From a Town on the Hudson (8 page)

TWO YEARS had passed since I had taken over the volunteer job from the former instructors, Eriko, who had moved to Detroit, and Kimiko, who had left for Japan. As Kimiko had recommended that I do this volunteer work earlier, I invited Takako, my neighbor, to the class. Eriko left the job in the care of her friend Yoshimi. When Yoshimi quit, her young friend Yoko replaced her. So I had been working with Takako and Yoko for the past two years. We were the wives of men who worked for Japanese companies in the New York metropolitan area. Consequently, we had to say good-bye to the class when our husbands' assignments in New York were over. I heard that a Japanese wife who loved dolls had started the class long ago, maybe fifteen years earlier. Japanese wives generally didn't have a work visa in the United States, and the sphere of our action was limited. The class was one of the few places where we could take part in American society.

Our job was to teach and help ladies make dolls. There weren't any sewing machines in the room; we made it a rule to sew by hand. All the members of the class decided which doll they wanted to make from pictures in textbooks. They were Americans, people of individuality; they would never all make the same doll together. I loved such an independent way of choosing. At the same time, however, it required the three of us to do many things. For each doll, we chose the material from our stock in the storage closet when the student didn't have any. We also made patterns, cut fabrics, pinned them together, and explained briefly how to stitch them. When they had finished the parts of the body, we gave them stuffing and explained how to put the parts together. We cut yarn for the hair and put it on the dolls head. Then we cut fabrics for the underwear, dress, apron, and shoes. We explained how to sew them, and sometimes drew on the faces. On average, there were ten students in attendance. We were busy but we managed to enjoy coffee and brief conversations with the students each week. We had birthday parties for everyone, too.

In the class we made many kinds of dolls: a baby, a grandma, a boy, a girl, a pussycat, a puppy, a teddy bear, a clown, Adam and Eve, a Japanese doll, and so on. The baby doll, girl doll (large or small), puppy doll, and the Japanese girl doll were always popular among the ladies. Everyone in the class loved their dolls like their own babies. They hoped their dolls would be well made, and the room filled with shouts of joy and envy each time someone completed one. However, the members' own ideas about the dolls sometimes didn't work: The width of someone's teddy bear doubled when she finished stuffing it, because her favorite fabric stretched. A puppy doll couldn't stand up since its stomach had been packed too full as the student had lost herself in talk; it needed an operation. A girl doll that had been expected to be innocent-looking turned out sexy because of the bright-colored dress.

The class not only had dolls but also some regular visitors. Because there was a big scale near the door inside the room, gentlemen who attended a wood-carving class in the senior citizens center would often loom into the class to check their weight and were usually teased by somebody about joining the doll-making class. A quiet lady, Betty, who was from Germany, would come into the classroom to water a potted plant. An instructor of a craft class, Louise, would come in to take some materials for her class from the storage closet and enjoyed talking with us for a while. A long-time member of the class, Alice, always came to kiss everybody. Mary, who was very beautiful, used to come to show herself off in her color-coordinated outfits. A lady who had been to Japan came to talk about it with us. "The subway trains in Tokyo were so clean!" she said with surprise. The class had a very comfortable atmosphere. Neither the silent dolls nor the pleasant people ever gave me a dull moment.

My colleagues, Takako, five years younger than I, and Yoko, a half-generation younger than I, were bright women. Takako always made a point of smoothing the wrinkled fabric with an iron before cutting it, so that it would be pretty. She had a good sense for matching colors and helped the ladies when they were confused, because the choice of the color of the cloth influenced the results. She also helped a student get a girl doll ready in time for her granddaughter's birthday; Takako took the doll home and finished it. Later, the lady eagerly told us how crazy her granddaughter was about the birthday gift. The youngest instructor, Yoko, was calm and earnest. She sometimes even practiced making dolls at home. When we made the Japanese doll, Yoko tried and succeeded in making the complicated head of the doll. This was a big improvement for us all. Everybody asked her to make the doll heads from then on. The three of us were rather quiet instructors. In my case, it was because I couldn't speak English fluently. But this was the country in which the right to speak freely was guaranteed; the ladies in the class never kept it to themselves when they thought something was strange. They got angry with us if they thought that they were treated unfairly or if they had to wait a long time for their turn. Gradually, these strong American ladies made us speak up more. The more explanation they received, the more deeply they came to trust us. In the fall of 1988 and 1989, Takako, Yoko, and I were honored before all the members of the center. We were very glad to be appreciated by them.

In class, I really was called one of the "instructors" because I could read the printed instructions more quickly, use scissors and needles more easily, and move to find materials in the storage closet more swiftly than the students could. This was just because I was younger than they were. When I was small, I used to play with dolls. I was the youngest in the family. I commanded and loved my dolls as my family had taken care of me. I had enjoyed designing all the dresses for my dolls, too. So this was a natural as well as an enjoyable job for me to be doing. My involvement with many American ladies who loved dolls enriched my life. They taught me that we had many things to share with each other, even though we came from different cultures. They taught me that we can enjoy ourselves even when we get old. They were my instructors in life.

