Pachinko

by Min Jin Lee

  “When we get together, like on Thanksgiving and Christmas, it’s really fun.”

  “I’ve met several of them,” Solomon said, worried that his grandmother and great-aunt wouldn’t approve of her family, although he could tell they were more curious than reproachful. Neither of them had ever said that he had to marry a Korean person, but he knew his father’s relationship with Etsuko made them uncomfortable.

  When the frying pan was hot enough, Sunja poured a scant cup of the scallion pancake batter into it. She checked the edges and lowered the heat. Phoebe was lively and good for the boy, she thought. Her mother used to say a woman’s life was suffering, but that was the last thing she wanted for this sweet girl who had a quick, warm smile for everyone. If she didn’t cook, then so what? If she took good care of Solomon, then nothing else should matter, though she hoped that Phoebe wanted children. Lately, Sunja wanted to hold babies. How wonderful it would be not to have to worry about a war or having enough food to eat, or finding shelter. Solomon and Phoebe wouldn’t have to labor the way she and Kyunghee had, but could just enjoy their children.

  “When are you going to marry Solomon?” Sunja asked, without shifting her focus from the frying pan. An older woman had a right to ask this sort of thing, though she was still a little afraid to do it.

  “Yes, when are you two getting married? What are you waiting for? My sister and I have nothing to do—we’ll move to Tokyo if you want help with the babies and the cooking!” Kyunghee giggled.

  Solomon shook his head and smiled at the three women.

  “And this is when I go to the den and talk man stuff with Dad.”

  “Thanks a lot, Solomon,” Phoebe said. She didn’t actually mind their questions, since she had been wondering about this, too.

  Mozasu smiled, and the men left them in the kitchen.

  Father and son sat down in the armchairs in the center of the large room. Baskets of fruits and bowls of nuts topped the glass and stainless-steel coffee table opposite the long low-back sofa. A stack of today’s Korean and Japanese newspapers remained half-read.

  Mozasu turned on the television and lowered the volume on the news; he was scanning the ticker running across the screen with stock prices. The two often talked with the television on.

  “How’s work?” Mozasu asked.

  “Much easier than school. The boss is really great—a Japanese guy, but he went to college and business school in California.”

  “California? Your mother would’ve liked that,” Mozasu said quietly. The boy resembled her so much, especially around the brow and nose.

  “Where’s Etsuko?” Solomon stared at the blue background of the news screen. The newscasters were talking about a flood in Bangkok. “Is it Hana? She okay?”

  Mozasu sighed. “Etsuko will fill you in. Give her a call.”

  Solomon wanted to know more, but his father didn’t know about what had happened between the two of them. Mozasu never liked to talk about Hana, because she upset Etsuko so much.

  “Your grandmother and great-aunt like Phoebe. They want you to get married.”

  “Yes, I heard that. Five minutes ago.”

  Mozasu faced his son. “Does Phoebe want to live in Japan?”

  “Not sure. She hates that she doesn’t know Japanese.”

  “She can learn.”

  Solomon looked doubtful. “She wants to work. It’s not easy to get your career going straight out of college in Japan. And she doesn’t have the language skills. Staying home is not good for Phoebe.”

  Mozasu nodded. Solomon’s mother had been the same way.

  “You okay with money?”

  “Yes, Dad,” he replied, almost amused by his father’s concern, “I have a good job now. Hey, Dad, do you know an older lady named Sonoko Matsuda? She owns an old textile factory in Yokohama. Not far from Goro-san’s place.”

  “No.” Mozasu shook his head. “Why?”

  “Kazu, my boss, is trying to finalize this real estate transaction, and the lady, Matsuda-san, won’t sell her property. It’s holding up the deal. I thought maybe you might know someone. You know a lot of people in Yokohama, I mean.”

  “I don’t know her, but sure, I can find out. That’s not hard,” he said. “Your boss wants the lady to sell?”

