Min Lee - Pachinko

“You have the kindest father in the land,” her mother would often remark, and Sunja had been proud of his love for them, the way a child from a rich family might have been proud of her father’s numerous bags of rice and piles of gold rings.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t stop thinking of Hansu. Whenever she’d met him at the cove, the cloudless sky and jade-colored water would recede from her sight, leaving only the images of him, and she used to wonder how their time together could vanish so quickly. What amusing story would he tell her? What could she do to make him stay even a few minutes longer?

So when he would tuck her in between two sheltering boulders and untie the long sash of her blouse, she let him do what he wanted even though the cold air cut her. She’d dissolve herself into his warm mouth and skin. When he slid his hands below her long skirt and lifted her bottom to him, she understood that this was what a man wanted from his woman. Lovemaking would make her feel alert; her body seemed to want this touch; and her lower parts accommodated the pressure of him. Sunja had believed that he would do what was good for her.

Sometimes, she imagined that if she carried the load of wash on her head and walked to the beach, he’d be waiting for her on that steep rock by the clear water, his open newspaper flapping noisily in the breeze. He’d lift the bundle from her head, tug at her braid gently, and say, “My girl, where were you? Do you know I would have waited for you until the morning.” Last week, she’d felt the call of him so strongly that she made an excuse one afternoon and ran to the cove, and of course, it had been in vain. The chalk-marked rock they used to leave behind like a message was no longer in its crevice, and she was bereft because she would have liked to have drawn an X and left it in the hollow of the rocks to show him that she had come back and waited for him.

He had cared for her; those feelings were true. He had not been lying, she thought, but it was little consolation. Sunja opened her eyes suddenly when she heard the servant girls laughing in the kitchen, then quieting down. There was no sound of her mother. Sunja shifted her body away from the door to face the interior wall and placed her hand on her cheek to imitate his caress. Whenever he saw her, he would touch her constantly, like he could not help from doing so; after making love, his finger traced the curve of her face from her small, round chin to the bend of her ears to the expanse of her pale brow. Why had she never touched him that way? She’d never touched him first; it was he who’d reached for her. She wanted to touch his face now — to memorize the continuous line of his bones.

In the morning, Isak put on his navy woolen sweater over his warmest undershirt and dress shirt and sat on the floor of the front room using a low dining table as his desk. The lodgers had left already, and the house was quiet except for the sounds of the women working. Isak’s Bible lay open on the table; Isak had not begun his morning studies, because he couldn’t concentrate. In the small foyer by the front room, Yangjin tended to the brazier filled with hot coals. He wanted to speak to her, yet feeling shy, Isak waited. Yangjin stirred the coals using a crude poker, observing the glowing embers.

“Are you warm enough? I’ll put this by you.” Yangjin got on her knees and pushed the brazier to where he was seated.

“Let me help you,” Isak said, getting up.

“No, stay where you are. You just slide it.” This was how her husband, Hoonie, used to move the brazier.

As she moved closer, he looked around to see if the others could hear.

“ Ajumoni ,” Isak whispered, “do you think she would have me as a husband? If I asked her?”

Yangjin’s crinkled eyes widened, and she dropped the poker, making a clanging sound. She picked up the metal stick quickly and laid it down with care as if to correct her earlier movement. She slumped beside him, closer than she’d ever sat next to another man except for her husband and father.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Why? Why would you do this?”

“If I had a wife, my life would be better in Osaka, I think. I’ve written my brother already. I know he and his wife would welcome her.”

“And your parents?”

“They’ve wanted me to marry for years. I’ve always said no.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve always been ill. I feel well now, but it’s not possible to know how and when I might die. Sunja knows this already. None of this would be a surprise.”

“But, you know that she is—”

“Yes. And it is also likely that I’ll make her a young widow. And you know that’s not easy, but I would be the father. Until I die.”

Yangjin said nothing; she was a young widow herself. Her husband was an honest man who had made the best of a difficult birth. When he died, she knew that he had been a very special man. She wished he were here to tell her what to do.

“I didn’t mean to trouble you,” Isak said, seeing the shock in her face. “I thought it might be something she could want. For the child’s future. Do you think she’d agree? Perhaps she intends to stay here with you. Would that be better for her and the child?”

“No, no. Of course it would be far better for them if she went away,” Yangjin replied, knowing the hard truth. “The child would have a terrible life here. You’d be saving my daughter’s life as well. If you would take care of my daughter, I’d gladly pay you with my life, sir. I’d pay twice if I could.” She bowed low, her head almost touching the yellow floor, and wiped her eyes.

“No, you mustn’t say that. You and your daughter have been angels.”

“I’ll speak to her right away, sir. She’ll be grateful.”

Isak got quiet. He wanted to know how to say this next thing properly.

“I don’t want that,” he said, feeling embarrassed. “I’d like to ask her, to ask her about her heart. I’d like to know if she could love me one day.” Isak felt embarrassed, because it had occurred to him that, like an ordinary man, he wanted a wife who’d love him, not just feel indebted to him.

“What do you think?”

“You should speak to her.” How could Sunja not care for a man like this?

Isak whispered, “She’s not getting a good bargain. I may fall ill again soon. But I’d try to be a decent husband. And I would love the child. He would be mine, too.” Isak felt happy thinking of living long enough to raise a child.

“Please walk with her tomorrow. You can speak to her about all these things.”

Her mother told her Baek Isak’s intentions, and Sunja prepared herself to be his wife. If Baek Isak married her, a painful sentence would be lifted from her mother, the boardinghouse, herself, and the child. An honorable man from a good family would give the child his name. Sunja couldn’t comprehend his reasons. Her mother had tried to explain, but neither thought what they’d done for him was so unusual. They would have done it for any lodger, and he had even paid his fees on time. “No normal man would want to raise another man’s child unless he was an angel or a fool,” her mother said.

He didn’t seem like a fool. Perhaps he needed a housekeeper, yet that didn’t seem like him. As soon as the pastor had been feeling better, and even when he wasn’t entirely well, he’d carried his finished meal trays to the threshold of the kitchen. In the mornings, he shook out his own bedding and put away the pallet. He did more to care for himself than any of the lodgers. She’d never imagined an educated man from an upper-class family who’d grown up in a household with servants would ever do these things.

Sunja put on her thick coat. She wore straw sandals over two pairs of white cotton socks and waited by the door outside. The air was frigid and misty. In a month or so, it would be spring, but it felt like deep winter still. Her mother had asked the pastor to meet her outside, not wanting the servants to see the two together.