The Favorites_ A Novel Part 16

"That wasn't me, Grandma," Sarah said. "That was Mama."

"Oh..." Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ was silent for a moment. "Well, that would make more sense, ne, ne," she said finally. "Poor thing. Autumn hiramasa hiramasa was her favorite. But we couldn't afford it during the postwar years. Then just when things got better and she could have eaten her fill, she moved away..." was her favorite. But we couldn't afford it during the postwar years. Then just when things got better and she could have eaten her fill, she moved away..."

Sarah looked over at the old woman beside her. Mixed in with her sympathy was a certain satisfaction: here was someone who still mourned, who still hurt deeply and had not forgotten.

"Grandma," she said, in the gentle tone she had often heard her mother use. "There's no use thinking like that. It doesn't matter anymore."

Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ quickened her pace, as she sometimes did when she was feeling emotional. "People don't always get the luxury of timing," she said.

chapter 39.

One day Sarah noticed that her grandmother had bought more roasted eels than the two of them could eat. day Sarah noticed that her grandmother had bought more roasted eels than the two of them could eat.

"Do you want me to take some over to Auntie's?" she asked.

"No, no. There isn't enough for everyone in that house. This isn't cheap, you know." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "The extra portion's for your auntie's anemia. What I do, ne, ne, is flag her down sometimes when she pa.s.ses by the kitchen door. I sneak her in for a quick bite, and no one's the wiser. Or sometimes I give her liver-you know, the kind I always make for you with ginger and soy sauce. Of course it's a secret." is flag her down sometimes when she pa.s.ses by the kitchen door. I sneak her in for a quick bite, and no one's the wiser. Or sometimes I give her liver-you know, the kind I always make for you with ginger and soy sauce. Of course it's a secret."

This was the first Sarah had heard of her grandmother keeping secrets with anyone but her mother and herself.

A few days later, when she complimented her grandmother on the miniature rosebush in the garden, she learned it had been a gift from Mrs. Nis.h.i.+mura.

"Oh..." She was puzzled. The two houses sometimes exchanged cuttings, but never brand-new plants from the nursery. That had been Mrs. Rexford's style-many times, after one of her outings, she would come home saying, "Mother, look!" and holding out a pot of bluebells or fragrant jasmine.

"Oh," Sarah said again. "Well, that was really nice of her."

It occurred to her that her mother's name had been coming up in conversation much less than it used to.

One night the two women were sitting at the kotatsu kotatsu in the family room. The in the family room. The kotatsu kotatsu was a small low table with an electric heater attached to its underside, and a heavy quilted cover that extended down to the floor and covered their laps. Like most traditional homes in this neighborhood, the Kobayas.h.i.+ house had no central heating. One stayed warm by huddling around a was a small low table with an electric heater attached to its underside, and a heavy quilted cover that extended down to the floor and covered their laps. Like most traditional homes in this neighborhood, the Kobayas.h.i.+ house had no central heating. One stayed warm by huddling around a kotatsu kotatsu while chatting or watching television. Sometimes, since it was just the two of them, Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ and Sarah ate their meals there as well. while chatting or watching television. Sometimes, since it was just the two of them, Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ and Sarah ate their meals there as well.

"You two had a spat spat?" Sarah was saying. "You're joking!"

"It was completely one-sided," Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ said. "We were talking on the phone about something...I can't even remember what...then all of a sudden, she got upset and said, 'You never wanted me anyway!' And she hung up."

"What!"

"I know! I couldn't believe my ears. She's never said anything like that in her entire life."

"So what happened?"

"I rushed over there. I didn't even stop to think. I just knew I could never live with myself if I didn't make it right. I said to her, 'I've done a terrible thing to you.' G.o.d knows where Granny was that whole time! And I told her, 'There hasn't been a day in all these years I haven't regretted it.'" Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ nodded, her eyes watering at the memory. "It was surreal, like jumping off a cliff. But you know how much I've always wanted to tell her that."

"I know." Sarah remembered her grandmother saying to her mother, "I wish I knew knew if deep down, behind that face, she's all right. I wonder if deep down, she hates me." if deep down, behind that face, she's all right. I wonder if deep down, she hates me."

