Min Lee - Pachinko

When Goro rang the bell, Totoyama answered the door herself. A hired girl, another apprentice, brought them hot fragrant tea and imported wheat biscuits on a lacquered tray. Totoyama led Mozasu to the mirror so she could take his measurements. With pins in her mouth, she measured the width of his long arms.

“You are getting thinner, Mozasu-san,” Totoyama said.

“ Soo nee ,” he answered. “Goro-san tells me I need to eat more.”

Goro nodded as he munched on the biscuits and drank a second cup of genmaicha . He was seated on a cedar bench covered with indigo fabric — covered cushions. He felt peaceful, watching Totoyama work. He always felt better when he solved problems. Okada had turned out to be a crook, so he got rid of him. Now he was going to promote Mozasu.

The large and airy workroom had been whitewashed recently, but the wood floors were shabby and old. The floors were cleaned each day, but the morning’s bits of fabric and thread littered the areas around the worktables. In the slant of light from the skylight, a pale column of dust motes pierced the room. The long workroom was lined with six sewing machines, and a girl sat behind each one. They tried not to look at the men, but couldn’t help being drawn to the young one who came by the shop at least once a year. Mozasu had grown noticeably more attractive. He had his father’s purposeful gaze and welcoming smile. He liked to laugh, and this was one of the reasons why Goro liked the boy so much. Mozasu was enthusiastic, not prone to moodiness. He was wearing a foreman’s uniform that had been made in this workshop, and the girls who had worked on his clothing felt connected to him in this way but could hardly admit this. They knew he didn’t have a girlfriend.

“There’s a new face here,” Goro said, folding his arms over his chest. He scanned the girls carefully and smiled. He got up from his seat and walked toward them. He bowed deeply, and this was funny because he was such an important person. The girls rose up simultaneously and bowed. Goro shook his head and made a silly face, scrunching up his nose to make them laugh.

“Sit, sit,” he said.

He had a kind of comic facility combined with a physical smoothness. To make women laugh, he could walk while wiggling his shoulders. He was a stout little man with funny movements who liked flirting with all kinds of women. You remembered him. You wanted him to like you. Because he could be silly, it was possible to forget that he was a powerful businessman and wealthy enough to own seven pachinko parlors. With a word, he could make grown men leave Osaka for good.

“Eriko-san, Reiko-san, Midori-san, Hanako-san, and Motoko-san, nee ?” Goro recited their names perfectly, then stopped in front of the new girl.

“Goro desu ,” he said, presenting himself to the new girl. “You have lovely hands.”

“Yumi desu ,” the young woman replied, slightly annoyed at him for distracting her from her sewing.

Totoyama looked up from her measurements and frowned at the new girl. Yumi’s sewing was neater than the others’, but she was often too purposely aloof, taking lunch alone or reading during her breaks rather than talking. Her skills and personal nature were secondary to the fact that she had to respect Goro-san, to humor him even. To Totoyama, Goro-san was a great man who was truly good. Though he joked with girls, he was never inappropriate. Goro had never asked any of the girls out or done any of the bad things her other male customers had tried to do. Yumi had been working for her for two months. From her papers, Totoyama knew she was Korean, but Yumi went by her pass name and never brought up her background. Totoyama didn’t care about a person’s background as long as the employee did her job. Yumi was an elegant girl with good skin and a high bosom. She did not have a good figure for a kimono but had the sort of curves that men liked. It was natural that Goro-san would have noticed her.

“Goro-san, so Mozasu-san is the new manager of Seven?” Totoyama asked. “How wonderful for such a young man.”

Mozasu looked down, avoiding the looks of curiosity and wonder in the eyes of the seamstresses, except for Yumi, who continued her sewing.

“Yes. Mozasu-san will need three dark suits. Use a good fabric, please. He will need some nice neckties. Something different from the others. Something elegant, older looking.”

Mozasu stood in front of the three-way mirror and noticed Yumi, who was working diligently. She was lovely. Her shoulders were thin and wide and her neck long, reminding him of an illustration of a swan on a box of detergent.

When Totoyama finished taking Mozasu’s measurements, the men returned to the car.

“Yumi-san, the new girl, is very pretty. A terrific ass,” Goro said.

Mozasu nodded.

Goro laughed. “Finally, some interest from the hardworking boy! She’d be a good one for you.”

The following week, when he returned alone for another fitting, Totoyama was finishing up with a customer and asked Yumi to get him his suit.

Yumi handed him the partially finished suit and pointed to the dressing room behind the indigo fabric curtain.

“Thank you,” he said in Japanese.

She said nothing at all, but stood there coolly, waiting to be discharged from her duties by Totoyama.

When Mozasu came out, Yumi was standing in front of the mirror holding a scarlet wool pincushion. Totoyama was still occupied with another customer on the other side of the room.

Yumi looked at his neckline and cocked her head. The lapel needed some work, she noticed.

“I’m Mozasu Boku. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Yumi frowned at the lapel and pulled out a pin from the cushion to mark the place.

“You’re not going to poke me, are you?” he said, laughing.

Yumi walked behind him to check the yoke.

“You’re not going to speak to me? Really?”

“I’m not here to speak with you. I’m here to check your fit.”

“If I buy you dinner, maybe you can find a few words for me,” Mozasu said, repeating a line he’d heard Goro use on women. Mozasu had never asked a girl out. He was a manager now at Paradaisu Seven. A girl might find that impressive, he thought.

“No dinner. No thank you.”

“You have to eat.” This was another one of Goro’s stock phrases. “You finish work around seven thirty. I know because I’ve been here before to pick up uniforms.”

“I go to school after work. I don’t have time for nonsense.”

“I’m nonsense?”

“Yes.”

Mozasu smiled at her. She didn’t talk like anyone he knew.

“What are you studying anyway?”

“English.”

“I know English. I can help you.”

“You don’t know English.”

“Hello, Miss Yumi. My name is Moses Park. How are you?” He repeated the lines he’d practiced with Noa from his English books. “What kind of weather are you having in Tulsa, Oklahoma?” he asked. “Is it rainy or dry? I like hamburgers. Do you like hamburgers? I work at a place called Paradise.”

“Where did you learn that? You didn’t even finish high school,” Yumi said.

“How do you know that?” He smiled.

“Never mind,” she said, seeing Totoyama approaching them.

“Miss Yumi, do you like the fascinating novels of Mr. Charles Dickens? He is my brother’s favorite author. I think his books are very long. There are no pictures in his books.”

Yumi smiled a little, then bowed to her boss before pointing out the areas that needed work. She bowed again before leaving them to return to her sewing machine.

“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, Mozasu-san. How are you? How is Goro-san?”

Mozasu answered her politely, and when she was nearly done with the pins, he turned and sneezed dramatically, curving his back as if to bend forward and ripping the carefully basted seams.