First Contact Page 3

Okasan was a large woman, by Japanese standards, and about my height. She wore an ivory silk blouse and a pale pink skirt that made her look like she was ready for Easter brunch. Otosan was at least five inches shorter and looked ready for a round of golf dressed in khaki pants and tan polo-style shirt. Hiroshi was the same height as his dad, minus the Elvis hairdo. His sister towered over him by a good four inches. Guess that explained the exaggerated hairstyle.

  I bowed to everyone, hoping I was going low enough not to offend. Aki motioned for me to follow her to the front door.

  Okasan paused and proudly pointed to a slipper shelf in the entryway. “Dozo,” please.” She handed me my very own pair.

  I had come mentally prepared for the tradition of taking off my shoes when I entered a Japanese home, but unfortunately, my favorite Sketcher boots made it a major ordeal. Wishing I’d paid more attention to the yoga lesson I’d taken, I struggled in vain to balance myself while unlacing my boots. I felt like an idiot foreigner as everyone milled around waiting so they could get to their assigned slippers.

  Hopping around like I was on a pogo stick, I accidentally stepped on Aki’s foot. “Sorry.”

  She grimaced in pain.

  Stomping on my new sister’s foot wasn’t the first impression I’d hoped for. With a slight limp, Aki led me down a hallway into the main part of the house.

  A traditional living room had grass mats on the floor and cherry wood furniture that sat low to the ground. The room looked out onto a small but stunning Bonsai garden. The family walked around a large low table and sat down on some lovely green embroidered floor cushions.

  Aki pointed to the cushion next to her and I carefully lowered myself down, although my skinny jeans didn’t make the task very easy. She reached over and handed me a teacup. “My mother is going to bring us tea and fruit to welcome you.”

  Good. I really needed a sugar boost. “That is very nice of your mother. Please thank her for me.”

  “I will show you the house and your bedroom after tea. Then we will have dinner. What do you like to eat?”

  “Whatever you have is fine.” I got up to get a better view of the Bonsai garden. “Your yard is very beautiful.”

  Aki nodded. “That is Otosan’s place.”

  A stunning little maple tree sat proudly on a pedestal by the door. I ran my fingers over the twisted tree with admiration when my hand slipped and a small branch broke off.

  Oh crap! I’ve just destroyed his masterpiece. Blocking Otosan’s view, I quickly stashed the evidence behind the pedestal. The room went silent. My heart pounded against my chest as I turned and walked back towards the family.

  A sound rose deep from Otosan’s chest. “Dame, dame, dame.”

  Aki motioned for me to sit down. “Please don’t touch anything. If you want to see the garden, always ask first.”

  Otosan had seen everything. As usual, I was as subtle as an elephant. “Tell him I’m so very sorry. I was just admiring all his hard work.”

  While Aki leaned over to deliver my message, I wondered if my apology would sound sincere. Having to rely on someone to express my feelings made the situation even more awkward. Luckily, Okasan arrived with tea and a bowl of the biggest strawberries I’d ever seen. They looked like they were grown for giants. She placed two pieces of fruit on each plate and poured everyone a cup of tea. I grabbed a succulent berry and relished the sweet juice as it oozed in my mouth. Fudo gave me a broad smile. Maybe he was a fruit lover too. Either that or I just did something to embarrass myself yet again.

  Aki returned just in time to translate another message for me. “Please tell your mother the strawberries are delicious.”

  She nodded and spoke with Okasan, who had a pleasant grin on her face. Then Aki reached over and slipped me a note. Trying not to be rude, I opened it under the table.

  Erin’s Schedule of Duties

  On Tuesday give Hiroshi English lessons to help him pass all his college

  English exams.

  2. Every Wednesday do your laundry, including your bedding.

  3. Once a week vacuum the entire house.

  4. Every night do the dinner dishes.

  I sensed an ulterior motive to why the family invited me into their home besides expanding their cultural horizons: free English lessons and a live-in maid.

  Somehow I had managed to dodge unpleasant chores at home, only to come halfway around the world to finally get caught.

  Okasan, looking quite pleased with herself, headed into the kitchen.

