by Min Jin Lee
At this, Mozasu nodded. He had been in trouble before, but no one had ever called the police. All his life, he had known about his father, who had been wrongfully imprisoned. Lately, Noa was warning him that since the Koreans in Japan were no longer citizens, if you got in trouble, you could be deported. Noa had told him that no matter what, Mozasu had to respect the police and be very deferential even if they were rude or wrong. Only a month ago, Noa had said a Korean had to be extra good. Once again, Mozasu felt bad for messing up and dreaded the look of disappointment that would surely appear on Noa’s face.
Goro considered the boy and Sunja, one of his favorite ajummas in the market.
“Officer, I know this family. They’re very hardworking, and Mozasu is a good kid. He won’t get in trouble again. Right, Mozasu?” Goro stared directly at Mozasu.
“Hai,” Mozasu replied.
The officer repeated his speech about how citizens should never take the law into their own hands, and Mozasu, Sunja, and Goro nodded as if the officer were the Emperor himself. After he left, Goro lightly smacked Mozasu in the back of head with his felt hat. Mozasu winced, but of course it hadn’t hurt.
“What are you going to do with this boy?” Goro asked the women, both exasperated and amused.
Sunja looked at her hands. She had tried everything she could, and now she had to ask a stranger. Yoseb and Noa would be angry with her, but she had to try something else besides what they were doing now.
“Could you help him?” Sunja asked. “Could he work for you? You wouldn’t have to pay him very much—”
Goro waved her away and shook his head and turned his attention to Mozasu. That was all he needed to hear.
“Listen, you’re going to quit school tomorrow morning and start working for me. Your mother doesn’t need this shit. After you tell the school that you’re done, you’re going to head to my shop, and you’re going to work very hard. I’m going to pay you what you deserve. I don’t steal from my employees. You work, you get paid. You got it? And stay away from the sock girl. She’s trouble.”
“Does your parlor need a boy?” Sunja asked.
“Sure, but no fighting. That’s not the only way to be a man,” he said, feeling sorry for the kid who didn’t have a father. “Being a man means you know how to control your temper. You have to take care of your family. A good man does that. Okay?”
“Sir, you are gracious to give him a chance. I know he’ll work—”
“I can see that,” Goro said to Sunja, smiling. “We’ll make him a pachinko boy and keep him off the streets.”
Mozasu got up from his stool and bowed to his new boss.
12
March 1956
Goro was a fat and glamorous Korean, notably popular with beautiful women. His mother had been an abalone diver in Jeju Island, and in the neighborhood of Ikaino where Goro lived in a modest stand-alone house by himself, there was talk of Goro having once been an agile and powerful swimmer. That said, it was rather difficult to imagine him doing much beyond telling funny stories and eating the tasty snacks he liked to fix for himself in his kitchen. There was something plush and sensual about his thickly rounded arms and swollen belly; it might have been the smoothness of his clear, tawny skin, or the way he fit into a well-made suit, resembling a self-satisfied seal gliding across a city street. He was a good talker—the sort of man who could sell lumber to a woodcutter. Though he made plenty of money from his three pachinko parlors, he lived simply and preferred to avoid expensive habits. He was known for being generous with women.
For six months, Mozasu had been working for Goro in his main pachinko parlor, doing whatever was needed. In that time, the sixteen-year-old had learned more about the world than in all his years of school. Making money was ten times easier and more pleasant than trying to stuff the kanji he had no use for into his head. It was a tremendous relief to forget the dry books and exams. At work, nearly everyone was Korean, so nothing stupid was said about his background. At school, Mozasu hadn’t thought that the taunts had bothered him much, but when the mean remarks had utterly disappeared from his daily life, he realized how peaceful he could feel. He hadn’t had a single fight since he’d started working for Goro.
Each Saturday evening, Mozasu handed his pay envelope to his mother who, in turn, gave him an allowance. She used what she needed for the household expenses, but she was saving as much as she could, because Mozasu wanted to be his own boss one day. Each morning, Mozasu rushed to work and stayed as late as he could keep his eyes open; he was happy just to sweep up the cigarette butts or to wash the dirty teacups when Kayoko, the kitchen girl, was busy.
