Mismatch by Lensey Namioka Page A

Japanese
are
monsters, and waiting for them to change their true nature will take more time than you’ve got!”
    “But Andy’s an American!” protested Sue. “He grew up in this country! He’s as American as Rochelle and me!”
    Her mother sneered. “You are a
Chinese
American. Unless you want to dye your hair and get an operation to change the shape of your eyes, you will never be one hundred percent American. But even that won’t change your true nature. That boy is a
Japanese
American, and nothing will change his true nature, either.”
    Sue was beginning to grow angry. “Not all the people in a country have the same nature! Look around you: not all Americans are exactly alike!”
    “Lillian,” said Sue’s father, “Sue has a point there. You can’t generalize. Every country has its monsters and its saints.”
    “So this Japanese boy—pardon me, this Japanese
American
boy—is now a saint?” asked her mother. “The result of living in America, no doubt?”
    “Come, come, Lillian. Living in America does change people. We’ve changed ourselves.” Her father tried to inject some humor. “Why, I’ve even seen you put ketchup on some French fries!”
    The attempt at humor was a mistake. Sue’s mother was now almost panting with rage. “Then this trip to Japan would bring out his true Japanese nature again and wipe out the civilizing effect of living in America! I don’t think we should let Sue go. I never liked the idea of her going in the first place. But I know how much the orchestra means to her, so I didn’t try to stop her from going. Now I see that the trip would have a disastrous effect on her true nature!”
    “Mom, that’s not fair!” objected Rochelle. “After Sue worked so hard to help raise money!”
    Sue’s heart was in her throat. Could her mother really forbid her to go on the trip? Would her father be able to talk her mother around?
    Apparently he was going to try. “Lillian, Rochelle’s mention of raising money for the trip reminds me of the auction. Remember who made the bid for your painting?”
    Sue’s mother gaped. She closed her mouth and took a breath. “Well, he only picked it because he thought it was a Japanese painting,” she said finally.
    “He picked it because he has good taste,” said Sue’s father. “He has a discriminating eye.”
    Sue wanted to give her father a big hug. But she didn’t, because emotional displays embarrassed him. She admired his cleverness. He knew that the way to reach her mother was through her artwork. Besides, he had told the simple truth. Mr. Suzuki had chosen her mother’s painting because he had admired it.
    “Sue,” said her father. “Can we have some fresh tea? Mine is getting cold and bitter.”
    Sue went into the kitchen to put the electric kettle on. As she rinsed the old leaves out of the teapot and put a fresh batch in, she could hear her father asking her mother and Rochelle to sit down. “I’ve got something to tell you, but let’s wait until Sue is back.”
    When Sue had poured everyone a fresh cup of hot tea and joined the others in the living room, her father cleared his throat. “We had a retired member in our department, another art historian. His name was Hideo Hasegawa.” He paused to take a sip of his tea. “As you know, we’ve socialized with most of the people in our department. We’ve been invited to their homes, and we’ve invited them back.”
    Sue remembered that her parents had invited a number of faculty members for dinner. Rochelle had even flirted with some of the younger ones. But she didn’t remember ever seeing someone called Hasegawa at their house. With her mother’s hatred of the Japanese, she could understand why he had never been invited.
    Her father continued. “I saw very little of Hasegawa. The retired professors still have offices at the university, but they don’t come regularly. I’d also heard that Professor Hasegawa was not in good health. Then one day we had a guest