Rochelle was studying Andy, and Sue knew that she was sizing him up.
“Yeah, we met after one of our rehearsals,” Andy replied. “I play first violin in the orchestra.”
“Sue told me your last name is Suzuki,” said Rochelle.
There was a pause. Andy glanced at Sue, a question in his eyes. “No, I haven’t told my mother yet,” muttered Sue.
Andy backed down the steps. “Well, I better go try a few more houses before packing it in for the night.” He waved at Rochelle and smiled. “Nice seeing you again.”
“He seems okay, your Andy,” remarked Rochelle. “I think you should have asked him in to meet Mom and Dad.”
“Maybe I’d better go ring a few more doorbells, too,” said Sue, hurriedly changing the subject.
But before she could leave the house, she was waylaid by her mother. “Didn’t I hear somebody at the door?”
Rochelle answered first. “It’s Sue’s boyfriend. He came over especially to talk to her.”
Her mother smiled. “Your boyfriend, Sue? Is this the boy who called the other night? Your father and I would have enjoyed meeting him. Why didn’t you bring him in and introduce him?”
“That’s exactly what I want to know,” said Rochelle. “Why didn’t you bring Andy in and introduce him?”
“Andy, is that his name?” said her mother. She seemed eager to know more. Sue had gone out with a few boys in her old school, but she had never had anyone she could really call a boyfriend. This was the first time a boy had come to see Sue after they moved to the new neighborhood.
“He was in a hurry to ring more doorbells,” explained Sue, before her mother could ask for Andy’s last name. “I’m in a hurry, too.”
She grabbed her name tag and forms and dashed out the door.
But she knew she couldn’t play these delaying games for long. Sooner or later, her parents were going to learn that her boyfriend was Japanese American.
5
For weeks Andy knocked himself out ringing doorbells and washing cars. He had hardly any time left for practicing. During one rehearsal, he missed some notes in his solo, something he had never done before.
Raising money for the orchestra made him realize something. One day, as he was rinsing the soap from a car, the owner smiled at him and said, “So you’re going to Japan! It must be like looking for your roots, huh?”
Until that moment, Andy had simply thought of himself as an American, and didn’t spend much time wondering about his roots. His father often tried to tell Andy about his Japanese ancestry, but Andy got the feeling he didn’t act as interested as his dad would have liked.
Andy’s paternal grandfather had been born in Japan. He was able to get a scholarship to attend a college in the States under a program sponsored by the American occupation after the war. In Seattle, he’d met Andy’s grandmother, a Japanese American girl majoring in music and studying the piano.
Andy’s grandmother loved to tell the story of how she and his grandfather had fallen in love. At a party, she had noticed a lonesome young Japanese boy whose English wasn’t good enough for him to mingle. She felt sorry for him, so she went over to the piano and played some Japanese folk songs to cheer him up. This touched him so deeply that he almost broke down and cried. She in turn was so touched by his reaction, she almost cried herself. The rest, she liked to tell Andy, was history.
Andy’s grandfather stayed in America after getting married, but he never got over his homesickness for Japan. He would tell his children Japanese fairy tales, while Andy’s grandmother played Japanese songs. Andy’s father grew up speaking Japanese at home. His grandfather would point out to his grandchildren how, every year on December 7, Americans remembered Japan’s preemptive strike at Pearl Harbor. However long the Suzukis had been in America, Andy’s grandfather insisted, they were still regarded by some people as enemy aliens.
Listening to his grandfather talk like this, Andy wasn’t surprised that people in America thought of him as an alien. Andy thought of Pearl Harbor as just another incident in American history, not something that had much to do with him personally. Occasionally he felt that people made assumptions about him because he was Asian, but he never felt that anyone discriminated against him because his ancestors were Japanese.
