Min Lee - Pachinko

“Mother sent me three yen in her last letter. And we have money we brought and Isak’s recent earnings to help. You shouldn’t have to worry about expenses so much or selling kimchi to support two extra mouths — and soon, three,” Sunja said.

“Sunja-ya, you’re being disrespectful. I’m your elder. We can manage just fine. Also, if I can’t talk about my wish to earn money without you jumping in about wanting to contribute, then I can’t talk about my pipe dreams of becoming the kimchi ajumma of Tsuruhashi Station.” Kyunghee laughed. “Be a good little sister and let me dream out loud about my business where I’ll make so much money that I can buy us a castle and send your son to medical school in Tokyo.”

“Do you think housewives would buy another woman’s kimchi?”

“Why not! Don’t you think I make good kimchi? My family cook made the finest pickles in Pyongyang.” Kyunghee lifted her chin, then broke down laughing. She had a joyous laugh. “I’d make a great kimchi ajumma . My pickled cabbage would be clean and delicious.”

“Why can’t you start now? I have enough money to buy cabbage and radish. I can help you make it. If we sell a lot, it would be better for me than working in a factory, because I can watch the baby at home when he’s born.”

“Yes, we would be really good at it, but Yoseb would kill me. He said he’d never have his wife work. Never. And he wouldn’t want you to work, either.”

“But I grew up working with my mother and father. He knows that. My mother served the guests and did all the cooking, and I cleaned and washed—”

“Yoseb is old-fashioned.” Kyunghee sighed. “I married a very good man. It’s my fault. If I had children, I wouldn’t feel so restless. I just don’t want to be so idle. This isn’t Yoseb’s fault. No one works harder than he does. Back in the olden days, a man in his situation could’ve thrown me out for not having a son.” Kyunghee nodded to herself, recalling the numerous stories of barren women that she’d heard as a child, never having considered that such a thing could happen to her. “I’ll listen to my husband. He has always taken such good care of me.”

Sunja could neither agree nor disagree, so she let the statement hang in the air. Her brother-in-law, Yoseb, was in actuality saying that a yangban woman like Kyunghee couldn’t work outside the house; Sunja was an ordinary peasant’s daughter, so working in a market was fine for her. The distinction didn’t trouble Sunja, since she agreed that Kyunghee was a superior person in so many ways. Nevertheless, living with Kyunghee and speaking so truthfully with her about everything, Sunja also knew that her sister-in-law was heartbroken about what she could not have and might have been far happier trying her luck as a kimchi ajumma .

Regardless, it wasn’t her place to say. All this was what her brother-in-law would call “foolish women’s talk.” For Kyunghee’s sake, Sunja brightened up and linked arms with her sister-in-law, who seemed to drag a little. Arm in arm, they went to buy cabbage and daikon.

Kyunghee didn’t recognize the two men at her door, but they knew her name.

The taller one with the pointy face smiled more frequently, but the shorter one had the kinder expression. They were dressed similarly in workmen’s clothing — dark slacks and short-sleeved shirts — but both wore expensive-looking leather shoes. The taller one spoke with a distinct Jeju accent; he dug out a folded sheet of paper from the back pocket of his pants.

“Your husband signed this,” he said, flashing her the formal-looking document. Part of it was written in Korean but much of it was in Japanese and Chinese characters. On the upper right-hand corner, Kyunghee recognized Yoseb’s name and hanko . “He’s late on his payments.”

“I don’t know anything about this. My husband’s at work now.”

Kyunghee thought she might cry and put her hand on the door, hoping the men would leave. “Please come by later when he’s home.”

Sunja stood close by her, her hands resting on her abdomen. The men didn’t look dangerous to Sunja. Physically, they resembled the lodgers back home, but her sister-in-law appeared flustered.

“He’ll be home late tonight. Come back then,” Sunja repeated, but much more loudly than Kyunghee had.

“You’re the sister-in-law, right?” the shorter one said to her. He had dimples when he smiled.

Sunja said nothing, trying not to appear surprised by the fact that he knew who she was.

The taller one continued grinning at Kyunghee. His teeth were large and square and rooted in pale pink gums.

“We’ve already spoken to your husband, but he hasn’t been responsive so we thought we’d drop by and visit with you.” He paused and said her name slowly: “Baek Kyunghee — I had a cousin named Kyunghee. Your tsumei is Bando Kimiko, nee ?” The man placed his wide hand on the door and pressed it in slightly toward her. He glanced at Sunja. “The fact that we’re meeting your sister-in-law just doubles our pleasure. Right?” The men laughed heartily together.

Again, Kyunghee attempted to scan the document held before her. “I don’t understand it,” she said finally.

“This is the important part: Baek Yoseb owes my boss a hundred twenty yen.” He pointed to the number 120 written in kanji in the second paragraph. “Your husband has missed the last two payments. We’re hoping that you’ll get him to make them today.”

“How much are the payments?” Kyunghee asked.

“Eight yen plus interest per week,” the shorter man said; he had a strong accent from the Kyungsangdo region. “Maybe you keep some money at home and can pay us?” he asked. “It comes out to about twenty yen.”

Yoseb had just given her the food money for the next two weeks. She had six yen in her purse. If she gave that to him, they’d have no money for food.

“Is a hundred twenty yen the whole amount?” Sunja asked. The paper didn’t make any sense to her, either.

The short man looked a little worried and shook his head.

“By now, it’s almost double if you include the interest. Why? Do you have the money?”

“As of today, the total would be two hundred thirteen yen,” the taller man said. He’d always been good at doing sums in his head.

“ Uh-muh ,” Kyunghee exclaimed. She closed her eyes and leaned her body against the doorframe.

Sunja stepped forward and said calmly, “We’ll get you the money.” She spoke to them the same way she would’ve spoken to Fatso, the lodger, as to when he could expect his wash to be ready. She didn’t even glance in their direction. “Just come back in three hours. Before it gets dark.”

“We’ll see you later,” the taller one said.

The sisters-in-law walked briskly toward the shopping street near Tsuruhashi Station. They didn’t linger in front of the fabric shop window or pause at the senbei stall; they didn’t greet the friendly vegetable sellers. Rather, their bodies moved in unison toward their destination.

“I don’t want you to do this,” Kyunghee said.

“Father told me about people like this. If the entire debt isn’t paid off immediately, the interest gets higher and higher, and you’ll never be able to pay it all back. Father said that you always end up owing a great deal more than you borrow. Think about it — how did a hundred twenty yen become two hundred thirteen?”

Hoonie Kim had witnessed his neighbors lose everything after borrowing a small amount of money to buy seedlings or equipment; when the moneylenders were through with them, his neighbors would end up giving them all their crops on top of their initial loans. Sunja’s father had loathed moneylenders and had warned her often about the dangers of debt.