11

October 1955

Mozasu kept a photograph of the wrestler Rikidozan taped to the inside lid of his trunk, where he kept his special things like his favorite comics, old coins, and his father’s eyeglasses. Unlike the Korean wrestler, Mozasu did not like to get too close to his opponent and tussle for too long. Rikidozan was known for his famous karate chop, and similarly, Mozasu had deadly aim with his strikes.

Over the years, he had hit many different kinds of boys: He had hit them when they called him names; when they picked on his friend Haruki; and when they hassled his mother or grandmother at their confectionery stall at Tsuruhashi Station. By this time, Sunja had gotten used to the notes and visits from teachers, counselors, and angry parents. There was little she could do to stop her son from fighting, and she was terrified that he would get into serious trouble or argue with the wrong boy. After each incident, Yoseb and Noa would speak to him, and the fighting would stop for a while. Nevertheless, once incited, Mozasu would pound anyone who deserved it.

When Sunja asked him what happened, she could always expect two things from him: a sincere apology to her and his family for bringing them shame, and the defense that he didn’t start it. Sunja believed him. By nature, her boy, who was sixteen, was not violent. He avoided fights when he could and for as long as he could, but when things got bad, he would put a stop to the harassment with a quick, effective punch to the instigator’s face. Mozasu had broken the noses of several boys and blackened as many eyes. By now, only a stubborn fool or a new bully at school would bother Mozasu. Even the teachers respected the boy’s physical authority, and everyone knew that he did not abuse his power and preferred to be left alone.

To keep him out of trouble, Mozasu was required to go to the confectionery stand after school. Kyunghee stayed at home with Yoseb, and Noa wanted Mozasu to help their mother and grandmother. When the family had enough money to buy a store, it was hoped that Mozasu would help his mother and grandmother run it. Mozasu did not want to do this. Working in the market was women’s work, and though the boy respected the women, he did not want to make candy or sell taiyaki for the rest of his life.

For now, he did not mind helping his mother and grandmother by fetching more coal for the box stove beneath the taiyaki griddle and candy burner. At the end of the day, Sunja and Yangjin were relieved to have a strong boy to push the carts home, since they had been working since dawn. However, between the hours of four and seven, there wasn’t enough for Mozasu to do, because Sunja and Yangjin were able to cook the sweets and handle the customers without him. It was never that busy then.

It was a late fall afternoon, when business was exceedingly slow and the market women were busy talking with each other since there were so few customers; Mozasu made excuses about getting some gimbap on the other side of the market, and no one seemed to mind. Mozasu went to see Chiyaki, the girl who sold socks.

She was an eighteen-year-old Japanese orphan whose parents had died in the war. She lived and worked with her elderly grandparents, who owned the large sock store. Petite and curvy, Chiyaki was a flirt. She didn’t like other girls very much and preferred the company of the boys who worked in the market. Chiyaki teased Mozasu because she was two years older than he was, but of all the boys she liked, she thought he was the most handsome. It was a pity, she thought, that he was Korean, because her grandparents would disown her if she dated him. They both knew this, but there was no harm in talking.

When Chiyaki’s grandparents went home in the afternoon and left her alone to manage and close the shop, Mozasu or other boys came by to keep her company. Chiyaki had quit school years before because she hated all the stuck-up girls who ruled the school. Besides, her grandparents couldn’t see the point in her finishing. They were arranging her marriage to the tatami maker’s second son, who Chiyaki thought was boring. Chiyaki liked sharp dressers who talked a good game. Despite her interest in boys, she was very innocent and had never done anything with a boy. She would inherit her grandparents’ store, and she was pretty enough to get a guy to take her to a café if she wanted. Her value was obvious, and what she liked best was to make a man give her his devotion.

When Mozasu knocked on the doorframe of the stall and handed her his grandmother’s famous taiyaki, still warm from the griddle, Chiyaki smiled and licked her lips. She smelled it appreciatively at first, then took a little bite.

“Oishi! Oishi! Mo-san, thank you so much,” she said. “A handsome young man who can make sweets. You are perfect, nee?”

Mozasu smiled. She was adorable; there was no one like her. She had a reputation for talking to a lot of guys, but he still enjoyed being in her company. Also, he’d never seen her with another guy, so he didn’t know if the rumors were true. She had a cute figure and wore a berry-colored lipstick, which made her small mouth look delicious.

“How’s business?” he asked.

“Not bad. I don’t care. I know we made enough for the week, because Grandfather said so.”

“The sandal lady is looking at us,” Mozasu said. Watanabe-san owned the store opposite Chiyaki’s, and she was best friends with Chiyaki’s grandmother.

“That old bat. I hate her. She’s going to tell Grandmother about me again, but I don’t care.”

“Are you going to get in trouble for talking to me?”

“No. I’ll only get in trouble if I keep letting you give me sweets,” she said.

“Well, I’ll stop then.”

“Iyada!” Chiyaki took another bite of her cake and shook her head like a willful little girl.

They both looked up when a young man dressed like an office worker stopped in front of the shop. Chiyaki gestured to the empty stool in the corner of the shop, and Mozasu sat down and busied himself with the newspaper.

“May I help you, sir?” Chiyaki asked the man. He had been by earlier when her grandparents were there, but had returned. “Did you want to see those black socks again?”

“You remember me?” the man said excitedly.

“Sure. You were here this morning.”

“A pretty girl like you remembered me. I like that. I’m glad I came back for you.”

Mozasu looked up from the paper, then looked down again.

“How many would you like?”

“How many do you have?”

“At least twenty pairs your size,” she said. Sometimes a person would buy ten pairs. Once, a mother bought two boxes for her son who was at university.