The story of Andy’s mother’s family was very different from his father’s. During World War II, her family, like many West Coast Japanese Americans, had been forced into “relocation” camps. The American government felt that Japanese Americans were too Japanese to be trusted. The camps were situated in bleak, remote parts of the country, and living conditions were harsh. In spite of this, her grandfather still thought of himself as a patriotic American, and had even fought in the U.S. Army.
At home, Andy tended to side with his mother. She was easier to get along with in general. He remembered her saying, “If you’re really looking for slights or insults, you can always find some. But why bother?”
Andy’s mother was a history teacher, so she took a wider and longer view of things. Whenever Andy’s father started growling about discrimination by white people, she was always able to point out even worse cases of discrimination at some other place in some other time.
The doorbell ringing and car washing made Andy start thinking about the trip as an opportunity to see the country of his ancestors. Of course, his father had made sure that he and his elder brother weren’t totally ignorant of Japanese culture. His father rented Japanese movies, mostly historical epics. Andy enjoyed these movies, especially those with samurai engaged in spectacular swordfights. But to him, the samurai movies were just like movies about Roman gladiators or American cowboys: they were action pictures, and fun to watch. He didn’t see them as being about his ancestors.
On his own, Andy had gone to a number of anime films. He didn’t think of these as particularly Japanese, either, though the animation style had originated in Japan. In fact, they had become really popular among all his high school friends.
Now Andy would get to see Japan with his own eyes. At his mother’s suggestion, he began to review the Japanese phrases his father had taught him years before. Andy also decided to review different types of Japanese writing, especially katakana, which his father told him was used on public signs.
The whole orchestra worked hard ringing doorbells and washing cars, but as summer approached, they all knew that they still hadn’t raised enough money to pay for the tickets. Would the auction bring in enough?
At lunch one day, Andy was sitting at his usual table, next to Sue. The first time he’d come back to sit with her, there had been significant looks and raised eyebrows from Mia and Ginny, but he pretended not to notice. After that, things pretty much went back to the way they were before.
“So, the auction is next Sunday,” said Ginny. “I wonder what kinds of things people are going to sell.”
“I heard that someone’s offering a week in his family’s beach cabin,” said Sue.
That beach cabin had been the setting for a lot of Andy’s daydreams over the past couple of months. He didn’t know what it would go for, but he had about fifty dollars left in his savings account from working the summer before. He wondered what his parents would think if he made a bid for the beach cabin. Probably nothing good.
“It’s weird that the items are so different. I mean, one woman’s offering some ink painting she made herself!” said Ginny. “How can that compare with tickets to a Seahawks game?”
Andy could feel Sue stiffen next to him. “Well, different people like different things, Ginny,” he said. “Take my dad, for instance. He likes black-and-white ink paintings a lot more than tickets to some football game.” He turned to Sue and smiled at her. After a second, she smiled back.
The auction took place in the gym. A potluck dinner was served, and the parents of the players brought the food. Andy’s mother brought a big platter of teriyaki beef and chicken.
Again, the gym was packed by the time the Suzukis arrived. This time
, the gym was crowded not only with families of the players, but also with people who were interested in bidding for some of the items. A line had formed for the food, and many people were already holding plates and eating.
Andy looked over the platters on the long table and wondered which dish was Mrs. Hua’s. Not one of the various salads, he decided, nor a pie or a cake. He spotted a big plate of fried noodles with a brownish color that had certainly come from soy sauce. I bet that’s Mrs. Hua’s contribution, he thought. He pointed the dish out to his father. “Check it out, Dad. I know how much you love fried noodles.”
“I’d better get some before it’s all gone,” agreed his father, pushing his way to the noodle dish.
All right, thought Andy. Now what if I let Dad know that the noodles were brought by Sue’s mother? That might break the ice. Andy watched his dad, remembering how red his face had gotten when he’d talked about his trip to Beijing. Yeah, right, he thought. Like it’s going to be that simple.
