by Min Jin Lee
“Brother, I gave you a job, and you were fortunate to have it.”
Solomon covered his mouth with his hands.
“You’re a nice boy, Solomon, and you will have a future in finance, but not here. If you are trying to imply that you were being discriminated against, something that Koreans tend to believe, that would be incorrect and unfair to me. If anything, you have been preferred over the natives. I like working with Koreans. Everyone knows this about me. The whole department thought that you were my pet associate. I didn’t want to fire you. I just don’t agree with your father’s tactics.”
“My father? He had nothing to do with this.”
“Yes, of course. It was this man, Goro,” Kazu said. “I believe you. I do. Good luck, Solomon.”
Kazu opened the office door and let the two women from Human Resources in before heading to his next meeting.
The speech from HR passed quickly, sounding like radio static in Solomon’s head. They asked him for his identification card, and he gave it to them automatically. His mind kept returning to Hana, though he felt like he should call Phoebe to explain. He needed air. He threw things in the white banker’s box but left the baseball on the credenza.
The HR women escorted him to the elevator and offered to send his box to his apartment by messenger, but Solomon refused. Through the glass-walled conference room, he saw the guys from the poker game but no Kazu. Giancarlo spotted him holding the white box against his chest, and he half smiled at him, then returned to what he was doing. On the street, Solomon got into a taxi and asked the driver to drive him all the way to Yokohama. He didn’t think he could walk to the train station.
20
Yokohama, 1989
Empire Cafe was an old-style Japanese curry restaurant near Chinatown—a place Solomon used to go with his father on Saturday afternoons when he was a boy. Mozasu still ate there on Wednesdays with Goro and Totoyama. Empire served five different kinds of curries, only one kind of draft beer, and as much tea and pickles as you wanted. The cook, who was always in a bad mood, had a deft hand with the seasonings, and his curries were unrivaled in the city.
Late in the afternoon and long past lunch hour, the café was nearly empty except for the three old friends sitting at the corner table near the kitchen. Goro was telling one of his funny stories while making clownish faces and dramatic hand gestures. Mozasu and Totoyama took bites of their hot curry and sipped beer. All the while, they nodded and smiled at Goro, encouraging him to continue.
When Solomon pushed open the perpetually swollen front door, the cheap sleigh bells attached to the door jingled.
Scarcely bothering to turn from clearing the tables, the diminutive waitress bellowed, “Irasshai!”
Mozasu was surprised to see his son. Solomon bowed in the direction of the men.
“You skipping work?” Mozasu asked. The edge of his eyes crinkled deeply when he smiled.
“Good, good. Skip work,” Goro interrupted. He was delighted to see the boy. “I hear you go to the office on the weekends, too. That’s no way to be for a handsome boy like you. You should be busy chasing skirt. If I had your height and your diploma, you’d feel sorry for all the women of Japan. I’d be breaking hearts at a rate that would shock a gentle boy like you.”
Goro rubbed his hands together.
Totoyama said nothing; he was staring at the lower half of Solomon’s face, which seemed fixed; the boy’s lips made a thin, crumpled line above his chin. Totoyama’s own face was flushed, since it took only half a small beer to redden his ears, nose, and cheeks.
“Solomon, sit down,” Totoyama said. “You okay?”
He lifted his briefcase resting on the empty chair and set it down on the linoleum floor.
“I—” Solomon tried to speak, then gasped.
Mozasu asked his son, “You hungry? Did Etsuko tell you that you’d find us here gossiping like old women?”
He shook his head no.
Mozasu laid his hand on the boy’s forearm. He’d bought the dark blue suit Solomon was wearing now from Brooks Brothers the time he’d visited Solomon in New York. It had been a nice feeling to be able to buy his son however many interview suits and whatever else he needed at such a nice American store. That was the whole point of money, wasn’t it, to be able to get your kid whatever he needed?
“Have some curry,” Mozasu said.
Solomon shook his head.
