Min Lee - Pachinko

The girl had been young, twenty if that, and when she wasn’t in the back rooms, she worked as a waitress. The war and the American occupation had toughened her, like the other girls who worked at the bar, and because she was so pretty, she had been with many men. She went by the name Jinah.

In one of the back rooms reserved for paying customers, Jinah shut the door and took off her floral-print dress right away. She wore no underwear. Her body was long and thin, with the round, high breasts of a young girl who didn’t need a brassiere and the skinny legs of a hungry peasant. She sat on his lap, making a soft grinding gesture, and made him hard, then gingerly led him to an oxblood-colored pallet on the floor. She undressed him, wiped him expertly with a warm, wet towel, then put a prophylactic on him with her painted mouth. It had been a long time since he had been with a girl. He’d only been with whores, but this one had the loveliest face and figure, and he could understand why she cost so much even though he wasn’t paying this time. Jinah called him Oppa , and asked if he wanted to enter her now, and he had nodded, astonished by her skillfulness — at once charming and professional. She pushed him down gently and clambered on his hips and pulled him inside her in a single thrust. She kissed his forehead and hair, letting him bury his head between her breasts as they fucked. He didn’t know if she was pretending, but she seemed to like what she was doing, unlike the other whores, who’d pretended to be virginal. There was no false protest, and Kim found himself deeply excited by her and came almost right away. She lay in his arms for a little while, then got up to get a towel for him. As she cleaned him, she called him her handsome brother and asked him to return to see her soon, because Jinah would be thinking about his eel. Kim almost wanted to stay the night to try to have her again, but Hansu was waiting for him at the bar, so Kim promised to return.

In his room, someone had already unfolded his pallet to make his bed. Kim lay down on his clean, starched cotton pallet, imagining Kyunghee’s slender fingers smoothing down the blankets on which he rested, and as usual, he imagined making love to her. A married woman could not be surprised by sex, he thought, but he wondered if she could enjoy it the way Jinah seemed to. What would he think of her if she did? In the barn, he’d always fallen asleep before the women, and he was grateful for this schedule, because he could not bear the idea of Yoseb being on top of her. Fortunately, he never heard any noises, and in this house, he did not hear them, either. He felt sure that Yoseb no longer slept with his wife, and this knowledge gave him permission to love her and to not hate him. This way, she was his, too. Hansu had detected his feelings, because he was obvious about them; he could not resist watching her soft face, her graceful quiet movements. He thought if he could be with her, he would die. What would it be like to be with her each night? When they’d worked beside each other at the restaurant, and when he was alone with her at the farm, it had been almost maddening to keep from clasping her body to his. What kept him from doing so was the knowledge that she would never respond to him; she loved her husband, and she loved Yesu Kuristo , her god, whom Kim could not believe in and who did not allow his followers to have sex outside of marriage.

Kim closed his eyes, wanting her to open the thin paper door to his room. She could slip off her dress the way the whore had done and put her mouth over him. He would pull her up to him and tuck her into his body. He would make love to her and wish for his death, because his life would have been perfect at that moment. Kim could envision her small breasts, pale stomach and legs, the shadow of her pubis. He grew hard again and laughed quietly, thinking that he was like a boy tonight, because he felt he could do it again and again and never have enough. Hansu was wrong to think that a pretty whore would take his mind off Kyunghee; in fact, he wanted her more now, far more than he ever had. He had tasted something sweet and cool tonight, and now he wanted an immense tubful of it — enough to bathe deeply in its refreshment.

Kim rubbed himself and fell asleep with his glasses on.

In the morning, Kim rose before the others and went to work without having breakfast. That evening, as he walked home, he noticed a pair of slight shoulders pushing a confection cart down the street. He ran to catch up with her.

“Let me.”

“Oh, hello.” Kyunghee smiled in relief. “We were worried about you this morning when you were gone. We didn’t see you last night. Did you eat today?”

“I’m all right. You don’t need to worry about me.”

He noticed that the stack of bags used to pack up the candies were all gone. “You’re out of bags. You did well today?”

She nodded, smiling again. “I sold everything, but the price of black sugar has gone up again. Maybe I can make jellies. They require less sugar. I need to find some new recipes.” Kyunghee stopped walking to wipe her brow with the back of her hand.

Kim took the cart from her to push it.

“Is Sunja at home already?” he asked.

Kyunghee nodded, looking worried.

“What’s the matter, Sister?”

“I’m hoping there won’t be a fight tonight. My husband’s being too hard on everyone lately. Also, he’s—” She didn’t want to say any more. Yoseb’s health was declining precipitously, but he was unfortunately well enough to feel the horrible discomfort of his burns and injuries. Every little thing upset him, and when he was angry, he never held back anymore. His poor hearing made him shout, a thing he had never done before the war.

“It’s about the boys’ school. You know.”

Kim nodded. Yoseb had been telling Sunja that the boys had to go to a Korean school in the neighborhood because the family had to be ready to go back. The boys had to learn Korean. Hansu was telling Sunja the opposite. Sunja couldn’t say anything, but everyone knew it was a terrible time to return.

The road to their house was empty. As the sun set, the dusk gave off a muted gray-and-pink light.

“It’s nice when it’s quiet,” she said.

“Yes.” Kim grasped the cart handle a little tighter.

Strands of her bun had come loose, and Kyunghee smoothed her hair behind her ears. Even at the end of a long workday, there was still something so clean and bright in her expression; it could not be defiled.

“Last night, he yelled at her again about the schools. My husband means well. He’s also in a lot of pain. Noa wants to go to Japanese school. He wants to go to Waseda University. Can you imagine? Such a big school like that!” She smiled, feeling proud of his grand dream. “And, well, Mozasu never wants to go to school at all.” She laughed. “Of course, it isn’t clear when we can return now, but the boys need to learn how to read and write. Don’t you think?” Kyunghee found herself crying, but couldn’t explain why.

From his coat pocket, Kim dug out a handkerchief that he used to clean his glasses and gave it to her.

“There are so many things we can’t control,” he said.

She nodded.

“Do you want to go home?”

Without looking at his face, she said, “I can’t believe my parents are dead. In my dreams, they seem alive. I’d like to see them again.”

“But you can’t go back now. It’s dangerous. When things get better—”

“Do you think that will be soon?”

“Well, you know how we are.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Koreans. We argue. Every man thinks he’s smarter than the next. I suppose whoever is in charge will fight very hard to keep his power.” He repeated only what Hansu had told him, because Hansu was right, especially when it came to seeing the worst in people — in this, he was always right.