Min Lee - Pachinko

Sunja didn’t know what she was supposed to do anymore. It wasn’t that she was ungrateful. Mostly, she felt ashamed of her life, her powerlessness. With her sun-browned hands and dirty fingernails, she touched her uncombed hair. She didn’t want him to see her this way. It occurred to her that she would never be lovely again.

“I brought some newspapers. Have someone read them to you. The stories are the same — you can’t go back now. It would be terrible for the boys.”

Sunja faced him.

“That’s how you got me to come here, and now that’s how you’re trying to get me to stay in Japan. You’d said it would be better for the boys so I brought them to the farm.”

“I wasn’t wrong.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“You are trying to hurt me, Sunja. That makes no sense.” He shook his head. “Remember, your husband would have wanted the boys to go to school. I also want what’s best for the boys and for you, Sunja. You and I — we’re good friends,” he said calmly. “We will always be good friends. We will always have Noa.”

He waited to see if she would say anything, but it was as if her face had closed like a door. “And your brother-in-law knows. About Noa. I didn’t tell him. He figured it out.”

Sunja covered her mouth with her hand.

“You needn’t worry. Everything will be fine. If you want to move back to Osaka, Kim will make the arrangements. Refusing my help would be selfish. You should give your sons every advantage. I can give both your sons many advantages.”

Before she could speak, Kim had returned to the barn. He walked past the boys, who were still absorbed in their books.

“Boss,” Kim said. “It’s good to see you. Can I get you something to drink?”

Hansu said no.

Sunja realized she’d failed to offer him anything.

“So, are you ready to return to Osaka?” Hansu asked Kim.

“Yes, sir,” Kim said, smiling. Sunja appeared distressed, but he said nothing to her for now.

“Boys,” Hansu shouted across the length of the barn, “how are the books?”

Kim waved at them to come closer, and the boys ran to him.

“Noa, do you want to go back to school?” Hansu asked.

“Yes, sir. But—”

“If you want to go back to school, you need to go back to Osaka right away.”

“How about the farm? And Korea?” Noa asked, straightening his back.

“You can’t go back to Korea for a while, but in the meantime, you can’t let your head become empty,” Hansu said, smiling. “What do you think of those exam books I brought you? Are they difficult?”

“Yes, sir, but I want to learn them. I need a dictionary, I think.”

“We’ll get you one,” Hansu said proudly. “You study, and I will send you to school. A boy shouldn’t have to worry about school fees. It’s important that older Koreans support young Koreans in their studies. How else will we have a great nation unless we support our children?”

Noa beamed, and Sunja could not say anything.

“But I want to stay at the farm,” Mozasu interrupted. “That’s not fair. I don’t want to go back to school. I hate school.”

Hansu and Kim laughed.

Noa pulled Mozasu toward him and bowed. They headed to the other side of the barn.

When they were far enough away from the grown-ups, Mozasu said to Noa, “Tamaguchi-san said we could live here forever. He said we were like his sons.”

“Mozasu, we can’t keep living in this barn.”

“I like the chickens. I didn’t get pecked even once this morning when I got the eggs. The barn is nice to sleep in, especially since Aunt Kyunghee made us those hay blankets.”

“Well, you’ll feel differently when you get older,” Noa said, cradling the thick volumes of the examination books in his arms. “ Appa would’ve wanted us to go to university and become educated people.”

“I hate books,” Mozasu said, scowling.

“I love them. I could read books all day and do nothing else. Appa loved to read, too.”

Mozasu plowed into Noa in an attempt to wrestle him, and Noa laughed.

“Brother, what was appa like?” Mozasu sat up and looked at his brother soberly.

“He was tall. And he had light-colored skin like you. He wore glasses like me. He was very good at school and good at teaching himself things from books. He loved learning. He was happy when he was reading; he told me so.”

Noa smiled.

“Like you,” Mozasu said. “Not like me. Well, I like manga.”

“That’s not real reading.”

Mozasu shrugged.

“He was always nice to umma and me. He used to tease Uncle Yoseb and make him laugh. Appa taught me how to write my letters and remember the multiplication tables. I was the first one in school to know them by heart.”

“Was he rich?”

“No. Ministers can’t be rich.”

“I want to be rich,” Mozasu said. “I want to have a big truck and a driver.”

“I thought you wanted to live in a barn,” Noa said, smiling, “and collect chicken eggs every morning.”

“I’d rather have a truck like Hansu ajeossi .”

“I’d rather be an educated man like appa .”

“Not me,” Mozasu said. “I want to make a lot of money, then umma and Aunt Kyunghee wouldn’t have to work anymore.”

Osaka, 1949

After the family returned to Osaka, Hansu gave Kim the job of collecting fees from the store owners at Tsuruhashi market. In exchange for these fees, Hansu’s company gave the owners protection and support. Naturally, no one wanted to pay these not-insignificant sums, but there was little choice in the matter. On the rare instances when someone cried poor or foolishly refused to pay, Hansu sent his other men, not Kim, to address the situation. For a store owner, such fee payments were a long-established practice — just one more cost of doing business.

Any agent who worked for Hansu had to look the part of the larger organization, and the men who worked for Hansu, both Japanese and Korean, took special pains to keep a low profile, avoiding any unnecessary negative attention. Except for his nearsightedness, corrected with his thick eyeglasses, Kim was a pleasant-looking man — humble, diligent, and well-spoken. Hansu preferred Kim to do the collection because Kim was effective and unfailingly polite; he was the clean wrapper for a filthy deed.

It was Saturday evening, and Kim had just collected the week’s payments — over sixty packets of cash, each covered in fresh paper and labeled with the name of the business. No one had missed a payment. When he reached Hansu’s parked sedan, Kim bowed to his boss, who was just stepping out of the car. His driver would pick them up later.

“Let’s have a drink,” Hansu said, patting Kim on the back. They walked in the direction of the market. Along the road, men continuously bowed to Hansu, and he acknowledged them with nods. He stopped for no one, however.

“I’m going to take you to a new place. Pretty girls there. You must want one after living in a barn for so long.”

Kim laughed out of surprise. His boss didn’t normally discuss such things.

“You like the married one,” Hansu said. “I know.”

Kim kept walking, unable to reply.

“Sunja’s sister-in-law,” Hansu said, looking straight ahead as they walked down the narrow market street. “She’s still good-looking. Her husband can’t do it anymore. He’s drinking more, nee ?”

Kim removed his glasses and cleaned the lenses with his handkerchief. He liked Yoseb and felt bad for not saying something. Yoseb drank a lot, but he was not a bad man. It was clear that the men in the neighborhood still admired him. At home, when Yoseb felt well enough, he helped the boys with schoolwork and taught them Korean. On occasion, he fixed machines for some factory owners he knew, but in his condition, he couldn’t work regularly.