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.”
4
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.
“Fish jeon and chicken jorim,” Sunja replied. Mozasu’s friend Haruki Totoyama would arrive this evening and stay for the weekend, and she’d already planned all the meals.
“But Toto likes bulgogi. It’s his favorite meal.”
“I can make that tomorrow night. He won’t leave until Sunday afternoon.”
Solomon looked worried.
Hansu, who’d been observing Solomon carefully, said, “I love chicken jorim. That’s the kind of dish you can only get at a nice home. Anyone can have bulgogi at a restaurant, but only your grandmother can make—”
“Do you want to meet Toto? He’s my best grown-up friend.”
Sunja shook her head, but Hansu ignored her.
“I’ve known your father since he was a boy your age. I’d love to have dinner at your house. Thank you, Solomon.”
In the front hall, Sunja removed her coat and helped Solomon with his. With his right forearm raised and his left tucked close to his body, the boy ran to the den to watch Tetsuwan Atomu. Hansu followed Sunja to the kitchen.
She poured shrimp chips into a small basket and retrieved a yogurt drink from the refrigerator and arranged them on the round Ultraman tray.
“Solomon,” she called out.
The boy came to the kitchen to take the tray, and he carried it carefully back to the den to watch his programs.
Hansu sat down by the Western-style breakfast table.
“This is a good house.”
Sunja didn’t reply.
It was a brand-new three-bedroom in the Westerners’ section of Yokohama. Of course, Hansu had driven past it before; he’d seen the exterior of every place she’d ever lived. With the exception of the farmhouse during the war, this was the first one he’d been inside. The furnishings resembled sets from American films—upholstered sofas, high wooden dining tables, crystal chandeliers, and leather armchairs. Hansu guessed that the family slept on beds rather than on the floor or on futons. There were no old things in the house—no traces of anything from Korea or Japan. The spacious, windowed kitchen looked out onto the neighbors’ rock garden.
Sunja wasn’t speaking to him, but she didn’t seem angry, either. She was facing the stove with her back turned to him. Hansu could make out the outline of her body in her camel-colored sweater and brown woolen trousers. The first time he’d spotted her, he’d noticed her large, full bosom beneath the traditional Korean blouse. He’d always preferred a girl with big breasts and a pillowy bottom. He had never seen her completely naked; they’d only made love outside, where she had always worn a chima. His famously beautiful wife had no chest, hips, or ass, and he had dreaded fucking her because she’d loathed being touched. Before bed, he had to bathe, and after lovemaking she had to have a long bath at no matter what hour. After she gave birth to three girls, he quit trying for a son; even his father-in-law, whom Hansu loved, had said nothing about the other women.