The Spare Room (4 page)

6

How you would have enjoyed those classes, Satoshi. Imagine a sunny room which looked out into the canopy of gum trees where every now and then brightly coloured parrots would land on the branches. Or occasionally a kookaburra, which would launch into its mad laughing call. There were students from Korea, Thailand, Indonesia, Vietnam, China and Taiwan, and a few from Europe and South America. And some Japanese, of course, but only two others in my class. A young energetic teacher called Anna kept everyone engaged and made the class fun. Fun, Satoshi! In a classroom! It was nothing like high school English classes in Japan — all that rote learning and grammar and vocabulary tests. In our classroom, the emphasis was on speaking and listening, using the language to do real things. The first day we had a task to complete at home. We were to ask our homestay family for information about the family then draw up a family tree. And we were to tell them about our family back at home.

It made me think that I actually knew little about my family, except for the story about my grandfather who survived the bombing of Hiroshima with his baby son but lost his wife, my grandmother. He started a scrap-metal business from nothing and that was the beginning of my family's fortunes.

I arrived home — I told myself I should call it home — in high spirits, buoyed up by the excitement of the day. I walked towards the kitchen but hesitated just outside. Should I knock or call out or something? It seemed rude to go straight in unannounced. I suppose I was used to the way we always call out
Tadaima!
when entering the house. I was on uncertain ground. I heard Angie's voice from the kitchen.

Why should I go and pick up Akira? This is your baby, Mum. Anyway, how would I find him? They all look alike to me.

Jess began to answer but I didn't hear what she said. Angie's raised voice saying my name had already been enough for me to understand that something was amiss. Her words rang in my head. And the tone, the way it was said, would not leave me alone. I backed away and went along the hallway to my room. The door was closed. When I opened it, a figure was lying on the bed.

I was startled, my thoughts still caught up in what had been said in the kitchen. It was Alex. He sat up and looked at me. His face was all wrong. He wiped his eyes.

Akira, he said. Sorry, Akira, I fell asleep. I was just checking. Is the bed comfortable? Not too hard? Too soft?

Bed is very good, I said, and smiled.

Alex put a smile on his face then too. He got up and made to leave the room but stopped and put his hand on my shoulder.

Welcome, he said. It's good to have you here. He dropped his hand. You know, he went on, there's an old desk out in the shed. You'll need a desk. You could use that. We'll bring it in.

He stepped out of the room and I stood there feeling the warmth from his hand on my shoulder. It's going to be alright, I told myself.

When I went into the kitchen later on I found Jess sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of wine in front of her. Daisy sat right underneath the table, drawing. The dog was nowhere to be seen. Alex was preparing vegetables at one of the benches. Everyone said hello and I sat down at the table as well. I should explain that the kitchen, the dining area and the living area — which they called the lounge — were all one room, as they are in your family's apartment, Satoshi, only on a much larger scale. And of course it didn't have to double as a bedroom like at your place.

This was a scene I would become very familiar with. I came to think of those positions as the usual ones for those three members of the family. What Angie did with her time I had no idea.

You are cook? I asked Alex.

And chief bottle-washer, he said without looking up.

I thought about his answer. In Japan, I said, gathering words slowly in my head, men not cook for family. My father never cook. Or wash bottles.

Alex laughed, which made his face look different, relaxed.

Maybe you'll learn while you're here, he said.

Are you enjoy cooking? I said, feeling quite pleased with myself at the way the conversation was progressing.

Alex was thoughtful. Yes, he said after a while. I enjoy it because with each dish you can succeed or you can fail. You know where you are with cooking.

I thought about this. I knew some of the words but not what they meant put together like this. Still, I got his drift. Succeed. Fail. Words like this are common in Japan.

Okay, I said.

Jess asked Alex what he was making.

Moussaka, Alex said.

This is traditional Australian food? I asked.

Greek, Alex said.

Greek? I thought to myself. Greek?

At dinner that first night, there was an empty chair and an untouched setting. I hadn't seen Angie since I'd overheard what she said in the kitchen. I kept expecting her to join us. No one else seemed bothered about her. Alex and Jess ate with concentration. I noticed that Daisy kept glancing at them. She sighed, then turned to me.

So how was your first day of school, Akira?

It was very fine, I said. Nice teacher. Many students from many countries. We only speak English together.

Have you got homework, like me? Daisy screwed up her nose when she said the word ‘homework' as if it had a bad smell.

Homework. Yes, I have homework, I said. We have family tree, your family tree. I ask question and draw tree. Maybe you have photos?

Jess startled us all by getting up from the table abruptly.

There aren't any photos, she said, dropping her plate in the sink. I've got things to do.

We sat looking after her. Daisy looked at her father, who began eating again. Then she turned back to me and shrugged her shoulders.

Don't worry, she said. I'll show you.

When Alex had finished washing up and left the room, Daisy spread out a sheet of paper on the table. She drew a house with a table, a garden with a shed. She drew figures in and around the house. She pointed to one of the figures.