"Your aunt was such a reserved girl," Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ said now. "There was that coolness about her, not like your mother or your aunt Tama. But now she's starting to blossom. Little by little, she's turning into the person she was always meant to be."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"Well, it might be something only a mother notices."

Just then, someone tapped on the kitchen door.

"Who could that be, so late?" Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ murmured.

It was Yas.h.i.+ko on her way home from her college prep session. She couldn't stay, she told them. She had brought a box of piping-hot octopus b.a.l.l.s, a cla.s.sic cold-weather snack. "Mother said to pick these up for Aunt Mama," she said, referring to the tradition of offering the deceased's favorite foods at the family altar. "I have to run-I'm late for dinner!"

This was typical of Mrs. Nis.h.i.+mura's thoughtfulness. She remembered little things, like how her big sister used to eat these octopus b.a.l.l.s standing up like a man, in front of the vendor cart with its red cotton flaps. Even now, on winter nights, that same old-fas.h.i.+oned cart set up shop in the same place: the sidewalk next to the vermilion gateposts of Umeya Shrine. Octopus b.a.l.l.s were a nighttime commodity, geared toward college students or salarymen on their way home from work. Since Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ never ventured out after sunset and discouraged Sarah from doing so as well, Mrs. Nis.h.i.+mura's gesture was doubly considerate.

After Yas.h.i.+ko hurried home to her dinner, Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ carried the box directly to the altar. She lit the incense, struck the gong, and with a good-humored "Eat up, Yo-chan!" placed the Styrofoam box on the slide-out shelf beneath the altar. Then the two women, having finished their own dinner several hours ago, sat back down at the kotatsu. kotatsu. After a suitable amount of time, Sarah got up and retrieved the box from the altar. The contents were still hot. The b.a.l.l.s of dough were generously studded with octopus chunks, green onions, and pickled red ginger; their tops were drizzled with savory sauce and dried bonito flakes and green seaweed powder. Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ took one but ate only half. "You have a young person's digestion, so you might as well eat it all," she said, pus.h.i.+ng the box toward Sarah. "They'll be no good once they get cold." After a suitable amount of time, Sarah got up and retrieved the box from the altar. The contents were still hot. The b.a.l.l.s of dough were generously studded with octopus chunks, green onions, and pickled red ginger; their tops were drizzled with savory sauce and dried bonito flakes and green seaweed powder. Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ took one but ate only half. "You have a young person's digestion, so you might as well eat it all," she said, pus.h.i.+ng the box toward Sarah. "They'll be no good once they get cold."

Sarah began working her way through the octopus b.a.l.l.s, spearing them one by one with a toothpick. "So why now, do you think?" she asked, returning to their earlier conversation.

"Saa...who knows? Strange things happen to women in middle age. Emotions rise up from quiet places. They realize life is short, and it makes them act differently."

They were silent.

"Can I tell you something?" Having broached this subject, her grandmother seemed eager to keep on talking. "A few years back-right before your grandpa had his heart attack-we ran into each other at the open-air market. She introduced me to someone she knew. And you know what she said?" Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ paused dramatically. "She said, 'This is my mother.'"

Sarah speared another octopus ball and said nothing.

"She said, 'This is my mother,'" Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ repeated. "As cool as a cuc.u.mber, right in public. She said, 'This is my mother.'"

Sarah looked up and saw her grandmother's face transformed with happiness and wonderment. Something about that expression reminded her of her own mother, long ago, when they had held hands.

"I never thought I'd live to see it!" Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ said. "She was always such a cool little girl, she could never say what she felt...and there she was, saying, 'This is my mother.' Right in public."

Sarah's vague unease now funneled into a sinking feeling in her stomach. She didn't fully understand it, but its physical effect was real.

"I'm glad for you both," she said gently. "It's very lovely, almost like a romance."

"I know, don't you think so? Listen to this. On Mother's Day I found a little bouquet of hand-picked violets in the milk delivery box. There wasn't any note. But I knew it was her."

