Min Lee - Pachinko

The sister kept her head down. She did not want Pastor Yoo to think badly of her. Sunday mornings were very special to her; church was the only place she felt good. She wasn’t doing anything wrong with Yoshikawa-san, but she was certain that his wife didn’t know about these meetings, and often he wanted to hold her hand, and though it didn’t seem harmful, it didn’t seem innocent, either. Not long ago, he’d mentioned that she should accompany him to a marvelous onsen in Kyoto, but she had demurred, saying she had to take care of her brother’s meals.

“We must support our family, this is true,” Yoo prefaced, and the sister appeared visibly relieved, “but we have to be careful of your virtue — it is more valuable than money. Your body is a sacred temple where the Holy Spirit dwells. Your brother’s concern is legitimate. Apart from our faith and speaking practically, if you are to marry, your purity and reputation are important, too. The world judges girls harshly for improprieties — and even accidents. It’s wrong, but it is the way this sinful world works,” Yoo said.

“But he can’t quit school, sir. I promised Mother—” the sister said.

“He’s young. He can go to school at a later time,” Yoo countered, though he knew this was not likely.

At this, the brother perked up; he hadn’t expected this suggestion. He hated school — the Japanese teachers thought he was stupid and the kids taunted him daily for his clothes and accent; the brother planned on making as much money as possible so his sister could quit or work elsewhere and so he could send money to Jeju.

The young woman sobbed.

Yoo swallowed and said calmly, “You’re right, it’d be better if your brother could go to school. Even for a year or two so he could know how to read and write. There’s no better choice than education, of course; our country needs a new generation of educated people to lead us.”

The sister quieted down, thinking the pastor might take her side. It wasn’t that she wanted to continue seeing Yoshikawa, a silly old man who smelled of camphor, but she believed that her being here in Osaka had a noble purpose, that there was a respectable future for them if she worked and her brother went to school.

Isak listened to Yoo in admiration, observing that the senior pastor was an exceptional counselor, at once sympathetic and powerful.

“Yoshikawa-san doesn’t want anything but your company for now, but he may wish for other things later, and you’ll find yourself in his debt. You’ll feel the obligation. You may fear the loss of your job. Then it may be too late. You may think you’re using him, but is that who we are? Shall we exploit because we have been exploited, my dear child?”

Isak nodded in agreement, gratified by the pastor’s compassion and wisdom. He wouldn’t have known what to say.

“Isak, would you bless these children?” Yoo asked, and Isak began to pray for them.

The brother and sister left without argument and, no doubt, would return on Sunday morning to worship.

The sexton, who had disappeared, returned, bringing three large bowls of wheat noodles in a black bean sauce. The three men prayed before eating. They sat on the floor, their legs crossed, their hot lunches on top of the low dining table that Hu had made from abandoned crates. The room was chilly, and it didn’t help that there were no floor cushions. Isak was surprised at himself for noticing this; he’d always believed that he was not the kind of person who cared about such niceties, but it was uncomfortable sitting on a concrete floor.

“Eat, son. Hu is a fine cook. I’d go hungry without him,” Yoo said, and started to eat.

“Will the sister stop seeing him, do you think?” Hu asked Pastor Yoo.

“If the girl gets pregnant, Yoshikawa will throw her away, and then there would be no school for the brother anyway. The manager is just one of those romantic old fools who wants to be with a young girl and to feel like he’s in love. Soon he will need to lie with her, then eventually he will lose interest. Men and women are not very difficult to understand,” Yoo said. “She must stop seeing the manager, and the brother must get a job. She should change her workplace immediately. Together they will make enough money to live and to send to their parents.”

Isak was surprised by the pastor’s change in tone; he sounded cold, almost haughty.

Hu nodded and ate his noodles quietly as if he were ruminating deeply about this.

Yoo turned in Isak’s direction. “I’ve seen this many times. Girls think they’ll have the upper hand because these kinds of men seem so pliable, when in fact, the girls are the ones who end up paying bitterly for their mistakes. The Lord forgives, but the world does not forgive.”

“Yes,” Isak murmured.

“How’s your wife settling in? There’s enough space at your brother’s for you two?”

“Yes. My brother has room. My wife is expecting a baby.”

“So fast! How wonderful,” Yoo said with pleasure.

“That’s wonderful,” Hu said excitedly, sounding young for the first time. Seeing all the small children running about in the back of the sanctuary was Hu’s favorite part of attending services. Before coming to Japan, he’d lived in a large orphanage, and he liked hearing children’s voices.

“Where does your brother live?”

“Only a few minutes from here. I understand that good housing is difficult to find.”

Yoo laughed. “No one will rent to the Koreans. As pastor, you’ll get a chance to see how the Koreans live here. You can’t imagine: a dozen in a room that should be for two, men and families sleeping in shifts. Pigs and chickens inside homes. No running water. No heat. The Japanese think Koreans are filthy, but they have no choice but to live in squalor. I’ve seen aristocrats from Seoul reduced to nothing, with no money for bathhouses, wearing rags for clothing, shoeless, and unable to get work as porters in the markets. There’s nowhere for them to go. Even the ones with work and money can’t find a place to live. Some are squatting illegally.”

“The men who were brought here by Japanese companies — wouldn’t they provide housing?”

“There are camps attached to mines or larger factories in places like Hokkaido, but the camps aren’t for families. The camps are no better; the conditions are deplorable,” Yoo said without emotion. Again, Yoo’s tone sounded unfeeling, and it surprised Isak. When the siblings had been there, Yoo had seemed concerned about their hardship.

“Where do you live?” Isak asked.

“I sleep in the office. In that corner.” Yoo pointed to the area beside the stove. “And Hu sleeps in that corner.”

“There are no pallets or bedding—”

“They’re in the cupboard. Hu makes the beds each night and clears them up in the morning. We could make room for you and your family if you need to stay here. That would be part of your compensation.”

“Thank you, sir. But I think we are all right for now.”

Hu nodded, though he would’ve liked to have had a baby living with them; the church building was too drafty for a child.

“And your meals?”

“Hu fixes our meals on the stove at the back of the house. There’s a sink with running water; the outhouse is by the back. The missionaries put those in, thankfully.”

“You don’t have a family?” Isak asked Yoo.

“My wife passed away two years after we arrived. That was fifteen years ago. We never had children.” Yoo added, “But Hu is a son to me. He is my blessing, and now you’ve arrived to bless us both.”

Hu blushed, pleased by this mention.

“How are you with money?” Yoo asked.

“I meant to speak with you,” Isak said, wondering if he should discuss this in front of Hu, but realizing that Hu had to be present to function as the pastor’s eyes.