“I’ll take two, but I’ll take more if you put them on me.”

Mozasu folded the paper and glanced at the man, who didn’t seem to notice his irritation.

“I’ll wrap up these two, then,” Chiyaki said.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Chiyaki.”

“I have a cousin with that name. Gosh, you are very beautiful. You got a boyfriend?”

Chiyaki got quiet.

“No? I think you should be my girlfriend then.” The man put money in her hand and held it.

Chiyaki smiled at him. She had dealt with this sort of fellow before, and she knew what he was implying. She pretended not to understand. Mozasu was jealous, but she didn’t mind. She stuck out her chest a little. In the bathhouse, the older women always stared at her high, round breasts and told her she was lucky.

The man stared exactly where Chiyaki wanted him to and said, “Nice. When can I pick you up tonight? I’ll buy you some yakitori.”

“You can’t,” she said, putting the money away in the cashbox. “You’re too old for me.”

“You little tease.”

“You’re not my type,” Chiyaki said, unafraid.

“You’re too young to have a type. I make good money, and I know how to fuck.” The man pulled her to him and put his hands on her behind and squeezed her. “Nice and full back there. Good tits, too. Close the shop. Let’s go.”

Mozasu got up from his chair quietly and walked over to the man. He hit him square in the mouth as hard as he could. The man fell over and blood poured down his lip. From the pain in his knuckles, Mozasu knew that he had loosened some of the man’s teeth.

“You should take the socks and go home now,” he said.

The man stared at the blood on his blue shirt and trousers as if the blood belonged to someone else.

“I’m calling the police,” he said.

“Go ahead, call the police,” Chiyaki said to the man. She waved frantically to the sandal lady, who was now rushing over.

“Mo-san, go now,” she said. “Hurry, get out. Go. I’ll deal with this.”

Mozasu walked briskly toward the confection stand.

  

The police found him in no time. Only a few minutes before, Mozasu had come back to the stall with blood on his hand and told his mother and grandmother what had happened with Chiyaki.

The police officer confirmed the story.

“Your son hit a gentleman who was buying some socks. This sort of behavior warrants an explanation. The young lady said that that man was trying to molest her and your son was protecting her, but the customer denies it,” the officer said.

Goro-san, the pachinko parlor owner, who was heading to the stand for his afternoon snack, rushed toward them when he saw the policeman.

“Hello, officer.” He winked at Sunja. “Is everything okay?” Goro asked.

Mozasu sat on the old wooden stool by the cart, looking guilty for troubling his mother and grandmother.

“Mozasu was defending a young lady who works at the sock store from a man who grabbed her. Mozasu hit him in the face,” Sunja said calmly. She kept her head high and refused to apologize for fear of admitting guilt on his behalf. Her heart was pounding so hard that she thought they could hear it. “He was only trying to help.”

Yangjin nodded firmly and patted Mozasu’s back.

“Maji?” Goro said, laughing. “Is that right, officer?”

“Well, that’s what the young lady said in the shop, and Watanabe-san agreed with her version of the events. The man who was hit denies it, but I’ve heard from some other store owners that he is a creep who often bothers the younger girls who work here.” The police officer shrugged. “Nevertheless, the man thinks his jaw is broken. His two lower teeth are loose. I wanted to warn the young man that he can’t just hit people even if they’re wrong. He should have called the police.”

At this, Mozasu nodded. He had been in trouble before, but no one had ever called the police. All his life, he had known about his father, who had been wrongfully imprisoned. Lately, Noa was warning him that since the Koreans in Japan were no longer citizens, if you got in trouble, you could be deported. Noa had told him that no matter what, Mozasu had to respect the police and be very deferential even if they were rude or wrong. Only a month ago, Noa had said a Korean had to be extra good. Once again, Mozasu felt bad for messing up and dreaded the look of disappointment that would surely appear on Noa’s face.

Goro considered the boy and Sunja, one of his favorite ajummas in the market.

“Officer, I know this family. They’re very hardworking, and Mozasu is a good kid. He won’t get in trouble again. Right, Mozasu?” Goro stared directly at Mozasu.

“Hai,” Mozasu replied.

The officer repeated his speech about how citizens should never take the law into their own hands, and Mozasu, Sunja, and Goro nodded as if the officer were the Emperor himself. After he left, Goro lightly smacked Mozasu in the back of head with his felt hat. Mozasu winced, but of course it hadn’t hurt.

“What are you going to do with this boy?” Goro asked the women, both exasperated and amused.

Sunja looked at her hands. She had tried everything she could, and now she had to ask a stranger. Yoseb and Noa would be angry with her, but she had to try something else besides what they were doing now.

“Could you help him?” Sunja asked. “Could he work for you? You wouldn’t have to pay him very much—”

Goro waved her away and shook his head and turned his attention to Mozasu. That was all he needed to hear.

“Listen, you’re going to quit school tomorrow morning and start working for me. Your mother doesn’t need this shit. After you tell the school that you’re done, you’re going to head to my shop, and you’re going to work very hard. I’m going to pay you what you deserve. I don’t steal from my employees. You work, you get paid. You got it? And stay away from the sock girl. She’s trouble.”

“Does your parlor need a boy?” Sunja asked.

“Sure, but no fighting. That’s not the only way to be a man,” he said, feeling sorry for the kid who didn’t have a father. “Being a man means you know how to control your temper. You have to take care of your family. A good man does that. Okay?”

“Sir, you are gracious to give him a chance. I know he’ll work—”

“I can see that,” Goro said to Sunja, smiling. “We’ll make him a pachinko boy and keep him off the streets.”

Mozasu got up from his stool and bowed to his new boss.