The Favorites_ A Novel Part 8

They pa.s.sed under the shade of a large ginkgo tree that leaned out over an adobe wall into the lane. The fan-shaped leaves, dangling from thin stems, fluttered and trembled. The meee meee of cicadas was directly overhead now, sharpened from a ma.s.s drone into the loud rings of specific creatures, each with a different pitch, a different location among the branches. Mrs. Rexford paused and lowered her parasol to see if she could spot one. Not finding anything, she lifted her parasol and resumed walking. of cicadas was directly overhead now, sharpened from a ma.s.s drone into the loud rings of specific creatures, each with a different pitch, a different location among the branches. Mrs. Rexford paused and lowered her parasol to see if she could spot one. Not finding anything, she lifted her parasol and resumed walking.

"Mama?"

"Hmm?"

"Were you always Grandma's favorite?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Even before she knew what kind of person you'd turn out to be?"

"Soh, even then. Because I was part of her old life before the war, back when she was happy and in love." even then. Because I was part of her old life before the war, back when she was happy and in love."

The lane narrowed and they fell into single file. The dappled shadows danced on the back of Mrs. Rexford's parasol.

Sarah pictured Shohei's handsome, unfamiliar face. It was odd to imagine anyone other than her mother holding such power over her grandmother's heart. That it was a man seemed especially strange. Sarah had grasped early on that while the men in this family were flattered, catered to, and fed extremely well, they were not that important in the scheme of things.

"When your grandfather died," said Mrs. Rexford, "all her love for him had to go somewhere. So it came to me, all of it. Maybe I turned out the way I did because of that early love. It's hard to say."

"So it's like you piggybacked off of what they had," Sarah said.

"That's right. And now you're piggybacking off of what she and I have. That's why you're the favorite grandchild, you see?"

Sarah pondered this. She had always thought love began and ended with the actual person involved. She remembered her mother telling Momoko about emotions fermenting over time and getting blurred together till you couldn't tell them apart. It seemed that love, too, was blurry when it came to recipients. The remainder of one love could go on to feed the next, like those sourdough starters that American pioneer families had handed down for generations.

"It's not on your own merits," said Mrs. Rexford. "Not yet. You reach her through me. Remember that."

"Okay," Sarah agreed.

They strolled through the s.h.i.+fting tree shadows of late afternoon. The k'sha k'sha k'sha k'sha of gravel was loud beneath their feet. The buzz of traffic floated over from some larger street several blocks down. Trailing her fingers along a low wall, Sarah felt its braille of pebbles and straw; she breathed in the scent of sun-warmed adobe. She felt perfectly happy. of gravel was loud beneath their feet. The buzz of traffic floated over from some larger street several blocks down. Trailing her fingers along a low wall, Sarah felt its braille of pebbles and straw; she breathed in the scent of sun-warmed adobe. She felt perfectly happy.

They approached two young boys standing under a tree with a plastic insect cage at their feet, staring up at a horned beetle just above their reach. They turned toward Sarah with that look of avid curiosity she knew so well. But they seemed mollified to see her mother was j.a.panese; she wasn't, then, a complete outsider.

"Where are your nets, boys?" Mrs. Rexford called out in the friendly tone of a fellow enthusiast. "Do you need me to get that for you?"

The boys gazed with tongue-tied grat.i.tude as she pulled the horned beetle from the bark and transferred it to their plastic cage. "Look at the size of these antlers," she said. "It's a real beauty." Too shy to speak, the boys broke into big foolish grins. Sarah, who had always felt uneasy around small j.a.panese boys, marveled at how harmless they could be, how sweet.

As they resumed walking abreast Sarah remarked, "Little kids don't stare as much when I'm with you." It was the first time she had openly referred to her shame.

"Let them stare," her mother said breezily.

"Soh ne," agreed Sarah with her new queen-bee expansiveness. What had she been so afraid of? agreed Sarah with her new queen-bee expansiveness. What had she been so afraid of?

Mrs. Rexford gave her daughter an approving glance but said nothing.

