Mismatch (9 page)

Sue and her hostess both laughed. But Sue was puzzled. “It must be expensive to send your daughter to the Toho School,” she remarked. As soon as she said it, she realized that she had been tactless.

Mrs. Chong’s lips twisted. “The school
is
expensive, but we can afford the tuition. I make good money giving music lessons.”

Sue was still puzzled, and Mrs. Chong went on to explain. “We are not well acquainted with the other parents at Kasei, but it’s not just because we are less wealthy than they are. It’s because we’re Koreans.”

Sue was shocked. She couldn’t help thinking of her own family’s relations with their neighbors.

Again, Mrs. Chong seemed to guess Sue’s thoughts. “You don’t suffer discrimination in America because you’re Asian?”

“Maybe a little,” said Sue, trying to be completely honest. “When I started at my new school, which has mostly white students, the other kids sort of stared at me like I was something weird. But once they got used to me, they forgot I was different.”

“They forgot you’re not a ‘real’ American,” murmured Mrs. Chong.

“It used to be a lot worse, though,” Sue admitted. “My parents tell me that in the old days, white people jeered at the Chinese by shouting ‘Ching, Ching, China-man!’ But it’s much better than it used to be, and our schools have programs that promote multiculturalism.”

“Even black people are accepted these days?” asked Mrs. Chong. She looked doubtful. “When I went to school in America, there was still quite a bit of discrimination against blacks. I heard that even today the police stop black drivers much more often than they do white drivers.”

“Well, unfortunately, that’s true,” admitted Sue. “There’s still a lot of racial tension in America. I think it goes back to slavery. It’s a hard thing to overcome.”

Somehow that comment brought a sudden change in the air. Mrs. Chong’s face hardened.

“I’m sorry,” said Sue. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Do you know the history of the Koreans in Japan?” asked Mrs. Chong.

Sue shook her head. She knew that Korea had once been invaded by Japan, but she didn’t know the details. She knew that China had invaded Korea, as well, although that had happened a lot earlier.

Mrs. Chong took a deep breath. “The Japanese first invaded Korea in the sixteenth century, but they didn’t stay. Then they invaded again at the beginning of the twentieth century, and in 1910, Korea became a Japanese colony.”

Sue knew that parts of China had been occupied by various foreigners. But to have your whole country made into a colony must be much worse. Sue was sorry she had mentioned the subject, but there was no stopping Mrs. Chong now.

“During the 1940s, many Koreans were brought to Japan as forced labor,” continued Mrs. Chong. “They had to do the lowest kind of menial work. My grandparents, as well as my husband’s, were among those who were brought here.”

Sue swallowed. “What happened after the war? After Japan was defeated in 1945, all the Koreans must have been free to go home.”

Mrs. Chong smiled bitterly. “Some Koreans did go home. Others, like my grandparents, decided to stay in Japan until things became more stable in Korea. You see, there were various forces trying to gain control of the peninsula. Do you know anything about the Korean War?”

Sue nodded. She had read up on the war, and she also learned some things from watching programs like M*A*S*H. Her parents had discussed the Korean War, since China—Communist China—had been fighting on the side of North Korea.

“My grandparents’ family were from North Korea,” continued Mrs. Chong. “They didn’t like what was happening there, and they made the decision to stay in Japan.”

“Then you’re the third generation to be living here,” said Sue. She compared Mrs. Chong’s case with her own: Sue’s grandparents had moved to America when her mother was a young girl, and Sue had been born in the States. She felt like an American. “So do you feel completely Japanese?” she asked her hostess.

Again Mrs. Chong’s lips twisted. “We are not allowed to feel completely Japanese. Many Koreans aren’t even citizens.”

“But . . . but . . . you were born here!” cried Sue. She knew that even babies born to illegal immigrants who had sneaked across the border from Mexico were U.S. citizens.

“That doesn’t mean we’re automatically citizens,” said Mrs. Chong. “Koreans living in Japan have to apply for citizenship, and it is granted only after a thorough investigation of the applicant’s background. Until we obtain citizenship, we have no civil rights.”

Sue was shocked. “In America, people are sometimes discriminated against because of the way they look—their skin color, shape of their noses, and things. But you look just like a Japanese! How can they discriminate against you if they can’t even tell you apart?”

