Min Lee - Pachinko

Six days a week, Sunja took her grandson to school and picked him up. Solomon attended an international preschool where only English was spoken. At school, he spoke English and at home, Japanese. Sunja spoke to him in Korean, and he answered in Japanese sprinkled with a few words in Korean. Solomon loved going to school, and Mozasu thought it was good to keep him occupied. He was a cheerful child who wanted to please his teachers and elders. Wherever he went, the news of his mother’s death preceded him, wrapping the child in a kind of protective cloud; teachers and mothers of his friends were watchful on his behalf. Solomon was certain that he would see his mama in heaven; he believed that she could see him. She visited him in his dreams, he said, and told him that she missed holding him.

In the evenings, grandmother, father, and son ate dinner together even if Mozasu had to return to work immediately after his meal. Twice, Mozasu’s friend Haruki Totoyama had come from Osaka to visit, and once, they’d gone to Osaka to see the family, since Uncle Yoseb was too frail to travel.

Another school day almost over, Sunja waited patiently outside the preschool alongside the sweet-natured Filipina nannies and the friendly Western mothers who were also waiting to collect their children. Sunja couldn’t speak to them, but she smiled and nodded in their presence. As usual, Solomon was one of the first to run out. He shouted good-bye to his teachers, then bolted outside to hug his grandmother’s torso before joining the other boys to race to the corner candy store. Sunja tried to keep up with his pace. She was oblivious to Hansu, who’d been watching her from his car.

Sunja was wearing a black wool coat, nothing expensive but not shabby, either. It looked store-bought. She had aged considerably, and Hansu felt sorry for her. Only a little over fifty, she looked much older than that. As a girl, she had been bright and taut, so very appealing. The memory of her fullness and vitality aroused him. The years in the sun had darkened her face and covered her hands lightly with pale brown spots. Shallow crags had settled in her once-smooth brow. In place of the maiden’s dark, glossy braids, she now kept her hair short, and it was gray mostly. Her middle had thickened. Hansu remembered her large breasts and lovely pink nipples. They had never spent more than a few hours together, and it had always been a wish of his to make love to her more than once in the course of a day. He’d had many women and girls, yet her innocence and trust had excited him more than even the sexiest of whores who were willing to do anything.

Her pretty eyes were still the same — bright and hard like river stones — the light shimmered in them. He had loved her passionately, the way an older man could love a young girl who could restore his youth and vigor; he had loved her with a kind of gratitude. He knew that he’d loved her more than any other girl. She was not beautiful anymore, but he desired her still. The recollection of taking her in the forest often made him hard, and if he had been alone in the car, he would have jerked off, happy for the rare erection.

Several times each day, Hansu thought of her. What was she doing at the moment? Was she all right? Did she think of him? His mind turned to her as often as it did toward his dead father. When Hansu learned that she was looking for him to find out where Noa was, he did not contact her, because he had no news. He could not imagine disappointing Sunja. He had used every resource to locate the boy but to no avail. Noa had disappeared so perfectly that if Hansu hadn’t had the mortuary logs inspected regularly throughout Japan, he might have thought that the boy was dead. At the funeral, he learned that Noa still sent his mother money. That was a relief. The boy was alive, then, and living somewhere in Japan. It had been Hansu’s plan to find Noa first, then to contact Sunja, but Yumi’s funeral had reminded him that time was not always in his favor. Then last month, his doctor had diagnosed him with prostate cancer.

As Sunja walked past his car, Hansu rolled down the car window.

“Sunja, Sunja.”

She gasped.

Hansu told his driver to stay and opened the car door himself to get out.

“Listen, I got to Yumi’s funeral late. Mozasu said you’d left. You live with him now, right?”

Sunja stood on the pavement and stared at him. He didn’t seem to age. Had it really been eleven years since she last saw him? It had been at his office with Noa, then that expensive dinner to celebrate Noa’s admission to Waseda. Noa had been gone six years now. Sunja glanced in the direction of her grandson, who’d run into the store with the other boys to look over comics and debate over which candies to purchase. Without replying, Sunja walked in Solomon’s direction. Mozasu had mentioned that Hansu had come to the funeral, that when asked about Noa, Hansu had said nothing.

“Can’t you stop for a moment to speak with me? The little boy’s fine. He’s in the shop. You can see him through the glass.” Solomon was in the cluster of boys standing by the rotating comic-book kiosk.

“I begged your wife to tell you that I was looking for you. The gardening boy. I’m sure he gave you my message even if she didn’t. Since I’ve known you, I’ve done everything I could to never be a burden to you; I have asked you for nothing. Six years have passed since I went to your house. Six.”

Hansu opened his mouth, but Sunja spoke again.

“Do you know where he is?”

“No.”

Sunja walked toward the candy store.

Hansu touched her arm, and Sunja pushed him back hard with the palm of her hand, knocking him back a step. The chauffeur and bodyguard, who’d been standing near the car, ran toward him, but he waved them away.

“I’m fine,” he mouthed to them.

“Go back to your car,” she said. “Go back to your crooked life.”

“Sunja—”

“Why do you bother me now? How can you not see that you’ve destroyed me? Why can’t you let me alone? Noa is gone from me. There is nothing between us.”

Her wet, shining eyes blinked, lit up like lanterns. Her young face shone through the old one.

“Can I drive you and Solomon home? Maybe we can go to a café? I need to speak to you.”

Sunja looked down at the large squares of concrete below her feet, unable to stop the flow of tears.

“I want my son. What did you do to him?”

“How can you blame me for that? I just wanted to send him to school.”

Sunja sobbed. “It’s my fault that I let you know him. You’re a selfish person who’d take whatever you want, no matter the consequences. I wish I’d never met you.”

Passersby gaped until Hansu stared back at them, forcing them to look away. The boy was still in the shop.

“You’re the worst kind of man, because you won’t let go until you get your way.”

“Sunja, I’m dying.”

Cradling his copies of Tetsuwan Atomu and Ultraman , Solomon sat quietly between Sunja and Hansu in the backseat of the large sedan.

“How old are you?” Hansu asked.

Solomon held up three fingers.

“ Soo nee . Are you going to read those now?” Hansu asked, pointing to the boy’s new comics. “Can you read already?”

Solomon shook his head. “I’m going to wait until Toto comes tonight so he can read them to me.” He opened up his red satchel and put the comics inside.

“Who is Toto?” Hansu asked.

“He’s my papa’s friend from when they were boys. He’s a real Japanese policeman. He’s caught murderers and robbers. I’ve known him since I was born.”

“Is that so? All that time?” Hansu smiled.

The small boy nodded gravely.

“Grandma, what will you make Toto for dinner?” Solomon asked.