  “Yeah. Her lot is the last important piece for the golf course development.”

  “Huh, okay. That sort of thing does happen. I’ll ask Goro-san or Haruki. One of them will know. Goro just sold his last pachinko parlor. Now he’s only doing demolition, construction, and real estate. He wants me to go in with him, but I’m too busy. It’s too late for me to start something new. I don’t understand his business as well as pachinko.”

  “Why don’t you sell the shops, too, Dad? Retire maybe. You’re set, right? Pachinko is a lot of work.”

  “What? Quit the business? Pachinko put food on the table and sent you to school. I’m too young to retire!”

  He shrugged.

  “And what would happen if I sell my stores? They might fire my workers. And where would my older workers go? And we give work to the people who make the machines. Pachinko’s a bigger business in Japan than car manufacturing.”

  Mozasu stopped talking and raised the volume on the news. The newscasters were now talking about the value of the yen.

  Solomon nodded and stared at the screen, trying to pay attention to the currency news. His father didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed by what he did for a living.

  Mozasu caught a glimpse of his son’s darkened expression.

  “I’ll call Goro tonight and ask about the lady. Your boss wants her to sell, right?”

  “That would be great. Thanks, Dad.”

  On Monday afternoon, Mozasu called Solomon at the office. He had spoken to Goro-san. The old lady was Korean—an old-school Chongryon type whose children had returned to Pyongyang and died there; Matsuda was her tsumei. She didn’t want to sell the property to the Japanese. Goro-san thought the old lady was being stubborn; he said he could buy the property from the lady, because she said he’d sell it to her. Then he’d sell it to Kazu’s client for the same price.

  After Solomon got off the phone, he rushed to Kazu’s office to tell him the good news.

  Kazu listened carefully, then folded his hands together and smiled.

  “Excellent work, Jedi. I can always spot a winner.”

  19

  Tokyo, 1989

  Even in her condition, Hana could not keep from flirting.

  “You shouldn’t have come,” she said. “I look ugly. I wanted to be beautiful when you saw me again.”

  “I wanted to see you,” Solomon replied. “And you are lovely, Hana. That will never change.” He smiled, suppressing his shock at her altered appearance. Etsuko had warned him, but still, it was difficult to recognize her original features beneath the reddish scabs and sparse hair. The skeleton of her body made a distinct impression through the thin blue hospital sheet.

  “Mama said you brought the girlfriend-o all the way to Tokyo,” Hana said. Only her voice had not changed. It was difficult to know if she was teasing or not. “And I thought you were coming back to me. You will marry her, nee? Of course, I will try to forgive you because I know you loved me first.”

  With the curtain drawn, the ceiling lamp off, and only the light coming from the low-wattage electric bulb by her bedside, the room at the clinic was dark like night even though it was sunny outside.

  “When are you going to get better?” he asked.

  “Come here, Solomon.” Hana raised her right arm, stick thin and chalky. She waved it like an elegant wand of death. “I have missed you so much. If I’d never left you that summer…Well, I would have made you marry me. I would have ruined you, though—I ruin everything. I ruin everything.”

  Solomon sat on the hard chair by her bed. None of the medications was working, Etsuko had told him. The doctors said there were only a few weeks or perhaps two months left at best. Dark lesions covered her neck and shoulders.
Her left hand was unblemished, but her right was dry like her face. Her physical beauty had once been so extraordinary that it seemed to him that her current state was particularly cruel.

  “Hana-chan, why can’t you go to America to see the doctors there? There have been so many advances in the States. I know things are much better there for this—” He didn’t want to play this stupid game where they wouldn’t talk about what was real. Just hearing her voice and sitting in her room where she couldn’t float away from him reminded him of everything magical and shining about her. He had been in her thrall, and oddly, even now, he felt so many things. He could not imagine her dying. He wanted to pick her up and spirit her away to New York. In America, everything seemed fixable, and in Japan, difficult problems were to be endured. Sho ga nai, sho ga nai. How many times had he heard these words? It cannot be helped. His mother had apparently hated that expression, and suddenly he understood her rage against this cultural resignation that violated her beliefs and wishes.

