Notes from Juilliard

Chapter 5

A chill wind blew, and the pedestrians on Broadway pulled their coats a little tighter about them. There were a surprising number of them out despite the cold and darkness of the early morning: lots of folks had to be at work by 6 or 6:30. The bone-chilling wind gave them pause, but they focused on the promise of reaching the warmth of their workplace. Those who were lucky enough to work indoors, anyway.

The pre-dawn stillness was suddenly shattered by the far-off, mournful wail of a police siren. The passersby all looked up as the police cruiser hurtled down the concrete canyon, its lights flashing and its klaxon blaring. The early morning traffic paused and waited as the patrol car took the right of way, shooting through red lights in intersection after intersection. The volume of the siren swelled as it drew nearer.

A few onlookers watched, curious, as the cruiser pulled up in front of Precinct 20. Their curiosity grew when the officer driving the car got out and walked around to the rear door on the curb side, then opened it. Their eyes bulged when a tiny Asian girl with red hair, wearing a karate outfit, climbed out and smiled at the man.

“Thank you, Officer Martin.”

“Told ya I’d get ya here on time, Ms. Saotome.” He winked. “You go give ’em hell, OK?”

The redhead giggled. “OK.” She jogged quickly up the steps and made her way inside.

The pedestrians all blinked, shook their heads, and went on their way.

Ranko made her way through the front door. The sergeant on duty gave a cheery wave. “Mornin’, Ms. Saotome.” A drunk sitting on the wooden bench along one wall gaped and stared.

She waved back. “Good morning, Sergeant Gannet!” She proceeded down the hallway past the administrative offices, waving and greeting people as she made her way to the rear of the station. She passed through a connecting passageway to the police training gym in the next building, and made her way out onto the main floor. There she found her students diligently working on their katas. She glanced at the clock on one wall and smiled: 5:57 AM. She’d made it with three minutes to spare.

She started her own kata, and was soon moving rapidly and efficiently through her warmup. She kept a close eye on the clock, and when it hit 6 AM she turned to face her class.

“Good morning, everyone.”

Her class responded, “Good morning, Sensei.” All except one man…

Ranko’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, you were not here last week. Are you a new student?”

The young man regarded her coolly. “Hector Rodriguez, Miss.” Several of the students frowned at the slightly disrespectful form of address, though it was lost on Ranko.

Ranko smiled. “I’m Ranko Saotome, Mr. Rodriguez. I’m very pleased to meet you. Are you from precinct 20?”

Hector shook his head. “No, Miss. I’m from Precinct 51, in the Bronx.”

She nodded. “Welcome to my class, Mr. Rodriguez. Do you have a ranking?”

He nodded. “Black Belt, Eighth Dan in Aikido, Tae Kwon Do, and Kung Fu.” He stood a little straighter.

Ranko’s face lit up. “Really?!”

Hector mistook her reaction for awe. “Yeah. I won the NYPD tournament last three years running.” He puffed out his chest a little. “I’m the best.” Several of the other students studied their feet.

Ranko raised an eyebrow. “The best?”

Hector nodded. “Yeah. I came here ’cause my partner told me he heard there was this great sensei downtown.” He looked her up and down. “Is that who you’re supposed to be?” The other students remained silent, but several of them were glaring at him.

Ranko blushed very prettily. “Well, I’m pretty good, I think.”

Hector tried hard not to roll his eyes. This “great sensei” was nothing but some high school girl! He grinned. “Shall we find out?”

He was totally caught off guard when Ranko’s face lit up again. There was something about that expression that was very familiar; he had a strong sense of deja vu. I know I’ve seen that look before, but where?

Ranko addressed her students. “OK, class, this morning before we start our lesson we will have a short demonstration of the dangers of overconfidence.” Hector suddenly felt a chill run up his spine. The smug grins on his fellow students’ faces didn’t help.

He watched as Ranko turned to face him again. She seemed to simply relax, just standing there, not in any kind of stance at all. “Ready when you are, Mr. Rodriguez.”

He nodded, and assumed his own stance. “Go ahead,” she called.

He narrowed his eyes; she was wide open. He didn’t like to beat up a young girl, but she was supposed to be a martial artist.

