by Linda Crew
Sundara took her quick turn in the bathroom, washing her face, touching on some makeup, staring at her reflection. Did she look like a wicked girl? A girl who ate lunch alone with a boy? She would miss talking with him. Never before had anyone seemed so interested in her life, her feelings. What a relief it had been to speak of things so long held inside.
When she came into breakfast wearing jeans and a jade green blouse, Soka gave her one of those accusing looks. You spend a lot of time on yourself lately.
Sundara swallowed. She bad taken extra care in winding the ends of her hair around the curling iron, but her clothes were nothing special, except in comparison to Soka's. Soka refused to buy clothes for herself, and wished Sundara would also refrain. But Sundara didn't want to dress out of charity boxes as she'd had to at first. What fate! All those horrible pants suits of stretchy material They were nothing like what the other girls were wearing. Not that she ever missed looking exactly like everyone else as she had at home, skipping to school each day in a blue skirt and white blouse. It was just that now she wanted to fit in with the Americans. She wanted jeans and tops like everyone else.
Little ones! Come eat Soka had set their places to eat around the table western style. Now she poured the sugary cereal the boys had seen advertised on television.
Pon punched off his cartoons and carried in the jar of strawflowers he'd been wiring for Mr. Bonner's wife. He earned two cents for each stem he attached.
Wonderful Soka said. At least three dollars worth. What a clever son. She gave his cheek a quick nuzzle. Ravy, here is your note for the school.
What's this? Naro wanted to know as Ravy stuffed the paper in the back pocket of his jeans and sat down.
The school called, Soka said. They wanted me to write my permission so he can play football after school.
Football? Ravy, why do you want to smash into other people?
It's flag football, Papa, not tackle. You just yank the flag out of the other guy's pocket.
Sundara and Ravy exchanged glances. She knew very well he could hardly wait to play tackle.
Tälking to those people at his school is like pouring water on a duck's back, Soka complained. No matter how many times I tell them, I cannot make them understand that I am not Mrs. Tep, there is no Mrs. Tep. I am Kern Soka, I tell them on the phone yesterday, but it does no good.
You should give up trying to put Kern first, Naro said. It only confuses diem.
She took a seat. Well, I can understand that. But why is it so difficult for them to understand a married woman keeping the name she is born with? They invented this women's lib, not us.
Haven't you learned yet? Naro said. This is their country. They don't care about our ways. We are expected to imitate tbem.
And some of their ways I don't mind. But I'll tell you one thing, these children of ours must not become too American. She took each of them in with her eyes. We don't want those bad things happening to the children of this family. Drinking, drugs, getting pregnant
Sundara's face got hot. She couldn't help itSoka's black eyes boring into her like that. If her aunt's vague suspicions were this hard to endure, imagine how terrifying to face her wrath at the truth!
Her cousins had gobbled their cereal and excused themselves. They went back down the hall to collect Ravy's homework papers and Pon's toy motorcycle for first grade show-and-tell.
The best American idea, as far as I'm concerned, Soka went on, is a man being allowed only one wife at a time. She gave Naro a pointed look, then turned back to Sundara. At home, Niece, if you get a good husband who makes a lot of money, there will always be younger women coming around, wanting to be wife number two. A terrible nuisance.
Sundara kept her eyes on her noodles, unable to enjoy the rare hint of intimacy in Soka's voice. Even if this old quarrel had lost its heat for Soka and Naro, it still served as an ominous reminder of her aunt's temper. To this day Sundara recalled overhearing her own parents discussing itsomething about a younger woman, and Soka taking an ax to Naro's prized motorcycle. Sundara shuddered. Soka was not a good person to cross.
And how treacherously close Sundara always felt to Soka's anger. It was do this, don't do that, every minute of the day. Now that Soka had her food-service job at the university, she seemed to have completely forgotten how much she had depended on Sundara that first year, how much Sundara had helped her, answering the phone, going to the door while Soka cowered in the bedroom as if expecting to be dragged away . For a while Sundara had hoped all this might win Soka's forgiveness for the baby's death, but when Soka became strong again and unafraid, she also turned meaner than ever, as if blaming Sundara for her own period of helplessness.
Now her aunt spoke to Naro with excessive sweetness. You're better off here, I think, where you can't talk to other women so much.
You mean you're better off, he teased. You know, you ought to watch how much you become American, Little Sister. You've put yourself high up enough in this family as it is.
Too bad Soka replied, suppressing a smile, jutting her chin out at him.
Oh Niece, Naro said with mock weariness, why did my parents match me with such a sassy woman?
Soka smiled broadly at this. She had good, even teeth, and a very nice look about her, Sundara thought, when she was joking with someone she liked. And they all knew Naro was only teasing, for Soka had proven a good wife to him. Especially after the first year in America, when he sank into depression. He, who had supported so many relatives at home, shamed by having to send his wife to work! But while he brooded in silence those long months, wait for time to heal his spirit, Soka had been the most loyal and loving of wives.
Now he grinned at her. At least she is better than the wife of Pok Sary. He jerked up his arms as if to ward off her blow.