  “Oh, Solomon. I don’t want to go to America.” Hana exhaled loudly. “I don’t want to live. I’m ready to die. You know? Do you ever want to die, Solomon? I’ve wanted to die for so many years, but I was too cowardly to say it or to do anything to make my wish come true. Maybe you could have saved me, but you know, even wonderful you, even you, my Solomon, I don’t think so. Everyone wants to die sometimes, nee?”

  “That spring. When you left. I wanted to die.” Solomon grew quiet, never having admitted this to anyone. Sometimes he’d forget about that time, but being with her made the memory sharp and mean.

  Hana frowned and began to cry.

  “If I had stayed, we would’ve loved each other too much, and I felt certain that I would hurt you. You see, I’m not a good person, and you are a good person. You shouldn’t be with me. It’s simple. Mama said you got tested in America for your life insurance and that you are okay. I’m grateful for this. You’re the only person I have never ever wanted to hurt. And Mama told me that your girlfriend-o is a nice girl and educated like you. I don’t want to know if she is pretty. Tell me she’s hideous but has a good soul. I do know that she is a Korean girl. Tsugoi, Solomon. How amazing. You should marry her. Maybe people should marry from the same background. Maybe life is easier then. I am going to imagine you having three or four beautiful Korean children—with lovely Korean skin and hair. You have such wonderful hair, Solomon. I would have liked to have met your mother. Name one of your little girls after me, nee? Because you see, I will not have any. Promise me you will love little Hana, and you will think of me.”

  “Shut up,” he said quietly, knowing she’d never listen. “Please, please shut up.”

  “You know that you’re the one I loved. Hatsukoi was such a stupid idea to me until I met you. I’ve been with so many men, Solomon, and they were disgusting. All the filthy things I let them do. I’m so sorry for all of it. You, I loved, because you are good.”

  “Hana, you are good.”

  She shook her head, but for a moment she looked peaceful.

  “I did bad things with boys after Mama left. That’s why I came to Tokyo. I was so angry when I met you, then when I was with you, I stopped being so upset. But I couldn’t handle it so I left and started hostessing. I didn’t want to love anybody. Then you went to America, and I was, I was—” Hana paused. “When I was drinking a lot, I thought you would look for me. Like in that American movie. I thought you would find where I lived, climb on a ladder up to the window, and carry me away. I used to tell all the girls that you would get me. All the girls wanted you to come for me.”

  Solomon stared at her mouth as she spoke. She had the prettiest mouth.

  “It’s disgusting, isn’t it?”

  “What?” He felt like someone had slapped him.

  “This.” She pointed to the lesions on her chin.

  “No. I wasn’t looking at that.”

  She didn’t believe him. Her eyes fluttered lightly, and Hana leaned back into the pillow.

  “I want to rest now, Solomon. Will you come back soon?”

  “Yes, I’ll come back,” he said, rising from the chair.

  When he returned to his desk, Solomon could not stop thinking about her. Why hadn’t Etsuko helped her? Something inside him hurt, and the ache felt familiar. He could not read the documents in front of him. He was supposed to run through some projections for the golf club project, but it was as if he had forgotten how to use Excel. What would have happened if she had not left him that summer? Would he have been able to go to New York and stay away for so long?

  Phoebe wanted to marry him now; he knew this, but she never brought it up because she was a proud person and wanted to be asked. When he heard Kazu’s voice in the hallway, Solomon looked up to see his boss standing before him. Solomon’s office mates were out; Kazu closed the door behind him, walked over to the credenza near Solomon’s desk, and stood in the space between the credenza and the enormous window.

  “She’s dead,” Kazu said.

  “What? I just saw her.”

  “Who?”

  “Hana. Did my father call you?”