"Well," said Sarah, "I guess it's a good thing Auntie doesn't hate you after all." She took a hard pleasure in being so direct. Then she was instantly ashamed of herself.

But her grandmother didn't seem to notice. "I'm sure her feelings are complicated. But it's the start of something, don't you think? It's more than I ever expected."

Sarah nodded, pulling her legs out from under the heated quilt. "Let me go snuff out that incense," she said, "before I forget."

She walked over to the altar. She stood there for a moment, looking at the aged, indecipherable tablets and at her mother's tablet, still brand-new. She was reminded of her early childhood when she would stand in this very spot, sulking or feeling sorry for herself after some imagined slight. She remembered how she had consoled herself by peering into this alternate world, inhaling the odor of incense and thinking fiercely that dead people were nicer than the living.

After a while she snuffed out the incense sticks and swung shut the black lacquered panels for the night. For the first time in years, she sensed her mother was gone-truly, finally gone.

chapter 40.

Now that Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ belonged to the ranks of the elderly, she patronized the bathhouse as soon as it opened: 3:30 that Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ belonged to the ranks of the elderly, she patronized the bathhouse as soon as it opened: 3:30 P.M. P.M. on the dot. The other old women in the neighborhood were just as punctual. If they arrived even an hour or two later-Sarah remembered this from her own childhood-the clientele would be completely different. There would be young housewives. There would be small children with flushed faces, immersed in the scalding water bearable only to a j.a.panese adult, their treble voices counting to one hundred as fast as they could go. on the dot. The other old women in the neighborhood were just as punctual. If they arrived even an hour or two later-Sarah remembered this from her own childhood-the clientele would be completely different. There would be young housewives. There would be small children with flushed faces, immersed in the scalding water bearable only to a j.a.panese adult, their treble voices counting to one hundred as fast as they could go.

Within this group of old-timers, Mrs. Rexford's legacy lived on. Naked, dripping women still sighed by way of a conversation opener, "Such a pity, ne ne-"

Sarah, seated on a plastic stool, was was.h.i.+ng her grandmother's back. Proper etiquette required a person to be fully scrubbed and rinsed before entering a communal bath.

"Ara, how nice," said a bent old woman, pattering past on her way to the bathing area. how nice," said a bent old woman, pattering past on her way to the bathing area.

Sarah and her grandmother, still seated, smiled and returned her half-bow.

She resumed her gentle soaping. At first, she had often pretended it was her mother's back she was was.h.i.+ng. It had eased her ache to give her grandmother the tenderness she had never given her mother. Even now, she couldn't forgive herself for the way she had acted as a child.

After their summer in j.a.pan, things had improved. It wasn't noticeable at first, for their closeness fell away in America. But as the months pa.s.sed, that indefinable chemical change within Sarah a.s.serted itself. She still struggled with her mother for freedoms and privileges, but their arguments weren't as frequent or as personal. For Sarah had seen her mother at her strongest and most admired, and her mother knew she had.

Their arguments became less about Sarah wanting to fit in with her peers, and more about her wanting to try new experiences-something that her mother could understand. Over time, her outsider anxiety dropped away altogether, giving her much more in common with her mother. This took years, of course, and Mrs. Rexford didn't live to see the full effect. But before her death there had been the start of a true womanly friends.h.i.+p between them. For the first time, Sarah had looked into the future and seen the full-fledged bond theirs would become.

She knew this now: her relations.h.i.+p with her mother hadn't been a bad one. But back then, the only yardstick they had was the closeness between her mother and her grandmother. It was a source of regret for Sarah, as she knew it had been for her mother, than they hadn't been able to replicate it.

"Look!" said Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+. She was pointing down at their feet on the tiles. "You and I have the same toes." It was true; the first three toes of Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+'s feet were all the same length, just like Sarah's.

"Maa, she takes after her grandma!" a nearby bather commented kindly. It touched Sarah to think of her grandmother eyeing her body so discreetly, so hopefully, searching for the smallest of connections. she takes after her grandma!" a nearby bather commented kindly. It touched Sarah to think of her grandmother eyeing her body so discreetly, so hopefully, searching for the smallest of connections.