Ha! You better think so.
I saw the two of them yesterday, he said. Let me tell you, this is what / like about America: Here I don't have to bow down to them. You should have heard them, boasting about that son of theirs. It makes me tired.
Sundara's pulse raced at the mere mention of Pok Simo. Nervously she rose to fill her bowl again, hoping they wouldn't notice her hands shaking.
You would think, Soka said, that if they were so high-class they would have the good manners not to brag.
Naro nodded. I've often thought that myself. I don't know how many times I've heard about their big brick house in Phnom Penh, their car, how everybody wanted to be their friend.
I suppose we should try to be understanding, Soka said. Perhaps we would feel the same way if we fell so low from so high up. But still
Where's Grandmother? Sundara said. Not well again?
Soka turned in her chair and gave Sundara one of those measuring looks. Had her attempt to change the subject been too obvious?
But to Sundara's relief, Soka merely sighed. She doesn't want to eat. She doesn't even want to get out of bed today. Sometimes it seems hopeless. I finally persuade her to come to the supermarket with me, and then the checker is so rude Grandmother says she won't ever go back.
They just don't have any respect for the elderly, do they? Naro said. And sometimes, Little Sister, I don't think you show her the respect she deserves, either.
Me Soka was indignant. What about you? You're not exactly humbling yourself for her advice all the time.
This stopped him. Well, it's different here.
Yes, she snapped, I've noticed that. Then her voice softened. I'm sorry, Naro. I do the best I can with your mother, but as you say, it's different here, and what can she tell us about coping with life in America when all she does is stay in the house, dreaming of home?
Ah, so understanding America is the way to be respected, then? If that's so, perhaps we should all foil on our knees before young Ravy!
Ha! Or Sundara here.�
�
Oh, no. How American Sundara Has Become. A topic Soka relished and Sundara loathed. So unfair, to be criticized for everything right down to what Soka claimed was her overly bold way of walking. If only her aunt could see what an outsider she was at school. What did Soka think? That she could go to an American school and squat in the cafeteria to eat as if she were still half a world away? Would that have satisfied her? At home Sundara was too American; at school she felt painfully aware of not being American enough. She didn't fit in anywhere. Please dont start on this, she thought.
Fortunately, Soka seemed more inclined, at the moment, to analyze Grandmother's problems. She has nothing like school or a job to force her out of the house. If only we could find something She considered this for a moment, then jumped up. As for me, I have more than enough to do. That's the answer, you see. Work. Keep busy. Then there's less time to brood. Niece, you will start the dinner tonight so we can eat as soon as I get home. I promised to take that new family shopping for warm clothes tonight.
They're having a sale at Valu-Time, Sundara offered, trying to be helpful. Unable to bargain here, Soka liked to at least find the best sales.
But Soka waved away that suggestion. Last time I bought a jacket there the threads unraveled after one washing. I thought everything here would be good quality, but you really have to be careful.
Sundara nodded. The jacket she'd put on layaway for herself was at one of the nice stores downtown. But Soka would consider that an extravagance, and would like it even less if she knew Sundara hadn't waited to walk in with cash. But after one more payday she'd have enough, and what if the beautiful plum-colored jacket were gone by then?
She scooped out the last of the noodles from the pot into her bowl, causing her aunt to cluck.
That's your third bowl! I don't know why you're not fat, all the food you eat and nothing but sitting in school all day.
I'm sorry, Sundara said meekly. I should have asked if either of you would like the rest. Would you?
Naro shook his head and Soka said she'd had enough she was getting a bit plump herself latelyso Sundara ate the noodles. But Soka had spoiled her appetite.
Once out the door, Sundara began to breathe easier. Nothing said about Pok Simo. She sank into her bus seat thinking maybe she'd be lucky this time. Maybe they wouldn't find out. If she stayed away from Jonathan from now on, there was still a chance she might save herself.
And after all, was he really worth the risk? Maybe Cathy was right. Maybe she was just a curiosity to him. Maybe she was making a fool of herself, letting herself care about him as if there were the slightest chance they could ever belong to the same world.
Besides, she already had one failure on her conscience: the death of Soka's baby. There was no more room in her life for mistakes, large or small.
Yes, what she must do was quite clear. She would not think of him. She would not waste any more time looking for him in the halls. She would study hard during lunch hour the way she used to, and when her parents came they would be proud. She would not talk to him. She would not look at him. She would forget it ever happened.
And then the school bus pulled up to the patio. Through the tinted window, she saw him standing by the flagpole. What was he (doing there all by himself? Usually she didn't see him until international relations. He looked so nice. She loved those faded jeans and that flannel shirt of his. The morning sun shone on his blond hair as he tapped his notebook against his thigh and looked around.
Her heart pounded, her knees felt weak as she stood up in the bus aisle. She must pretend she hadn't seen him and walk past to the building. With so many students milling around, maybe she'd escape his notice.
But when she stepped off the bus, he hurried right toward her. He had been waiting especially for her. He knew which bus she rode.
