Pachinko

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.

“Oh, I’m a fool. I’m so sorry,” he said, glancing at Yumi, who was trying not to laugh. “Should I come back tomorrow or the next day? I may be able to come by before you close.”

“Oh, yes, please,” Totoyama said, assessing the torn seams, oblivious to the two young people studying each other. “We’ll have it ready for you by tomorrow night.”





17

October 1961



Mozasu leaned against the maple tree opposite Totoyama-san’s workshop, his profile only slightly obscured by its trunk. This was their arranged meeting place. Three nights a week, Mozasu met Yumi after work. For over a year, he’d been accompanying her to the English class at the church, then heading back to her rented room where she’d fix them a simple dinner. Often, they would make love before Mozasu returned to Paradaisu Seven, where he worked until closing before falling asleep in his quarters at the employee dormitory.

It was already October, and though the early evening breezes had yet to lose the supple warmth of summer, the leaves on the trees were beginning to turn gold and shiny. The tall tree above him formed a burnished metallic lace against the blurry evening sky. Laborers and other men in uniform were returning home from work, and small children popped out of their homes to greet their fathers. In the past year, the road where Totoyama had her new workshop had improved, with families moving into the abandoned houses near the river. A local vegetable seller had done so well in his once-desolate spot that he was now able to rent the adjacent lot for his brother-in-law to sell dry goods. The new bakery selling Portuguese-style sponge cakes, which perfumed the street invitingly, had achieved sufficient fame in Osaka to command long lines each morning.

The seamstresses at Totoyama-san’s were working later than usual, so Mozasu studied his crumpled list of homework words. He’d never thought much of his memory when he was at school, but he found that he was able to remember English words and phrases very well. His recall was useful for impressing Yumi. Unlike most girls, who cared about gifts of cash, dresses, or trinkets, Mozasu’s girlfriend cared only about learning. Yumi seemed happiest with him when he gave the right answers when their teacher, the Reverend John Maryman, called on him. Yumi, who wanted to live in America, believed that she had to learn English well if she was to live there one day.

There was only a little natural light left to read by, but when a man’s shadow passed over him, he couldn’t make out the words on the page. Noticing the solemn pair of men’s work shoes a few paces from him, Mozasu glanced up.

“Is it possible that you are studying, Mo-san? Honto?”

“Hey, Haruki!” Mozasu shouted. “Is that you? I haven’t seen you since I don’t know when!” He clasped his friend’s hand heartily and shook it. “I’m always asking your mother about you. She’s real proud of you. Not like she’s bragging, but you know, in her quiet, polite Totoyama-san way. And look at you! Haruki, the—police officer!” Mozasu whistled at Haruki’s academy uniform. “You look really serious. Makes me want to commit a crime. You’re not going to tell on me, right?”

Haruki smiled and hit Mozasu on the shoulder lightly with his fist, feeling shy around his old school friend. It had been difficult to keep away from Mozasu, but Haruki had done so because his feelings for him had been too strong. There had been other infatuations over the years and encounters with strangers. Recently, there was a fellow at the academy, Koji, another tough and funny guy. As he had done with Mozasu, Haruki did his best to keep away from Koji, because he knew well enough to draw a thick line between what was public and what was private.

“What the hell are you doing around here? Don’t you live near the academy?”

Haruki nodded. “I have the week off.”

“So? When do you become a cop? I mean detective.” Mozasu chuckled, pretending to bow formally.

Min Jin Lee's books