She didn’t have to tell Andy twice. Andy gratefully escaped to the kitchen, and his mother followed him. “Andy, what your father didn’t tell you was why that man in Beijing spat on his shoe,” she said softly. “He only told me because I kept asking him why the trip upset him so much. The Chinese man not only spat but also yelled at him. A crowd gathered, and your father’s guide had to hustle him away because things were getting ugly. The guide explained afterwards that the man who spat had a brother killed by Japanese soldiers during the occupation. The guide never apologized for the unpleasantness. If anything, he seemed to have enjoyed the scene. Your father was deeply upset by the whole thing.”
“It’s not Dad’s fault that that man’s brother was killed,” Andy protested. “He wasn’t even born yet!”
“I know that, Andy,” his mother said soothingly. “But the wounds inflicted during a war take a long time to heal. On both sides.”
“But that’s just one incident!” protested Andy. “Dad shouldn’t think all the Chinese people are like that!”
“Well, the man who spat on him certainly thought all Japanese people were exactly the same,” said his mother. After a moment, she added quietly, “I don’t think we should let your father get too angry, Andy. His doctor told us last week that his blood pressure is on the high side, and it’s not good for him to get worked up.”
Andy wasn’t too surprised about his father’s high blood pressure. He had seen the tide of red mounting on his father’s face. It didn’t look healthy. “Okay, Mom,” he said. Then he grinned and added, “You know, that’s a good way to get the last word all the time. Just tell everybody you have high blood pressure.”
“Andy!” said his mother. “You should be ashamed of yourself!” But a moment later, she smiled. “Let’s just keep things peaceful at home, all right?”
Andy sighed and made an elaborate bow. “Yes, Mother, this Number Two Son will obey.”
His mother smothered a laugh. “You’ve got the wrong script, Andy. That line comes from an old Charlie Chan movie. It’s Chinese, not Japanese.”
“So did you find out how your parents feel about the Chinese?” asked Sue the next Monday as she struggled with her salami sandwich.
Andy smiled as he looked at the way Sue licked some mayonnaise from her upper lip. He thought she looked like a cute toddler trying to eat like a grown-up. But his smile faded as he thought back to the way his father had talked about the Chinese. “My mom’s okay,” he began. “She’s a history teacher, like I said, and she knows a lot about how the Japanese learned stuff from the Chinese—things like writing . . .”
“And your father?” asked Sue. “What does he think?”
Andy tried hard to think of a tactful way to express his father’s opinions. “My father thinks the Chinese are a backward people,” he said finally. He couldn’t bring himself to repeat his father’s more offensive words about not bathing. Nor did he want to mention the man who had spat and yelled at his father.
Sue took a bite of her sandwich, although she no longer looked hungry. After swallowing she said in a low voice, “I know we’re a backward people. During the Second World War, we had very few modern weapons, and that’s why your country was able to occupy so much of my country.”
Andy was shocked. “Hey, where did this ‘your country’ and ‘my country’ stuff come from? I thought we were citizens of the same country! We’re both Americans! Or have you forgotten?”
Sue stared at Andy. Then she smiled that little crooked smile he liked so much. “You’re right. Whatever happened between China and Japan is history, and we shouldn’t let it bother us now.”
“Does that mean you’ll go out with me?” Andy asked quickly.
Sue’s smile disappeared. “Can’t we wait just a little longer?”
Remembering his father’s anger, Andy had to agree that it might be a good idea to wait. But he hated waiting like this.
As they came out the door of the sandwich shop, they moved aside to make room for a couple who was going in. “Sue!” cried the girl. “What are you doing here? I thought you had orchestra rehearsal!”
Andy recognized the girl as the one he had seen with Sue at the bus stop, the one he suspected was Sue’s sister. “Oh, hi, Rochelle,” muttered Sue. “We finished rehearsal and got hungry, so we came here for a snack.”
Rochelle’s eyes narrowed. “We got hungry. That doesn’t include the rest of the orchestra, obviously. Just you and . . .” She waited.
Andy stepped forward. “Hi, I’m Andy, I’m a violinist. And you are . . .”