  Fudo got up from his cushion. “Hiroshi and I going to play mahjong. We use pieces like American game with black tiles with dots. Once you see the house, come play with us.”

  I had to keep from laughing at his choice of words. “I’ll be sure to stop by after my tour.” Watching them play mahjong was the last thing I wanted to do when I could barely keep my eyes open. What could be more boring than dominos?

  Aki motioned for me to get up. “Let me show you my home.”

  My eyes hurt from the reflection of the harsh florescent overhead lights on the gleaming woodwork and bright white walls. The furniture in the living room consisted almost entirely of western-style tables and chairs unlike the room where we had tea.

  Aki led me to the kitchen, where the tour took one second. The kitchen was definitely not the heart of the home, but relegated to a lesser organ, like the spleen. With a two-burner cook top, no oven, and a medium-sized refrigerator, Okasan must not be much of a cook. The lack of a dishwasher also meant she liked to do dishes the old-fashioned way. That was until she imported a brand new American model—me.

  Next, we headed upstairs to see the bedrooms. Okasan and Otosan had the larger room on the left side of the stairs and Aki’s and my bedrooms were on the right side. Her door, completely covered in Hello Kitty stickers, should have been a warning. I let out a gasp. The room was filled with every imaginable product in the pink kitty’s line.

  There was something unnerving about a bedroom that looked like a Sanrio showroom. Aki walked to the room next to hers and made a grand gesture. Thankfully, the door was sticker free. “This is your bedroom.”

  The space was the size of a medium walk-in closet with just enough room for a single western bed and a small desk. The curtains, bedspread, rug and quilted headboard—all beige. The colorless room offended my artist sensibilities. I’d have to do something about the total lack of color. The two saving graces were the lingering fragrance of jasmine and a view of the mountains from the window over my bed.

  I put a big grin on my face. “This is so nice. I’m sure I’ll be happy here.” I knew I had to be polite, but I couldn’t imagine a whole year in a closet, even one with a view.

  Was it too late to change places with Tori?

  We headed back down the stairs to complete the tour with the bathroom, which was oddly located right by the front door. I was sure this could be practical when you had an emergency just coming home, but it would be a hike in the middle of the night from my bedroom. Aki walked right past a smelly urinal open to the hallway. Guess I’d have to plan my bathroom visits when the men of the house weren’t around. Didn’t want to get to know them that well.

  Aki opened the door and put on a pair of special slippers and invited me to do the same. I stared down at the large porcelain trench in the ground. Oh no, a dreaded Japanese-style toilet. She ran her hand up a pipe to a large handle and flushed. The handbook must have lied when it said this type was ancient history.

  She pointed to the next room. “This is where you will take your bath.”

  I craned my neck to see into the dimly lit room and wound up with my left foot at the bottom of the toilet. Yuck!

  Aki let out a chuckle. “Don’t worry. It has not been used for hours.” She quickly rushed to the other room.

  I shook off my foot as I entered the tub room. Aki greeted me with a fresh pair of slippers. “Please put these on. The green slippers are only for the toilet room.”

  Good to know. I put on t
he new pair of slippers covered with bright pink polka dots. Aki led me into the tub room. Unlike my new fear of Japanese toilets, I had been looking forward to taking an Ofuro bath. The tub walls were four feet tall. Big enough to completely immerse myself in hot water. What a great way to end the day, but not quite as tempting in the sweltering summer.

  She pointed to a plastic bowl. “First, you take the water from the tub and wash yourself on the small stool. My whole family uses the tub so you need to be very clean. You are our guest so will use the bath first.”

  I’d heard of water conservation, but the whole family using the same bath? Being a guest certainly had its benefits. I smiled at Aki. “Thank you. I will be sure to follow your directions.” I stopped and rinsed off my foot before we continued on the tour.

  The final stop was Hiroshi’s room. As the only son of the family, he had a room twice the size of Aki’s. It also was the only bedroom on the main floor. Hiroshi had total privacy and was only ten steps to the bathroom. Could a person have bedroom envy?

