plate. “You are wondering if you will be happy.”
“Yes.”
“It’s a question with you, isn’t it? Will music be enough for passionate Satomi? Will it make you feel secure, even? I don’t know. It has been my focus. You will find out if it is yours.”
I passed my exams easily and was admitted to school in Paris just as Sanada-sensei had foreseen. Though I was elated to have accomplishedsomething so few Japanese students had even dared try, I was also deeply uneasy.
“I’ll miss you,” I bawled to Shinobu. As I have said, I can be a terrible crier once I begin. That day I was a geyser of tears and she dutifully handed me Masayoshi’s handkerchiefs one after another while I sobbed. “Who will rescue me when I am in trouble?”
“Don’t get into trouble,” Shinobu said sensibly.
“Why don’t you come with me?”
She shook her head. “He says we’re going to have a baby, which means my children will be half Japanese. It’s an opportunity for me.”
“But you’re a better pianist than I am!”
“Maybe I was once, Satomi. But not since you’ve studied with Sanada-sensei. And also,” she sighed. “It’s just not as important to me as it is to you. I realize this now.”
About a week before I left to go to Paris, I saw Masayoshi once more. I was home packing when I heard the front door slide open and felt the walls tremble with pressure. We had visitors. I stiffened, waiting for the moment when my mother would call me to come out of my small room and to help prepare tea and sweets, but the call never came. I just sat there in my room, looking at the plastic-wrapped packages my mother had moved into my room. Clearly she was intent on turning my room into a storage area once I had permanently left the house.
I heard low murmurs through the wall and then laughter. The cadence was familiar and I decided that it must be Mineko here again for a visit with her two small brats. I lay down on my bed and began to read a magazine I’d picked up from the grocery store. Its pages were filled with glossy photos of ordinary Americans having fun at something called a diner and at the beach, and I wondered at the way their polished cheeks seemed to glow even through paper, how the men looked at the girls with such protective kindness in their eyes.
My musician’s ears heard the low rumble of a serious voice making a comment in the other room. It wasn’t the voice of Mineko’s husband, but someone else’s.
I slid out of my room, trying to be quiet so I could escape back to solitude if necessary. I walked across the floor, picking the beams that did not squeak and whose positions I’d memorized since childhood. Then I knelt and looked through a hole in the
shoji
door separating the main roomfrom the hallway. It was Masayoshi sitting at a table with his back to me. He’d shaved his head, but I would have recognized him anywhere, what with the straight shoulders and the gentle swoop of his neck, a private place, like an inner room in a house that few people ever see.
“Satomi?” My mother’s gaze shifted to the far side of the room where I was hiding.
I tried to enter the room as noiselessly as possible to give the impression that I hadn’t been hiding all that time, but that I had been on my way in to see them. “Mother,” I purred. “Would you and your guests like a fresh change of tea leaves?” I made sure my eyes did not once brush his face.
My manners surprised my mother. “Thank you.”
I threw out the old leaves into a strainer that rested on top of a bucket by the back door. I boiled water on the stove, then set about carefully measuring fresh tea leaves into the teapot. The tea was from Uji, famous for its manicured hedges, rich soil, and the ladies dressed in indigo-colored clothing and straw hats, who had picked the young leaves to make this
sen-cha
, the first crop of the year. It was my mother’s favorite kind of tea.
I heard a noise. Masayoshi had excused himself from the
“Yes.”
“It’s a question with you, isn’t it? Will music be enough for passionate Satomi? Will it make you feel secure, even? I don’t know. It has been my focus. You will find out if it is yours.”
I passed my exams easily and was admitted to school in Paris just as Sanada-sensei had foreseen. Though I was elated to have accomplishedsomething so few Japanese students had even dared try, I was also deeply uneasy.
“I’ll miss you,” I bawled to Shinobu. As I have said, I can be a terrible crier once I begin. That day I was a geyser of tears and she dutifully handed me Masayoshi’s handkerchiefs one after another while I sobbed. “Who will rescue me when I am in trouble?”
“Don’t get into trouble,” Shinobu said sensibly.
“Why don’t you come with me?”
She shook her head. “He says we’re going to have a baby, which means my children will be half Japanese. It’s an opportunity for me.”
“But you’re a better pianist than I am!”
“Maybe I was once, Satomi. But not since you’ve studied with Sanada-sensei. And also,” she sighed. “It’s just not as important to me as it is to you. I realize this now.”
About a week before I left to go to Paris, I saw Masayoshi once more. I was home packing when I heard the front door slide open and felt the walls tremble with pressure. We had visitors. I stiffened, waiting for the moment when my mother would call me to come out of my small room and to help prepare tea and sweets, but the call never came. I just sat there in my room, looking at the plastic-wrapped packages my mother had moved into my room. Clearly she was intent on turning my room into a storage area once I had permanently left the house.
I heard low murmurs through the wall and then laughter. The cadence was familiar and I decided that it must be Mineko here again for a visit with her two small brats. I lay down on my bed and began to read a magazine I’d picked up from the grocery store. Its pages were filled with glossy photos of ordinary Americans having fun at something called a diner and at the beach, and I wondered at the way their polished cheeks seemed to glow even through paper, how the men looked at the girls with such protective kindness in their eyes.
My musician’s ears heard the low rumble of a serious voice making a comment in the other room. It wasn’t the voice of Mineko’s husband, but someone else’s.
I slid out of my room, trying to be quiet so I could escape back to solitude if necessary. I walked across the floor, picking the beams that did not squeak and whose positions I’d memorized since childhood. Then I knelt and looked through a hole in the
shoji
door separating the main roomfrom the hallway. It was Masayoshi sitting at a table with his back to me. He’d shaved his head, but I would have recognized him anywhere, what with the straight shoulders and the gentle swoop of his neck, a private place, like an inner room in a house that few people ever see.
“Satomi?” My mother’s gaze shifted to the far side of the room where I was hiding.
I tried to enter the room as noiselessly as possible to give the impression that I hadn’t been hiding all that time, but that I had been on my way in to see them. “Mother,” I purred. “Would you and your guests like a fresh change of tea leaves?” I made sure my eyes did not once brush his face.
My manners surprised my mother. “Thank you.”
I threw out the old leaves into a strainer that rested on top of a bucket by the back door. I boiled water on the stove, then set about carefully measuring fresh tea leaves into the teapot. The tea was from Uji, famous for its manicured hedges, rich soil, and the ladies dressed in indigo-colored clothing and straw hats, who had picked the young leaves to make this
sen-cha
, the first crop of the year. It was my mother’s favorite kind of tea.
I heard a noise. Masayoshi had excused himself from the
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