top of her. Fortunately, he never heard any noises, and in this house, he did not hear them, either. He felt sure that Yoseb no longer slept with his wife, and this knowledge gave him permission to love her and to not hate him. This way, she was his, too. Hansu had detected his feelings, because he was obvious about them; he could not resist watching her soft face, her graceful quiet movements. He thought if he could be with her, he would die. What would it be like to be with her each night? When they’d worked beside each other at the restaurant, and when he was alone with her at the farm, it had been almost maddening to keep from clasping her body to his. What kept him from doing so was the knowledge that she would never respond to him; she loved her husband, and she loved Yesu Kuristo, her god, whom Kim could not believe in and who did not allow his followers to have sex outside of marriage.