He charged her like lightning, his fist lashing out. The sheer speed of his attack had won him many a tournament prize. His eyes bulged as it passed through empty space. He looked wildly about. Where had she gone?!

“Up here, Mr. Rodriguez.” He looked up to find her perched on his head. She leapt off, somersaulting fifteen feet through the air, and landed lightly in the same relaxed stance she had been in before. Her eyes were dancing. Some of his classmates snickered.

Hector swallowed. She had that look on her face again, and he finally recognized it. It was the look his four-year-old daughter had when she came to bounce on the bed on Saturday mornings, shouting, “Daddy, wake up! It’s time to play!”

“Mr. Rodriguez.”

Hector halted his slow, painful progress towards the men’s locker room. He turned around. “Yes, Sensei?”

She smiled at him. “I was very, very impressed. Your training is excellent.”

Hector tried to smile, though it came out more like a grimace. “Thank you, Sensei.”

“You are my first student who I think could learn the basics of aerial combat. I would like you to work with me on that next week.”

Aerial combat? Hector nodded. “Yes, Sensei.” She smiled, and he turned back towards the locker room.

“Oh, and Mr. Rodriguez?”

He turned back. “Yes, Sensei?”

“You won’t judge opponents based on their appearance in the future, will you?”

Every muscle in Hector’s body raised its voice in chorus for his reply. “No, Sensei.”

She smiled. “Good.” She nodded. “That’s all. I’ll see you next week.” He nodded and resumed his journey of pain.

Behind him, he heard her exclaim, “Oh my, look at the time! And I still have to wash my hair!” He sighed and shook his head as he shuffled along.

Ranko hurried down the hall, anxious to get back to Lincoln Center so she could shower and get to her studies. Captain Weiler popped his head out of his office. “Ms. Saotome? Do you have a moment?”

She nodded. “Yes, though I’m a little late…”

He smiled. “Don’t worry, Officer Martin will get you there on time. I just wanted to tell you that all your students give you really high marks.”

Ranko smiled happily. “I’m very pleased to hear that, Captain.”

“Considering how the class size has grown and how well things are going, I didn’t have much trouble convincing the Commissioner to raise your rate to $150 a class.”

Ranko’s jaw dropped, and for a moment she was speechless. “Th-thank you, Captain. I… I don’t deserve so much money…”

He shook his head. “Oh yes you do, Ms. Saotome.”

She bowed deeply, embarrassed. When she rose, he smiled at her and jerked his eyes towards the front of the station. “Now go, or you’re gonna be late.”

She nodded. “Yes, Captain. Thank you.” She turned and sprinted for the front door.

The passersby watched in mild curiosity as a tiny redheaded Asian girl bounded down the steps of Precinct 20 and climbed into the back of a waiting patrol car. The door closed, and the car took off with its lights flashing and its siren wailing. They shook their heads, and moved on.

Akane eyed her older sister doubtfully. “Are you sure you remember how to do this, Oneechan? It’s been years since you did anything with the Art.”

Nabiki snorted. “If I was sure, I wouldn’t have asked you for help… Sensei.”

Akane inclined her head in acknowledgment. “You’re sure this is all you want to do? It would really be a healthier regimen if you did some katas, some punches and kicks—”

“I’m sure.”

Akane sighed. “OK. You do need to get in a good stance, though. Why don’t you see if you can remember?”

Nabiki adjusted her borrowed gi, then assumed a ready stance.

Akane nodded. “Not bad, not bad at all. It’s been, what, fifteen years?”

“Seventeen.”

“Seventeen years…” whispered Akane. She shook herself, and started walking around her older sister. “No, not like that. Your elbow is too extended. Pull it in a little bit.” Nabiki complied.

Akane completed her circuit. “OK, I want you to throw a few punches.”

“Can’t we just get on with it?”

Akane frowned. “If I don’t check you out properly first, you could hurt yourself badly… Student.”

Nabiki sighed. “Yes, Sensei.”

Nabiki spent the next few minutes punching at an imaginary target. Her arms hurt a little, until her childhood training began to come back to her, and she started to get into the rhythm of it. The last time I did this, Mom was in the hospital… She cut off that train of thought. Funny, I have trouble remembering very much from back then, but I feel like I never really forgot this…

Akane watched her closely, evaluating every punch, every motion. Occasionally, she’d make a suggestion: “You’re overextending your shoulder,” “Remember, turn and use your torso, not just your arm.” Nabiki adjusted her punches and continued.

