Mary Waters - The Favorites

“Granny’s outside, right?”

“Of course. And your grandma and I never forget it. But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy her company. Or feel compassion and affection, like civilized human beings. Just as long as those feelings don’t interfere with our true loyalties.”

“But that’s hard,” said Sarah.

“Well, you learn.”

“It would be easier if people were enemies or friends, with nothing in between.”

“That’s a child’s way of thinking,” said her mother. “You’re a young woman now.”

Sarah sat outdoors, trying to remember how it had felt to be a child.

She was perched on the shallow step leading up to the Kobayashis’ visitor gate. The gate had slatted sliding doors, set upon grooved sills that were raised slightly off the ground. If she twisted around and pressed her face against the vertical wooden laths, she could peer in at the walkway of stepping stones and bamboos that led up to the main door. From this vantage point the garden looked bigger, more imposing, the way it used to when she was little.

She sat attuning herself to the afternoon silence. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the smells of the lane: the aged, musty undertones of wood, mellowed with moss and warmed by the sun; hot cotton hung out to air; banks of perspiring leaves in the carefully tended gardens; and floating in from somewhere (someone was cooking a late lunch), a faint bitter whiff of grilled sardines. Mixed in with it all was some complex, private scent inseparable from early childhood.

“Big Sister! Big Sister!”

Sarah looked down the lane toward Mrs. Asaki’s upstairs balcony. Momoko and Yashiko were leaning over the railing, waving at her with all four arms. “How come you’re sitting there all by yourself?” Momoko called. “We’re coming right down!” The two girls vanished from the balcony.

Soon they were all squeezed together on the Kobayashis’ stone step. Rolling their sandaled feet back and forth over the gravel, they discussed ways to amuse themselves. A wind chime tinged, sounding muffled in the humid air.

They decided to play American Emotions. They had invented this game shortly after Sarah’s arrival, while they were playing at the Kobayashi house. Sarah, wanting to seem as Japanese as possible, had been parodying American movies. “I love you, son,” she said in a deep voice. “You are very special to me.” Momoko and Yashiko had been delighted; they recognized this kind of dialogue from Hollywood films that occasionally aired on Japanese television.

Encouraged by their laughter, Sarah had continued. “I care about you, son. I care very deeply.” Even Mrs. Kobayashi and Mrs. Rexford broke into reluctant smiles.

Afterward Momoko said thoughtfully, “It’s like American people use words that are stronger than what they feel. I mean…they yell and cry, but it’s almost like it’s on the outside…” She stopped, unsure how to express herself.

“Americans believe it’s unhealthy to keep feelings inside,” Mrs. Rexford had explained to her nieces. “So if they feel an emotion coming on, they try to get it out of their system before it affects them too much.” Everyone listened respectfully; she was the resident expert on America. “They’re afraid if they keep it in too long, it’ll fester and cause damage.”

“My father isn’t like that,” added Sarah quickly. “He’s more like us, because he grew up on the East Coast.”

Momoko was gazing at Mrs. Rexford, nodding slowly as if cementing this new knowledge into her memory. “So that’s why they’re always talking about the way they feel,” she said.

Sarah had another theory, which she kept to herself because her language skills weren’t up to the task. Americans, she thought, were like people slightly hard of hearing. On an emotional level they didn’t register subtle sounds; they needed loud voices and overly clear enunciation in order to prevent misunderstandings. She herself was perfectly comfortable with this. But ever since entering her grandmother’s household she had noticed a change in her own emotional acuity, as if she had sprouted the ears of a rabbit that could prick forward, swivel, and sense underground vibrations.

“That’s right,” Mrs. Rexford told Momoko. “So their words have a certain thin quality, like you said. It’s like grape juice compared to wine. People like us, we keep our feelings inside and let them ferment-till the happy and the sad and the good and bad get all mixed together so we can’t tell them apart.”

Ever since that day, the three girls had performed many variations of American Emotions. Now they rose up from the stone step, disturbing some pigeons pecking halfheartedly among the gravel. They took their stances in the middle of the lane. They had decided, on Sarah’s suggestion, to do a mental therapy scene. Sarah had the role of therapist; as the tallest and eldest, she held the most authority. Momoko, second-eldest, was the patient. Yashiko stood eagerly by, awaiting the supporting role that would be created for her once the game got under way.

“I’m filled with rage,” said Momoko. “I’m going to kill myself.”

“More emotion, Momo-chan,” Sarah prompted. She realized too late that she should have taken the role of patient instead. It required a certain flamboyance that Momoko seemed to lack.

“I’m filled with rage!” said Momoko loudly. Baring her teeth, she pulled at her hair. “I’m going to kill myself!”

Yashiko clapped with approval and anticipation.

“Excellent! Let it all out!” said Sarah. “Get all your feelings out of your system!”

Momoko stood at a loss, unsure how to improve on what she had already done.

Sarah came to her aid. “But first,” she said, “you’ll need love! Let me give you a hug.” With both arms, she folded Momoko in a tight embrace. The daring physicality of this move drew little shrieks of nervous laughter. Now the game was really under way.

“Pretend you’re chewing gum!” cried Yashiko, recalling one of their previous games. “With your mouth wide open!”

Amid their cries of laughter, Sarah became aware of an urgently hissed “Kora! Kora!” coming from the balcony. It was Mrs. Asaki. Sarah looked up, and for a fleeting instant she caught a look of revulsion in the old woman’s eyes, a look that pierced her to the quick.

She understood instantly that their physical antics were in bad taste. It didn’t matter that she had been mocking these foreign mannerisms in a spirit of Japanese solidarity; her great-aunt would only see that it was an unsavory influence on her cousins. Now Mrs. Asaki would probably talk to her granddaughters in private, explaining that Big Sister came from a “different world” and they mustn’t imitate everything she did. Sarah had grown up listening to Granny Asaki’s talks; she and her cousins had been constantly warned not to imitate the slang used by children from the weaving district, or the precocious mannerisms of child stars on television. “It’s fine for those people,” Mrs. Asaki would say, “but our family has different standards.” All of this flashed through the girl’s mind, and her face burned with humiliation.

By now, they had all stopped playing and were looking up at the balcony. Smiling benevolently, the old woman placed her forefinger to her lips as if noise had been her only concern. Then she gave a little wave and turned away.

Had Sarah imagined that steely look? No. It had been there.

For the first time, she felt the start of a slow-rising anger: against Mrs. Asaki, and against these children who had to be so carefully protected from her crass influence.

Still in shock, Sarah followed her cousins into the Kobayashi house. At the sound of the kitchen door rolling open, Mrs. Kobayashi and Mrs. Rexford looked up from the low dining table where they sat doing sums on scraps of paper. From their guilty expressions, Sarah guessed they had been making financial calculations. In this period of rising yen, the vacation money that Mrs. Rexford had recently converted was increasing in value. And Mrs. Kobayashi’s stock investments, which she secretly funded with part of her household budget, were rising as well. These days, a good many Japanese housewives indulged in financial speculation for pocket money. But they were discreet about it, for such activities were not becoming to a lady.