Mrs. Chong sat silent for a minute. Then she said, “Take the Jews in Nazi Germany. Some of them looked completely Aryan, with blond hair and blue eyes. Yet they were rounded up and sent to concentration camps. So it’s not how you look or act but who your ancestors are that’s important.”

Sue picked the last few grains of rice from her bowl and thought over Mrs. Chong’s words. “I guess in America people don’t make such a big deal about your ancestors,” she said finally. “Maybe it’s because everybody’s an immigrant, or descended from immigrants.”

“Exactly!” said Mrs. Chong. “You asked how people can discriminate against somebody who doesn’t look different from them. Have you heard about the Burakumin?”

When Sue shook her head, Mrs. Chong explained. “The Burakumin are called the untouchables of Japan. Although they are completely identical to other Japanese racially, they’ve been discriminated against for centuries.”

“You mean like the untouchables in India?” asked Sue. Her friend Nareen, who had gone to Sue’s old school, was from India, and she had told her that there were different castes, or classes of Indian society. What caste you belonged to depended on who your ancestors were. The untouchables were the lowest caste, although you couldn’t tell by just looking at them.

Mrs. Chong nodded. “That’s a very good comparison! The Burakumin in Japan don’t look different, and some have tried to pass as regular Japanese.”

Sue had thought the caste system in India was strange, but this Japanese untouchable class was just as weird. “What started the discrimination against the Burakumin in the first place?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” said Mrs. Chong. “I’ve heard it may be due to their occupation. Hundreds of years ago, certain people were hired to dispose of corpses, kill animals— do work connected with slaughtering. Many of these people became leather workers, which was considered a disgusting occupation because it involved killing animals and tanning their skins.”

Sue thought of some friends who were vegetarians. “I know people who refuse to eat food from animals. But they don’t consider us meat eaters untouchables.”

“Killing animals was against Buddhist principles,” explained Mrs. Chong. “So a leather worker tainted not only himself, but also his family and all his descendants.”

“But at least these untouchables have civil rights, don’t they?” asked Sue. “So how can the rest of the Japanese discriminate against them, especially if you can’t tell them apart?”

“Parents don’t want their children to marry the Burakumin,” said Mrs. Chong. “When young people get engaged, sometimes their parents hire a detective to look into the family of the fiancé or fiancée, to make sure there are no skeletons in the closet, like a relative who is an untouchable.”

Sue was shocked. She tried to imagine Grandma Mei hiring a detective to see if Andy’s family was Japanese. It boggled her mind. “There’s this girl in the orchestra called Ginny,” she said. “She notices only how people look, so she lumps Chinese, Japanese, and Koreans together because we all have the same hair and eyes and skin. I bet she’d be
really
confused by the Burakumin!”

“While you’re here, you may discover that some Japanese discriminate against the Chinese, especially those who came to this country looking for work,” Mrs. Chong warned. She looked curiously at Sue. “You Chinese have also suffered a lot from the Japanese invasion. Don’t you resent them for what they did to your country?”

Sue was startled to hear the phrase “you Chinese” used in connection with herself, and to hear China called “your country.” At school, the teachers and other kids referred to her as a Chinese American. “I don’t know much about the invasion,” she muttered. “But my grandmother was in China at the time, and she saw some horrible things.”

“But what about
you
?” asked Mrs. Chong. “How do
you
feel, now that you’re actually in enemy country?”

Enemy country? Maybe that’s how Grandma Mei thinks of
Japan, but not me.
Sue remembered her father’s story about Professor Hasegawa. “Not all the Japanese people supported the invasion. Some of them openly opposed what the government did, and they paid a price for it.” She looked curiously at Mrs. Chong. She seemed so bitter, so very angry at her country. Sue knew that America wasn’t perfect, but she couldn’t imagine feeling as fed up as Mrs. Chong seemed to be. “You’ve lived in Japan all your life. Haven’t you met anybody who’s been nice to you?”

Mrs. Chong’s mouth dropped open. Finally she said, “You’re right, of course. Once I start, I can think of a great number of Japanese who have been kind to us: the parents of some of my students, the farmer who supplies my husband with fresh vegetables, some of the teachers at the Kasei School . . .” She stared at Sue. “You’re a remarkable young lady. I don’t often meet teenagers with such a generous heart.”

Sue was touched. Some girls might prefer to be called beautiful or sexy, but this compliment from her hostess was the nicest she could imagine.