Sundara! I've got to talk to you. He led her away from the others. His hand on her arm felt nice, nicer than it should have. How about explaining that little scene yesterday. Is that guy your boyfriend or something?
She glanced up at him in surprise. Oh, no! He be mad to hear you say this. We not the same class.
So? Lots of girls go out with older guys. I thought
Not class in school! Social class, don't you know? Oh, too hard to explain now. She looked over her shoulder. Were they being watched?
But why'd you run off, then?
Because he see us. With my people everyone watch everyone else. He will talk.
We were just sitting there.
But I am a girl and you are a boy!
You noticed that too, huh?
Oh, you make fun Her voice wavered between a giggle and a wail; her cheeks were warm. I could get in trouble. How many times do I have to tell you? In Cambodia a girl doesn't go with a boy alone.
You're in America now.
Oh, is that so? She made a face. Sometime I forget!
He grinned. Meet me for lunch?
Jonatan. So persistent! Was it possible he really didn't understand? How blunt you sometimes had to be with Americans! But the longer she stayed there with him in the fresh morning air, the easier it was to let herself be persuaded, the harder it was to tell him they must not see each other. Soka had a strong power over her, but so did Jonathan.
And right now, as he stood looking at her with those strange and lovely blue eyes, she just liked him, liked the way he made her feel, liked the way he was banishing her nightmares by stealing into her dreams. Was that so terrible? After all, it was not as if staying away from him would bring the baby back to life .
Okay, she said. I meet you. And her heart beat with the most extraordinary mixture of joy and fear.
CHAPTER 8
Sundara was used to being watched.
In Willamette Grove, black hair and brown skin stood out. Except for a few people up at the university, almost everyone was white. So when she'd first come here, people stared because she was different.
Then, more recently, she'd noticed the boys paying a new kind of attention, boldly eyeing her from head to foot, hanging on their lockers or elbowing each other as she passed.
And of course there was always Soka, monitoring her for the slightest sign of disobedience. After four years, Sundara had almost forgotten what life was like without those watchful eyes, the automatic looks of disapproval at her every move.
But now she had Jonathan. How much nicer it was to have Urn studying her. In his eyes she read only good messages: You are beautiful. You are special. I could look at you all day long. The intensity of his gaze across the classroom was difficult to ignore. She could almost feel the heat of it. And other people were starting to notice too.
Kelly assured her that everyone was talking. Now even the girls were looking at her. Conversations seemed to trail off when she walked by. Heads turned.
What do you expect? Kelly said. Everybody can see he's absolutely smitten with you.
Smitten?
Knocked out, crazy over, totally infatuated. Like that. People can't help being curious. They're all wondering like, who is this exotic creature they've heard about.
Apparently the stir was not lost on Jonathan's coach, either. One day on the patio Sundara looked up to see him watching them from the door of the faculty lunchroom.
Is that your coach? she asked Jonathan.
He took a quick look. Yeah.
What the matter? Why does he watch us?
Just likes to keep an eye on all the players. He turned back and gave the coach a lazy salute.
Hackenbruck nodded, not smiling.
He look kind of mean, Sundara whispered.
Huh. That's probably one of the nicer words people use.
Finally, Hackenbruck went back inside.
Why he so mad?
Oh, he has this thing about girls. Thinks you sap our energy. Get us all distracted.
�
�Oh. She was thinking of Cathy. Did the coach watch Jonathan when he was with her? He mad about you eat lunch with me?
Jonathan shrugged. It's a bunch of stuff. He called me in the other day. Give me a lot of crap about buckling down, getting my head in the right space. I guess he's got a right to that, but when he starts getting into my personal life Well, I just told him I thought what I did off the field was my own business. But he says anything that affects my performance is his business. Says I'm getting a bad attitude about football. He shrugged again. Guess I really can't argue with that.
You don't like football anymore? Even though you the star?
Hey, I signed up to play a game, not fight a war. You should hear Hackenbruck in the locker room. Smash em, pound em, kill em He tossed the last of his taco back on the tray. Other things bug me too. Like the game last week. Did you see that guy get his knee torn up? Everybody goes, Hey, we gotta win for Baker. But I kept thinking, wait a minute, winning's not going to fix his knee.
Sundara waited to make sure he was finished. Why do you play, then? Why you don't quit?
I don't know. It's hard to explain. Being on the team gets so tied in to who you are.
She nodded. Make you important. I see how everybody kind of bow down to the player.
Well, not everybody. Plenty of people don't give a hoot about football. He jerked his head toward a group huddled at the curb, smoke rising from whatever they were passing around. Like those guys. They couldn't care less. He turned back to her. And the brains. You won't catch them at a pep rally when they could be logging time in the computer room.
He was right, Sundara realized. She'd been so busy trying to understand exactly what Americans were like, she'd missed the point. Americans were all sorts of things.
Anyway, he went on, I don't need people putting me on a pedestal. It's more just this pressure of having to be what everybody wants me to be. My parents and all.
She nodded. Your family honor.