This is my grandfather. He's Dad's father and the only grandparent we've got. His name's Gordon. He drops in sometimes. And this is Mum at the table and Dad out in the shed. And this is Angie in her room and this is me under the table. I'm the accident of the family.

Accident? I say uncertainly.

You know, a mistake. But I guess they're glad they've got me.

Although I wasn't sure what all this meant, I didn't want to say so. I pointed to another figure.

Is this me?

That's nobody. He doesn't live here any more, she said. She picked up an eraser and rubbed out the figure.

Have you got brothers and sisters, Akira?

No brothers, no sisters. I am … one child.

I can be your sister if you like.

You are my sister?

Yes.

In Japan we have special name for younger sister.

Daisy looked up at me eagerly.

What is it?

You are
imoto-san
.

Imoto-san.
And what should I call you, older brother?

Older brother is
oniisan
.

Late that night I went outside to smoke a cigarette. I knew it was a non-smoking household but I thought it would be alright to smoke outside. I didn't want anyone to know that I smoked, however, so I went right to the end of the garden. The dog — Daisy had told me his name was Snowy — was tied up to a small kennel. He began barking madly but settled down after a bit. I smoked and looked up at the stars. You've never seen stars like the stars I saw there, Satoshi. So many stars and wonderful constellations. It made me realise it is almost impossible to see any stars at all from Tokyo. As I went back into the house, I spotted Alex out in the garden, down one side of the house. He too was standing with his head thrown back looking up at the stars. I almost went over to speak to him, but something about the way he stood stopped me. I watched him for a few moments then went inside. My second night in Australia.

7

Our teacher wanted to teach us language which would be useful in helping us to settle into our homestay families. The next day's class focused on offering help to others. Imagine this scene — a classroom with chairs paired up so that we can practise offering help. The room grows loud with chants of Can I give you a hand? Is there anything I can do? Would you like me to set the table? I really liked this approach of starting with language that you needed immediately. It was fun working with the other students. We needed English to talk to each other. I could hardly wait to get home to try out my new skills.

When I arrived home I dropped my bag in the bedroom and went into the kitchen. Jess, Alex and Daisy were in their usual positions. I dropped down to Daisy's height to say hello and she gave me a kiss on the cheek. I was surprised but also flattered and happy. Perhaps a little bit embarrassed in front of the others but they didn't seem to notice. I worked up my courage.

Alex, I said, can I give you a hand with dinner?

Alex looked up at me. No, that's alright, Akira. Just relax.

I'd really like to help.

He smiled. Okay then. Grab a knife and you can slice these mushrooms for me.

I was feeling very pleased with myself until then, but the truth was I had never done any cooking in my life. I pulled a couple of knives out of the block Alex indicated and slid them back again.

Alex reached across, drew out a knife and said, This should do the trick.

He pushed some mushrooms along the bench and handed me a chopping board.

Slice? I asked.

Like this, Alex said.

After an awkward start, I was chopping away happily. And that, believe it or not, was the beginning of many things. I had no way of knowing then how important cooking would become for me. Nor did I realise that by cooking with Alex I would grow more relaxed and confident as part of the household. I think Alex liked my help right from the beginning and he was very patient. No one else ever seemed to offer, except Daisy now and then, but she usually wound up doing decorative things with radishes and cucumbers, or turning vegetables into a collage. Perhaps, I thought, it is simply the way this family has sorted out its roles — just as in Tokyo it would never occur to my father to offer a hand to my mother, or for me to do that either, even though most master chefs are men! I spent some time thinking about roles and the way my mother and father lived their lives. The Moffats had a different arrangement, apparently. I did wonder how it had come about, and if Alex worked at some other job, but it didn't seem right to ask, and anyway I didn't have the language to ask tactfully. It would be rude, surely, and none of my business. I decided that I should just observe, listen, take part in things as best I could, and learn. It was around then that I began to wonder if it was only for the money that the family was taking in a homestay student. It had never occurred to me that such a thing might happen. I had assumed that all the people involved would be keenly interested in Japan and other cultures and very involved with their homestay student. I now wondered if that had been a naive idea. It didn't seem like the Moffats were ecstatic about having a homestay student with them, or even mildly happy. It was more like they were putting up with something they had no choice in. Well, being short of money would mean they had no choice, or that this choice was the best of a bad lot. Still, here I was and I was staying. I wanted to stay, I realised. Really wanted to stay.

That night Alex and I made beef and mushroom lasagne. Italian! Daisy set the table and we sat down to eat. It looked like Angie wouldn't be joining us that night either. I felt a kind of disappointment. I was proud of having helped cook the dinner and I thought perhaps I might go up in her esteem. Yes, yes, fat chance. She flounced into the room at the last minute, removing her Walkman earphones only after she'd sat at the table. Everyone began to eat and in the silence I began to work out how to phrase a question for Angie. Finally, I thought I had it.