Goro frowned and waved the waitress over.
“Kyoko-chan, give the boy some tea, please.”
Solomon looked up and stared at his father’s former boss.
“I don’t know what to say, Goro-san.”
“Sure, you do. Just talk.”
“My boss, Kazu, said that the lady, you know, the seller, she died. Is that right?”
“That’s so. I went to the funeral,” Goro said. “She was ancient. Died of a heart attack. She had two nieces who inherited all that money. Pleasant girls. One married and one divorced. Beautiful skin. Nice, open brows. Real Korean faces. They reminded me of my mother and aunt.”
The waitress brought his tea, and Solomon held the brown, squat mug between his hands. These were the same mugs that Empire had used ever since he could remember.
Totoyama patted the boy’s shoulder gently as if to wake him.
“Who? Who died?”
“The lady. The Korean lady who sold the property to Goro-san. My boss’s client wanted this property, and the lady wouldn’t sell to a Japanese, so Goro-san bought it and sold it to the client, but the lady is dead now, and the boss’s client won’t touch the deal. Something about having a clean public offering and possible investigations.”
Totoyama glanced at Mozasu, who looked equally puzzled.
“She died? Is that so?” Mozasu glanced at Goro, who nodded calmly.
“She was ninety-three years old, and she died a couple of days after she sold her property to me. What does that have to do with anything?” Goro shrugged. He winked at the waitress and tapped the edge of his mug for another beer. When he pointed to the empty beer mugs of Mozasu and Totoyama, the men shook their heads. Totoyama covered the top of his beer mug with his hand.
“What did you pay for the property?” Mozasu asked.
“A very good price, but not crazy. Then I sold it to that client for exactly what I paid for it. I sent Solomon’s boss the copies of the contract. I didn’t make a single yen. This was Solomon’s first deal, and—”
Mozasu and Totoyama nodded. It was unthinkable that Goro would ever seek to profit from Solomon’s career.
“The client bought it for less than what he would have if he’d bought it himself,” Solomon said slowly, as if Kazu were in the room.
“The client got a piece of property that he would never have gotten because he’s Japanese, and she had refused on several occasions to sell to him. He got it cheap.” Goro grunted in disbelief. “So now the client is saying he won’t build the country club? Bullshit.”
“Kazu said the project will be on hold because they didn’t want the bad news contaminating the public offering.”
“What bad news? The old lady died in peace. Though it might take time to wash away that dirty Korean smell,” Goro said. “I’m sick of this.”
Totoyama frowned. “If there had been something questionable about her death, I would know. There’s been no complaint.”
“Listen, the deal’s done. If this little prick wants to cheat you out of your cut, fine. I didn’t expect him to give you a fair bonus, but remember this: That bastard will not profit from you again. I will watch that motherfucker until the day I die.” Goro inhaled, then calmly smiled at the boy.
“Now, Solomon, you should eat some curry and tell me about this American girl, Phoebe. I’ve always wanted to go to America to meet the women there. So beautiful, so beautiful.” He smacked his lips. “I want a blonde American girlfriend with a big ass!”
The men smiled but they didn’t laugh as they would have before. Solomon appeared unconsoled.
The waitress brought Goro a small beer and returned to the kitchen; Goro watched her walk away.
“Too skinny,” he said, smoothing back his dyed black pompadour with his brown hands.
“I was fired,” Solomon said.
“Nani?” the three men said at once. “For what?”
“Kazu said that the client is holding off on the deal. They don’t need me anymore. He said that if there was an investigation because of—” Solomon stopped himself before saying the word “yakuza,” because suddenly, he wasn’t sure. His father wouldn’t have associated with criminals. Should he be speaking like this in front of Totoyama? He was Japanese and a high-ranking detective with the Yokohama police; he wouldn’t be friends with criminals. The suggestion alone would have hurt all the men deeply.
Goro studied Solomon’s face and nodded almost imperceptibly, because he understood the boy’s silence.