Finally, Akane called “Stop.” Nabiki stopped punching, and Akane nodded slowly. “That’s probably enough for this. It’s a beginner’s move, anyway.” She motioned with her head. “Come over here, and we’ll try one.” Nabiki followed her over.

“Now, do you remember what I told you?”

Nabiki nodded. “Aim for just past the surface.”

“Right! OK, I want you to try it while I watch.”

Nabiki nodded. She concentrated for a moment, then struck. “Hyahhhowwwww!!” She shook her hand briskly.

Akane nodded. “Not bad, or you would have broken your hand. Try it again, and pull it tighter this time.”

Nabiki shook her hand for a few more seconds, then tried to concentrate again. Just past the surface… She focused her mind, and struck. “Hyaahh!”

She was rewarded when the cinder block cracked and fell to pieces. Akane tried hard not to smile when her big sister, the Ice Queen, looked up with a goofy, proud grin on her face, like a child who was showing off her first crayon drawing to her parents. “Well done. Want to try it again?” Nabiki nodded, and Akane picked up another cinder block and put it on the sawhorse. “Hit it more centrally and it’ll crumble, not just crack.”

Nabiki focused intently. Instead of a simple grunt, as she struck she called out “Your tea is ready, Chief!” The cinder block crumbled to tiny pieces. She stared at it for a long moment, then let out her breath in a low, satisfied drawl: “Ohhhh yeahhhh…” Akane couldn’t help chuckling.

Nabiki looked up. “Sensei?”

“Yes?”

“I want to practice for a while.”

Akane nodded, a sober expression on her face. “Of course. I think you’re doing well enough now; it looks like it’s coming back to you.” She turned to leave.

“Akane?”

She turned back. “Yes?”

“Thanks.” Nabiki smiled a rare, heartfelt smile. “I needed this.”

Akane shook her head. “Anytime, Oneechan.” She turned and left.

As she exited the dojo, over her shoulder she heard, “I got you fresh flowers, Chief!” followed by the crack of a cinder block disintegrating. She shook her head sadly as she made her way back to the house, pausing a moment to watch the rain falling from the dark, leaden sky.

To: Akane Tendou <akane@tendoudoujo.co.jp>

From: Ranko Saotome <rsaotome@juilliard.edu>

Date: Thursday, November 11, 2004

Subject: (none)

Hi Sis,

How are you today? How is everyone? I was so sorry to hear about Nabiki-neechan. It sounds like her boss is making her life miserable. I wonder sometimes if he isn’t jealous because she’s so smart. I feel like you and I have been lucky this way; we’ve pretty much gotten to do what we love in life. Even Kasumi-neechan is finally getting on with her life. If there is anything I can do to help Nabiki-neechan feel better, let me know. At least please give her a hug for me and tell her I love her.

Things have been a little bit hard recently, as everyone is getting ready for the big orchestra trip to San Francisco next week. They’re all leaving on Monday so they’ll have a few days to rehearse there. I keep telling myself that most of the soloists aren’t going, so it’s no big deal that I’m not. I may not be able to look at myself very objectively, but I can look at some of the other soloists who didn’t go, the ones I ranked ahead of, and I know they’re very good. Still, I’m determined to work on my problem and land a spot on the spring trip to Washington D.C. It’s not that I need to be the best, but I need to be the best I can be. If I thought this was as good as I could be, I’d be content, but I don’t believe that.

I think those of us who are still here will have some fun, working on chamber music, and I’m looking forward to that. Professor Vasilev is staying, so I’ll be able to keep working with him. Jean-Pierre is going, so no sonatas next week. Also no flirting. I hate to admit it, but I’ll miss working with him more than I’ll be happy to be rid of the flirting. He’s easily the best pianist I’ve ever worked with. If only he would get it through his head that he’s not my boyfriend. Boys are such perverts. ^_~

The American students are all still talking about the presidential election. It really surprised me how worked up everyone got. It made me wonder what Japanese politics would be like if there were a real choice. I’m not sure we’d know how to cope with it! Tish voted, but she didn’t stay up to watch the returns like the other Americans.