  We entered his room through sliding paper doors. Hiroshi and Fudo were playing mahjong on a low table. Large glasses of whiskey sat at either end of a felt mat. I guessed Hiroshi hadn’t been joking when he said he liked to party.

  Fudo smiled and motioned for me to come into the room. “Do you think the Mori have nice house?”

  “Yes. It’s very big and I like all the woodwork.”

  He pointed to the paneling in Hiroshi’s room. “Hiroshi father want a lot of wood in the house. He like nature.”

  I moved closer to the table to see the board. “How’s the game going?”

  Hiroshi threw up his arms. “I win.”

  Fudo snickered. “He thinks he’s going to win, but I will win. I can play longer and not get tired.”

  I could see they had a different way of playing mahjong. The winner was the last man standing.

  Hiroshi pointed to the blue embroidered floor cushion next to him. “Y’all teach English now.”

  Ugh. He sure let the fact that he was the only son go to his head. The shiny white vinyl jumpsuit gleaming next to me made it hard to take him seriously. “Fudo, I notice Hiroshi looks a bit like Elvis. Is he a fan?”

  “Fan? He is best impersonator in town. You have to see his show next Saturday at Ueno Park. He is great!”

  Hiroshi seemed a bit flustered and spoke quickly to Fudo. Then he reached over and grabbed a hand full of my hair.

  “Ouch. Let go!”

  Fudo took a hold of Hiroshi. “Sorry, Erin. He just think if you dye your hair black and wear makeup, you would look like Priscilla Presley. He loves her.”

  Fantastic. Now I’m not only his English teacher, but his fantasy love interest.

  Thankfully, Aki arrived to rescue me from further hair torture. “Time for dinner.”

  Fudo stood up from the table. “Was nice to meet you Erin. I need to go home to have dinner with my family.”

  “Thanks again for all your help today. Hope to see you again, Fudo.”

  He gave me a shy smile. “I’m sure I’ll see you again. Hiroshi insists we play mahjong at least twice a week.”

  I headed up to my room to change, thinking I wouldn’t mind seeing Fudo again. He’s a bit preppy for my taste, but he seems like a nice guy. Fudo had extra bonus points for speaking fairly good English. One thing I’m learning quickly, until my Japanese language skills are much improved, it never hurts to have a translator nearby.

  Up in my room, when I looked in the mirror I had to laugh. My T-shirt was so drenched in sweat, it had become plastered to my body, giving the impression I had decoupaged myself. Along with not having a real toilet, the Moris’ house had no air-conditioning.

  Feeling refreshed after changing my top, I went back downstairs to find Okasan had placed dishes on the large table in the living room. A big steaming bowl of broth took center stage. Whatever she’d been cooking smelled wonderful. While Okasan placed a heaping bowl of rice at each place setting, Hiroshi got up and put on a CD. I had to smile when “Heartbreak Hotel” came through the speakers. He swung his hips to the music while running his fingers through his hair. “I lub Elbis.”

  Funny. Besides his Elvis accent, he couldn’t say V so he used B. Would I have the same problem with Japanese?

  Aki rolled her eyes. “My brother plays him all the time.”

  I had nothing against the King, but I hadn’t come all this way to listen to a nonstop Elvis-thon. As I listened to Hiroshi’s English, I couldn’t help but smile.

  I held back a scream when Okasan set a plate full of live shrimp on the table. Otosan reached over and grabbed a protesting crustacean, dunked it in the bowl and popped the shrimp in his mouth.

  This was a great opportunity to cross number six, eating something adventurous, off the list, but it was hard to get excited about eating any shrimp tangoing next to me. I picked up my chopsticks and wondered what they were called in Japanese. “Aki, what is the Japanese name for these?”

  “They are called hashi.”

  Wow, I had just learned my sixth word. I’d used chopsticks back home at the Panda Inn or sometimes at Tori’s house. As I held the hashi in my hand in the land where they were created, I truly felt the reality of where I sat. No turning back now.

  My stomach gurgled loudly as I looked for something recognizable in the bowl.

  With the chopsticks, I grabbed a white blob and hoped for the best. For some reason Okasan sat glaring at me. Thinking I was doing something wrong, I followed everyone’s lead and ate what thankfully turned out to be a piece of fish.