Mrs. Chong got up, put the dirty dishes in the sink, and began to run water over them. “Let me help you,” said Sue. “I can dry.”

“No, you’d better lie down and rest,” said her hostess. “You must be exhausted by your trip.”

Suddenly Sue realized Mrs. Chong was right. She was totally exhausted.

“Tomorrow the Kasei School has planned an outing for your orchestra,” said Mrs. Chong. Her voice already seemed to come from a great distance.

As Sue stumbled toward her room, she wondered how the rest of the Lakeview kids were doing with their hosts. What was Andy’s host family like?

9

A
ndy woke up at three in the morning Tokyo time and couldn’t get back to sleep. After tossing and turning for a while, he decided to try his old trick: he picked the most boring piece of music he knew and visualized the score. By the time he reached the second page of the score, he was asleep again. The next time he opened his eyes, his watch said five-thirty in the morning. At home he wouldn’t think of getting up at this hour, but considering the time difference, he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep again. In fact, he felt well rested and raring to go.

The question was, go where? Very quietly, Andy got dressed and gently slid his door open. He walked down the hall in his bare feet, afraid that his slippers would make a
slish slish
sound and disturb the others.

When he reached the front entrance, he took his shoes from the shelf and slipped them on, stepped down to ground level, quietly turned the key, and slid the front door open. Then he stepped outside into the morning air.

It was wonderful. Taking a deep breath of the cool air, Andy walked across the stepping-stones and went around the house to the back garden, which he hadn’t seen yet. It was much bigger than the front garden and was immaculately groomed in the Zen style.

In spite of his father’s attempts to teach him, Andy had never learned to like this dry, bare kind of Japanese garden. To him, there had never been anything special about the swirls of sand and few lonely pieces of rock. But now, in the peaceful morning light, there was something magical about it.

He heard a door being opened and found Mr. Sato standing on the wooden veranda overlooking the garden.

“Ohayo gozaimasu,”
said Andy. It meant good morning, and was one of the phrases he had practiced.

Mr. Sato was still wearing a cotton kimono. He stepped down from the veranda and pushed his feet into a pair of wooden clogs. “Did you sleep well?” he asked.

“Very well,” said Andy, and decided that a tiny bow would be appropriate.
When in doubt, always bow
. “This garden is great!” he said.

His enthusiasm was genuine, and Mr. Sato beamed with pleasure. “You like? Even without colorful flowers?”

“It’s in the Zen style, isn’t it?” said Andy. “My father tried to teach me to appreciate it.”

Mr. Sato beamed even more, and Andy could feel his approval rating soar. He hoped he could keep it up.

“It is early, but in summer we like to get up early to enjoy cool air,” said Mr. Sato. “You would like breakfast, yes?”

Andy’s father had warned him that a traditional Japanese breakfast involved hot rice, bean paste soup, broiled fish, pickles, and sometimes a raw egg on top of the rice. He was so hungry that all of that actually sounded good to him. “Just watch me!”

Mr. Sato chuckled and told Andy to follow him inside. He stepped out of his clogs, while Andy removed his shoes. They stepped up to the veranda, and Mr. Sato pushed open a pair of latticed doors covered with white paper. Andy found himself in a room furnished in the traditional Japanese style. The floor was covered by reed tatami mats, and there were no chairs, only a low table with some big flat cushions around it for seating. One side of the room had some shelves and a flower arrangement. Hanging on the wall behind the flowers was an ink painting.

Andy thought the picture looked like the kind Mrs. Hua painted. “This is in the literati style, isn’t it?” he asked.

This time he hit the jackpot. “You know the style?” cried Mr. Sato, sounding astonished.

Andy nodded. “My father likes this kind of painting.” He was sure that by now he must have earned enough points to tide him over for the rest of the visit. He looked around the room and saw a shelf with two samurai swords resting on a rack.

Mr. Sato noticed Andy’s glance. “The swords belonged to my ancestors. Normally, I would hand them down to my son. But I have only a daughter, Haruko.” He added after a moment, “Of course, we could adopt a boy.”

Andy didn’t know what to say to that, so he just nodded. For the first time he felt a little sorry for Haruko. Then he remembered the way she’d scowled at him and decided his sympathy was wasted.

The door behind him opened and Mrs. Sato poked her head in. “Oh, you are awake. Shall we have breakfast?”

Putting his shoes away in the cupboard, Andy went into the same room where he had eaten supper. The table was set for a breakfast that looked Western.