“This is my sister, Rochelle,” said Sue.
“Fancy not running into you before,” drawled Rochelle. “I didn’t even know that Sue had a friend.”
“I have friends, and you know it!” said Sue. “You even met some of them. Or don’t girls count?”
Andy hadn’t seen Sue angry before, and he liked her flash of spirit. When her eyes sparkled angrily, she looked beautiful—as beautiful as her sister.
Rochelle raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, you don’t have to get mad!” She turned to Andy. “Have you two been coming here a lot?”
Rochelle was obviously fishing for information, and Andy tried to think of a way to head her off without making her too suspicious. “Uh . . . you know how hungry you get after a hard rehearsal . . . ,” he began.
Sue jumped in. She turned to the boy with Rochelle and flashed him a big smile. “Fancy not running into you before,” she said, in a perfect imitation of Rochelle’s drawl. “I didn’t even know that Rochelle had a friend.”
“Hey, you’re pretty good,” the boy said to Sue, and laughed. “I’m Jake, by the way.”
“Hi, Jake,” said Sue, and batted her lashes at him. It was very effective. Sue continued. “You’re on the football team, aren’t you? You look like an athlete.”
“I play soccer,” said Jake. “Hey, we have a game—”
“Come on, Jake, let’s eat!” said Rochelle, pulling at Jake’s arm. “I’m starved!”
After Rochelle and Jake went into Hero’s, Andy grinned at Sue. “Your sister sees you as a real threat. She couldn’t get Jake away from you fast enough.”
Sue gave Andy her usual shy smile, not the flashing one she gave Jake. “First time in my life she saw me as a threat.”
“Of course you’re a threat!” Andy said as they walked toward the bus stop. “You did a great imitation of Rochelle. You have a good ear.”
“I’m sure that’ll come in handy someday,” said Sue. “You know, I wish I could study some Japanese, now that we might be going to Tokyo. Though I’m still not sure what my mother will have to say about that. Do you speak Japanese at home?”
Andy shook his head. “Not much. My parents tried to teach me and Tom. But Tom complained that he always had too much homework and couldn’t take the time, so they gave up.” He felt a rush of regret. “I wish they’d kept it up. At least we both learned to read the kana form of writing.”
Sue looked excited. “Japanese writing is a lot like Chinese writing, isn’t it? I already know some of the characters!”
“The writing that looks like Chinese is kanji, but Japanese also uses a lot of kana, the phonetic writing,” said Andy. Seeing Sue’s face fall, he added quickly, “I bet you can learn kana in no time. I’ll teach you before the orchestra leaves for Tokyo.”
Sue’s bus arrived, and just before she got on she turned and gave Andy a radiant smile. His stomach twisted—not the sick twist he felt when getting ready to play a solo, but a twist of excitement, like what he felt on the scary Space Mountain ride at Disneyland.
3
When Sue got home that afternoon, she was surprised to find her mother busily cooking. Usually Sue and Rochelle helped out in the kitchen, starting about an hour before dinner. Sue was the one who washed and cut up the vegetables, while Rochelle did the fine slicing of meat for stir-frying. But from the looks of things today, her mother had been cooking for much of the afternoon.
“Grandma Mei is coming to dinner tonight,” she explained.
Sue received the news with mixed feelings. She loved her grandmother deeply. Grandma Mei was chubby and full of bounce. Her face was wrinkled, and since she kept it powdered, she looked like a dried persimmon. Dried persimmons are very sweet, and so was Grandma Mei. But she also had a tart side. And Sue was afraid to hear what the tart side would say if she found out about Andy.
Sue knew that she was Grandma Mei’s favorite grandchild. She usually felt overshadowed by Rochelle, who was prettier and made friends more easily. But Grandma Mei always gave Sue an extra warm hug when she visited, and she liked to say that Sue’s quiet, modest manner showed that she was growing into a true Chinese lady.
Grandma Mei’s visits also meant treats from Chinatown, like dried plums, shrimp chips, or bread stuffed with sweet bean paste. The only thing Sue didn’t like about her grandmother’s visits was hearing her talk about her painful childhood experiences in China during the Japanese invasion. It always made Sue cringe to picture the horrors her grandmother had suffered. Now, thinking about Andy, Sue dreaded hearing those stories even more.