Years later Sarah would remember this afternoon for its intensity of color: the gleaming lacquer of the beetle against the bark, the hills rising all around them in a crescendo of green. The parasol cast a rose-colored glow over her mother's face, drawing Sarah's eyes to its unfamiliar beauty. Even the air had color, a whitish glow like light refracted through a shoji screen. When she grew older and began falling in love with men, she would experience this same sense of heightened color-although in a weaker form-and see this for what it had been: her first and most powerful romance.

chapter 21.

O-bon was almost upon them. It was a three-day festival of reunion, when spirits of dead relatives returned to visit the living. Families were walking en ma.s.se to bus stops and train stations that would take them to ancestral gravesites out in the country. This was the time for graveyard maintenance. The fathers carried garden tools; the mothers carried delicate food offerings for the dead (and, if they were old-fas.h.i.+oned, a hearty picnic lunch for the living) discreetly wrapped in silk was almost upon them. It was a three-day festival of reunion, when spirits of dead relatives returned to visit the living. Families were walking en ma.s.se to bus stops and train stations that would take them to ancestral gravesites out in the country. This was the time for graveyard maintenance. The fathers carried garden tools; the mothers carried delicate food offerings for the dead (and, if they were old-fas.h.i.+oned, a hearty picnic lunch for the living) discreetly wrapped in silk furos.h.i.+ki; furos.h.i.+ki; the children trudged behind with flowers. the children trudged behind with flowers.

As the Kobayas.h.i.+ household ate breakfast, they could hear the crunching of gravel as chattering families pa.s.sed directly outside, taking shortcuts through the narrow lane. A woman's voice cried, "A! We forgot the thermos!" It was the last weekend before the holiday. Everyone, it seemed, was heading out to the country. We forgot the thermos!" It was the last weekend before the holiday. Everyone, it seemed, was heading out to the country.

"They're getting ready for O-bon," said little Jun in a sullen voice. Everyone else was silent, chewing.

"I'm afraid we've held you back in your preparations," Mr. Izumi said. He was referring to the housecleaning, for family altars were just as important as graves. "It was thoughtless of us," he said. Sarah's heart went out to him. His fine long eyes, slanted ever so slightly downward, gave his face a mournful air.

"Not in the least, Izumi-san!" Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ batted the air dismissively, as if to swat away his concern. "The O-bon dinner will be over there"-she gestured toward the Asaki house-"so there's really nothing for me to do."

They all knew this was a lie. Housewives cleaned obsessively before a priest's yearly visit. The priests from So-Zen Temple had already begun their neighborhood rounds, chanting long incantations before each family altar to guide the spirits on their return journey. This was a grueling time for priests, who made back-to-back calls from morning till evening. It was for such occasions, as well as for funerals, that they practiced year round. No priest from So-Zen Temple had yet marred a ceremony with coughing or hoa.r.s.eness.

"This house is spotless all the time, anyway," said Mrs. Izumi.

"Mommy," said Jun, "can't we stay for O-bon night dancing?"

"No-I already told you. We're going home tomorrow."

Another set of footsteps crunched by on the gravel. They heard a small child's excited voice saying, "...great big rice b.a.l.l.s, sprinkled with sesame salt!"

"I don't envy those people," said Mr. Kobayas.h.i.+ with well-meaning heartiness. "It's going to get really hot today."

"You're absolutely right, Father-san," Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ replied. "Maybe we should have grilled eel for lunch. It's good for heat fatigue. Would everyone like that?"

"O-bon, O-bon, it's almost O-bon," Jun droned tunelessly.

"Jun-chan, stop that," said his mother. "No singing at the breakfast table."

Sarah felt bad for her aunt. In the excitement of the upcoming holiday, the Izumis' departure would create hardly a ripple.

Afterward, was.h.i.+ng dishes at the sink, Mrs. Rexford said, "I can't believe she went out to pay calls again. again. On her last day. Who's she visiting, us or the Jehovah people?" On her last day. Who's she visiting, us or the Jehovah people?"

"It's all right," said Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+. "It doesn't matter."

"Mother, it's not not all right." all right."