I’m thinking of telling Tish about the Cat Fist. After the party last week, she knows how much cats affect me, and that incident made me think about what would happen if I went into the Cat Fist while I’m here. I need to have someone here who knows what to do if it happens, and I know Tish could deal with it. I’m still mulling it over, though. It’s embarrassing, and it doesn’t reflect very well on Father. When I’ve told people about it they usually ask why I still have anything to do with him. I’m not planning to tell her about Ranma, though. It’s a good thing I don’t go into the “Guy Fist” and start running around smashing beer cans against my head. ^_^

My martial arts classes are going well. I have a new student who is very talented. I started teaching him aerial combat this week, and he’s doing pretty well. I think before I come home next spring I might be able to teach him some ki moves. If I can get him far enough along he should be able to teach the other students even after I leave.

Sometimes it’s frustrating to struggle with my violin when martial arts is so easy by comparison, but at the same time that’s part of the fun, to be pushing myself, to be growing. It’s both maddening and wonderful. Certainly my violin problems are among the hardest challenges I’ve ever faced, but I learned from one of the women I admire most to never give up. Thanks, Sis.

The money is coming in handy, too: my friend Eimi really likes to shop! I can’t complain too much, though; I really needed some new clothes, and Eimi knows the cheapest places to shop in New York and New Jersey. I got a really cute corduroy jumper recently, and a turtleneck to go with it. Some tights and long boots and I’m plenty warm enough. I was getting tired of wearing nothing but pants. I’m still looking for a new formal gown; my old one is on its last legs.

All in all, I’m really enjoying it here. I know I’m growing as an artist. If only you, and Ryouga, and the rest of the family were here, though. I miss you all so much.

Lots of love,

Ranko

“Over there,” motioned the driver, not looking up from his clipboard.

Ranko looked over to the large pile of suitcases next to the open luggage doors of the large bus. It, and another like it, were parked on 65th street, waiting for passengers. Her fellow students were scattered around the general area in small groups, and the air was full with the hubbub of their excited conversations. She smiled.

She nodded to the driver, and toted the large brown suitcase over, gently lowering it next to the others. Her roommate Harya Prakash, her gloved hands full with her oboe case, flashed a grateful smile. “Thanks, Ranko. That suitcase is always a little more than I can handle, especially with my oboe.”

Ranko smiled back and shook her head. She was wearing gloves too, as well as a light beige knit hat pulled down over her hair. It was unusually nippy for mid-November, but the hat kept her warm, and she noticed the beautiful deep blue sky rather than the cold.

“You could have carried mine, too,” teased her other roommate, Anne Raffo, as she laboriously dragged her own suitcase over.

Flora Ho arrived, carrying her viola and pulling a wheeled suitcase. “You only have flute to carry, Anne. That doesn’t count.” They all laughed.

Jean-Pierre walked over, dressed in a navy pea coat and warm scarf. “I see you are demonstrating your prowess with luggage again, eh?” Ranko stuck out a tongue, eliciting another round of laughs from her roommates.

“She has your number, Jean-Pierre!” gloated Anne.

“Of course she does, I gave it to her,” shot back Jean-Pierre, and they all groaned.

Ranko sighed and shook her head. “I just wanted to say goodbye and good luck to everyone.” She waited a beat. “Even you, Jean-Pierre.” She winked. There was a cheer of approval from her roommates.

Jean-Pierre held up his hands in mock surrender. “I give up, I am outnumbered. I will retire to fight another day. Hopefully I will do better with Rachmaninoff.”

Ranko smiled a warm smile. “I’m sure you will. You are the best pianist I know.” Jean-Pierre seemed taken by surprise, and for a moment Ranko saw vulnerability again, as she had that day in the park. They looked at each other for a long moment, then averted their eyes.

Anne looked back and forth between them. “Do I detect a chemistry experiment in progress here?”

Ranko blushed. “No, I am engaged.”

The moment was lost; the know-it-all smile returned to Jean-Pierre’s face. “Ah yes, the usual excuse.”