They rinsed under the showerhead, then walked over to the bathing area. The enormous tub took up the entire room; through the heavy steam, they could glimpse several heads rising from the surface of the turquoise water. Echoes bounced off the high domed ceiling. On the other side of the tall dividing wall, they could hear the occasional burst of male voices.

They straddled the side of the pool-like tub and stepped into the steaming water. Gritting her teeth to keep from yelping, Sarah descended the steps until the hot water was up to her neck.

"Aaa...," sighed Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+, holding a soaked washcloth up to her cheek in order to absorb even more heat. "Nothing feels more luxurious than soaking in an old-fas.h.i.+oned communal bath." sighed Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+, holding a soaked washcloth up to her cheek in order to absorb even more heat. "Nothing feels more luxurious than soaking in an old-fas.h.i.+oned communal bath."

"Isn't that the truth, madam," agreed a woman several meters away. "Those new houses with the baths added on, they have such tiny little tubs. There's no way you can get the water truly hot, hot, like it is here." like it is here."

"One of my daughters lives in a house with a private tub," Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ told her. "She's never bathed here, even though she pa.s.ses by every day on her way to the market. Such a pity. I often think how much she'd enjoy it here."

Sarah felt a flash of anger. This was her mother's special place, not her aunt's. With a queer feeling in her stomach, she remembered how loyal her mother had been, as loyal as Benkei. Don't you dare hurt my mother, Don't you dare hurt my mother, she had said. And she had cried... she had said. And she had cried...

Now an unfamiliar woman, treading water with her hands, made her way over to Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+. "This must be Yo-chan's daughter?" She turned to Sarah, her face flushed from the heat. "Your mother," she said, "used to light up a room. She was so full of life."

"Thank you," Sarah replied. Grat.i.tude welled up, making her voice unsteady. "It's so kind of you to remember."

"And this one here's becoming more and more like her mother," Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ told the woman. "Sometimes I almost forget who I'm talking to."

The woman nodded and beamed with approval. Sarah, somewhat mollified, smiled back modestly.

Her grandmother was correct, to a certain extent. Sarah had adopted many of the social mannerisms that had endeared her mother to the public-her habit of clapping once when she had a bright idea, or her sunny demeanor and facility for easy chatter. She had internalized her mother's att.i.tude of taking others' approval for granted. It hadn't come easily. She had blurred their ident.i.ties, as she had once learned to waltz by standing on her grandfather's feet. No one was going to call her her a blancmange pudding. a blancmange pudding.

Yet there was a difference: these qualities were learned, whereas in her mother they had been instinctive. Sarah knew, and realized her grandmother knew, that she would never have the true spark of the original.

chapter 41.

For the next two days it rained continuously: sometimes a downpour, sometimes an invisible mist. According to the weather report, a typhoon was bl.u.s.tering up near Hokkaido and affecting the main island. the next two days it rained continuously: sometimes a downpour, sometimes an invisible mist. According to the weather report, a typhoon was bl.u.s.tering up near Hokkaido and affecting the main island.

Today the rain had stopped, but it was still overcast. Sarah and her grandmother were walking home from the open-air market. The air was damp and warm and hushed.

"Let's cut through So-Zen Temple," Sarah suggested.

"Good idea," said her grandmother. "The pines will smell nice."

The lanes near the temple had hardly changed. Prewar wooden houses still stood behind their rustic fences, the same fences Sarah had admired as a teenager. "Thank G.o.d for zoning laws," the neighbors said. After all, So-Zen Temple was an important historical attraction.

They entered the temple grounds through an una.s.suming back entrance. So-Zen had multiple entrances because it was such a sprawling complex, one of the largest in the country. They walked down a path so narrow they could feel the clammy moisture of the stone walls on either side. Above them towered a profusion of trees-bamboos, flaming red maples, gnarled pines that housed the largest crows Sarah had seen anywhere. Their guttural cah-cah cah-cahs broke through the cheeping of smaller birds.