Having finished the dishes, Mrs. Rexford began wiping the sides of the sink. Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ continued to dry, pa.s.sing the dishes up to Sarah, who was kneeling on the tatami floor of the dining room. The girl stacked each item on the shelves of the floor-level cabinet. Every time she reached into its depths, she breathed in a faint, familiar aroma from her childhood: the wooden damp of freshly washed chopsticks, soy sauce within its cut-gla.s.s cruet, condiments such as seven-spice and sesame seeds.

"She won't even help around the house." Mrs. Rexford wrung out the dishtowel with an angry twist. "You know what? She hasn't changed at all. She says long prayers at the table but doesn't care if our food gets cold while we wait. She sips tea and talks about charity, and meanwhile her aging mother's slaving away down in the kitchen."

"Nnn!" protested Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+. "'Aging mother'?!" protested Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+. "'Aging mother'?!"

Mrs. Rexford refused to be sidetracked. "That kind of hypocrisy earns no respect from me," she said. "None!" "None!" Sarah was fascinated, even excited, to see her mother angry at someone other than Sarah herself. Sarah was fascinated, even excited, to see her mother angry at someone other than Sarah herself.

"Don't," said Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ quietly. "You know how guilty I feel about her."

There was a long pause. "I'm sorry," Mrs. Rexford said.

Afterward Sarah and her mother went to a graveyard in the city to see the O-bon decorations. The somber headstones were transformed by sasaki sasaki gra.s.s, fruit and flower offerings, and branches of umbrella pine; the crumbling baby Buddhas were resplendent in new red bibs. White threads of incense wavered up by the dozen, hovering in the humid air like ghostly forms bending over their own headstones. gra.s.s, fruit and flower offerings, and branches of umbrella pine; the crumbling baby Buddhas were resplendent in new red bibs. White threads of incense wavered up by the dozen, hovering in the humid air like ghostly forms bending over their own headstones.

"We'll visit our own graveyard after your aunt and uncle leave," Mrs. Rexford told Sarah. "It won't be as crowded as this one, because it's out in the country. But it'll be lovely too in a different way."

Lately, with Mrs. Izumi away so much, Sarah and her mother had been going out alone. Sometimes they visited a little-known restaurant whose only item on the menu was dumplings from a secret family recipe handed down since the Momoyama era. Once they visited the Gion district to look at geishas. But mostly they wandered through out-of-the-way haunts from Mrs. Rexford's youth. They strolled past the tennis courts of her old high school or lingered in a neglected children's park on the bank of the Kamo River. Mrs. Rexford told stories of her youth, and Sarah listened with an attentiveness she had never shown back home.

When they arrived home, Mrs. Izumi's and Jun's shoes were already lined up in the vestibule. "Welcome home!" called Jun's treble voice from the family room. He was sitting at the table with his hands curled around a cold gla.s.s of sweet, tangy rice Calpis. "Mommy's changing her clothes," he said.

Sarah pulled down some blue-and-white floor cus.h.i.+ons from the stack in the corner. The electric fan on the floor whirred gently, swiveling back and forth like a spectator at a tennis game.

Mrs. Rexford soon entered, followed by Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ bearing a tray with a large Calpis bottle and gla.s.ses. "The men went across the lane to see Uncle," she said. The Asaki house had already finished its gravesite duties.

When everyone except Mrs. Izumi was settled, Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ said, "So did you have fun today, Jun-chan? Did you meet some nice people?"

Jun nodded, taking a noisy gulp of his drink.

"What did you all talk about?" Sarah asked curiously.

"Heaven."

"Oh! That sounds nice."

Jun nodded again, pleased to be the center of attention. "We're all going there," he said, as if discussing an upcoming vacation. Then, remembering something important, he turned to his grandmother with an anxious look. "Grandma," he said, "Mommy says you don't want to go to heaven with us."

"It's not that I don't want to, Jun-chan. But there are other reasons, you see."

"Grandma, they told me I should ask you to come." He widened his eyes, the whites so babyishly clear they had a bluish cast. "Because I don't want you to go to h.e.l.l, Grandma."

"I'll be just fine, dear. There's no need for you to worry."

"No, Grandma. Listen!" Jun's brow puckered with the effort of trying to make her understand. "Listen! h.e.l.l is a really, really scary place. You won't like it there. I don't want you to go there, Grandma."

Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ said nothing. She looked distressed; the lines around her mouth deepened until they looked like parentheses. She reached out helplessly and stroked her grandson's crew cut.

Jun seemed baffled by his grandmother's lack of sense. "How come you don't want to go with us?" he persisted.

By this time Mrs. Izumi had returned and was standing in the doorway, watching her mother's predicament with a smug expression on her face.

Mrs. Rexford looked over at her sister, and her lips compressed. A mighty force seemed to rise up in her, charging the room like air before a storm. Sarah had never seen this brutal, avenging side of her mother; back home, she hadn't defended anyone but herself. Sarah remembered the stories of her mother as a child, protecting the weak on the playground.

"Raise your child any way you want," Mrs. Rexford said. Her voice, though quiet, had such intensity and force that Sarah wondered for one crazy moment if her mother would stand up and hit her sister the way she had when they were children. "Raise him any way you want, but don't you dare dare use him to hurt my mother." use him to hurt my mother."

The sisters stared at each other for several minutes.

Then, surprisingly, Mrs. Rexford's face contorted. "Mother," she said, and suddenly she was crying.

Sarah and her aunt exchanged a glance of surprise and concern.

Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+ got up and went over to kneel beside her daughter, running her hand up and down her back. "There, there," she consoled, her face twisting in sympathy. "Shhh, now."

Sarah felt a terrible sickness in her stomach. This was how her mother must have felt as a child.

Mrs. Rexford turned her face away from them, tensing her shoulders in an effort to stop her sobs.

At this point, Sarah and her aunt both remembered little Jun, who was sitting rapt, his mouth open with curiosity.

"I'll take him," Sarah whispered to her aunt. She stood up and held out her hand to the boy. "Come on, Jun-chan."

"Big Sister, how come Aunt Mama's crying?"

"I'll tell you later. Let's go, now."

As she led him out of the room, she heard her aunt saying in a small, stunned voice, "Big Sister, I'm sorry."

"It's all right, both of you," said Mrs. Kobayas.h.i.+'s voice. "It's all right, now."

As Sarah pa.s.sed through the dining room to the opposite end of the house, she came face-to-face with her grandfather. He must have come home early in order to get some work done. Like Sarah, he was heading for the opposite end of the house, with a sketch pad in one hand and a cup of cold tea in the other. He must have heard part of the women's conversation, but it was hard to tell his reaction.

"Can we come watch you work, Grandpa?" she asked.

"Sure, sure," he said, smiling.

Still holding Jun's hand, Sarah followed her grandfather down the hallway to his accustomed spot on the garden veranda. Even in her agitation, she was aware of the pleasant coolness of varnished wood under her bare feet. The garden side of the house had an austere quality-perhaps it was the earthen walls or the formality of the dark wood-that required a certain mental adjustment, like entering a museum from a busy street.

Jun, active as always, immediately clambered down onto a pair of gardening sandals and trotted into the garden. Squatting down, he picked up an empty cicada sh.e.l.l. "Look, Big Sister! Come look what I found!" he cried, already forgetting about his Aunt Mama in the other room. Sarah found another pair of gardening sandals and climbed down after him.

They crouched together, searching for more cicada sh.e.l.ls. Eventually Mrs. Izumi came out and joined her father on the veranda.

The two adults sat for a while in silence. Mr. Kobayas.h.i.+ lit a cigarette, and its scent wafted out into the afternoon air like a rich, comforting incense.

He cleared his throat and said, "It's no use trying to change them, you know." He spoke gruffly, for he knew he was intruding into women's territory.

"I know," Mrs. Izumi replied, a bit shortly. Again they were silent.

Sarah knew her aunt Tama had been his favorite as a child. The family alb.u.ms were full of photographs of little Tama beaming at the camera, her gap-toothed smile playing up to her father behind the lens. Being his favorite should have been enough for her. But Sarah understood why it wasn't; nothing else compared with the brightness that was her grandmother and mother.

"It runs too deep," Mr. Kobayas.h.i.+ said, and an echo of private remembrance gave his words a strange resonance.

"I know," Mrs. Izumi said again.

Sarah glanced over at her aunt. There was an uncharacteristic stillness about her, as if her coquettish energy had finally run out.