IN A SENSE, the doll-making class was a place where two cultures clashed. Especially when we expressed our feelings, the differences between Americans and Japanese were visible. American ladies in the class used to hug and kiss occasionally, but we Japanese instructors didn't express our feelings in such demonstrative, physical ways.

One of the members of the class, Alice, who was in her late eighties then, didn't make dolls any longer but came to the class only to kiss everybody and say, "God bless you!" When I had first come to the class, I remembered, I was surprised and confused to see that she was coming to hug me with open arms. I unintentionally stepped backward and then kept standing against the sink in the corner of the room just rolling my eyes up and down as she kissed me. The class noticed it. Such reactions, however, were repeated more or less every time a new Japanese volunteer took part in the class. Bowing one's head to another woman when first meeting, as Japanese would naturally do, didn't seem to serve any purpose as a form of greeting in the class.

There were other ladies in the class who liked to hug and kiss. Once I was almost smothered by Marthas breasts because she hugged me tightly, holding her completed doll in her hand. A vivacious lady, Hazel, embarrassed me: with an exaggerated swinging of her hips she used to approach me as she pursed her lips. A kind lady, Rose, made a point of hugging me in a motherly way when she wanted to show her feelings. All the ladies kissed me on both cheeks on my birthday. Their way of showing affection was different from mine, but I liked it. At the same time, however, the more demonstrative the American ladies were, the lonelier they seemed to be somehow. I could give them neither a hug nor a kiss, myself, because I hadn't become familiar with behaving in such an American way. But in addition to talking to them, I remembered the ladies' first names, smiled at them, and gave their dolls loving hugs. These actions might have been too simple but were natural for me as a way to show my friendliness toward the members of the class.

In three years I got so that I was able to respond in class. When the women hugged me, I tried to put my arms around them but usually couldn't because they were too big. When I explained to some lady how to stitch, I would put my hand on her back or shoulder. It was helpful for me to convey my feelings to the ladies that way because I couldn't express them well enough in English. When I was busy cutting cloth for a doll's dress, I boldly put out my cheek to make Alice's kissing easier and I enjoyed her reaction: "Oh, you're ready!" In my childhood, I remembered, my parents used to hug me. I too kissed my sons on the forehead as I said good night to them when they were small. Even though it was not common to hug and kiss in Japan as a form of greeting in public, it didn't seem in the least to affect the way I behaved in the class. I came to think I would be able to hug someone whenever she needed it.

One day, however, I found I couldn't. When I heard that Rose had lost her brother a few days previously, I never even imagined that I would try such public display. "Rose, are you all right?" I repeated. I just sat close beside her. She had tears in her eyes. I felt her trembling next to me as I sewed a tiny doll dress for her. In this situation, I unconsciously behaved as I had used to do in Japan, after all. What I felt sure about then was that she was important to me.

FOR THE first two years I volunteered, I met many ladies who loved dolls, and I came to know the roles of each member of the class. I will introduce each of them briefly here.

Elmie was wonderful. She always sat near the classroom door. She liked to make dolls very much, and she also liked to go to Atlantic City, New Jersey, to gamble. When she won, she talked about it a lot in class. Elmie frequently served us coffee and showed us beautiful pictures of her grandchildren. I was happy to help when she asked me to apply her eye lotion after she had an eye operation.

Edith Dunson liked reading books as much as making dolls. I often saw her reading while she was waiting her turn. That was why she preferred making dolls that appeared in stories. Once she made Adam and Eve dolls. They were the Adam and Eve who hadn't yet eaten the forbidden fruit, so they were naked. It embarrassed me when I explained to Edith how to stitch Adam's private parts together, because I didn't know the words in English. I assumed that the words I knew for the parts of the body were in German, because I had studied German in my college days. Although I was embarrassed, I asked Edith how Americans said it. She looked at me suspiciously, then answered quickly and added, "You should know that already since you're married!" The members of the class giggled. The subject seemed to have taken an unexpected course. If I had been Edith, I would have answered quietly and modestly so as not to embarrass the other person. At first I couldn't catch what she said, but Elmie, sitting next to Edith, saw that I was confused. She was so kind that she stood up and repeated the word twice, loudly and clearly. The classroom burst into laughter and I blushed. In my ignorance I hadn't realized that the word was the same in English as it was in German. It was funny.

Doris would just sit quietly and sometimes doze comfortably by the window. I heard that she used to make dolls before her eyes became bad. She was fashion-conscious and wore a red hat sometimes. Louise, an instructor of another craft class in the center, always came into the doll class, saying, "Doris, are you behaving yourself?" When Doris felt well, she washed the knives and forks after our monthly birthday parties, or she took the attendance sheet back to the office. I was glad to see that she sat in the class.