  Otosan said something to Aki and pointed towards the center of the table.

  Aki translated. “My father would like you to try these. They are very good.”

  I stared down at the plate of small dancing crustaceans. One of them seemed to stare right back at me. Might as well get one thing on the list crossed off. Not like the family was giving me a choice. I gulped and grabbed the beady-eyed shrimp with my chopsticks. Its little legs flailed everywhere as I tried to dunk it into the broth. As if on cue, the shrimp dove off my chopstick and scurried across the table.

  Hiroshi chuckled. “See? Bery libe!”

  Otosan motioned for me to try another one. I picked up a new unsuspecting victim. Once again Okasan glared at me. This time even more intently than the last. I shrugged off her stare and hoped that this shrimp had as strong a survival streak as the last one. I dunked it in headfirst. No luck. My victim still dangled at the end of my chopsticks.

  All eyes were on me as I tossed the shrimp into my mouth. I could feel its legs scrambling all the way down. Otosan sat all smiles while I held my jaw clenched shut. I tried everything I could to keep from gagging but failed. I lurched forward, opened my mouth and coughed, sending the shrimp hurling towards Okasan. She quickly stood up and frantically dabbed her silk blouse as the shrimp scurried down the front. She screamed at Aki and pointed at me.

  Hiroshi had managed to slide halfway across the room. “Y’all sick American!”

  Otosan got up and chased after the scampering shrimp. Somehow they had both run for the same spot on top of the spare floor cushion. He managed to wrangle the sneaky crustacean into a rice bowl.

  Number six on the list was going to be a lot harder to check off than I thought. Aki ran back to the kitchen and returned with some cleaning supplies while I sprinted to the bathroom. I tried to pull myself together, when there was a loud commotion in the living room. The whole family stood screaming at each other. What happened to the peaceful polite Japanese I’d read about in my trusty handbook?

  Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I splashed water on my face. Not a pretty sight. My eyes were bloodshot and a large vein on my forehead protruded in the shape of a question mark. Why couldn’t I be like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz and click my shoes together to go back home? Just like her, I’d suddenly realized my parents were pretty fantastic next to the alternative.

  Taking several deep yoga breaths, I headed
back to the living room, hoping after round two with the family we’d be friends. They stood huddled by the kitchen sink, but as soon as they saw me, they stopped yelling and darted back to the dinner table. They sat eating their food as if nothing had happened. I plopped down on my cushion and decided I’d better follow their lead. Grabbing a piece of fish from the still steaming bowl, I carefully popped the morsel into my mouth. In mid chew, Okasan threw down her chopsticks and began screeching in Aki’s ear.

  “Dame! Gaijin totemo rusai!”

  Aki pointed to my hand. “Erin, do you know it’s bad to eat food with the left hand?”

  Nothing like ruining someone’s silk blouse to get them to express why they were glaring at you for the last twenty minutes. “Really?”

  Okasan ranted next to her, as Aki translated. “My mother said you will bring bad luck to the family if you use your left hand. That hand only picks up the bones of the dead.”

  Not much I could do about being left-handed. I couldn’t even count the times I’d been accused of cheating because of the way I had to sit at a right-handed desk. I’d even given writing with my right hand a try. My first F in handwriting class forced me to switch back. Japan made me feel like I was in the world of right-handed people all over again.

  I sighed. “I’ll use a fork, so there’s no problem.”

  Aki ran to the kitchen and back again. She held the fork out. “In Japan, children cannot use their left hand for writing.”

  Back to the dark ages. My great-grandmother from Holland hadn’t liked the fact I was left-handed. I thought I had escaped such antiquated thinking. “Aki, tell your mother in America they don’t believe the left hand is bad.” She repeated this to her mother, but Okasan shook her head.

  Aki shrugged. “I am sorry. My mother is old-fashioned. She thinks to do anything with the left hand is not good.”

  Wonderful. I had an enemy already and all I did was do what came naturally. I cracked a smile as I remembered the words from the introduction in the handbook: Although sometimes the cultural differences will be glaring, you are on the adventure of a lifetime, so enjoy your host family.