Solomon faced his father. “Hmm?”
“It’s what we dogs must have.”
The clerk looked furious suddenly.
“The fingerprints and registration cards are vitally important for government records. There’s no need to feel insulted by this. It is an immigration regulation required for foreign—”
Etsuko stepped forward. “But you don’t make your children get fingerprinted on their birthday, do you?”
The clerk’s neck reddened.
“My son is dead.”
Etsuko bit her lip. She didn’t want to feel anything for the woman, but she knew what it was like to lose your children—it was like you were cursed and nothing would ever restore the desolation of your life.
“Koreans do lots of good for this country,” Etsuko said. “They do the difficult jobs Japanese don’t want to do; they pay taxes, obey laws, raise good families, and create jobs—”
The clerk nodded sympathetically.
“You Koreans always tell me that.”
Solomon blurted out, “She’s not Korean.”
Etsuko touched his arm, and the three of them walked out of the airless room. She wanted to crawl out of the gray box and see the light of outdoors again. She longed for the white mountains of Hokkaido. And though she had never done so in her childhood, she wanted to walk in the cold, snowy forests beneath the flanks of dark, leafless trees. In life, there was so much insult and injury, and she had no choice but to collect what was hers. But now she wished to take Solomon’s shame, too, and add it to her pile, though she was already overwhelmed.
10
One of her mother’s waitresses had brought her a Coke, and Hana was sitting at a table near the bar, playing with the straw. No longer permed, her hair was straight and its natural color, a reddish black. It was cut in one even length and splayed across her small shoulders. She wore a neatly ironed, white cotton blouse and a dark pleated skirt coming to her knees, with gray wool stockings and flat schoolgirl shoes. She hadn’t dressed like this since she was in primary school. Her stomach was flat, but her bud-like breasts looked fuller; otherwise, there was no way of knowing that she was pregnant.
Closed for a private event, the restaurant dining room was set up for the party. White linen cloths covered a dozen round tables, and in the middle of each sat an elegant floral arrangement and candlesticks. A busboy stood at the edge of the room, blowing up one red balloon after another with a helium tank. He let them all float up to the ceiling.
Etsuko and Solomon entered the restaurant quietly. He had insisted on coming by the restaurant to say hello to her daughter before heading home to change. At first, his mouth opened in surprise at the decorations and the dramatic transformation of the room. Then, seeing the girl at the empty table, he asked, “Is that her?”
“Yes.”
Hana smiled shyly at them.
Solomon and Hana greeted each other formally. Their mutual curiosity was obvious. Hana pointed to the balloons hiding the ceiling, and before Etsuko had a chance, Solomon replied quickly in Japanese, “It’s my birthday. Why don’t you come to the party? There’s going be an American dinner here tonight, and then we’re going to a real disco.”
Hana answered, “If you wish. I might.”
Etsuko frowned. She had to speak to the chef about the menu, but she was reluctant to leave them alone. A few minutes later, when she returned from the kitchen, they were whispering like a pair of young lovers. Etsuko checked her watch and urged Solomon to get home. At the door, he shouted, “Hey, I’ll see you at the party,” and Hana smiled like a courtesan as she waved good-bye.
“Why did you make him go? I was having fun.”
“Because he has to get dressed.”
“I looked in them.” Hana glanced at the bags near the entrance. There were a hundred party bags in four long rows that had to be transported to the disco—each bag filled with tapes, a Sony Walkman cassette player, imported teen magazines, and boxed chocolates.
“I wish my dad was a yakuza.”
“Hana, he’s not—” Etsuko looked around to see if anyone could hear them.
“Your boyfriend’s son doesn’t seem like a brat.”
“He doesn’t have it easy.”
“Not easy? American private schools, millions in the bank, and a chauffeur. Get some perspective, Mother.”
“Today, he had to go to the ward office to request permission to stay in Japan for another three years. If he was denied, he could have been deported. He has to carry around an alien registration card and—”
“Oh, really? But he wasn’t deported, right? Now he gets a fancy party that’s nicer than most weddings.”
“He was born in this country, and he had to be fingerprinted today on his birthday like he was a criminal. He’s just a child. He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“We’re all criminals. Liars, thieves, whores—that’s who we are.” The girl’s carbon-colored eyes looked hard and ancient. “No one is innocent here.”