“Was she cremated?” Totoyama asked.
“Probably, but some Koreans get buried back home,” Mozasu said.
“Soo nee,” Totoyama said.
“Solomon, the lady died of natural causes. The niece said it was the heart. She was ninety-three years old. I had nothing to do with her death. Listen, your boss doesn’t actually think I killed the old lady. If he did, he’d be too scared to fire you. What would keep me from killing him? This is crazy stuff from television. He used your connections, then he fired you by making up some excuse. The client just wanted the Korean shit to go away.”
“You’ll get a better job in finance. I’m sure of it,” Mozasu said.
Goro was visibly irritated, however. “You should never work for a dirty bank again.”
“Iie. Solomon majored in economics. He studied in America to work in an American bank.”
“Travis is a British bank,” Solomon said.
“Well, maybe that was the problem. Maybe you should work in an American bank. There are a lot of American investment banks, nee?” Mozasu said.
Solomon felt awful. The men at this table had raised him. He could see how upset they were.
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll get another job. I have savings, too. I better go now.” Solomon stood up from his seat. “Papa, I left a box at your office. Can you send it to me in Tokyo? Nothing important.”
Mozasu nodded.
“Here, why don’t I take you home? We can take a drive to Tokyo.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll catch the train. It’s faster. Phoebe is probably wondering about me.”
When she didn’t answer the phone, Solomon returned to the hospital. Hana was awake. Pop music played on the radio. The room was still dark, but the dance hit made the room feel lively, like a nightclub.
“You came back already? You must have really missed me, Solomon.”
He told her everything, and she listened without interrupting him.
“You should take over your father’s business.”
“Pachinko?”
“Yes, pachinko. Why not? All these idiots who say bad things about it are jealous. Your father is an honest person. He could be richer if he was crooked, but he’s rich enough. Goro is a good guy, too. He might be a yak, but who cares? I don’t. And if he isn’t, I’m sure he knows them all. It’s a filthy world, Solomon. No one is clean. Living makes you dirty. I’ve met plenty of fancy people from IBJ and the BOJ who are from the best families, and they like to do some sick shit in bed. A lot of them do very bad things in business, but they don’t get caught. Most of the ones I’ve fucked would steal if they had the chance. They’re too scared to have any real ambition. Listen, Solomon, nothing will ever change here. Do you see that?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a fool,” she said, laughing, “but you are my fool.”
Her teasing made him feel sad. He missed her already. Solomon couldn’t remember ever feeling this lonesome before.
“Japan will never change. It will never ever integrate gaijin, and my darling, here you will always be a gaijin and never Japanese. Nee? The zainichi can’t leave, nee? But it’s not just you. Japan will never take people like my mother back into society again; it will never take back people like me. And we’re Japanese! I’m diseased. I got this from some Japanese guy who owned an old trading company. He’s dead now. But nobody cares. The doctors here, even, they just want me to go away. So listen, Solomon, you should stay here and not go back to the States, and you should take over your papa’s business. Become so rich that you can do whatever you want. But, my beautiful Solomon, they’re never going to think we’re okay. Do you know what I mean?” Hana stared at him. “Do what I tell you to do.”
“My own father doesn’t want that. Even Goro-san sold his parlors and is doing real estate now. Papa wanted me to work in an American investment bank.”
“What, so you can be like Kazu? I know a thousand Kazus. They’re not fit to wipe your father’s ass.”
“There are good people in the banks, too.”
“And there are good people in pachinko, too. Like your father.”
“I didn’t know you liked Papa.”
“You know, after I got here, he visited me every Sunday when Mama needed a break. Sometimes, when I was pretending to be asleep, I’d catch him praying for me in that chair. I don’t believe in God, but I guess that doesn’t matter. I never had someone pray for me before, Solomon.”
Solomon closed his eyes and nodded.