Either way, he didn’t get a chance to tell his dad who’d brought the noodles. The eating didn’t take long, because people practically inhaled the food. After a few minutes, a tinkling sound interrupted the chatter. Mrs. Fulton, the woman who had chaired the fund-raising program, was rapping a water pitcher with a spoon. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she shouted. “Now the fun part begins. Let’s start the auction!”
People began to seat themselves on the benches. When it got quiet again, the items to be auctioned off were brought out and put on the refreshment table. Slips of paper describing the service items were neatly arranged in a pile.
Mrs. Fulton picked up a slip and opened the bidding on a pair of tickets to a Seahawks game. Having your lawn mowed for a month was offered next; the winning bid was seventy-five dollars. Personally, Andy thought that the overweight man who won the bidding could have used the exercise, instead of letting someone else do the mowing.
The beach cabin came up for bidding, and before Andy could ever open his mouth, the bidding topped what he could afford. It finally went for five hundred dollars to a man sitting two rows down. So much for his daydreams.
Next the items on the table began to be auctioned off. Andy was surprised that an old Coke bottle was offered as an antique, and went for twenty-five dollars. After a while his attention began to wander. He had little interest in antique maps, china vases, or other junk. He glanced at Sue, thinking about his dream of the week at the beach cabin. Maybe they could go camping some weekend? Maybe . . .
Then something made him sit up. His father’s voice, making a bid! Andy looked up and saw that the item offered was Sue’s mother’s ink painting, which lay partially unrolled on the table. His father made an offer of a hundred dollars!
There was a murmur of surprise. Nobody else made an offer, so the painting went to Andy’s father. He went down to the auction table, picked up the scroll, and walked back beaming to his seat.
Andy didn’t even listen to the rest of the auction as he watched his father slowly unrolling the rest of the painting. Andy could make out a black-and-white brush painting of a landscape, with mountains and a small boat in the foreground. “Better roll up the picture, Don,” advised Andy’s mother. “Somebody might bump into it and crumple it.”
Andy’s father slowly rolled up the scroll and tied it with the silk strings that were attached to the two wooden rollers.
Soon the auction was over, and cheers and applause broke out. People slowly began making their way to the exits. Andy searched the audience and spotted Sue with her parents.
Before Andy could make a move, his father was already pushing his way through the crowd toward Sue’s family. He must have remembered Mrs. Hua from their last meeting at the gym.
Mrs. Hua looked up and smiled at Andy’s father. “You are the gentleman who bought my painting!”
Andy’s father smiled back. “Yes, when I heard that you did brush paintings, I had been hoping that one of your pictures would be in the auction. It seems that fortune favored me. Maybe I was virtuous in my previous life!”
Andy knew the Buddhist belief that being virtuous in a previous life led to one’s good fortune. Apparently it was an idea that was familiar to the Huas as well. Mrs. Hua looked delighted. “Yes, I can well believe that!”
“Do you do calligraphy work, too?” asked Andy’s father.
“I do,” said Mrs. Hua. “It’s closely related to painting, I always think.” She turned to Sue. “You should practice harder with your brush.”
“I tried to make my sons practice brushwork, but they never went beyond writing their names in characters,” said Andy’s mother.
“They complain that they’re too busy with their homework and practicing,” agreed Mrs. Hua. “But certain things are more important than others, and proper brush writing is one of the most important!”
“I couldn’t agree with you more!” said Andy’s father.
Andy’s eyes met Sue’s, and he knew they were thinking the same thing. This was a good start. Maybe their families could actually become friends!
Rochelle, who had been talking to a group of boys in another corner of the gym, now came over. When she saw the two families standing together, she smiled. “So you did introduce Dad and Mom to Andy’s family, after all,” she said to Sue.
Mrs. Hua looked bewildered. “No, Sue didn’t introduce us.” She turned to look at Andy. “You are Sue’s friend?”
“We both play in the orchestra,” Sue said quickly.
Mr. Hua moved forward. “Perhaps we should introduce ourselves, then,” he said. “My name is Samuel Hua, and this is my wife, Lillian. I guess you know our two daughters already.”
