Min Lee - Pachinko

Why had he not come sooner? Why had he kept back like a watchful shadow over her life? How many times had he seen her when she had not seen him?

The anger she felt toward him surprised her. “They won’t leave, and I can’t just—”

“You mean your brother-in-law. He might be a fool, but that’s not your problem. The sister-in-law will go if you tell her. This city is made of wood and paper. It’ll take no more than a match for it to incinerate. Imagine what will happen with an American bomb.” He paused. “Your sons will be killed. Is that what you want? I’ve already sent my daughters away a long time ago. A parent must be decisive; a child cannot protect himself.”

She understood then. Hansu was worried about Noa. He had a Japanese wife and three daughters. He had no son.

“How do you know? How do you know what will happen?”

“How did I know that you needed work? How did I know where Noa goes to school, that his math teacher is a Korean who pretends to be Japanese, that your husband died because he didn’t get out of prison in time, and that you’re alone in this world. How did I know how to keep my family safe? It’s my job to know what others don’t. How did you know to make kimchi and sell it on a street corner to earn money? You knew because you wanted to live. I want to live, too, and if I want to live, I have to know things others don’t. Now, I’m telling you something valuable. I’m telling you something so you can save your sons’ lives. Don’t waste this information. The world can go to hell, but you need to protect your sons.”

“My brother-in-law will not abandon his house.”

He laughed. “The house will be a pile of ashes. The Japanese will not give him a sen for his pain when it’s gone.”

“The neighbors said that the war will end soon.”

“The war will end soon, but not the way they think. The wealthy Japanese have already sent their families to the country. They’ve already converted their cash into gold. The rich do not care about politics; they will say anything to save their skin. You’re not rich, but you’re smart, and I’m telling you that you have to leave today.”

“How?”

“Kim will take you, your brother-in-law and sister-in-law, and the boys to a farm outside Osaka prefecture. A sweet-potato farmer owes me a favor. He has a big place, and there’ll be plenty of food there. All of you will have to work for him until the war’s over, but you’ll have a place to sleep and more than enough to eat. Tamaguchi-san has no children; he won’t harm you.”

“Why did you come?” Sunja began to cry.

“It’s not the time to discuss this. Please don’t be a foolish woman. You’re smarter than that. It’s time to take action. The restaurant will be destroyed no different than your house will be,” he said, speaking quickly. “This building is made of wood and a few bricks. Your brother-in-law should sell his house immediately to the next idiot and get out. Or at the very least, he should take his ownership papers with him. Soon, people will be fleeing here like rats, so you have to leave now before it’s too late. The Americans will finish this stupid war. Maybe tonight, maybe in a few weeks, but they’re not going to put up with this nonsense war for very long. The Germans are losing, too.”

Sunja folded her hands together. The war had been going on for so long. Everyone was sick of it. Without the restaurant, the family would have starved even though everyone was working and earning money. Their clothes were threadbare and holey. Cloth, thread, and needles were unavailable. How were Hansu’s shoes so shiny when no one had any shoe polish? She and Kyunghee loathed the neighborhood association’s endless meetings, yet if they didn’t go, the leaders would take it out on their rations. The latest military drills had become ludicrous — on Sunday mornings, grandmothers and little children were required to practice spearing the enemy with sharpened bamboo spears. They said American soldiers raped women and girls and that it would be better to kill yourself than to surrender to such barbarians. Back in the restaurant office, there was a cache of bamboo spears for the workers and the customers in case the Americans landed. Kim kept two hunting knives in his desk drawer.

“Can I go back home? To Busan?”

“There’s nothing to eat there, and it isn’t safe for you. Women are being taken away from smaller villages in greater numbers.”

Sunja looked puzzled.

“I’ve told you this before: Never listen to anyone who tells you there’s good factory work in China or any of the other colonies. Those jobs don’t exist. Do you understand me?” His expression grew severe.

“Is my mother all right?”

“She’s not young so they won’t take her. I’ll try to find out.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Worried about her boys, Sunja hadn’t paid enough attention to her mother’s welfare. In Yangjin’s sparse letters, written for her by a harried schoolteacher, she’d say that she was fine, expressing more concern for Sunja and the boys than for herself. Sunja hadn’t seen her mother in as many years as she had not seen Hansu.

“Can you be ready to go tonight?”

“Why would my brother-in-law listen to me? How can I possibly explain—”

“Tell him that Kim told you that you must leave today. He’s talking to your sister-in-law now. Tell him that he learned this privileged information from his boss. I can send Kim to speak to him at your house.”

Sunja said nothing. She didn’t believe that anyone could convince Yoseb to leave.

“There should be no hesitation. The boys have to be protected.”

“But Sister will—”

“So what about her? Listen to me. Choose your sons over everyone else. Don’t you know this by now?”

She nodded.

“Bring everyone here at dusk. Kim will keep the restaurant open. No one should know where you’re going. You want to get out of here before everyone else tries to as well.” Hansu got up and looked at her soberly. “Leave the others if you have to.”

1945

On the day that Hansu told her to take the boys to the country, Yoseb got a job offer. Earlier that afternoon, a friend of a friend had stopped by Yoseb’s biscuit factory and told him of the position: A steel factory in Nagasaki needed a foreman to manage its Korean workers. There would be a housing camp for men, including room and board, but Yoseb couldn’t bring his family. The pay was almost triple his current salary. The family would be separated for a while. When Yoseb came home, excited about the offer, Kyunghee and Sunja had news of their own. Hansu’s hand was in everything, but what could Sunja say?

At dusk, Kim moved the women and boys to Tamaguchi’s farm. The next morning, Yoseb quit his job at the factory, packed one bag, and locked up the house. That afternoon, Yoseb headed to Nagasaki, recalling the time he left Pyongyang for Osaka — the last time he’d left on a journey by himself.

Short months passed before the bombings started, but once they began, the bombing continued through the summer. Hansu was wrong about the timing, but he was right that the neighborhood would turn to ashes.

Tamaguchi, a fifty-eight-year-old sweet-potato farmer, did not mind having the extra pairs of hands. His regular workers and seasonal ones had been conscripted years ago, and there were no able-bodied men to replace them. Several of his former workers had already died in Manchuria, with two badly disabled in battle, and there had been scant news of the others sent to Singapore and the Philippines. Each morning, as Tamaguchi rose from his futon, he suffered from the routine aches that accompanied aging; however, he was relieved to be old, since he would not have to fight the stupid war. The shortage of men impaired his ambitions for his farm, especially at a time when there was a growing demand for potatoes. Tamaguchi could command any illegal price he wanted, it seemed, and now that he had tasted wealth, so much so that he’d been forced to hide troves of treasure in various parts of the farm, he was willing to do whatever it took to squeeze every golden drop from this national calamity.