  “I don’t know who that is, man, but Matsuda-san, the old lady, is dead, and it doesn’t look good. When the client wanted the property, he didn’t expect that the holdout seller would die a few days afterwards.”

  “What?” Solomon blinked. “The seller is dead?”

  “Yes. She sold the property to your father’s friend Goro-san, then our client bought the property from him. Our client is not in trouble, but it smells bad. Do you know what I mean?” Kazu said this in a flat, calm voice while staring at Solomon’s face thoughtfully. He picked up the Hanshin Tigers baseball on the credenza, tossed it up and caught it.

  “How did she die?”

  “Not sure. It could have been a heart attack or a stroke. They don’t know. There are two nieces apparently. I don’t know if they’re going to make a fuss or what the police might do.”

  “She could have died of natural causes. Wasn’t she old?”

  “Yes, I expect that could be true; however, our client has canceled this transaction for now because the news could affect their public offering next spring.”

  “What public offering?”

  “Never mind that.” Kazu sighed. “Listen, man, I have to let you go. I am sorry, Solomon. I really am.”

  “What? What did I do?”

  “We have to do this. There’s no other way. I think your father’s friend responded a bit too enthusiastically about the land sale, nee?”

  “But you have no proof, and you are accusing my father’s friend of something impossible. Goro would never ever do anything to hurt—”

  “I’m not accusing your father’s friend of anything. But the facts remain that there is a dead woman who didn’t want to sell her property. Everyone knew she wouldn’t sell, and moments after she sold, she died.”

  “But Goro paid a lot of money for that property; it was fair market value; and he’s Korean. She didn’t mind selling it to a Korean. I thought that’s how we were supposed to get around her refusal. He wouldn’t have killed an old woman for something like this. All his life, he’s helped all these poor people. What are you saying? Goro did this as a favor for my father and me—”

  Kazu held the ball between his hands and looked down at the carpet.

  “Solly, don’t tell me anything more. Do you understand? The investigators are going to want to know what happened. They may not make a big deal of it, but the client is very spooked, dude. The client wanted to develop a country club; they weren’t looking for a run-in with the yaks. Do you know what kind of hell they can raise in shareholder meetings?”

  “Yaks? Goro is not yakuza.”

  Kazu nodded and tossed the ball again and caught it.

  “The transaction is unfortunately contaminated, so it will be put on hold. This comes at a great financial cost to the client, and it looks poorly for us as a premiere banking company. My reputation—”

  “B
ut the client got the property.”

  “Yes, but no one was supposed to die. I didn’t wish for that.” Kazu made a face like he was tasting something sour.

  Solomon shook his head. All he could think of were the innumerable times he had spent in Goro’s presence listening to his hilarious stories about his many girlfriends and his constant encouragements for Solomon’s future. Goro had this remarkable clarity about the world. A great man, his father always said about Goro—a noble man—a true bushi who understood sacrifice and leadership. It had been Goro alone who had built up Haruki Totoyama’s mother’s uniform business from nothing, and all because he’d felt bad for a single mother raising two boys. His father said that Goro was always doing good things for poor people quietly. It was absurd to consider that Goro could have been responsible for the lady’s death. The woman would have sold the property to Goro because he was known as a good Korean businessman. Everyone knew this.

  “Human Resources is waiting outside. Solomon, you don’t know how it works, I don’t think, because this is your first job at a bank, but when you’re terminated from an investment bank, you have to leave the building immediately for internal security reasons. I’m sorry.”

  “But what did I do?”

  “The transaction is postponed for now, and we will not need such a large team. I’m pleased to give you a reference. You can put me down for whatever you want. I would never mention this to your future employers.”

  Solomon leaned back in his chair and stared at Kazu’s hardened jaw. He paused before speaking:

  “You brought me in on purpose. Because you wanted me to get the Korean lady to sell. You knew—”

  Kazu put down the baseball and moved to the door.