Min Lee - Pachinko

“Your grandmother and great-aunt like Phoebe. They want you to get married.”

“Yes, I heard that. Five minutes ago.”

Mozasu faced his son. “Does Phoebe want to live in Japan?”

“Not sure. She hates that she doesn’t know Japanese.”

“She can learn.”

Solomon looked doubtful. “She wants to work. It’s not easy to get your career going straight out of college in Japan. And she doesn’t have the language skills. Staying home is not good for Phoebe.”

Mozasu nodded. Solomon’s mother had been the same way.

“You okay with money?”

“Yes, Dad,” he replied, almost amused by his father’s concern, “I have a good job now. Hey, Dad, do you know an older lady named Sonoko Matsuda? She owns an old textile factory in Yokohama. Not far from Goro-san’s place.”

“No.” Mozasu shook his head. “Why?”

“Kazu, my boss, is trying to finalize this real estate transaction, and the lady, Matsuda-san, won’t sell her property. It’s holding up the deal. I thought maybe you might know someone. You know a lot of people in Yokohama, I mean.”

“I don’t know her, but sure, I can find out. That’s not hard,” he said. “Your boss wants the lady to sell?”

“Yeah. Her lot is the last important piece for the golf course development.”

“Huh, okay. That sort of thing does happen. I’ll ask Goro-san or Haruki. One of them will know. Goro just sold his last pachinko parlor. Now he’s only doing demolition, construction, and real estate. He wants me to go in with him, but I’m too busy. It’s too late for me to start something new. I don’t understand his business as well as pachinko.”

“Why don’t you sell the shops, too, Dad? Retire maybe. You’re set, right? Pachinko is a lot of work.”

“What? Quit the business? Pachinko put food on the table and sent you to school. I’m too young to retire!”

He shrugged.

“And what would happen if I sell my stores? They might fire my workers. And where would my older workers go? And we give work to the people who make the machines. Pachinko’s a bigger business in Japan than car manufacturing.”

Mozasu stopped talking and raised the volume on the news. The newscasters were now talking about the value of the yen.

Solomon nodded and stared at the screen, trying to pay attention to the currency news. His father didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed by what he did for a living.

Mozasu caught a glimpse of his son’s darkened expression.

“I’ll call Goro tonight and ask about the lady. Your boss wants her to sell, right?”

“That would be great. Thanks, Dad.”

On Monday afternoon, Mozasu called Solomon at the office. He had spoken to Goro-san. The old lady was Korean — an old-school Chongryon type whose children had returned to Pyongyang and died there; Matsuda was her tsumei . She didn’t want to sell the property to the Japanese. Goro-san thought the old lady was being stubborn; he said he could buy the property from the lady, because she said he’d sell it to her. Then he’d sell it to Kazu’s client for the same price.

After Solomon got off the phone, he rushed to Kazu’s office to tell him the good news.

Kazu listened carefully, then folded his hands together and smiled.

“Excellent work, Jedi. I can always spot a winner.”

Tokyo, 1989

Even in her condition, Hana could not keep from flirting.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she said. “I look ugly. I wanted to be beautiful when you saw me again.”

“I wanted to see you,” Solomon replied. “And you are lovely, Hana. That will never change.” He smiled, suppressing his shock at her altered appearance. Etsuko had warned him, but still, it was difficult to recognize her original features beneath the reddish scabs and sparse hair. The skeleton of her body made a distinct impression through the thin blue hospital sheet.

“Mama said you brought the girlfriend-o all the way to Tokyo,” Hana said. Only her voice had not changed. It was difficult to know if she was teasing or not. “And I thought you were coming back to me. You will marry her, nee ? Of course, I will try to forgive you because I know you loved me first.”

With the curtain drawn, the ceiling lamp off, and only the light coming from the low-wattage electric bulb by her bedside, the room at the clinic was dark like night even though it was sunny outside.

“When are you going to get better?” he asked.

“Come here, Solomon.” Hana raised her right arm, stick thin and chalky. She waved it like an elegant wand of death. “I have missed you so much. If I’d never left you that summer…Well, I would have made you marry me. I would have ruined you, though — I ruin everything. I ruin everything.”

Solomon sat on the hard chair by her bed. None of the medications was working, Etsuko had told him. The doctors said there were only a few weeks or perhaps two months left at best. Dark lesions covered her neck and shoulders. Her left hand was unblemished, but her right was dry like her face. Her physical beauty had once been so extraordinary that it seemed to him that her current state was particularly cruel.

“Hana-chan, why can’t you go to America to see the doctors there? There have been so many advances in the States. I know things are much better there for this—” He didn’t want to play this stupid game where they wouldn’t talk about what was real. Just hearing her voice and sitting in her room where she couldn’t float away from him reminded him of everything magical and shining about her. He had been in her thrall, and oddly, even now, he felt so many things. He could not imagine her dying. He wanted to pick her up and spirit her away to New York. In America, everything seemed fixable, and in Japan, difficult problems were to be endured. Sho ga nai, sho ga nai . How many times had he heard these words? It cannot be helped. His mother had apparently hated that expression, and suddenly he understood her rage against this cultural resignation that violated her beliefs and wishes.

“Oh, Solomon. I don’t want to go to America.” Hana exhaled loudly. “I don’t want to live. I’m ready to die. You know? Do you ever want to die, Solomon? I’ve wanted to die for so many years, but I was too cowardly to say it or to do anything to make my wish come true. Maybe you could have saved me, but you know, even wonderful you, even you, my Solomon, I don’t think so. Everyone wants to die sometimes, nee ?”

“That spring. When you left. I wanted to die.” Solomon grew quiet, never having admitted this to anyone. Sometimes he’d forget about that time, but being with her made the memory sharp and mean.

Hana frowned and began to cry.

“If I had stayed, we would’ve loved each other too much, and I felt certain that I would hurt you. You see, I’m not a good person, and you are a good person. You shouldn’t be with me. It’s simple. Mama said you got tested in America for your life insurance and that you are okay. I’m grateful for this. You’re the only person I have never ever wanted to hurt. And Mama told me that your girlfriend-o is a nice girl and educated like you. I don’t want to know if she is pretty. Tell me she’s hideous but has a good soul. I do know that she is a Korean girl. Tsugoi , Solomon. How amazing. You should marry her. Maybe people should marry from the same background. Maybe life is easier then. I am going to imagine you having three or four beautiful Korean children — with lovely Korean skin and hair. You have such wonderful hair, Solomon. I would have liked to have met your mother. Name one of your little girls after me, nee ? Because you see, I will not have any. Promise me you will love little Hana, and you will think of me.”