"No, I'll do that. Stay there." Mrs. Rexford bounded up the wooden step into the dining room. "I'll go find some newspaper."

Carrying the armful of lilies-its scent redolent of wet newsprint, freshly cut stems, and spicy blooms-Sarah headed toward the Asaki house.

The Asaki property was large enough to have several gardens. There was a formal one in the back and another one in the front, and two narrow utilitarian gardens on either side. Sarah took the left-hand path, which led to the kitchen entrance. The air was heavy with the scent of hot flagstones and the mingled smells of foliage opening their pores to the sun. She brushed past a wall of hydrangea bushes that exuded palpable moisture, making the surrounding air almost too thick to breathe.

Her aunt stood framed in the kitchen window, washing dishes. The kitchen entrance was flanked by neatly tended rows of mitsuba, shingiku, and komatsuna. Mrs. Nishimura plucked these tender greens each morning for her family's miso soup, and often she sent her girls to the Kobayashi house with extras.

"Good afternoon!" Sarah called out.

Her aunt looked up with a welcoming smile, then came to meet her at the door. The kitchen was laced with the sweet, meaty smell of shiitake mushrooms cooked in soy sauce, and the tang of vinegared rice. They must have had chirashizushi chirashizushi for lunch, Sarah thought. "How are you, Auntie," she said, presenting the newspaper cone with both hands. "They sent you these." for lunch, Sarah thought. "How are you, Auntie," she said, presenting the newspaper cone with both hands. "They sent you these."

"Maa, how lovely!" Mrs. Nishimura reached for the flowers with hands still covered in wet rubber gloves. "How well they're growing this year!" She held the bouquet away from her at arm's length, as if planning an ikebana arrangement in her mind. Her face, alight with pleasure and grat.i.tude, filled Sarah with sudden shame. how lovely!" Mrs. Nishimura reached for the flowers with hands still covered in wet rubber gloves. "How well they're growing this year!" She held the bouquet away from her at arm's length, as if planning an ikebana arrangement in her mind. Her face, alight with pleasure and grat.i.tude, filled Sarah with sudden shame.

Ever since the cream puff incident had ensured her place in her mother and grandmother's inner circle, she was aware of taking her aunt's rightful place.

All through her childhood Sarah had believed adults were immune to certain types of pain, just as lobsters (according to her grandmother) were incapable of feeling boiling water. That was because adults had perspective. They understood why things had to happen; they didn't take it personally the way children did. This belief had consoled her when she fought with her mother. Regarding her aunt's adoption, she had a.s.sumed that a grown woman would be mature enough to understand the situation.

But recently she had begun to question this. She sometimes imagined herself as her aunt, living just a few houses away and watching her real mother dote on the daughter she had chosen to keep. How would she feel, living so close but unable to rummage for sticky-bean cakes in the Kobayashis' cupboard, or even drop by unannounced for a cup of tea? She didn't think she could bear it. It was a wonder that her aunt had, all these years. It was a wonder that everyone involved could go about their daily lives with such equanimity.

All of this stirred within her as she watched her aunt's glowing face. "Tell them I said thank you!" Mrs. Nishimura was saying.

Sarah felt oddly like crying. "I have to go," she mumbled. It was a relief to turn away. As she hurried past the hydrangea bushes she remembered seeing her own mother rush off this way after delivering something to the Asaki house. For the first time, she understood the contrition behind the two women's painstaking complicity. For their happiness, like hers, had come at the cost of someone else.

chapter 12.

"What a lovely yuzu arrangement!" praised Mrs. Asaki. She stood before the altar, ready to pray. Sarah sat at the low table and watched her. a lovely yuzu arrangement!" praised Mrs. Asaki. She stood before the altar, ready to pray. Sarah sat at the low table and watched her.

Reaching into her clutch purse, the old woman drew out a set of mahogany prayer beads with purple ta.s.sels. She also drew out a formal monetary envelope, which she placed on the altar. Her envelopes always contained several crisp ten-thousand-yen bills.

Mrs. Asaki closed her eyes. Reciting rapidly under her breath, she manipulated the beads with deft fingers. Then, switching back instantly from the ethereal to the earthly, she smiled down at Sarah.

"A little shopping for you and your mama." She nodded toward the envelope with twinkling eyes.

Mrs. Kobayashi and Mrs. Rexford entered the room with trays of tea and refreshments. "Won't you stay, Granny?" they asked. Mrs. Asaki promptly took a seat at the low table.

Despite their private resentments toward the old woman, Mrs. Kobayashi and Mrs. Rexford seemed to genuinely enjoy these visits. There was, after all, a certain kinship in the women's extroverted personalities. With Mrs. Nishimura out of the picture, they could all relax and gossip under the guise of religious duty. In no time at all, they were shrieking with laughter.

At one point the talk turned to Mr. Kobayashi. Mrs. Asaki took mischievous delight in exposing her little brother's childhood trials.

"Some older boys across the creek called him over to play," she told them. "So he trudged over the bridge, and they boinked him on the head. He came running back, crying. But then they called out their apologies and invited him over again. 'Kenji, don't go!' I told him. But no, he trudged over that bridge yet again-" The old woman did such a good imitation of a little boy's eager expression that they all burst into laughter. "And he got boinked yet again!"

Sarah, who had just come back from seeing her aunt, was annoyed to see them all having such a good time. They had wronged Aunt Masako. They had no right to be laughing and having so much fun.

Still laughing, the women turned back to their plates. Today was so hot they were eating chilled tofu. "This sauce is divine!" said Mrs. Asaki. "What is it? I can taste the citron zest...and..."