Ranko bit back an angry reply; this was just his usual game and the best thing to do was to play it right back at him. “Besides, I think I failed chemistry.” Her roommates’ laughter defused the tension. She and Jean-Pierre exchanged glances again, and his eyes sparkled.

She was saved further repartée by the blare of a bullhorn. “Students on bus number 1, please board now. If your number is between 1 and 62, please board bus number 1 now. Please be quick, ladies and gentlemen, we have a plane to catch.”

Ranko looked over her three roommates. “Good luck, everyone. I’ll be sure to listen on the Internet and read the reviews.” The four women exchanged hugs.

“Don’t I get one too?” asked Jean-Pierre in a pitiful voice.

“No,” replied Ranko, and everyone laughed.

Just then Allison Yamamoto came hurrying up, out of breath, her suitcase in one hand and her clarinet case in the other. “Some day,” she wheezed, “I’ll make it with more than two minutes to spare.” Ranko giggled as Allison put her suitcase with the others. The driver was already busy loading them into the luggage compartment as the students boarded.

Allison collected herself, and turned to face Ranko. “I’ll be thinking of you.”

Her petite friend shook her head, smiling. “No, Allison, think about the music, not me.”

Allison laughed, “Well, OK.” She gave Ranko a hug. “Next time for sure, right?”

They separated and smiled at each other. Ranko nodded firmly. “Right.”

Her friends went to board the bus as Ranko waved to them; all except Jean-Pierre, who lingered a moment. He regarded her quietly, a troubled expression on his face. He almost looked like he wanted to say something.

She looked up into his eyes, trying to figure out what was on his mind. “Jean-Pierre, I meant it. You will be great, I’m sure. I’ll listen.” He nodded slowly. She tilted her head, not understanding. “What is it?”

He just shook his head. “Nothing.” He looked back over his shoulder at the line of students that was disappearing into the bus. “I guess it’s time.” He turned back to face her, his expression sober.

He still looked a little down, and on impulse she reached out both her hands and took one of his, shaking it a little. “Have a good trip, OK? I’ll see you next week.”

He seemed to brighten a little. “OK.” They looked into each others’ eyes for a moment, and Ranko felt her cheeks grow warm; she released his hand, a tad hastier than she’d meant to. She expected some cutting remark, but he just looked at her seriously for a moment longer, then turned to leave.

She watched him go, a little confused about what had just happened. Had his cheeks been slightly red as well? She tried to collect herself and started scanning the bus windows for her roommates.

Peter Vasilev walked up to stand beside her as she waved to her friends on the bus, a big smile on her face. “You look cheery, Ranko-chan,” he observed. “Feeling better?”

She nodded happily. “Yes. Yes, I am. I have not lost a competition in a long time, and I forgot what it felt like.” She waved more energetically as the bus pulled out, and her roommates waved back just as enthusiastically. Her hand slowed as the bus turned the corner onto Broadway, then disappeared; she lowered her arm to her side. “When you lose a competition, you focus on improving your weak points so you win the next one.”

Peter smiled. “Your martial arts training has stood you in good stead, hasn’t it?”

She nodded slowly, briefly watching the last students board bus number 2. “Yes. It taught me many good lessons for life, not just martial arts.” By mutual consent, they turned back towards the school, crossing the plaza together. “I will have another chance soon, I’m sure.”

Peter smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Sooner than you think, perhaps.” He schooled his features. “Are you familiar with Vivaldi’s Four Seasons?”

Ranko blinked, uncertain at the non sequitur. “Well, of course, though I haven’t played them. I’ve played some of his chamber music, and one of his other concerti, though. Why?”

Peter blew into his hands to warm them up. “We had a guest soloist cancel for December 10. Mei-Lin Chen was going to play all four with the Juilliard string ensemble, in Alice Tully Hall. It’s a public concert.”

Ranko blinked. “What happened? Is she all right?”

He laughed. “Pregnancy happened. She’s expecting again, and had to cut back her schedule. Something had to give, and it wound up being us.” He glanced over at Ranko; she was smiling. “How would you like to fill in?”

That stopped the redhead short. “Me? But… why not one of the soloists with a rank higher than mine?”

“Claire Hellman is going on the San Francisco trip, and you tied for fifth with the only other violin soloist who might have got it.” He smiled. “You won the toss; here’s your chance.” His smile widened into a grin as her surprise slowly turned to delight. “Can you be ready in less than four weeks?”