It was a mild morning in March, only a couple of hours after dawn. Mozasu ducked into the back door of the shop and found Goro setting up the pins on his chosen machine. Each day, before the store opened, Goro would gently tap a few straight pins on the vertical pachinko machines with his tiny rubber-coated hammer. He was tapping the pins very, very slightly to alter the course of the metal balls to affect the machine’s payout. You never knew which machine Goro would choose, or which direction Goro would direct the pins. There were other pachinko parlors in the area that had decent businesses, but Goro was the most successful, because he had a kind of touch—a true feel for the pins. The minuscule adjustments he made were sufficiently frustrating to the regular customers who’d studied the machines before closing hours for better payouts in the morning, yet there was just enough predictability to produce attractive windfalls, drawing the customers back to try their luck again and again. Goro was teaching Mozasu how to tap the pins, and for the first time in his life, Mozasu had been told that he was a good student.
“Good morning, Goro-san,” Mozasu said, running into the shop.
“Early again, Mozasu. Good for you. Kayoko has made some chicken rice; you should eat some breakfast. You’re a big kid, but you need to fill out some more. Women like to have something to grab on to!” Goro laughed heartily, raising his eyebrows. “Isn’t that so?”
Mozasu smiled, not minding the teasing. Goro-san talked to him as if Mozasu, too, had many women when in fact, he’d never once been with a girl.
“My mother made soup this morning, so I already ate. Thank you.” Mozasu sat down beside his boss.
“How is your mother?”
“Good, good.”
Despite Noa’s strict disapproval of Mozasu working in a pachinko parlor, Sunja had relented in the end. She had allowed him to work with Goro, a widely respected man in Ikaino. Mozasu had fought against the other schoolboys so often that she’d feared for his safety and let him leave school for good. Mozasu would never finish school, but Noa was still trying to get into Waseda, and this was the family consolation—at least one of the boys would be educated like their father.
“How’s her business? Sugar is an addictive substance. Good for making money, nee?” He laughed while tapping gently at one pin then another.
Mozasu nodded. He was proud of the confectionery stall his mother, aunt, and grandmother ran in the open market by the train station. They wanted to have a proper shop of their own, but they’d have to wait until they had the money to buy the building, because no one would rent good locations to Koreans. Mozasu wanted to make enough money to pay for Noa’s tutoring and to buy his mother a beautiful shop.
Goro handed Mozasu the hammer.
“Try it.”
Mozasu tapped the pins while Goro watched him.
“So, last night, I met my lady friend Miyuki, and we drank too much. Mozasu, don’t be like me and spend all your free time with fast girls,” Goro said, smiling. “Well, unless they are very pretty. Ha.”
“Miyuki-san is pretty,” Mozasu said.
“Soo nee. Beautiful tits and a stomach like a mermaid. Women are so tasty. Like candy! I don’t know how I’ll ever settle down,” Goro said. “Then again, I don’t see why I should. You see, Mozasu, I don’t have a mother or a father anymore, and though this makes me sad, no one cares enough for me to get married and is w
illing to arrange it.” He nodded, not looking at all troubled by this.
“And who were you out with last night?” Goro asked.
Mozasu smiled.
“You know I was here until the closing. Then I went home.”
“So you didn’t even chase Kayoko around the kitchen?”
“No.” Mozasu laughed.
“Ah, yes, I suppose that was me. Poor girl. She is so very ticklish. Not bad looking and will one day have a fine figure, but for now, she is too young. One day, someone will buy her some rouge and powder, and she will leave us. And so this is the way of women.”
Mozasu couldn’t understand why his boss would be interested in the kitchen girl when he regularly escorted actresses and dancers.
“Kayoko is perfectly suitable for tickling, however. She has a cute laugh.” Goro knocked against Mozasu’s knee with his own. “You know, Mozasu, I like having you kids here. It makes this place feel more jolly.” Goro kept Mozasu at the main shop because he had a wonderful energy about him. Goro could now afford to hire enough employees in all his shops. It wasn’t that long ago that, as a new owner, he did the same work Mozasu did. Goro looked up and down at the boy and frowned.