"Miso, and rice wine, and ground-up sesame seeds," supplied Mrs. Rexford. "By the way, we picked some extra citrons for you to take home."

A reflective mood fell over them.

"That Kenji..." Mrs. Asaki shook her head indulgently. "All he ever did was play around and dabble in things, right up till he got drafted to Manchuria. We thought he'd never settle down."

"And then he turned out to be so good at art! Who would have thought?" said Mrs. Kobayashi.

"Now, his little brother," said Mrs. Asaki, "he was successful from the start. Shoehei was the one people noticed." Her voice was hushed; Shohei had been her favorite brother.

Mrs. Rexford looked pleased. Mrs. Kobayashi lowered her gaze modestly. It was not her place to say such things, but she was perfectly willing to hear it from her sister-in-law's lips.

"Shohei was so smart," Mrs. Asaki told Sarah, "so witty. Always at the head of his cla.s.s. They picked him for the executive training program when he was only-what? Twenty-five?"

Mrs. Kobayashi and Mrs. Rexford, both smiling, nodded.

Mrs. Asaki grew expansive in her generosity. "It was entirely fitting," she said, "that the first hieroglyph in his name-sho-stood for rect.i.tude and integrity."

Sarah recalled old photographs she had seen. Shohei was tall and handsome. Her step-grandfather, Kenji, was handsome too, but much shorter.

A girlish sparkle appeared in Mrs. Asaki's eyes. "Your grandpa," she told Sarah, gesturing vaguely toward the other end of the house where Mr. Kobayashi was tap-tapping away in his workshop, "had a secret crush on your grandma for years. But she only had eyes for Shohei."

Sarah happened to know-she had overheard her parents-that marrying the second Mr. Kobayashi had not been her grandmother's wish. She had been pressured into it, quite forcefully, by Mrs. Asaki herself.

Sarah had never seen the tough side of Granny; her great-aunt was unfailingly cheerful and charming. But she did remember that when Momoko and Yashiko were small, Mrs. Asaki used to punish them by touching a lit stick of prayer incense to the offending part of their bodies: the hand, if hitting had been the offense; the tongue, if one of them had talked back. It was the old-fashioned method from the country. Momoko had claimed airily that it didn't hurt at all. "You can't even see the mark," she said. But the very idea had made Sarah dizzy with terror.

That night at bedtime, she broached this confusion to her mother.

"You know about uchi uchi versus versus soto, soto, right?" Mrs. Rexford said. right?" Mrs. Rexford said.

Uchi versus versus soto: soto: inner circle versus outer circle. Daytime television was full of family dramas based on this concept. inner circle versus outer circle. Daytime television was full of family dramas based on this concept. Uchi Uchi meant the few allies in whom a woman could place absolute trust. meant the few allies in whom a woman could place absolute trust. Soto Soto was everyone else-social acquaintances, in-laws, sometimes one's own children-around whom it was best to remain vigilant. was everyone else-social acquaintances, in-laws, sometimes one's own children-around whom it was best to remain vigilant.

"Smart women know who's inside and who's outside," Mrs. Rexford said. "Wishy-washy women get confused and make poor decisions."

"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 compa.s.sion 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."

chapter 13.

Sarah sat outdoors, trying to remember how it had felt to be a child. 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 m.u.f.fled 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 j.a.panese 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 j.a.panese 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 p.r.i.c.k 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 filled with with rage rage!" said Momoko loudly. Baring her teeth, she pulled at her hair. "I'm going to kill kill myself!" myself!"

Yashiko clapped with approval and antic.i.p.ation.

"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!" "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. 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 mocking these foreign mannerisms in a spirit of j.a.panese 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 these foreign mannerisms in a spirit of j.a.panese 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 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. 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 cra.s.s influence.

chapter 14.

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 sc.r.a.ps 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 j.a.panese housewives indulged in financial speculation for pocket money. But they were discreet about it, for such activities were not becoming to a lady. 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 sc.r.a.ps 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 j.a.panese housewives indulged in financial speculation for pocket money. But they were discreet about it, for such activities were not becoming to a lady.

"Girls! Why don't you go over to the snack shop and get yourselves some ice cream," said Mrs. Rexford. "We need a little privacy to discuss adult matters." She stood up, rummaged in a cupboard drawer, and gave them a handful of loose change.

"What's wrong, Big Sister?" Momoko asked as they walked over to Mrs. Yagi's snack shop.

"Nothing," Sarah replied shortly.

They ate their ice cream sitting outside in public, on a wooden bench set up next to the snack shop. They had purchased the new ice cream phenomenon, Jewelry Box, currently advertised on television. It was a single-serving container of vanilla ice cream, in which "jewels" were embedded: shards of colored ice in red and blue and yellow and green.

The afternoon street was deserted, with cicadas droning in full force. The girls sc.r.a.ped carefully with their wooden spoons. "Look," said Momoko. "I got a red diamond!"

"I got a green one!" said Yashiko.

As Sarah's shock wore off, her anger grew. She itched to strike back at Mrs. Asaki, who overprotected her grandchildren at the expense of another child's feelings. And those grandchildren weren't even hers!

Yashiko left the bench and wandered away to examine an anthill.

"She really likes bugs," Momoko remarked. "She says she's going to be a scientist when she grows up."

Sarah turned to face Momoko. The gathering force of her feelings flickered into a flame of intention.

"You know what?" she said. "I bet you didn't know that Granny Asaki isn't your real grandmother." After so many weeks of vigilance it was a relief, like poking at a house of cards.

Momoko listened, looking suitably awed. But she accepted the story much more readily than Sarah would have expected.

"I thought thought there was something funny," she said finally. there was something funny," she said finally.

"You did? Really? Why?"