The Favorites_ A Novel Part 17

Sarah knew. In past centuries, illegitimate babies had been drowned. Orphans had starved during famines. There was even an ancient tradition of putting twins to death if they were born of opposite s.e.xes. Some of the stone markers-so old and weathered they looked like lumps of rock-had two figures etched side by side. None of these children had had a proper burial. Since there was no family to chant sutras and push the children safely into the next world, little Jizo were created in their memory. The sadder the circ.u.mstances, it was said, the sweeter the smile a stoneworker would carve. The Jizo would stand on roadsides and protect travelers from harm.

"When Mama was sad or upset as a girl, and even when she was in college," Sarah told her grandmother, "she'd come and sit here. She made up stories about who they were and what their families were like."

To her dismay, her grandmother gave a little shudder.

"When she brought me here," Sarah continued, "she'd say a prayer for them, and she made me say a prayer too." She had a flash of memory: standing here next to her mother, eyes closed and palms pressed together. For a moment she could almost smell the sun-warmed stone and hear the comforting rattle of summer leaves overhead.

"If I'd known about this when she was a girl, I would have forbidden it," Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ said. "These souls are lost and hungry, like stray dogs. If they sense a susceptible spirit, they latch on, poor things. And they drag down the living."

It was hard to know how to respond. Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ was a practical woman with progressive views. But every so often, like now, Sarah was reminded that they came from different generations and different cultures.

"You must think I'm silly," said her grandmother.

"No," said Sarah. "I think it was a different time. A much scarier time." The crumbling stones, with their aura of tragedy, did look rather sinister in the still gloom of November.

"I told her to stay away from these sorts of things." Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ sounded hurt. "I made her promise."

"Well," said Sarah helplessly, "I guess it turned out all right in the end."

"Soh. I suppose it did." I suppose it did."

chapter 42.

Later that afternoon, someone tapped on the kitchen door. It was Mrs. Ichiyos.h.i.+, who lived four houses away. that afternoon, someone tapped on the kitchen door. It was Mrs. Ichiyos.h.i.+, who lived four houses away.

Sarah hadn't seen the old woman in years. She never came outdoors anymore. Once she had been a common sight, hovering over a vendor's pushcart or sweeping the doorstep of her visitor gate. When Sarah and her cousins were small, she would give them green-tea candies from her ap.r.o.n pocket. They accepted politely but unenthusiastically; green tea was an old person's flavor.

Mrs. Ichiyos.h.i.+ bowed and stepped into the cement vestibule. Waving aside Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+'s invitation to come up, she perched informally on the raised ledge of the tatami floor, not bothering to take off her shoes: the cla.s.sic posture of a neighborhood gossip.

"And who might this be?" She looked curiously at Sarah, who had knelt down beside her grandmother on the tatami matting. Mrs. Ichiyos.h.i.+ had a deep, masculine voice.

"This," Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ told her, "is Yoko's girl, all grown up."

"Aaa, Yo-chan, of course..." The old woman's face brightened with fond recognition. Then she leaned in closer. "Have you heard?" she whispered in her gravelly voice. Yo-chan, of course..." The old woman's face brightened with fond recognition. Then she leaned in closer. "Have you heard?" she whispered in her gravelly voice.

Sarah wondered what news about her mother could possibly be so urgent, since she had been dead six years now.

"She's marrying a gaijin!" Mrs. Ichiyos.h.i.+ told them. "The girl's lost her mind! A gaijin! Maa, Maa, can you imagine the to-do over at the Kobayas.h.i.+ house!" Her face contorted with a look of scandalous glee that Sarah had never seen. It reminded her of the time she was fourteen, when she had looked up at the Asaki balcony and seen a stranger staring at her through Mrs. Asaki's eyes. can you imagine the to-do over at the Kobayas.h.i.+ house!" Her face contorted with a look of scandalous glee that Sarah had never seen. It reminded her of the time she was fourteen, when she had looked up at the Asaki balcony and seen a stranger staring at her through Mrs. Asaki's eyes.

It was the first time she had encountered a senile person. But the greater shock was seeing her mother's past come alive with such ugliness.

Before anyone could respond, Mrs. Ichiyos.h.i.+'s daughter-in-law came scurrying to the open door. She steered the old woman back toward home, periodically looking back over her shoulder and making jerky bows of apology. Sarah and her grandmother followed them out into the lane, bowing back in polite rea.s.surance and staring after their retreating figures.

"Poor thing, ne, ne," Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ said lightly. "Gone funny in the head and still so young." She avoided looking at Sarah. It was unbearably painful that her daughter's disgrace had been witnessed by her child. Sarah would have felt the same way if her grandmother had known of her mother's disadvantages in America.

