“Yes,” Sunja replied.
“Is he a drinker or a gambler?” The son had seen desperate women before, and the stories were always the same.
“Neither,” she said in a stern voice, as if to warn him not to ask any more questions.
“A hundred seventy-five yen,” the broker said.
“Two hundred.” Sunja could feel the warm, smooth metal in her palm; Hansu would have held firm to his price.
The broker protested, “How do I know that I can sell it?”
“Father,” the older son said, smiling. “You’d be helping a little mother from home.”
The broker’s desk was made of an unfamiliar wood—a rich dark brown color with teardrop-shaped whorls the size of a child’s hand. She counted three teardrop whorls on the surface. When she’d gone to collect mushrooms with Hansu, there had been innumerable types of trees. The musty smell of wet leaves on the forest carpet, the baskets filled to bursting with mushrooms, the sharp pain of lying with him—these memories would not leave her. She had to be rid of him, to stop this endless recollection of the one person she wished to forget.
Sunja took a deep breath. Kyunghee was wringing her hands.
“We understand if you don’t wish to buy this,” Sunja said quietly, and turned to leave.
The pawnbroker held up his hand, signaling her to wait, and went to the back room, where he kept his cashbox.
When the two men returned to the house for the payments, the women stood by the door and didn’t invite them inside.
“If I pay you the money, how do I know that the debt is totally gone?” Sunja asked the taller one.
“We’ll get the boss to sign the promissory note to say it’s canceled,” he said. “How do I know that you have the money?”
“Can your boss come here?” Sunja asked.
“You must be crazy,” the taller one said, in shock at her request.
Sunja sensed that she shouldn’t give these men the money. She tried to close the door a little so she could speak with Kyunghee, but the man pushed it back with his foot.
“Listen, if you really have the money, you can come with us. We’ll take you right now.”
“Where?” Kyunghee spoke up, her voice tremulous.
“By the sake shop. It’s not far.”
The boss was an earnest-looking young Korean, not much older than Kyunghee. He looked like a doctor or a teacher—well-worn suit, gold-wire spectacles, combed-back black hair, and a thoughtful expression. No one would have thought he was a moneylender. His office was about the size of the pawnbroker’s, and on the wall opposite the front door, a shelf was lined with books in Japanese and Korean. Electric lamps were lit next to comfortable-looking chairs. A boy brought the women hot genmaicha in pottery cups. Kyunghee understood why her husband would borrow money from a man like this.
When Kyunghee handed him all the money, the moneylender said thank you and canceled the note, placing his red seal on the paper.
“If there’s anything else I can ever do for you, please let me be of service,” he said, looking at Kyunghee. “We must support each other while we’re far from home. I am your servant.”
“When, when did my husband borrow this money?” Kyunghee asked the moneylender.
“He asked me in February. We’re friends, so of course, I obliged.”
The women nodded, understanding. Yoseb had borrowed the money for Isak and Sunja’s passage.
“Thank you, sir. We shall not bother you again,” Kyunghee said.
“Your husband will be very pleased to have the matter settled,” he said, wondering how the women had raised the money so quickly.
The women said nothing and returned home to make dinner.
17
Where did you get the money?” Yoseb shouted, clutching the canceled promissory note.
“Sunja sold the watch her mother gave her,” Kyunghee replied.
Invariably, each night on their street, someone was yelling or a child was crying, but loud noises had never come from their house. Yoseb, who didn’t anger easily, was enraged. Sunja stood wedged in the back corner of the front room, her head lowered—mute as a rock. Tears streamed down her reddened cheeks. Isak wasn’t home yet from church.
“You had a pocket watch worth over two hundred yen? Does Isak know about this?” he shouted at Sunja.
Kyunghee raised her hands and put herself between him and Sunja.
“Her mother gave her the watch. To sell for the baby.”
Sunja slid down the wall, no longer able to stand. Sharp pains pierced her pelvis and back. She shut her eyes and covered her head with her forearms.
“Where did you sell this watch?”
“At the pawnbroker by the vegetable stand,” Kyunghee said.
“Are you out of your mind? What kind of women go to pawnbrokers?” Yoseb stared hard at Sunja. “How can a woman do such a thing?”
From the floor, Sunja looked up at him and pleaded, “It’s not Sister’s fault—”