Min Lee - Pachinko

Pig squeals came from the house next door with the tar-papered windows.

“Yes, our neighbor raises pigs. They live with her and her children.”

“How many children?”

“Four children and three pigs.”

“All in there?” Isak whispered.

Yoseb nodded, raising his eyebrows.

“It can’t be that expensive to live here,” Isak said. He had planned on renting a house for Sunja, himself, and the baby.

“Tenants pay more than half their earnings on rent. The food prices are much higher than back home.”

Hansu owned many properties in Osaka. How did he do that? she wondered.

The side door that led to the kitchen opened, and Kyunghee looked out. She put down the pail she was carrying by the doorstep.

“What! What are you doing standing outside? Come in, come in! Uh-muh !” Kyunghee cried out loud. She rushed over to Isak and held his face in her hands. “ Uh-muh , I’m so happy. You’re here! Praise God!”

“Amen,” Isak said, letting himself be petted over by Kyunghee, who’d known him since he was an infant.

“The last time I saw you was right before I left home! Go inside the house now!” she ordered Isak playfully, then turned to Sunja.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted a sister. I’ve been so lonely here wanting to talk to a girl!” Kyunghee said. “I was worried that you didn’t make your train. How are you? Are you tired? You must be hungry.”

Kyunghee took Sunja’s hand in hers, and the men followed the women.

Sunja hadn’t expected this warmth. Kyunghee had a remarkably pretty face — eyes shaped and colored like persimmon seeds and a beautiful mouth. She had the complexion of white peonies. She appeared far more appealing and vibrant than Sunja, who was more than a dozen years younger. Her dark, smooth hair was rolled up with a wooden hairpin, and Kyunghee wore a cotton apron over her plain blue Western-style dress. She looked like a wispy schoolgirl more than a thirty-one-year-old housewife.

Kyunghee reached for the brass teakettle resting above the kerosene heater. “Did you get them something to drink or eat at the station?” she asked her husband. She poured tea into four terra-cotta cups.

He laughed. “You said to come home as fast as possible!”

“What a brother you are! Never mind. I’m too happy to nag. You brought them home.” Kyunghee stood close by Sunja and stroked her hair.

The girl had an ordinary, flat face and thin eyes. Her features were small. Sunja was not ugly, but not attractive in any obvious way. Her face and neck were puffy and her ankles heavily swollen. Sunja looked nervous, and Kyunghee felt sorry for her and wanted her to know that she needn’t be anxious. Two long braids hanging down Sunja’s back were bound with thin strips of ordinary hemp. Her stomach was high; and Kyunghee guessed that the child might be a boy.

Kyunghee passed her the tea, and Sunja bowed as she accepted the cup with two shaky hands.

“Are you cold? You’re not wearing much.” Kyunghee put down a floor cushion near the low dining table and made the girl sit there. She wrapped a quilt the color of green apples over Sunja’s lap. Sunja sipped her hot barley tea.

The exterior of the house belied its comfortable interior. Kyunghee, who’d grown up in a household with many servants, had taught herself to keep a clean and inviting house for her and her husband. They owned a six-mat house with three rooms for just the two of them, which was unheard-of in this crowded Korean enclave where ten could sleep in a two-mat room; nevertheless, compared to the grand houses where she and her husband had grown up, their house was absurdly small, not fit for an aging servant. The couple had bought the house from a very poor Japanese widow who had moved to Seoul with her son when Kyunghee arrived to join Yoseb in Osaka. There were many different kinds of Koreans who lived in Ikaino, and they had learned to be wary of the deceitfulness and criminality among them.

“Never lend anyone money,” Yoseb said, looking straight at Isak, who appeared puzzled by this order.

“Can’t we discuss these things after they’ve eaten? They just got here,” Kyunghee pleaded.

“If you have extra money or valuables, let me know. We’ll put it aside. I have a bank account. Everyone who lives here needs money, clothes, rent, and food; there’s very little you can do to fix all of their problems. We’ll give to the church — no different than how we were raised — but the church has to hand things out. You don’t understand what it’s like here. Try to avoid talking to the neighbors, and never ever let anyone in the house,” Yoseb said soberly to Isak and Sunja.

“I expect you to respect these rules, Isak. You’re a generous person, but it can be dangerous for us. If people think we have extra, our house will be robbed. We don’t have a lot, Isak. We have to be very careful, too. Once you start giving, it will never stop. Some people here drink and gamble; the mothers are desperate when the money runs out. I don’t blame them, but we must take care of our parents and Kyunghee’s parents first.”

“He’s saying all this because I got us in trouble,” Kyunghee said.

“What do you mean?” Isak asked.

“I gave food to the neighbors when I first got here, and soon they were asking us every day, and I was giving away our dinners, and they didn’t understand when I had to keep back some food for your brother’s lunch the next day; then one day, they broke into our house and took our last bag of potatoes. They said it wasn’t them, someone they knew—”

“They were hungry,” Isak said, trying to understand.

Yoseb looked angry.

“We’re all hungry. They were stealing. You have to be careful. Just because they’re Korean doesn’t mean they’re our friends. Be extra careful around other Koreans; the bad ones know that the police won’t listen to our complaints. Our house has been broken into twice. Kyunghee has lost her jewelry.” Yoseb stared at Isak again with warning in his eyes.

“And the women are home all day. I never keep money or other valuable things in the house.”

Kyunghee said nothing else. It had never occurred to her that giving up a few meals would lead to her wedding ring and her mother’s jade hairpin and bracelets being stolen. After the house was broken into the second time, Yoseb was angry with her for days.

“I’ll fry the fish now. Why don’t we talk as we eat?” she said, smiling, heading to the tiny kitchen by the back door.

“Sister, may I please help you?” Sunja asked.

Kyunghee nodded and patted her back.

She whispered, “Don’t be afraid of the neighbors. They’re good people. My husband — I mean, your brother-in-law — is right to be cautious. He knows more about these things. He doesn’t want us to mingle with the people who live here, so I don’t. I’ve been so alone. I’m so glad you’re here. And there will be a baby!” Kyunghee’s eyes lit up. “There will be a child in this house, and I’ll be an aunt. What a blessing this is.”

The heartbreak in Kyunghee’s beautiful face was obvious, but her suffering and privation had made her finer in a way. In all these years, there had been no child for them, and Isak had told Sunja that this was all Kyunghee and Yoseb had ever wanted.

The kitchen was no more than a stove, a pair of washtubs, and a workbench that doubled as a cutting board — the space was a fraction of the size of the kitchen in Yeongdo. There was just enough room for the two of them to stand side by side, but they could not move about much. Sunja rolled up her sleeves and washed her hands with the hose in the makeshift sink by the floor. The boiled vegetables had to be dressed, and the fish had to be fried.