Behind him, the door slid open, and the elder Mr. Sato came in, supported by Haruko. The old man was not crippled, but he walked with difficulty, perhaps from arthritis. Haruko carefully guided her grandfather to his chair and smiled down at him. It was a surprisingly tender smile. Haruko then seated herself.

At a gesture from his hostess, Andy sat in the same seat he had had the night before. In front of him was a plate with two slices of toast, the bread almost an inch thick. There was also an egg cup with a boiled egg that was still warm, and an empty teacup and saucer. Although he usually had a big bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice for breakfast, Andy was more than happy to dive in.

Mrs. Sato passed him some butter and a little bowl of strawberry jam.
“Kocha?”
she asked. Seeing that he was puzzled, she explained, “Kocha is black tea.”

At home Andy seldom drank black tea, though his parents occasionally drank green tea. “Sure,” replied Andy, and held out his teacup. “So you eat a Western breakfast with toast and everything,” he said.

“You were expecting us to eat like peasants in the countryside, maybe?” demanded Haruko. “After breakfast, I suppose you will join us in the fields to transplant rice seedlings?”

Back to the old Haruko
.

“Haruko!” Mrs. Sato protested weakly.

Andy was determined to keep his temper. “I’m just going by what my father tells me. He loves to talk about staying at traditional inns where he was served a raw egg on top of hot rice for breakfast. So I guess that was what I was expecting.”

“That’s what I like, too,” said Mr. Sato. “It seems that Andy’s father and I have the same tastes in gardens and paintings, as well.”

Haruko scowled. Mrs. Sato hurriedly poured some tea for her daughter and put two slices of bread in the toaster.

Andy still couldn’t figure out why Haruko was so unfriendly to him. The way she behaved toward her grandfather showed that she did have a softer side. He resolved that before he went back to America, he would make Haruko respect him—not necessarily like, just respect.

The Lakeview kids had been instructed to gather in front of the Kasei School. Andy and Haruko were driven to the school by Mr. Sato. The narrow streets were jammed with morning traffic, so progress was very slow, and they were among the last to arrive.

Andy saw that Sue was already there. When she saw him, she broke into the shy smile he loved. He had to fight down an urge to rush over and grab her and kiss her hard. In Japan, doing something like that in public would be totally shocking. Even if they were back in America, people like their parents would disapprove.

Sue must have seen something in his eyes, because her face turned red. She cleared her throat. “How did it go with your host family?” she asked when Andy made his way over to her.

“Pretty good,” he said. “Let me introduce . . .” He looked around for Haruko and found that she was no longer with him. He turned back to Sue. “Never mind. What’s your host family like?”

“I’m staying with the Chongs,” said Sue. “They seem nice. They’re Korean, not Japanese.”

“You mean Korean Korean, Korean Japanese, or Korean American?” asked Andy.

Sue grimaced. “The Chongs have been in Japan for three generations, but they’re still not citizens. So that makes them Korean Korean, I guess.”

“So do they have one of their kids here at the Kasei School?” asked Andy.

Sue shook her head. “Their daughter went to school here, and she was in the orchestra when it toured the States last year. But she’s graduated, and she’s now going to a music academy.”

Sue began to describe the discrimination experienced by the Chongs. Andy was shocked when he heard that most of the Kasei parents didn’t mix with the Chongs because they were Korean. He thought about the rude way Haruko treated him. If she was like that with him, he could only imagine what she would be like with the Chongs.

“I don’t think the Chongs are poor,” added Sue. “They run a convenience store, and Mrs. Chong teaches music. They can send their daughter to the Toho School of Music, which is pretty expensive.”

“Weird,” said Andy. “Every once in a while, someone will say something offensive to me back home. But I’ve definitely never felt that kind of discrimination. My grandfather said when he first moved to America, he was called names and stuff. But it doesn’t seem that bad in America anymore.”

“Mrs. Chong also told me there’s prejudice against the Chinese here,” said Sue. “It’s because so many Chinese came over from mainland China to look for work. I guess some of the younger people got into trouble and formed gangs, so many Japanese think that all Chinese are hoodlums. I wonder if that’s why they put me with a Korean family, because both Koreans and Chinese are inferior people.”

Andy was shocked. “You really think they believe that? Just tell them what my mom told me: the Japanese were illiterate until they learned reading and writing from the Chinese!”