Mozasu looked at his boss, puzzled.
“You wear the same white shirt and black trousers each day. You look clean, but you look like a janitor. You have two shirts and two pairs of trousers. Isn’t that so?” Goro said this kindly.
“Yes, sir.” Mozasu glanced down. His mother had ironed his shirt the night before. He didn’t look bad, but Goro-san was right—he didn’t look important. There was no extra money for clothing. After food, tutoring, and transportation, Uncle Yoseb’s doctor’s bills ate up all their spare cash. He’d been getting worse and remained in bed most of the day.
“You need some more clothes. Let’s go.” Goro shouted, “Kayo-chan, I’m going to go out with Mozasu for a few minutes. Don’t let anyone in. Okay?”
“Yes, sir,” Kayoko shouted from the kitchen.
“But I need to put the trays of balls out and sweep the front. The machines need to be cleaned, and I wanted to help Kayoko with the hand towels—” Mozasu listed his morning duties, but his boss was already at the door.
“Mozasu, come on! I don’t have all day. You can’t look like that anymore!” he shouted, while smiling, not the least bit ruffled by the boy’s confusion.
The woman who answered the small wooden door was surprised to see the tall boy standing by her customer, Goro-san.
Mozasu recognized Haruki’s mother immediately. He’d never been to his friend’s house before but had met her on the street several times, and Haruki had introduced her to him.
“Totoyama-san! Hello.” Mozasu bowed deep from the waist.
“Mozasu-san, hello. Welcome. I’d heard that you were working for Goro-san.”
Goro smiled. “He is a good boy. I’m sorry to come so early, Totoyama-san, but Mozasu needs a few things.”
As Mozasu entered, he was surprised by the smallness of the living quarters. The space was a third the size of his house. It was basically one small room divided by a wall-to-wall screen—the front part held the sewing machine, dressmakers’ dummies, work table, and fabrics. Some sort of sandalwood incense covered the shoyu and mirin smells from cooking. The room was meticulously clean. It was hard to believe that Haruki lived somewhere so cramped with his mother and brother. Seeing this made him miss his friend more. Mozasu had not seen Haruki since he left school and started work.
“Mozasu is going to be my new morning foreman. My youngest one yet.”
“Ehh?” Mozasu said out loud.
“But a foreman cannot look like the boy who cleans the machines and passes out hand towels and cups of tea,” Goro said. “Totoyama-san, please make him two proper jackets and matching trousers.”
Totoyama nodded gravely, unspooling her measuring tape to gauge the size of his shoulders and arms. With a stubby pencil, she took notes on a pad made out of used wrapping paper.
“Mama! Mama! Can I come out now?”
It was the voice of a larger male but with the pleading tone of a small boy.
“Excuse me. My son is curious. We don’t usually have customers so early in the morning.”
Goro-san waved her away, letting her check on her son.
When she left the room, Goro made a sad face. “The boy is—”
Mozasu nodded, because he knew about Haruki’s younger brother. It had been almost six months since he had last seen Haruki, who was still in school. Haruki wanted to become a police officer. Neither had realized that school had made their relationship possible until one of them left; there’d been no chance to see him since Mozasu worked all the time.
The sliding walls between the rooms were made of paper and thin slats of wood, and Goro and Mozasu could hear everything.
“Daisuke-chan, Mama will be right back, nee? I’m in the next room. You can hear me, nee?”
“Mama, is brother back home from school?”
“No, no, Daisuke-chan. Haruki left only an hour ago. We must wait for him patiently. He will not be home until much later. Mama has to make some jackets for Haruki’s good friend. Can you stay here and do your puzzle?”
“Is this Mozasu-san?”
Startled at hearing his name, Mozasu glanced at the closed screen door.
“I want to meet him, Mama. This is the Korean boy. Can I meet him, please? Brother said Mozasu curses. I want to hear that!” Daisuke burst out laughing.
Goro patted Mozasu’s back as if he was trying to assure him somehow. Mozasu could feel Goro’s sympathy and kindness.
“Oh, Mama! Mama! I want to meet the Korean friend. Oh, Mama, please?”
