“Today, I made two vests, Pastor John.”
John moved on to the others, encouraging the reserved students to talk to each other as well as to the class. He wanted the Koreans to speak well; he wanted no one ever to look down on them. He had left his beautifully comfortable life in Princeton, New Jersey, because he felt sorry for the impoverished Koreans in Japan. In his wonderful childhood, filled with the warmth of his loving parents, he had always felt bad for the Koreans who had lost their nation for good. People like Moses and Yumi had never been to Korea. There was always talk of Koreans going back home, but in a way, all of them had lost the home in their minds for good. His parents had adopted him alone, and he had no known siblings. Because John had always felt so happy with his parents, he’d felt guilty that many others hadn’t been chosen the way he was. Why was that? He wanted to know. There were unhappy adoptions, to be sure, but John knew his lot was better than almost anyone’s. “Chosen” was always the word his mother had used with him.
“We chose you, our darling John. You had the loveliest smile, even as a small baby. The ladies at the orphanage loved holding you, because you were such an affectionate child.”
Teaching English class wasn’t part of his job as a pastor. He didn’t proselytize his students, most of whom were not parishioners. John loved the sound of English words, the sounds of Americans talking. He wanted to give this to the poor Koreans in Osaka. He wanted them to have another language that wasn’t Japanese.
Like his students, John was born in Japan to Korean parents. His biological parents had left him with their landlord. John didn’t know how old he was exactly. His parents had given him the birthday of Martin Luther, November 10. The only fact he knew about his birth parents was that they had left their rented room in the early hours of the morning without paying the rent and had left him behind. His adoptive mother said this must have been because the landlord had money and shelter, and wherever his biological parents were going, they may not have been able to give these things to him. Their sacrifice of leaving him was an act of love, his mother had said every time John had asked about them. Nevertheless, whenever John saw an older Korean woman or man who could be the age of his parents, he wondered. He could not help it. He wished he could give them money now, for John was a very wealthy man, and he wished he could meet his biological parents and give them a house to keep them warm and food to eat when they were hungry.
As Pastor John teased the two sisters in the back about their fondness for sweets, Mozasu knocked his knee gently against Yumi’s. Mozasu had long thighs, and he had to move his thigh only a little to graze the skirt fabric covering Yumi’s pretty legs. She tapped him back in slight annoyance, though she did not mind.
Pastor John had asked the younger sister about what she did when it rained, and instead of listening to the girl stumble in English, casting about for the word “umbrella,” Mozasu found himself staring at Yumi. He loved to look at her soft profile, the way her dark, sad eyes met her high cheekbones.
“Moses, how can you learn English if you are just staring at Yumi?” John asked, laughing.
Yumi blushed again. “Behave,” she whispered to Mozasu in Japanese.
“I cannot stop, Pastor John. I love her,” Mozasu declared, and John clapped in delight.
Yumi looked down at her notes.
“Will you two marry?” Pastor John asked.
Yumi appeared stunned at this question, though she shouldn’t have been. Pastor John was liable to say anything.
“She will marry me,” Mozasu said. “I am confident.”
“What?” Yumi cried.
The women in the back were near tears laughing. Two men in the middle of the class pounded on their desks, cheering loudly.
“This is fun,” John said. “I think we are witnessing a proposal. ‘Pro-po-sal’ means an invitation to marry.”
“Of course, you will marry me, Yumi-chan. You love me, and I love you very much. We will marry. You see,” Mozasu said calmly in English, “I have plan.”
Yumi rolled her eyes. He knew she wanted to go to America, but he wanted to stay in Osaka and open his own pachinko parlor in a few years. He intended to buy his mother, aunt, uncle, and grandmother a huge house when he was rich. He said that if they wanted to move back to Korea, he would make so much money that he would build them castles. He couldn’t make this kind of money in Los Angeles, he’d explained. He couldn’t leave his family, and Yumi knew this.
“You and I love each other. Soo nee, Yumi-chan?” Mozasu smiled at her and took her hand.
The pupils clapped loudly and stamped their feet as if watching a baseball game.
Yumi bent her head down, mortified by his behavior, but she couldn’t be angry at him. She could never be angry with him. He was the only friend she’d ever had.
“We’ll have to plan a wedding then,” John said.
18
Tokyo, March 1962