“The poor kid couldn’t take any more.”
“Listen, man, there’s nothing you can do. This country isn’t going to change. Koreans like me can’t leave. Where we gonna go? But the Koreans back home aren’t changing, either. In Seoul, people like me get called Japanese bastards, and in Japan, I’m just another dirty Korean no matter how much money I make or how nice I am. So what the fuck? All those people who went back to the North are starving to death or scared shitless.”
Mozasu patted down his pockets for cigarettes.
“People are awful. Drink some beer.”
Haruki took a sip and coughed, having swallowed wrong.
“When I was a boy, I wanted to die,” Haruki said.
“Me too. Every fucking day, I thought it would be better if I died, but I couldn’t do it to my mother. Then after I left school, I didn’t feel that way anymore. But after Yumi died, I didn’t know if I was going to make it. You know? But then I couldn’t do it to Solomon. And my mother, well, you know, she changed after Noa disappeared. I can never let her down like that. My mother said that my brother left because he couldn’t handle Waseda and was ashamed. I don’t think that’s true. Nothing in school was ever hard for him. He’s living somewhere else, and he doesn’t want us to find him. I think he just got tired of trying to be a good Korean and quit. I was never a good Korean.”
Mozasu lit his cigarette.
“But things get better. Life is shitty, but not all the time. Etsuko’s great. I didn’t expect her to come along. You know, I’m going to help her open a restaurant.”
“She’s a nice lady. Maybe you’ll get married again.” Haruki liked Mozasu’s new Japanese girlfriend.
“Etsuko doesn’t want to get married again. Her kids hate her enough already. It’d be hell for her if she married a Korean pachinko guy.” Mozasu snorted.
Haruki’s sad expression remained.
“Man, life’s going to keep pushing you around, but you have to keep playing.”
Haruki nodded.
“I used to think if my father hadn’t left, then I’d be okay,” Haruki said.
“Forget him. Your mother was a great lady; my wife thought she was the best of the best. Tough and smart and always fair to everyone. She was better than having five fathers. Yumi said she was the only Japanese she’d ever work for.”
“Yeah. Mama was a great lady.”
The owner brought out the fried oysters and shishito peppers.
Haruki wiped his eyes with a cocktail napkin, and Mozasu poured him another glass of beer.
“I didn’t know kids wrote that stuff on your yearbooks. You were always watching out for me. I didn’t know.”
“Forget it. I’m okay. I’m okay now.”
8
Nagano, August 1978
Hansu’s driver found her waiting at the north gate of Yokohama Station as instructed, and he led Sunja to the black sedan, where Hansu was sitting in the back.
Sunja arranged herself in the plush velvet backseat, pulling down her suit jacket to cover the swell of her ajumma abdomen. She wore an imported French designer dress and Italian leather shoes that Mozasu’s girlfriend, Etsuko, had selected for her. At sixty-two years, Sunja looked like what she was—a mother of two grown men, a grandmother, and a woman who had spent most of her life working outdoors. Despite the clothes of a wealthy Tokyo matron, her wrinkled and spotted skin and short white hair couldn’t help but make her look rumpled and ordinary.
“Where are we going?”
“Nagano,” Hansu replied.
“Is that where he is?”
“Yes. He goes by Nobuo Ban. He’s been there continuously for sixteen years. He’s married to a Japanese woman and has four children.”
“Solomon has four cousins! Why couldn’t he tell us?”
“He is now Japanese. No one in Nagano knows he’s Korean. His wife and children don’t know. Everyone in his world thinks he is pure Japanese.”
“Why?”
“Because he does not want anyone to know about his past.”
“Is it so easy to do this?”
“It’s easy enough, and in his world, no one cares enough to dig around.”
“What do you mean?”
“He runs a pachinko parlor.”
“Like Mozasu?” There were Koreans in every aspect of the pachinko business, from the parlors and the keihin to the machine manufacturers, but she would have never expected Noa to do the same thing as Mozasu.
“Soo nee. How is Mozasu?” Hansu asked.
“Good.” She nodded, having a hard time concentrating.
“His business okay?”
“He bought another parlor in Yokohama.”
“And Solomon? He must be very big now.”
“He’s doing well at school. Studying hard. I want to know more about Noa.”
“He is well off.” Hansu smiled.
“Does he know we’re coming to see him?”
“No.”
“But—”
“He doesn’t want to see us. Well, he doesn’t want to see me. He may want to see you, but if he had, surely he would’ve let you know sooner.”