Mismatch by Lensey Namioka Page B

wrestler would avoid being scraped by a passing car.
    “We’re almost there,” said Mr. Sato.
    A few minutes later, they stopped, turned into a driveway, and parked under a carport made of transparent brown plastic. After the Satos got out, Andy struggled from the car, stood up, and looked around. Suddenly he was overwhelmed by the differences from Seattle.
    This is Japan, the land my ancestors came from. But it looks
so
alien!
The neighborhood was a residential one, and yet he couldn’t see the other houses, because they were all surrounded by a tall fence that hid almost everything except the roof. It looked forbidding and unfriendly, so different from his street back home.
    Mrs. Sato opened a gate by the side of the carport and beckoned Andy to follow. He picked up his luggage, passed through the gate, and found himself in a small courtyard. A path of irregularly shaped stepping-stones led to the house. In front of him, Mr. Sato and Haruko were already mounting the stairs leading into the house.
    Once they entered, the Satos removed their shoes. Removing his shoes before entering the house was something Andy also did at home. He quickly followed their example. Stepping up into the house, he placed his shoes on a shelf in the same cabinet used by the others. His shoes were a couple of inches longer than the next biggest pair, those belonging to Mr. Sato, and they stuck out so much that he couldn’t close the cabinet door.
Oh
well, at least all the shoes will get a good airing.
    Mrs. Sato handed Andy a pair of plastic slippers. Mr. Sato and Haruko were already shuffling off. Andy obediently put the slippers on. He found them slightly clammy.
    “I show you to your room,” Mrs. Sato told Andy.
    Shuffling along the dark wooden floor of a narrow corridor, Andy followed his hostess to the end of the hall, where she slid open a door and beckoned him to enter.
    It was a tiny room, almost a cell, but it had a desk with a lamp, a standing wooden wardrobe, and a narrow cot. Andy, who was pretty narrow himself, was not worried about the width of the cot. It was its length that was a problem.
    Mrs. Sato realized the same. She looked him up and down and then turned her eyes to the cot. “Maybe you too long?” she murmured.
    “Too long,” Andy agreed.
    “Can you sleep on floor?” she asked.
    “Of course I can!” declared Andy. He had been expecting to sleep on the floor anyway. On camping trips he had slept in a sleeping bag spread out on the hard ground. “I bring futon,” said Mrs. Sato, and hurried out.
    Andy decided to use the cot as a shelf for his belongings. He put his violin and suitcase on the cot and began to unpack. By the time he had emptied his suitcase, his belongings filled the whole cot.
    Among the things he took out was a big box of smoked salmon, which was a local specialty at home. His mother had bought the salmon for him to present to his host family. She had told him that in Japan, you were expected to bring
meibutsu,
local specialty, as a gift.
    Mrs. Sato staggered in, carrying what looked like a big folded mattress. In Seattle, some of Andy’s friends had futons, but the American version had a bulky wooden frame and looked more or less like a couch that folded. Here, it seemed, a futon was just a mattress. As Mrs. Sato struggled with it, Andy bent down to help.
Haruko’s not lifting a finger to help her mother with the house-guest,
he noted.
    Once the futon was on the floor, Andy presented the box of salmon to her with a little bow. Her eyes widened in surprise. Apparently she hadn’t expected him to be so civilized. She poured out her thanks in Japanese, and Andy blushed and made some modest-sounding murmurs. That seemed to be the right response, and Andy felt his stock rising.
    Andy’s next need, an urgent one, was to use the toilet.
“Obenjo?”
he asked. It was one of the vitally important terms his parents had insisted he learn.
    Mrs. Sato stared for a moment, and then