Later that day Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ remarked, with a strange vehemence, "If her real father were alive, he would never have allowed her to marry an American." With this cryptic comment, the subject was closed forever.

There were certain things Sarah never discussed with her grandmother. She never let on that her mother had been anything but a queen bee in America. And she never mentioned their fights.

In turn, she knew her grandmother kept certain things from her. When Sarah was fourteen, her aunt Tama had told her that when her mother left on her honeymoon, Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ had dropped her brave face and wept for days afterward, huddled on her knees in the parlor. "I didn't know what to do!" Mrs. Izumi said. "I thought she was going to get sick." At the time, Sarah had a.s.sumed this was natural behavior for two people so close. But years later, shortly before she died, her mother had said something surprising.

"It was healthier for me to go away," she said. "We were too attached." That surprising remark had stuck in Sarah's memory like a shard of gla.s.s.

She wished she could ask her grandmother about it. But how could she risk hurting an old woman who had suffered so much? The very idea would have outraged her mother, with her Benkei-like protectiveness.

There was one other topic they didn't discuss: the problem of her mother marrying an American. Until now, Sarah hadn't grasped the full magnitude of the situation. "There was a little resistance at first," she was told as a child, "but then you were born, and everyone's heart just melted into a puddle." This had seemed reasonable. In Sarah's generation, there was nothing shocking about a mixed-race marriage.

The Ichiyos.h.i.+ incident made Sarah curious about her parents' marriage. She had grown up hearing her parents reminisce fondly about their courts.h.i.+p. She had been delighted by the tale of stuffy relatives-a socially prominent branch of the Sosetsu family-who had begged the Kobayas.h.i.+s to stop the marriage. It would impact their children's prospects, they pleaded, referring to matchmakers who dug deeply into family histories.

"But you stood up to those silly people and made them go home, didn't you, Mama?" young Sarah had said happily.

"Of course I did," her mother replied. "And your grandmother backed me up, one hundred percent."

The couple had met while Mr. Rexford was in j.a.pan on a two-month vacation. In the fifties, j.a.pan was still struggling to catch up with the modern world. Students were urged to practice their English on any foreigner they met. Since foreigners were scarce in inland cities, Mr. Rexford was approached by a good many college students. Faces stiff with embarra.s.sment, they would blurt out, "h.e.l.lo, I have a black pen," or "How is the government in your country?"

One spring day he was standing in a shrine yard, in front of a wooden structure with an enormous rope hanging from the eaves. This rope was meant to be grasped with both hands and shaken, so the large bells overhead would clang and alert the spirits. Then it was customary to drop a coin into the slatted donation box, clap three times, bow, and pray.

Yoko was sitting a few yards away, a sketching board across her knees. She had recently graduated from college with a double major: one in cla.s.sic j.a.panese literature and one in English. She was eager to display her skills to someone capable of appreciating them.

"Excuse me," she said. "That rope at which you are gazing is made of the hair of female prisoners."

"It was the best opening line I'd ever heard," Mr. Rexford told his daughter years later.

Their meeting was the start of a tender friends.h.i.+p. After Mr. Rexford went home to America, he wrote her every week. Through their letters, they fell in love.

For many years, Yoko kept their correspondence a secret. After all, j.a.panese girls from good families did not consort with Americans. She explained away the letters by telling her mother that Kyoto University had a pen pal program, designed to help alumni maintain the foreign-language skills they had learned. Sarah loved the story of her grandmother innocently saying, "Here's another letter from your pen pal!" as she collected mail from the wooden box at the visitor gate.

"I always had a gut feeling about him," Mrs. Rexford used to tell Sarah. "I just knew. knew. There was something in his eyes." There was something in his eyes."

Sarah had never seen beyond those charming anecdotes to the true problem: Yoko had lied to her mother for years. The sense of betrayal must have been especially great because mother and daughter were best friends. Many nights after everyone went to bed, the two had stayed up late into the night, laughing, gossiping, holding philosophical debates. How hurt her grandmother must have been when she learned the truth!

It bothered Sarah that she knew nothing about the most intense and painful time in the women's relations.h.i.+p. What guilt her mother must have felt! How did she reconcile that remorse? Knowing the answer might have given Sarah a vastly different understanding of her own relations.h.i.+p with her mother.

chapter 43.

