Min Lee - Pachinko

Kyunghee bowed politely to the men, and Sunja retreated into the corner of the shop.

“How can we help you today, Boku-san?” Tanaka-san asked.

Even after two months, it still surprised Sunja to hear her husband’s family name pronounced in its Japanese form. Due to the colonial government’s requirements, it was normal for Koreans to have at least two or three names, but back home she’d had little use for the Japanese tsumei —Junko Kaneda — written on her identity papers, because Sunja didn’t go to school and had nothing to do with official business. Sunja was born a Kim, yet in Japan, where women went by their husband’s family name, she was Sunja Baek, which was translated into Sunja Boku, and on her identity papers, her tsumei was now Junko Bando. When the Koreans had to choose a Japanese surname, Isak’s father had chosen Bando because it had sounded like the Korean word ban-deh , meaning objection, making their compulsory Japanese name a kind of joke. Kyunghee had assured her that all these names would become normal soon enough.

“What will you be cooking today, Boku-san?” the young owner asked.

“May I please have shinbones and a bit of meat? I’m making soup,” Kyunghee said in her radio announcer — style Japanese; she regularly listened to Japanese programs to improve her accent.

“Right away.” Tanaka grabbed three large hunks of shinbone from the stock of beef bones and oxtails he kept in the ice chest for Korean customers; Japanese did not have any use for bones. He wrapped up a handful of stew meat. “Will that be all?”

She nodded.

“Thirty-six sen, please.”

Kyunghee opened her coin purse. Two yen and sixty sen had to last her for eight more days until Yoseb gave her his pay envelope.

“ Sumimasen desu , how much would it be for just the bones?”

“Ten sen.”

“Please pardon my error. Today, I’ll take only the bones. Meat another time, I promise.”

“Of course.” Tanaka returned the meat to the case. It wasn’t the first time a customer didn’t have enough money to pay for food, but unlike his other customers, the Koreans didn’t ask him for credit, not that he would have agreed to it.

“You’re making a broth?” Tanaka wondered what it might be like to have such an elegant wife worrying about his meals and being thrifty with her pin money. He was the first son, and although he was eager to be married, he lived with his mother as a bachelor. “What kind?”

“ Seolleongtang .” She looked at him quizzically, wondering if he knew what that was.

“And how do you make this soup?” Tanaka folded his arms leisurely and leaned into the counter, looking carefully into Kyunghee’s lovely face. She had beautiful, even teeth, he thought.

“First, you wash the bones very carefully in cold water. Then you boil the bones and throw that first batch of water out because it will have all the blood and dirt that you don’t want in your broth. Then you boil it again with clean, cold water, then simmer it for a long, long time until the broth is white like tofu, then you add daikon, chopped scallions, and salt. It’s delicious and very good for your health.”

“It would be better to have some meat with it, I would imagine.”

“And white rice and noodles! Why not?” Kyunghee laughed, her hand raised reflexively to cover her teeth.

Both men laughed with pleasure, understanding her joke, since rice was costly even for them.

“And do you eat kimchi with that?” Tanaka asked, never having had such a long conversation with Kyunghee. It felt safe for him to talk with her with his assistant and her sister-in-law present. “Kimchi is a bit spicy for me, yet I think it’s nice with grilled chicken or grilled pork.”

“Kimchi is delicious with every meal. I will bring you some from our house next time.”

Tanaka reopened the paper packet of bones and put back half of the meat he’d just returned to the case.

“It’s not much. Just enough for the baby.” Tanaka smiled at Sunja, who was surprised that the butcher had noticed her. “A mother must eat well if she’s to raise a strong worker for the Emperor.”

“I couldn’t take anything for free,” Kyunghee said, perplexed. She didn’t know what he was doing exactly, but she really couldn’t afford the meat today.

Sunja was confused by their conversation. They were saying something about kimchi.

“This is the first sale of the day. Sharing will bring me luck,” Tanaka said, feeling puffed up like any man who could give something worthwhile to an attractive woman whenever he pleased.

Kyunghee placed the ten sen on the spotless money dish resting on the counter, smiled, and bowed to both men before she left.

Outside the shop, Sunja asked what happened.

“He didn’t charge us for the meat. I didn’t know how to make him take it back.”

“He likes you. It was a present.” Sunja giggled, feeling like Dokhee, the younger servant girl back home, who’d joke about men whenever she had the chance. Though she thought of her mother often, it had been a while since she’d thought about the sisters back home. “I’ll call Tanaka-san your boyfriend from now on.”

Kyunghee swatted playfully at Sunja, shaking her head.

“He said it’s for your baby, so he can grow up to be a good worker for the country.” Kyunghee made a face. “And Tanaka-san knows I’m Korean.”

“Since when do men care about such things? Mrs. Kim next door told me about the quiet lady who lives at the end of the road who’s Japanese and married to the Korean who brews alcohol in his house. Their kids are half Japanese!” This had shocked Sunja when she’d first heard of it, though everything Mrs. Kim, the lady who raised pigs, told her was shocking. Yoseb didn’t want Kyunghee and Sunja to speak with Mrs. Kim, who also didn’t go to church on Sundays. They weren’t allowed to speak to the Japanese wife, either, because her husband was routinely sent to jail for his bootlegging.

“If you run away with the nice butcher, I’ll miss you,” Sunja said.

“Even if I weren’t married, I would not choose that man. He smiles too much.” Kyunghee winked at her. “I like my cranky husband who’s always telling me what to do and worries about everything.

“Come on, we have to buy vegetables now. That’s why I didn’t buy the meat. We should try to find some potatoes to roast. Wouldn’t that be good for our lunch?”

“Sister—”

“Yes?” Kyunghee said.

“We’re not contributing to the house. The groceries, fuel, sento fees — I’ve never seen such prices in my life. Back home, we had a garden, and we never paid for vegetables. And the price of fish! My mother would never eat it again if she knew the cost. Back home, we scrimped, but I didn’t realize how easy we had it — we got free fish from the guests, and here, an apple costs more than beef ribs in Busan. Mother was careful with money, the way you are, but even she couldn’t have made the kinds of delicious things you make on a budget. Isak and I think you should take the money he makes to help with the food budget at least.”

The fact that Sister and Brother wouldn’t allow Isak and her to pay for a single thing was difficult to accept, and it wasn’t as if they could afford to rent a place separately. Besides, even if they could have afforded to do so, it would have hurt Sister’s feelings deeply for Isak and Sunja to move out.

“I’m sure you ate much better and more filling things back home,” Kyunghee said, appearing sad.

“No, no. That’s not what I meant. We just feel terrible that you won’t let us contribute to the enormous expenses.”

“Yoseb and I won’t allow it. You should be saving money for the baby. We’ll have to get clothes for him and diapers, and one day he’ll go to school and become a gentleman. Won’t that be something? I hope he’ll like school like his father and not dodge books like his uncle!” The thought of a baby living with them made Kyunghee smile. This child felt like an answer to her prayers.