“Your grandmother Sunja and great-aunt Kyunghee visit me on Saturdays. Did you know that? They pray for me, too. I don’t understand the Jesus stuff, but it’s something holy to have people touch you when you’re sick. The nurses here are afraid to touch me. Your grandmother Sunja holds my hands, and your great-aunt Kyunghee puts cool towels on my head when I get too hot. They’re kind to me, though I’m a bad person—”
“You’re not bad. That’s not true.”
“I’ve done terrible things,” she said drily. “Solomon, when I was a hostess, I sold drugs to one girl who ended up overdosing. I stole money from a lot of men. I’ve told so many lies.”
Solomon said nothing.
“I deserve this.”
“No. It’s a virus. Everybody gets sick.”
Solomon smoothed her brow and kissed it.
“That’s okay, Solomon. I’m not doing bad things anymore. I’ve had time to think about my stupid life.”
“Hana—”
“I know, Solomon. Otomodachi, nee?”
She pretended to bow formally as she was lying down, and she picked up the corner of her blanket as if she were holding a fold of her skirt to curtsey. The trace of flirtation remained in her still-lithe movements. He wanted to remember this little thing forever.
“Go home, Solomon.”
“Okay,” he said, and he did not see her again.
21
Tokyo, 1989
I never liked him,” Phoebe said. “Too smooth.”
“Well, I’m obviously an idiot, because I did,” Solomon said. “Besides, how in the world did you get that impression of Kazu in the little time you had? You met him for about two minutes when we ran into him at Mitsukoshi. And you’ve never mentioned this before.”
Slumped in the rented leather armchair, Solomon could barely face Phoebe. He wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he’d expected from her, but he was surprised by how unruffled she was by the news. She seemed almost pleased. Phoebe sat on the bench near the window with her folded knees to her chest.
“I actually liked him,” he said.
“Solomon, that guy screwed you.”
Solomon glanced up at her placid profile, then dropped his head back again on the back of the armchair.
“He’s a dick.”
“I feel much better now.”
“I’m on your team.”
Phoebe didn’t know if she should get up and sit by him. She didn’t want him to think that she felt sorry for him. Her older sister used to say that men hated pity; rather, they wanted sympathy and admiration—not an eas
y combination.
“He was a phony. He talked to you like you were his little buddy. Like he’s some big man on campus and you’re one of his ‘boys.’ Does that system still even exist? I hate that frat-boy brother shit.” Phoebe rolled her eyes.
Solomon was dumbstruck. She had managed to encapsulate his entire relationship with Kazu from that brief, almost nonexistent encounter at the food court of the Mitsukoshi department store. How had she done this?
Phoebe hugged her knees, lacing her fingers together.
“You don’t like him because he’s Japanese.”
“Don’t get mad at me. It’s not that I distrust the Japanese, but I don’t know if I trust them entirely. You’re going to say that I’ve been reading too much about the Pacific War. I know, I know, I sound a little bigoted.”
“A little? The Japanese have suffered, too. Nagasaki? Hiroshima? And in America, the Japanese Americans were sent to internment camps, but the German Americans weren’t. How do you explain that?”
“Solomon, I’ve been here long enough. Can we please go home? You can get a dozen terrific jobs back in New York. You’re good at everything. No one interviews better than you.”
“I don’t have a visa to work in the States.”
“There are other ways to get citizenship.” She smiled.
Solomon’s family had hinted on innumerable occasions that he wanted to marry her and that he should marry her; the only person who hadn’t said so explicitly was the man himself.
Solomon’s head lay immobile on the back of the armchair. Phoebe could see that he was staring at the ceiling. She got up from the bench and walked to the front hall closet. She opened the closet doors and pulled out both of her suitcases. The suitcase wheels rolled loudly across the wooden floor, and Solomon looked up.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
“I’m going home,” she said.
“Don’t be like that.”
“Well, it occurs to me that I lost my life when I came here with you, and you’re not worth it.”
“Why are you being like this?”