Are you studying, Angie?

I realised straightaway she did not appreciate this. She looked me over.

She's studying to be a human being, piped up Daisy. She's not doing very well, either. That's why she's repeating a year.

Angie pulled a face at Daisy. Daisy did the same to Angie.

Year 11, said Alex then. It's a very hard year. Year 12's even harder. There's a lot of pressure.

Pressure. Yes, I knew that word. Pressure to study, to succeed and not fail. Cram schools, university entrance exams.

Do you mind? said Angie in a loud voice. You're discussing me as if I'm not here.

It's habit, said Daisy. You hardly ever
are
here any more.

I thought I could help out. I asked, What you want to do, Angie?

Do? What do you mean, do? said Angie. At least she was no longer looking at me in that bored way.

Your life. I said. In your life.

She just looked at me with her mouth working as if she would make an angry retort, but nothing came out, and in the end she looked down at her plate and pushed food around.

Daisy broke the silence. I'm going to be a cyclo-ologist, she said.

8

Chisuko and I walked from the university down to the casino. It was, she assured me, the nearest bar. We sat in the sun on a deck by the water and drank a beer together. She insisted we speak English but sometimes I would lapse into Japanese out of sheer frustration. The flow of my own language was such a relief. We talked about how natural and thoughtless a native language is, something you think about as little as the fact that your skin holds all the parts of your body together. It is like a second skin, a skin of words and phrases and meaning. Chisuko told me there was an African woman in her class who spoke seven languages fluently. I tried to imagine my head so full of strings of words but it was impossible. I felt top-heavy even attempting it. After a while Chisuko gathered her things together.

I'm off then, she said.

I'm off then, I said.

Oh, you're going too?

No. I am practise. I'm off then.

Practising, said Chisuko.

I don't want go home now. It is too …I tried to think of a word.

Don't worry, said Chisuko. It gets easier. She put a hand over mine on the table and pressed it. She smiled in an encouraging way and I thought she was right. It was early days.

See you, she called over her shoulder.

See you, I said. Those little phrases were sliding off my tongue now almost as easily as Japanese.

I decided to stay on at the bar for a while and write a letter home. I decided to write in English to show them that I was achieving something.

Dear mother and father, I wrote, and stopped.

How on earth could I put all that had happened, the cacophony of thoughts and impressions, down on paper? I began again.

I arrived safe in Hobart. It is very beautiful small town. It has clean air and mountain. My homestay family is very kind and friendly. I am learning English in my English class but my English is not very well.

I picked up my beer bottle — a stubby they call it there — and tipped it up over my glass. It was empty. I thought another one might help with the letter. I signalled to the waiter.

Beer, please, I said.

Yes, sir, the waiter said. Cashorcard?

I wasn't sure what he had said. But when I looked at the bottle and read the label I thought I did understand.

Yes. Cascade, please.

Now it was the waiter's turn to look puzzled. I held up the empty stubby.

You want another beer? said the waiter.

Yes, another Cascade, please.

I thought you said bill.

Bill? No. Beer. I realised even as I said it that the two words sounded almost the same coming from my mouth. I laughed.

My English, I said.

The waiter laughed too and went off to get the beer. When he came back he put it on the table in front of me and said as he turned away, On the house, mate.

Later that night Daisy and I were romping around my room practising Japanese numbers from one to ten. Daisy had made up actions to go with the words. The first six words sound like English words — itchy, knee, sun, she, go, rock. Daisy scratched her knee, made a sun shape from her hands with the fingers spread, pointed to herself for she, pointed away for go, pretended to rock a baby.

Ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku, shichi, hachi, ku, ju!
sang Daisy.

Again, I said and joined in, doing the actions too.

Ichi, ni, san, shi, go, roku! Shichi, hachi, ku, ju!

We were laughing so much we didn't notice Angie come to the door. When we looked up, she was leaning against the door frame. But instead of saying anything she began looking around the room as if she hadn't been in there before, as if it was something strange. I became self-conscious. Perhaps she thought the room was untidy. I had photos stuck up on the wall. Two of you, Satoshi — the one of both of us on top of Mt Fuji and the one of you that first day of college when we met. I began to hope she might actually unfreeze and ask me something about the photos, about my life. Instead she spotted the teddy bear on the bed, which Daisy had given me. Angie leaped into the room and snatched it away.

Where'd you get this? she said.

I gave it to him, Daisy said.

Is it belong to you? I asked, trying to figure out what was going on.

The sisters stood glaring at each other. Angie turned on her heel. But then she turned back and spoke to me.

We're not the right kind of family, she said. You should find somewhere else to live.

Daisy said, He's teaching me Japanese!

Angie turned away and stomped down the hall.

Later I heard Daisy chanting the numbers in Angie's room and offering to teach her, too. Angie told her to go away.

No one does anything with me any more, I heard Daisy say.

When I walked past Angie's room later the door was open. The teddy bear sat propped against the pillows on her bed.