Before Sue could say more, Andy heard a voice behind him. “Hi, lovebirds!” said Mia. “Hey, Andy, this girl here says you’re staying with her family.”

Mia was standing with Haruko, who was now smiling happily. “She says she’s Harko . . . Harpo . . .” Mia stumbled over the name and gave up.

“This is Sato Haruko,” said Andy. “Her parents have a gorgeous house, and their garden is like something you’d see in a magazine.”

Ginny and Nathan joined them, and Andy saw that Haruko’s eyes brightened as more of the Lakeview kids came up to talk. The players began to compare their experiences. Laurie was staying with a family whose daughter had stayed with Laurie’s family when she visited Seattle the year before. Nathan was staying with the family of the trumpet player who had been his guest.

Andy envied Laurie, Nathan, and others who were reunited with the Japanese kids they knew. He, on the other hand, was stuck with Haruko, who stared at him coldly, when she bothered to look at him at all. Maybe Haruko was just stuck-up. Andy got the impression that the Satos were among the wealthier parents at the Kasei School. Also, they were from a samurai family.

“I’ve been learning to eat on the floor,” Nathan was saying. Some of the other kids laughed, and he explained. “This family I’m staying with, they have normal kinds of furniture in most of the rooms, but there’s one room in the Japanese style. The floor is covered by tatami mats, and you sit on cushions.”

“The Satos have that, too,” said Andy. He turned to Haruko. “I saw the Japanese-style room in your house.”

Haruko did not look pleased at this reminder. She gave a curt nod and turned away.

“So how do you feel after sitting on the floor all through dinner?” Nathan asked Andy. “Maybe you’re used to it, being Japanese and all. But by the end of the meal, I felt like a million ants were crawling up my legs. When I tried to stand up afterwards, my legs were so numb that I almost fell over. Thank God we ate breakfast in the kitchen this morning!”

“They were giving you a special welcome,” Andy explained. “Serving dinner in the Japanese room takes more work. I just ate at a regular table.”

Then, realizing that his remark might be interpreted to mean that Haruko’s family had been less welcoming, Andy glanced quickly at her. But she had her back to him and was busy talking to Mia.
I’m going to make
Haruko look at me with respect, if it’s the last thing I do
.

The school bell rang, and the Japanese kids went off to their classes. “Should we just wait here? Do you know what we’re supposed to be doing this morning?” Andy asked Sue.

“Mrs. Chong said something about a field trip they’ve planned for us,” said Sue.

Mr. Baxter came up and called the players together. “The principal of the Kasei School said that you’re probably all suffering jet lag. So instead of rehearsals today, he’s arranged to have us take the day off for some sightseeing. We’ll start work tomorrow.”

Andy was relieved. His stomach had already begun to flutter at the thought of playing his solo. Now he had a reprieve—at least for the day.

“They’re taking us to a town called Kamakura, where we’ll be spending the day,” Mr. Baxter went on. “It’s a couple of hours by bus from Tokyo.”

Sue looked excited as they waited for the bus. “Kamakura was the capital of the first shogun, who was the leader of the samurai and the ruler of Japan during the middle ages,” she said.

“How come you know so much about the shogun and samurai and things?” Mia asked Sue.

“She likes stuff about warfare,” said Andy.

“My mom took me and my sister to all those antiwar demonstrations,” said Sue. “So I wanted to understand why some men would kill people and destroy cities and villages, even men like knights and samurai, who talked a lot about honor.”

“Did I hear someone mention samurai?” said Nathan, coming over. “I love stories about the samurai. They were so honorable, so powerful, you know?”

“The samurai weren’t always on top,” said Andy. He felt a certain satisfaction in saying this. His father’s family had originally been farmers, not samurai. “Earlier, the court nobles were at the top, and the samurai were simply attendants for their betters. In fact, the word ‘samurai’ means attendant.”

“If the shogun was just the head attendant, how did he become the ruler of Japan, then?” asked Nathan.

Andy didn’t know the answer, and neither did Sue. Their bus arrived, and after they piled in and seated themselves, a woman with a mike got up in the front of the bus and introduced herself as their guide for the day.

“Let us start with a brief history of Kamakura,” she began. “In the eleventh century, the emperor became weak and the warrior samurai class rose in power. One leading warrior family, the Minamotos, defeated all their rivals . . .”