“Excuse me. I’m sorry to bother you, but do you know where Kim Changho is? He asked me to come by with the kimchi. I wasn’t sure when I—”
“Oh! Is that you?” The boy grinned in relief. “He’s just down the street. Boss told me to get him if you came by today. Why don’t you sit down and wait. Did you bring the kimchi? The customers have been complaining about the side dishes for weeks. Are you going to work here, too? Hey, how old are you anyway?” The boy wiped his hands and opened the kitchen door in the back. The new girl was sweet looking, he thought. The last kimchi ajumma had been a toothless granny who’d yell at him for nothing. She’d been fired for drinking too much, but this one looked younger than he was.
Sunja was confused. “Wait, Kim Changho isn’t here?”
“Have a seat. I’ll be right back!”
The boy dashed out the door.
Sunja looked around, and, realizing that she was alone, she went outside.
Kyunghee whispered, “The baby’s sleeping now.”
She was sitting on the stubby market stool that normally hung on the side of the cart. In the bright sun, a slight breeze blew against the puffy tufts of Mozasu’s hair and his smooth brow. It was early in the morning, and there were hardly any passersby on the street. The pharmacy hadn’t even opened yet.
“Sister, the manager’s on his way. Do you still want to wait outside?” Sunja asked.
“I’ll be fine here. You go in and wait by the window so I can see you. But come out when he gets here, okay?”
Back inside the restaurant, Sunja was afraid to sit down, so she stood a foot away from the door. She knew they could have sold this kimchi today at the market. She was here because the man said he could get her cabbage—that alone was enough to make her stay and wait for him. Without the cabbage, they didn’t have a business.
“How nice to see you!” Changho shouted, entering from the kitchen door. “Did you bring the kimchi?”
“My sister-in-law is watching the cart outside. We brought a lot.”
“I hope you can make more.”
“You haven’t even tried it,” she said quietly, confused by his enthusiasm.
“I’m not worried. I did my homework. I heard it’s the most delicious kimchi in Osaka,” he said, walking briskly toward her. “Let’s go outside then.”
Kyunghee bowed as soon as she saw him, but she didn’t speak.
“Hello, my name is Kim Changho,” he said to Kyunghee, a little startled by the woman’s beauty. He couldn’t tell how old she was, but the baby strapped to her back was not more than six months.
Kyunghee said nothing. She looked like a lovely, nervous mute.
“Is this your baby?” he asked.
Kyunghee shook her head, glancing at Sunja. This wasn’t like talking to Japanese merchants—something she had to do to buy groceries or things needed for the house. Yoseb had told her on numerous occasions that money and business were men’s issues, and suddenly she felt incapable of saying anything. Before getting here, it had been her plan to help Sunja with the negotiations, but now she felt like if she said anything at all, it would be unhelpful or wrong.
Sunja asked, “Do you know how much kimchi you’d like? On a regular basis, I mean. Do you want to wait to make an order after you try this batch?”
“I’ll take all that you can make. I’d prefer it if you could make the kimchi here. We have refrigerators and a very cold basement that might be good for your purposes.”
“In the kitchen? You want me to pickle the cabbages in there?” Sunja pointed to the restaurant door.
“Yes.” He smiled. “In the mornings, you two can come here and make the kimchi and the side dishes. I have cooks who come in the afternoon to cut up the meat and fix the marinades, but they can’t handle the kimchi and banchan. That sort of thing requires more skills. The customers want more home-style dishes for the pickles. Any fool can make a marinade and grill meat, but the customer needs a fine array of banchan to make him feel like he’s dining like a king, wouldn’t you say?”
He could see that they were still uncomfortable with the idea of working in a restaurant kitchen.
“Besides, you wouldn’t want me to deliver boxes and boxes of cabbages and vegetables to your house, would you? That can’t be very comfortable.”
Kyunghee whispered to Sunja, “We can’t work in a restaurant. We should make the kimchi at home, and we can bring it here. Or maybe they can send the boy to pick it up if we can’t carry it all.”
“You don’t understand. I need you to make much, much more than whatever you were making before. I manage two more restaurants that require kimchi and banchan—this one is the central location and has the largest kitchen, though. I’d provide all your ingredients; you just tell me what you want. You’d be paid a good salary.”
Kyunghee and Sunja looked at him, not understanding his meaning.
“Thirty-five yen a week. Each of you would get the same amount, so it’s seventy yen in total.”