As soon as Grandma Mei arrived and saw Sue, she smiled until her eyes almost disappeared in her wrinkled face. After giving her a big hug, she asked Sue whether she was keeping up with her Chinese. Sue wanted to please her grandmother, so she said she practiced every Saturday morning. What she didn’t mention was that her practice consisted of reading a few Chinese picture books for little kids. But at least she was able to learn some Chinese characters this way.
When Sue’s dad came home, he greeted Grandma Mei politely. Sue knew that the two of them didn’t have much to say to each other, but they were always polite. Her dad, like most Chinese, treated all old women with great courtesy. And her grandmother, like most Chinese, had great respect for professors. Sue knew that in the old days, only scholars who had passed tough examinations could become officials and run the government. Her father’s face still looked young, but his hair had started to turn gray, giving him a look of scholarly wisdom.
“You must be really busy,” Grandma Mei said to Sue’s father. “So many students to teach!”
“Not so many,” said Sue’s father. “Thank you for coming all the way across town to visit us.”
“Your wife drove me,” said Grandma Mei. “So it’s no trouble at all.”
With this polite exchange out of the way, the family sat down to a Chinese dinner that Sue’s mother had started cooking hours earlier. “You didn’t have to prepare all these dishes,” Grandma Mei told Sue’s mother. “After all, I don’t eat very much these days.”
Sue’s mother wiped the perspiration from her face as she put down a dish of chicken and sugar snap peas on the dining table. “I have to show that I haven’t forgotten all the cooking lessons you gave me,” she told Grandma Mei.
Sue knew perfectly well that this was just another polite exchange. Grandma Mei had to tell her mom that she had gone to too much trouble, but she would have been insulted if an elaborate meal had not been prepared for her.
The dinner was certainly fancier than what the family usually had. That was one of the benefits of having Grandma Mei visit. In addition to the soup, they were going to have five dishes: two cold and three hot. A dish of stir-fried prawns had to be done at the last minute, since it was best when served piping hot.
While Sue’s mother was in the kitchen stir-frying the prawns, her father asked for some extra soy sauce. The food was all lightly flavored, since Grandma Mei had to cut down on sodium. Sue went to the kitchen and came back with a small bottle of soy sauce, which she handed to her father.
After splashing a little of the soy sauce on his sliced pork, he put the bottle down on the table. Grandma Mei reached over and read the label. “I don’t know this brand,” she said. Then she peered harder at the label. “It’s a Japanese brand!”
When Sue’s mother came in with the steaming dish of stir-fried prawns, Grandma Mei stared at her. “What is this bottle of Japanese soy sauce doing on your dining table?” she hissed. “Did you buy it?”
Sue’s mother put down the dish of prawns and hurried over to look at the bottle of Kikkoman soy sauce. “I didn’t buy this!”
“I’m the one who bought it,” said Rochelle. She looked scared. “Remember, Mom? A couple of days ago, you needed soy sauce in a hurry, so I drove down to the Safeway and bought this little bottle. It’s a pretty popular brand. Everybody uses it!”
“Come, come, Grandma Mei,” said Sue’s father. “Kikkoman may have started originally in Japan, but what we get here is actually brewed in . . . let’s see . . .” He picked up the bottle and read the fine print. “It’s brewed in Wisconsin.”
Grandma Mei’s face was blotched with patches of red and white. “I don’t care where it’s brewed! It’s a Japanese soy sauce, and I’m shocked to see it on your table!”
Rochelle had turned pale. “I’m s-sorry, Grandma. I was in a hurry and didn’t pay any attention.”
“I don’t think a few drops of Japanese soy sauce will poison us,” said Sue’s father.
Sue nearly groaned aloud. Her father meant well, but she suspected that his remark would open the floodgates.
She was right. Grandma Mei took a deep breath. “You all take this lightly, because none of you lived through what I did. If you had, you’d hurl this evil bottle out the window!” She reached for the bottle.
Sue’s mother quickly took it away. “Now, now, Mother, calm yourself.”