Suddenly, it got quiet, and Totoyama’s voice lowered to a low murmur like a bird cooing. “Daisuke-chan, Daisuke-chan, Daisuke-chan,” she chanted. Haruki’s mother repeated his name until the boy quieted.
“You should stay here and do your puzzle and help Mama. Okay? You are my good child. Haruki will be home in a few hours. He will want to see your progress on your puzzles.”
“Yes, Mama, yes. I will play with my top first. Then I will do my puzzles. Can we have rice today, do you think? If we have customers, can we have rice? Sometimes you buy rice when we have customers. I want a big rice ball, Mama.”
“Later, Daisuke-chan. We will talk later. Daisuke-chan, Daisuke-chan, Daisuke-chan,” she murmured.
Totoyama returned to the room and apologized. Goro said it was nothing. For the first time, Mozasu saw that Goro could look troubled. He smiled a lot at Totoyama, but his downward-sloping eyes showed his anguish at the sight of her stoic yet gentle face.
“Maybe you should make the boy two jackets, two sets of trousers, and a proper winter coat. He is always wearing some shabby thing. I want my customers to see that the employees of my shops are neat and well dressed.”
Goro-san handed her some bills, and Mozasu turned away. He looked for signs of his friend in the tiny room, but there were no photographs, books, or images. There was a portrait-sized mirror on the wall beside the curtained dressing area.
“I will send Kayoko later today so you can make her something that matches Mozasu’s uniform. I think they should wear a striped tie or some striped thing that matches each other. I saw that in a Tokyo parlor last month. She should wear a neat dress with an apron. Maybe the apron could be striped. What do you think? Well, I leave that to you. She should have two or three uniforms made. They should be sturdy.” Goro peeled off some more bills and put them in her hands.
Totoyama bowed and bowed again. “It is too much,” she said, looking at the money.
Goro gestured to Mozasu. “We should go back now. The customers will be itchy to touch their machines!”
“Goro-san, I shall have the jackets and trousers ready by the end of the week. I will work on the coat last. Mozasu-san will come again to try on the jacket, please. Can you come by in three days?”
Mozasu glanced at Goro-san, who nodded firmly.
&
nbsp; “Come along, Mozasu. We mustn’t keep the customers waiting.”
Mozasu followed his boss out the door, unable to find out anything about his friend, who would be suffering through morning classes about now.
Totoyama bowed when they left and remained at the threshold until they turned the corner and could no longer see her. She shut the door tight and locked the door behind her. There would be money for rent and food that month. Totoyama sat down in front of her door and cried from relief.
13
1957
There has to be a way to raise that money,” Kyunghee said.
“We have whatever’s left from the savings for the shop,” Yangjin said.
“It’s mostly gone,” Sunja whispered. Trying to save money while paying medical bills was like pouring oil into a broken jar.
The women were speaking in low voices in the kitchen for fear of waking Yoseb. His latest skin infection made him itch terribly and kept him from resting. He had only just gone to bed after taking a large draft of Chinese medicine. The herbalist had given him a very strong dose this time, and it had worked. After all these years, the women were used to paying a lot for the medications, but this concoction had been shockingly expensive. Regular medicines no longer worked for his ailments, and he continued to suffer a great deal. Mozasu, who gave his full pay envelope each week to his mother, said that whatever they had left after living expenses should go toward the best possible care for Uncle Yoseb. Noa felt the same way. Despite the family’s thrift and diligence, the savings seemed to vanish with each visit to the pharmacy. How would they pay for Waseda?
At last, Noa had passed the entrance exam. This should have been a good day, perhaps the greatest day in the family’s life, but they didn’t know how to pay even a portion of his first tuition bill. Also, the school was in Tokyo, and he would need room and board in the most expensive city in the country.
Noa intended to continue working for Hoji-san up until almost the first day of school, then get a job in Tokyo while going to university. Sunja didn’t know how that could be possible. Koreans didn’t get jobs so easily, and they knew no one in Tokyo. Noa’s boss, Hoji-san, was furious that his best bookkeeper was going to quit working to study something as useless as English literature. Hoji-san would never help Noa get a job in Tokyo.
