Min Lee - Pachinko

Isak woke up. He saw Sunja wearing farmer pants and walking away from him. He called out to her, “ Yobo ,” but she didn’t turn around. He felt like he didn’t know how to raise his voice. It was as if his voice was dying while his mind was alive.

“ Yobo ,” Isak mumbled, and he reached for her, but she was almost in the kitchen already. He was in Yoseb’s house in Osaka. This had to be true because he was, in fact, waking from a dream where he was a boy. In the dream, Isak had been sitting on a low bough of the chestnut tree in his childhood garden; the scent of the chestnut blossoms still lingered in his nose. It was like many of the dreams he’d had in prison where, while he dreamed, he was aware that the dream itself wasn’t real. In real life, he’d never been on a tree. When he was young, the family gardener would prop him below that very tree to get some fresh air, but he’d never been strong enough to climb it the way Yoseb could. The gardener used to call Yoseb “Monkey.” In the dream, Isak was hugging the thick branches tightly, unable to break from the embrace of the dark green foliage, the clusters of white blossoms with their dark pink hearts. From the house, cheerful voices of the women called to him. He wanted to see his old nursemaid and his sister, though they had died years ago; in the dream, they were laughing like girls.

“ Yobo —”

“ Uh-muh .” She put down the washbasin at the threshold of the kitchen and rushed back to him. “Are you all right? Can I get you something?”

“My wife,” he said slowly. “How have you been?” Isak felt drowsy and uncertain, but relieved. Sunja’s face was different than he remembered — a little older, more weary. “How you must’ve struggled here. I am so sorry.”

“Shhh — you must rest,” she said.

“Noa.” He said the boy’s name like he remembered something good. “Where is he? He was here before.”

“He went to fetch the pharmacist.”

“He looks so healthy. And bright.” It was hard to get the words out, but his mind felt clear suddenly, and he wanted to tell her the things he’d been saving up for her.

“You’re working at a restaurant now? Are you cooking there?” Isak began to cough and couldn’t stop. Pindots of blood splattered on her blouse, and she wiped his mouth with a towel.

When he tried to sit up, she placed her left hand beneath his head and her right over his chest to calm him, fearful that he might hurt himself. The coughs wracked his body. His skin felt hot even through the blankets.

“Please rest. Later. We can talk later.”

He shook his head.

“No, no. I–I want to tell you something.”

Sunja rested her hands on her lap.

“My life wasn’t important,” he said, trying to read her eyes, so full of anguish and exhaustion. He needed her to understand that he was thankful to her — for waiting for him, for taking care of the family. It humbled him to think of her laboring and earning money for their family when he wasn’t able to support them. Money must’ve been very hard with him gone and with inflation from the war. The prison guards had complained incessantly of the prices of things — no one had enough to eat, they said. Quit complaining about the bugs in the gruel. Isak had prayed constantly for his family’s provision. “I brought you here and made your life more difficult.”

She smiled at him, not knowing how to say— you saved me . Instead, she said, “You must get well.” Sunja covered him with a thicker blanket; his body was burning hot, but he shivered. “For the boys, please get well.” How can I raise them without you?

“Mozasu — where is he?”

“At the restaurant with Sister. Our boss lets him stay there while we work.”

Isak looked alert and attentive, as if all his pain had vanished; he wanted to know more about his boys.

“Mozasu,” Isak said, smiling. “Mozasu. He saved his people from slavery—” Isak’s head throbbed so intensely that he had to close his eyes again. He wanted to see his two sons grow up, finish school, and get married. Isak had never wanted to live so much, and now, just when he wanted to live until he was very old, he’d been sent home to die. “I have two sons,” he said. “I have two sons. Noa and Mozasu. May the Lord bless my sons.”

Sunja watched him carefully. His face looked strange, yet peaceful. Not knowing what else to do, she kept talking.

“Mozasu is becoming a big boy — always happy and friendly. He has a wonderful laugh. He runs everywhere. So fast!” She pumped her arms to imitate the toddler’s running, and she found herself laughing, and he laughed, too. It occurred to her then that there was only one other person in the world who’d want to hear about Mozasu growing up so well, and until now, she’d forgotten that she could express a prideful joy in her boys. Even when her brother- and sister-in-law were pleased with the children, she couldn’t ignore their sadness at their lack; sometimes, she wanted to hide her delight from them for fear that it could be seen as a kind of boasting. Back home, having two healthy and good sons was tantamount to having vast riches. She had no home, no money, but she had Noa and Mozasu.

Isak’s eyes opened, and he looked at the ceiling. “I can’t go until I see them, Lord. Until I see my children to bless them. Lord, let me not go—”

Sunja bowed her head, and she prayed, too.

Isak closed his eyes again, his shoulders twitching in pain.

Sunja placed her right hand on his chest to check his faint breathing.

The door opened, and as expected, Noa had returned home alone. The pharmacist couldn’t come now but promised to come later tonight. The boy returned to his spot by Isak’s feet and did his sums while his father slept. Noa wanted to show Isak his schoolwork; even Hoshii-sensei, the hardest teacher in his grade, told Noa that he was good at writing his letters and that he should work hard to improve his illiterate race: “One industrious Korean can inspire ten thousand to reject their lazy nature!”

Isak continued to sleep, and Noa concentrated on his work.

Later, when Kyunghee arrived home with Mozasu, the house felt lively for the first time since Isak’s arrest. Isak woke briefly to see Mozasu, who didn’t cry at the sight of the skeletal man. Mozasu called him “Papa” and patted his face with both hands, the way he did when he liked someone. With his white, chubby hands, Mozasu made little pats on Isak’s sunken cheeks. The toddler sat still in front of him briefly, but as soon as Isak closed his eyes, Kyunghee removed him, not wanting the baby to get sick.

When Yoseb returned home, the house grew somber again, because Yoseb wouldn’t ignore the obvious.

“How could they?” Yoseb said, staring hard at Isak’s body.

“My boy, couldn’t you just tell them what they wanted to hear? Couldn’t you just say you worshipped the Emperor even if it isn’t true? Don’t you know that the most important thing is to stay alive?”

Isak opened his eyes but said nothing and closed his eyes again. His eyelids felt so heavy that it was painful to keep them open. He wanted to speak with Yoseb, but the words would not come out.

Kyunghee brought her husband a pair of scissors, a long razor blade, a cup of oil, and a basin of vinegar.

“The nits and lice won’t die. He should be shaved. It must be so itchy for him,” she said, her eyes wet.

Grateful to his wife for giving him something to do, Yoseb rolled up his sleeves, then poured the cup of oil over Isak’s head, massaging it into his scalp.

“Isak-ah, don’t move,” Yoseb said, trying to keep his voice normal. “I’m going to get rid of all these itchy bastards.”