“That’s easy enough for you to say!” spat Grandma Mei. “You’ve never been bombed by enemy airplanes, have you? You don’t know what it’s like to run in fear, while high in the air the pilots giggle and enjoy themselves as they rain bombs on you!”
Sue had been hearing these stories for years and years, but she still hated them. She could picture the panicked Chinese running around on the ground while the Japanese pilots spread death and destruction from above. What she hated most was the thought that Andy shared an ancestry with those bomber pilots. Maybe if we just sit quietly, Grandma will tire out.
But Sue’s mother had to add her bit. She hated the Japanese almost as much as Grandma Mei because she had grown up constantly hearing these stories. “I agree with you, Mother, that the bombing of civilians is contemptible! It’s pure terrorism. Of all the forms of warfare, it is the worst, because its purpose is not to attack the military but to terrorize the people into surrendering.”
“The greatest number of civilian casualties was from the atomic bomb at Hiroshima,” murmured Sue’s father. She was glad he spoke too softly for her grandmother to hear.
“But even worse than the aerial bombing was when soldiers came into our homes,” continued Grandma Mei.
Sue knew exactly what was coming next, because her grandmother told this story over and over again. She sighed and got up with Rochelle to clear the table, praying that her grandmother wouldn’t cry.
“I still remember the strange quiet,” said Grandma Mei. “After weeks of shooting and bombing, our nerves had been shattered by the daily sound of explosions. My parents even made an air raid shelter by digging a trench and covering it with wooden planks. Of course we know now how useless it was, but it gave us a false sense of security. We were lucky that none of the bombs fell near our house. Then one morning, the shooting stopped. It was eerie. We all came out of our houses and looked at one another. At first we thought the Japanese enemy had given up and left, and some of the children started to run around and cheer. Then one of our neighbors told us the truth, that it was the Chinese Nationalist army who had gone. We were left totally defenseless.”
Sue and Rochelle sat back down, and Sue’s mother set out a platter of cut oranges and cups of tea. Grandma Mei stopped talking to take a sip of tea. When she started again, her voice was less steady. “At first we thought we were safe, and that the Japanese were only interested in going after the army. Then the next day, we heard screaming in the street.
We hurried home and bolted the door. It didn’t do any good. The Japanese soldiers broke it down and came storming into the house.”
“Did they say anything?” asked Sue before she could stop herself. Her grandmother had never mentioned whether the soldiers had tried to communicate. It would have made them seem more human.
Grandma Mei’s lips curled. “They had a Chinese interpreter with them, a traitor! They demanded to know whether we had concealed weapons. Then they started searching. Of course we knew they weren’t really looking for weapons! They were just looting! My brother and I hid behind the stove in the kitchen, but we could still hear the soldiers throwing things around. When they emptied all our chests and drawers, they made my parents tell them where they had hidden all the money and jewels. My parents told them they had no more valuables, but the soldiers didn’t believe them and started to beat them.”
Grandma Mei stopped to take another sip of tea. She swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and continued. “The soldiers finally found nothing valuable left to seize, so they decided to go and loot another house. As they started to leave, I raised my head from my hiding place and peeked out. I saw that one of the soldiers had found my favorite doll. It was only a clay doll, but I loved it because it had such a sweet smile.” Her hands began to shake, and some of the tea spilled. “He swung the doll and smashed it against the wall! It shattered into little pieces, and he was laughing like a fiend the whole time!” There were tears running down Grandma Mei’s face, and she stopped talking. This was the place where she always stopped.
Sue had often wondered why her grandmother was more upset by the soldier’s smashing her doll than by the looting of their valuables and the beating of her parents. Maybe it was because the beating and looting were caused by greed, which was human and which you could at least understand. But smashing the doll was pure cruelty. Truly, a soldier who did that was a beast. And that was what her grandmother thought all Japanese were: beasts.
The family was silent as Grandma Mei wept. Sue squirmed in her seat, wishing there were some way she could help her grandmother. Sue’s mother went over to put her arms around Grandma Mei and murmured soothing words. They didn’t do any good. They never did.
Mismatch Page 3