The public bathhouse was closed for maintenance, so Sarah was preparing to bathe at the Asaki house. She padded up and down the hall, collecting clean underwear and socks and a new woolen unders.h.i.+rt from the public bathhouse was closed for maintenance, so Sarah was preparing to bathe at the Asaki house. She padded up and down the hall, collecting clean underwear and socks and a new woolen unders.h.i.+rt from the tansu tansu chest in the parlor. Her grandmother was staying home; she would wait until the bathhouse opened on the following day. "You go ahead," she urged Sarah. Even now, old boundaries stood firm: Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ never visited the Asaki house except on formal occasions. chest in the parlor. Her grandmother was staying home; she would wait until the bathhouse opened on the following day. "You go ahead," she urged Sarah. Even now, old boundaries stood firm: Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ never visited the Asaki house except on formal occasions.

It was years since Sarah had bathed at the Asaki house. She had often bathed there as a child; it was quicker than public bathing and it gave the girls more time to play.

Early afternoon seemed the least intrusive time to visit. Her uncle would still be at work, and Yas.h.i.+ko would be in school. Momoko no longer lived at home; she had gone away to college.

"Is it too antisocial, slipping in and out like that while everyone's away?" she asked. She suspected her mother would have chosen a more convivial hour.

"Not at all," said her grandmother, helping to pack Sarah's vinyl bath bag with a washbasin, shampoo, soap, and towels. "It's the perfect time to chat with Granny Asaki."

It was a long-standing tradition for Sarah to sit with her great-aunt and look through her photograph alb.u.ms. This had originally been Mrs. Rexford and Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+'s idea. "Why don't you run along to Granny's," they would urge the child, "and ask her to show you pictures from the old days?" It was partly to teach her etiquette. "It makes old women happy," her mother explained, "to have people know how pretty they were when they were young. Remember that."

"She was a real beauty in her day," her grandmother would add. "I remember people always compared her to that famous actress, what's-her-name."

But playing up to Mrs. Asaki's vanity was also the women's way of ensuring that the "half" child, despite her Caucasian features, would endear herself to the matriarch of the family.

Now these visits served a different purpose: to acknowledge that the old lady was important enough, and loved enough, to receive personal visits of her own. Mrs. Rexford's calls had been formal, peppered with deep bows and ceremonial language. But Sarah belonged to a generation awkward with such formality, so this was her way of paying respect.

"Oh, and while you're there"-Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ looked up from Sarah's vinyl bag and clapped her hands once, relieved at having remembered-"be sure you pick up our concert tickets."

"Tickets? We're going to a concert?"

"I didn't tell you? It must have slipped my mind. What is wrong wrong with me lately? It's your auntie; her choir's performing this weekend at the brand-new Civic Auditorium. You remember-the big building that's been on the news lately." with me lately? It's your auntie; her choir's performing this weekend at the brand-new Civic Auditorium. You remember-the big building that's been on the news lately."

Sarah had never heard about her aunt singing. Oh, but wait, now she did remember something: a throwaway conversation from the summer she was fourteen.

The three of them-Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+, Mrs. Rexford, and Sarah-had been sitting on the garden veranda one muggy afternoon, fanning themselves with paper uchiwa uchiwa as cicadas droned in the maple branches overhead. Hearing the rapid crunch of gravel, they turned their heads to see Mrs. Nis.h.i.+mura hurrying past along the alley, her slender form flas.h.i.+ng in and out of view through the slats in the wooden fence. as cicadas droned in the maple branches overhead. Hearing the rapid crunch of gravel, they turned their heads to see Mrs. Nis.h.i.+mura hurrying past along the alley, her slender form flas.h.i.+ng in and out of view through the slats in the wooden fence.

"A! Late for the bus again," Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ said. "It's her choir day." Late for the bus again," Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ said. "It's her choir day."

"Choir? Really!" Mrs. Rexford's voice held the kindly geniality that accomplished people use when praising those with less skill. "Maa, good for good for her her!"

"It's with some other PTA mothers," Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ said. "They've formed some kind of a group." She leaned over and twisted off a dead leaf from a nearby fuchsia bush, placing it in the center of her lap to throw away later. "By the way, I'm thinking of frying up some gyoza for dinner. Or do you think it's too hot?"

Sarah asked if her aunt was a good singer.

Her grandmother had considered this for a moment, gazing off into the distance. "I believe so," she finally said, "but nothing outstanding, I think. It was always your mother they picked for the solos in school."

Sarah now reached over and slipped her clean underclothes into the bag on her grandmother's lap. "The Civic Auditorium, really? They let PTA choirs perform there?"

"PTA?" Now it was Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+'s turn to look blank. "What are you talking about...aaa, I see. No no, she stopped that choir years ago, when your cousins finished elementary school." She seemed amused by Sarah's confused expression. "You!" she chided. " I see. No no, she stopped that choir years ago, when your cousins finished elementary school." She seemed amused by Sarah's confused expression. "You!" she chided. "Anta, it's no wonder we're at cross purposes all the time. Your information's always outdated." it's no wonder we're at cross purposes all the time. Your information's always outdated."

