“The leader Kim Il Sung fought against Japanese imperialism—”
“I know his guys. Some of them might actually believe the message, but most of them are just trying to collect a pay envelope each week. The ones in charge who live here are never going back. You watch.”
“But don’t you think we must do something for our country? These foreigners are cutting up the nation into—”
Hansu put both his hands on Kim’s shoulders and faced him squarely.
“You haven’t had a girl in such a long time that you can’t think straight.” Hansu smiled, then looked serious again. “Listen, I know the heads of both the Association and Mindan”—he snorted—“I know them very, very well—”
“But Mindan’s a mere puppet of the American—”
Hansu smiled at Kim, amused by the young man’s sincerity.
“How long have you worked for me?”
“I must’ve been twelve or thirteen when you gave me a job.”
“How many times have I really talked politics with you?”
Kim tried to remember.
“Never. Not really. I’m a businessman. And I want you to be a businessman. And whenever you go to these meetings, I want you to think for yourself, and I want you to think about promoting your own interests no matter what. All these people—both the Japanese and the Koreans—are fucked because they keep thinking about the group. But here’s the truth: There’s no such thing as a benevolent leader. I protect you because you work for me. If you act like a fool and go against my interests, then I can’t protect you. As for these Korean groups, you have to remember that no matter what, the men who are in charge are just men—so they’re not much smarter than pigs. And we eat pigs. You lived with that farmer Tamaguchi who sold sweet potatoes for obscene prices to starving Japanese during a time of war. He violated wartime regulations, and I helped him, because he wanted money and I do, too. He probably thinks he’s a decent, respectable Japanese, or some kind of proud nationalist—don’t they all? He’s a terrible Japanese, but a smart businessman. I’m not a good Korean, and I’m not a Japanese. I’m very good at making money. This country would fall apart if everyone believed in some samurai crap. The Emperor does not give a fuck about anyone, either. So I’m not going to tell you not to go to any meetings or not to join any group. But know this: Those communists don’t care about you. They don’t care about anybody. You’re crazy if you think they care about Korea.”
“Sometimes, I’d like to see my home again,” Kim said quietly.
“For people like us, home doesn’t exist.” Hansu took out a cigarette, and Kim rushed to light it.
Kim had not been back home in over twenty years. His mother had died when he was a toddler, and his tenant farmer father died not much later; his older sister did what she could for him but eventually married, then disappeared, leaving him to beg. Kim wanted to go to the North to help with the reunification efforts, but he also wanted to go to Daegu to clean his parents’ graves and do a proper jesa now that he could afford it.
Hansu took a long drag of his cigarette.
“You think I like it here? No, I don’t like it here. But here, I know what to expect. You don’t want to be poor. Changho-ya, you’ve worked for me, you’ve had enough food and money, so you’ve started to think about ideas—that’s normal. Patriotism is just an idea, so is capitalism or communism. But ideas can make men forget their own interests. And the guys in charge will exploit men who believe in ideas too much. You can’t fix Korea. Not even a hundred of you or a hundred of me can fix Korea. The Japs are out and now Russia, China, and America are fighting over our shitty little country. You think you can fight them? Forget Korea. Focus on something you can have. You want that married one? Fine. Then either get rid of the husband or wait until he’s dead. This is something you can fix.”
“She’s not going to leave him.”
“He’s a loser.”
“No, no, he’s not,” Kim said gravely. “And she’s not the kind of woman who’d just—” He couldn’t talk about this anymore. He could wait until Yoseb died, but it was wrong to want a man to die. He believed in many ideas, including the idea that a wife must be loyal to her husband. If Kyunghee left a broken man, she would be less worthy of his devotion.
At the end of the street, Hansu stopped walking and tilted his head toward a plain-looking bar.
“You want a girl now, or do you want to go back to the house and want someone else’s wife?”
Kim stared at the handle of the door, then pulled it open, letting his boss enter first before following him inside.