Andy’s mother moved into the circle. She stared at Andy and then turned to the Huas. “No, we have not had a chance to know your two daughters,” she said slowly.
The color in Andy’s father’s face was rising. “Hua? Did you say your name was Hua? That’s a Chinese name, isn’t it?”
Mrs. Hua nodded. “Yes, we are Chinese, of course. You’re Chinese, too, aren’t you? You recognized the painting as being in the Song dynasty style.”
“I thought the painting was Japanese,” murmured Andy’s father, suddenly looking uncomfortable. “Japanese literati artists do black-and-white ink paintings like this.”
“You are Japanese?” cried Mrs. Hua.
“And your name is . . . ,” said Mr. Hua.
“Our name is Suzuki,” said Andy’s father. He turned to Andy’s mother. “Come on, we have to go home. It’s late.”
Andy glanced sadly back at Sue as he followed his parents out of the gym. Guess that was too good to be true. The only ray of hope was the sight of his father’s hand tightly clutching the painting.
They drove home in total silence. As soon as they entered the house, Andy’s mother spoke. “I’ve always found you to be honest with us, Andy. I must say that I’m very disappointed with your underhanded behavior.”
“Underhanded?” Andy turned in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Sneaking off to see a Chinese girl!” cried his father. “You knew perfectly well that we wouldn’t approve!”
“I wasn’t exactly being underhanded about it,” protested Andy. “I never snuck off to see Sue. In fact, I really meant to bring Sue over and introduce her. I just . . . never got the chance.” Andy couldn’t bring himself to say that he was too afraid that his father might offend Sue.
“You just never got the courage!” snapped his father.
“It’s not totally a matter of courage,” Andy said, trying to be diplomatic. “I just . . . I didn’t want her feelings to be hurt.”
His mother looked startled. “What do you mean? Do you think I’d insult her if she visited us?”
“No, you wouldn’t,” said Andy quickly, looking nervously at his father. “But I didn’t want Sue to hear Dad talk about how dirty and backward the Chinese are, or how people spit in the streets.”
There was silence. Andy’s father threw himself on the so
fa in the living room and picked up the newspaper. He turned the front page so violently that it tore. He then threw the paper on the floor and glowered.
Andy’s mother went into the kitchen and came back a few minutes later with cups of tea. As far back as Andy could remember, whenever there was a stormy scene at home, his mother served tea, the soothing drink that was supposed to calm tempers. This time its soothing effect didn’t work right away. Father and son both sat in stony silence, not meeting each other’s eye.
Finally Andy’s mother broke the silence. “Andy, I don’t think you’re being quite fair to your father. If you brought a guest home, your father would never insult her to her face. You’re the one who is insulting. You insult your father if you believe that he would behave in such a manner.”
“Well, he might not insult her on purpose,” said Andy, “but inside, he would still think of Sue as a backward, dirty Chinese. What if something slipped out and she found out how he really feels?” Especially if Dad glowered at her like that.
“Don, I think you should take a wider view,” said his mother, turning to Andy’s father. “Instead of thinking about the man who spat on your shoe and yelled at you—”
“That’s the trouble with you historians! You take such a wide view that you can’t see the nose in front of your face!”
“What did I fail to see?” demanded Andy’s mother.
“A little detail such as our son sneaking off to see a girl he knows we won’t approve of!” said his father.
“Come on,” protested Andy. “I wasn’t sneaking off. I was just waiting for the right moment to introduce you to Sue.” After a moment, he added sadly, “But I see now that it’s hopeless.”
Another silence. Then Andy’s mother sighed. “Andy, you have a low opinion of me if you don’t believe that I can change your father’s mind about the Chinese.”
“Now wait a minute!” demanded Andy’s father. “Just what makes you think you can change my mind?”
Andy looked at his mother and saw that she was smiling. “I can start by mentioning the painting you bought,” she said.
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