Sarah suppressed a flash of resentment. But her grandmother was right; she lived too far away to be in the family loop.

"Your auntie's in a real real choir now." Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ handed the bath bag over to Sarah and rose up from her floor cus.h.i.+on. "You'll see." choir now." Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ handed the bath bag over to Sarah and rose up from her floor cus.h.i.+on. "You'll see."

"I'm trying to remember," said Sarah, "if I've ever heard her sing around the house..."

But her grandmother had gone away to another room.

She reappeared several minutes later, carrying a loaded tea tray. "I checked the clock, it's still early," she said. "There's time for tea before you go."

They settled into the kotatsu kotatsu and chatted idly over a pot of tea and sugared black beans. and chatted idly over a pot of tea and sugared black beans.

Their talk turned to the Izumis, who still lived far away to the south, where they held prominent positions in the religious community. They partic.i.p.ated in various national conferences. Little Jun, now a teenager, was skipping college in order to devote his life to the church. The Izumis had a full life, for they had made many friends in the church.

Reflecting on all this, the two women shook their heads in silent wonder.

"We always thought it would blow over," said Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+.

"I know." But it made sense. For now her aunt had the loving family she had always wanted, with herself at its vital center.

Sarah had seen her aunt briefly during her last visit. That was the year of Mr. Kobayas.h.i.+'s death, and Mrs. Izumi had come to pay respects. She brought with her one of those fragrant gift melons that were sold in their own box. Since she couldn't pray at the funerary table, she sat at the dining room table and sipped cold wheat tea.

That was a busy afternoon. A stream of visitors had padded through the dining area on stockinged feet, bowing politely to Mrs. Izumi as they made their way to the parlor. Sarah kept her aunt company at the dining table. They said little. They listened to the miniature gong in the next room, to the hushed babble of voices as visitors exchanged greetings with the lady of the house. Sarah had wondered if her aunt felt any longing to join that group, to stand for one last time before the altar from which she had exiled herself.

During a lull, Sarah had placed her aunt's melon on a dish and taken it into the parlor. But the table was already full, cluttered with orchids and fruits and pastries. She put the melon on the floor, on the other side of the table, where people's feet wouldn't strike it.

"Mama and Grandpa used to love those melons," she told her aunt, going back into the dining room. "Auntie, you're the only one who remembered."

Her aunt had smiled at her, and the sweetness of that smile flooded Sarah's heart with a great tenderness. It was her old childhood crush, refined over the years to something bittersweet. Mrs. Izumi had grown a bit stouter, but she was still pretty. She had achieved the settled, contented air of a matron, with nothing left of the old coquettish vivacity.

Sarah now asked, "Does Auntie Tama still wear her hair swept back in a French twist? The same way Mama did?"

"As far as I know. She still copies a lot of things from your mother. She looked up to her so much, you know. I think it went deep." Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ s.h.i.+fted position under the kotatsu kotatsu blanket. "This blanket's so hot!" she said. "I'm turning down the heat switch." In the same breath she added, "She wants me to come live with them." blanket. "This blanket's so hot!" she said. "I'm turning down the heat switch." In the same breath she added, "She wants me to come live with them."

"Really!" Sarah thought her aunt had given up by now. But one never knew about people.

"I told her I'd think about it, but..."

The original plan had been for Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ to come live with the Rexfords when the time came. She and Mrs. Rexford had often talked of the things they would do together: the dishes they would cook, the garden they would tend. Having looked forward to this for so long, it must have been hard for Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ to imagine living with anyone else. It was reminiscent, in a way, of marrying for the second time when it was the other sibling she really wanted.

"Ne, Grandma, it's not as if you need looking after. I mean, you're still walking around wearing Grandma, it's not as if you need looking after. I mean, you're still walking around wearing heels. heels."

"Exactly! I plan to stay independent as long as possible," said Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+. "I overhear those women at the bathhouse, the ones who live with their children. And I can guess what's going on with Granny Asaki, even though she puts on a public face...It's a secure life, to be sure. But secure doesn't mean easy. Human nature being what it is, it's best to think twice before putting yourself at someone else's mercy."

Sarah liked this about her grandmother: the worldliness that surfaced at unexpected times.

"I suppose moving out there is the smart thing to do," continued Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+. "It's not as if there's any other..." She gave a little sigh.

"But you want to stay near Auntie Masako, don't you."

"Yes. I think...I think she'd like me to stay. I mean, she's never asked me outright. But I want to be near her anyway."

"But Granny might not die for a long time. She's really healthy. She'll probably live to be a hundred."

"Yes, I know."