"You know what Mama told me once?" Sarah gestured up at the trees with her free hand. "She said when she was little, some boy climbed all the way up one of these pine trees to get a nest of eggs. And the mother crow swooped in and pecked at his head..."

"Soh soh! And he fell and broke his leg," supplied Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ with relish. "I do remember that." And he fell and broke his leg," supplied Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ with relish. "I do remember that."

It was odd to think of neighborhood children having free rein in what were now official grounds. But when her mother was little, children had pattered up and down the wooden verandas of temple buildings that were now fenced and roped off and labeled like museum exhibits. On this hushed autumn morning, with the grounds empty now that the autumn tourist season had drawn to a close, Sarah sensed for the first time what So-Zen must have been like when j.a.pan was a poor country. The temple buildings seemed to deflate, receding into the foliage and taking second place to the living creatures emboldened at having the grounds to themselves: crows flapping heavily from branch to branch; smaller birds bursting into the air in groups of two or three, their wings sounding like a deck of cards being shuffled.

"This is where Mama used to catch snakes when it rained." Sarah gestured to a ditch running alongside the lane. It was a ditch from a bygone century: narrow and deep, lined with granite blocks. "She said she once found a white one, but she put it back because, you know, white snakes are supposed to be holy."

"Really, she caught snakes? She never brought any home..." Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ peered down into the mossy ditch. Leaves and rainwater flowed swiftly past. "She was always a thoughtful child," she said, "thinking ahead to spare me trouble."

The pathway dead-ended. They could turn left toward the main part of the complex or else go right, down a long cobbled walkway shaded year-round by the overhanging branches of donguri donguri trees. They always took the latter path because it led toward home. The walkway was strewn with small black trees. They always took the latter path because it led toward home. The walkway was strewn with small black donguri donguri-indigenous acorns that generations of small children had picked off these cobblestones and brought home for their mothers to roast as snacks.

They pa.s.sed more temples, their wood weathered to a velvety aged brown that was almost black. They were unadorned and timeless. Their simple lines sank into her soul in a way the cathedrals of Europe never could, reminding her of the eternity that lay beneath temporal emotions.

"I wonder if it's going to rain," said Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+. The sky seemed grayer now than it had an hour ago. A donguri donguri dropped down onto the walkway behind them. This part of the path was always less crowded, since the temples petered out here and there was nothing to see. Today it was utterly deserted. The only other person they had seen all morning was a shaven priest clopping by in the opposite direction, dignified and austere in his dark robes with tan-colored ta.s.sels. Above high wooden geta, his dropped down onto the walkway behind them. This part of the path was always less crowded, since the temples petered out here and there was nothing to see. Today it was utterly deserted. The only other person they had seen all morning was a shaven priest clopping by in the opposite direction, dignified and austere in his dark robes with tan-colored ta.s.sels. Above high wooden geta, his tabi tabi-clad feet gleamed white. But now he was nowhere in sight.

"Grandma, let's sneak in and see the baby Jizo," Sarah said impulsively. "I didn't get a chance last time, it was summer and there were tourists all over the place..."

"Baby Jizo, where? What are you talking about?"

Sarah felt a catch of surprise, for the baby Jizo had been important to her mother. She wondered if she had just made some sort of blunder.

But it was too late now. "Mama used to come here all the time," she explained. "I'll show you. See, you go over this fence..." She quickly straddled the low iron tourist railing, looking back and laughing at her grandmother's shocked expression. "Quick!" she said. "There's n.o.body around. Quick!"

Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+'s face darkened with disapproval, but curiosity made her follow. Holding down her skirt with one hand, she cautiously straddled the low fence, lifting one wool-stockinged leg after the other. They slipped between the trees, squeezed through an opening in a wall of shrubbery, and there it was: a small clearing with twenty or so crumbling statues of tiny smiling bodhisattvas. They had been rescued after the war from remote country roads up in the Kyoto hills.

Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ stood in the clearing and gazed about her with a look of dawning dismay. "You realize, don't you," she said finally, "these aren't ordinary Jizo. They're markers for real-life babies that died in bad circ.u.mstances."