Ola had become a member of the class recently and made a wonderful big doll as her first project. It was so pretty. I missed her doll after it was finished. She liked quilting too. She seemed to be very interesting, and I enjoyed getting to know her better.

Ann was a friendly lady. Because she had been sick, she couldn't finish her Japanese doll for a while. She was from Armenia and had been a professional dressmaker.

Audrey took a long vacation in Vancouver, Canada, at the home of one of her many children. When she was in the class, she helped us instructors as a nice interpreter. Did she understand Japanese? No, she didn't. But she understood what we wanted to explain, especially to new members who were not familiar with our English. She had many children, maybe ten—"because," she said one day, "television had not been invented yet when my husband and I were young. We were free at night." All the class laughed at that.

Cynthia joined the class late. She started making a Japanese doll as her first project. She was an earnest and polite lady.

Rose's presence was important to the class. Her seat was always against the window, facing Elmie, and nearest to my place. She sat there working quietly on her doll. Sometimes she taught me English words and wondered why Japanese people didn't speak English well even though they wrote it beautifully. She teased me and even spoiled me. One day, when she asked me how my mother was, I answered, "I hope she's fine," because I hadn't written to her for a while. Around 12 o'clock, before Rose left the class, she came up to me and whispered, holding my shoulders from behind, "Yuko, will you do me a favor?" I wondered what she wanted. Then she said, "Please write to your mother. She must be worrying about you." Though I was ashamed of being advised to do what I should have done in the first place, I promised to write to my mother. Rose's words and actions were effective enough to remind me of my mother. I wrote a heartfelt letter to my mother, the first I had written to her in a long time. The next week, before I mailed it, I brought the sealed letter to class and showed it to Rose. After looking at it, she stood up, hugged me tightly, and said, "Oh, you are a good girl, I am proud of you." To my great regret, I didn't have any idea what I should say at such an unexpected sweet moment. Rose, I was happy to be spoiled by you!

Rita was a quiet, gentle lady. She always sat next to Rose, and she made pretty dolls one after another. I loved them. One of them was a lovely clown. She liked to listen when Yoko, Takako, and I talked about traditional customs in Japan.

Edith Shepherd was a faithful lady. Whenever she talked about people in trouble in the world, tears easily came to her eyes. In speaking to me so directly, she often led me to speak my mind in English. Because she had learned Spanish, she taught us three how to count in Spanish. I remembered only
uno.
We taught her the word for "cute" in Japanese,
kawaii.
She couldn't remember it by the next week.

Louise, a relative of Edith Shepherd, had been a member of a former doll-making class and had come back to the class recently. She seemed to like straw hats. In the beginning, she often used the former instructor's name, Atsuko, for my name, Yuko. Not only Atsuko but also other former instructors were still remembered by some members in the class. I think Louise must have enjoyed her previous class, too. With us, she made a pretty standing doll.

Ethel was quiet and eager. As she sat near Elmie, she pleasantly went about making many beautiful dolls. She had a daughter who was my age. I thought she must be a happy wife because once I saw her husband when he came to pick her up from class, and he looked nice.

Mary Louise was a new member of the class. She was a gentle person, and when she talked to us she whispered. She said that was because she couldn't speak English fluently. "Me, too!" I said to her. Therefore, we three teachers and Mary Louise whispered with one another. She made a standing doll.

Martha was nice. When she was in the class, the atmosphere of the room became more cheerful. She was the first lady who gave me the confidence to do the job, because in the fall of 1987, Martha wanted to make a Japanese geisha-girl doll using the body of regular girl doll with a big round face, fat stomach, and short legs. I helped her for four weeks as my first big job. Though it might not have been a slender doll, she was delighted to see the completed doll and named it after me.

Alice had been a perpetual member of the class for fifteen years. Since she was charming and funny, everybody loved her. She usually came to hug and kiss everybody in the class, saying, "God bless you!" She was the lady who made me get used to being hugged and kissed. When she didn't come into the class, I missed her. One day, I said to myself as I looked at the door of the classroom, "Alice hasn't come in yet today, has she?" Rose heard that and teased me, saying, "You must miss being kissed, Yuko."

Muriel was a lively, beautiful person. She looked young for her age. When she was very happy, I felt as if I caught some of her happiness. She was also creative, making a new type of baby doll with a ready-made rubber face and hands, with one hand holding a bottle.

Betty was ninety years old, I think. She made a pretty doll for her three-month-old great-great-granddaughter. Betty stitched the doll and dress quickly and finished them neatly. One morning, a few weeks later, she was sitting in the class when I entered the room. As she recognized me, she stood up, tottering a little and said, "I can't make dolls anymore, but I came here to see you." Walking slowly with her cane, she left the class. I instinctively bowed my head to that respected lady who had given me a moment of honor.

Dora hadn't returned to the class since she had gone home holding her big doll in a shiny red dress. Hilija, who had gone home with a baby doll, and another lady who liked kewpie dolls hadn't come back either, and I missed them.