Ranko nodded confidently, a sunny smile on her face. “I’m sure of it.”

Peter chuckled. “I thought so.”

“Tish?”

Tish popped the buds out of her ears and paused her music player. She propped herself up on her elbows to look over the edge of the bed. “What?” she asked, in Japanese.

Ranko was holding her violin case. “I just thought of something I wanted to try. Do you mind?” She looked down at her pajamas. “I don’t want to get dressed again just to go out to the practice room for five minutes.”

Tish smiled. “Sure, go ahead.” She turned off her player and laid aside the script she’d been studying.

“Thanks!” Ranko pulled out her violin and flipped through some sheet music that was open on her desk. She spent a few seconds tuning her instrument, then launched suddenly into a furious passage from the concerto she was working on at the moment—“Winter.” Tish watched, rapt, as the bow and Ranko’s fingers moved at speeds she hadn’t thought possible. Despite the complexity of the passage, each note was crisp and clear; they sparkled like stars in a pitch black sky. Tish was only a casual listener, but even she could tell that Ranko’s technique was unparalleled.

Ranko stopped abruptly, scribbled briefly on her score, then started playing again. Tish couldn’t make out the notes from her vantage point atop her bed, but she could see the exclamation points here and there, and grinned. Similar exclamation points could be found on her scripts.

After a few more passages, Ranko scribbled some last notes on her score, then started to put everything away.

“All done?”

Ranko turned to look up at Tish, and smiled. “Yes, thanks. I had an idea and I wanted to try it out.”

“And?”

Ranko looked off to one side. “It didn’t quite work like I thought it would, but it gave me another idea which I think will work. I’ll try that tomorrow.”

“This is coming up in about three weeks, right?”

Ranko nodded. “Yes, I’m filling in for a guest soloist who couldn’t make it.”

“Is everything going OK?”

Ranko smiled. “I think so. I’ll pretty much have to practice nonstop until then.”

Tish thought about that for a while. “Ranko, do you have plans for next week?”

Ranko slowly shook her head. “No… what’s happening next week?”

Tish smiled. “It’s Thanksgiving. Pretty much all the American students are going to disappear for most of the week to go home and see their families. Wednesday through Friday are school holidays, and the school will be closed.”

“Oh,” said Ranko. “I guess it’ll be pretty quiet here, then.” She seemed very pensive.

Tish watched her for a while. The petite redhead’s eyes were unfocused, and she looked a little blue. Tish knew her roommate was very family-oriented, and missed her family back in Tokyo terribly. She and the other roommates were Ranko’s surrogate family here… and most of them would be gone for the holiday.

Tish bit her lip. “Would… would you like to come home with me to Boston for Thanksgiving?”

Ranko blinked. “But isn’t it a family holiday? Won’t I be in the way?”

Tish grinned and shook her head. “Not at all. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve brought someone home. Dad and Thomas don’t mind, and with just the three of us it tends to be a little quiet.” She winked. “You can help me and Thomas cook.” Ranko chuckled. “You could practice, too. We have a nice big old house in Cambridge, and you’d have your own room.” Ranko nodded slowly, then stood up, stretching while she did so.

She smiled up at Tish. “It… it sounds wonderful, but could you check with your father? I’d hate to barge in on a family gathering.”

Tish nodded. “Sure thing. I’ll call him in the morning.”

Ranko furrowed her brow in thought. “What do you do on Thanksgiving, anyway?”

Tish smiled. “See your friends and family, and spend time with them.” She paused. “Overeat on a massive scale.”

Ranko grinned. “It sounds like my kind of holiday.”

“I knew you’d approve.”

Hibiki Aneha closed the door to the laundry room behind her, and hefted the large laundry basket she’d set down. It was piled high with clean laundry, all of it dry thanks to the dryer that she’d splurged on last year. She only used the machine when she couldn’t hang her laundry out, which was certainly the case today; there was a downpour outside. The dryer consumed far too much electricity to use it all the time.

She still needed to fold everything; sadly, the dryer wouldn’t do that. She heard her son’s voice coming from the living room, and smiled. She might have to fold laundry, but there was no reason she couldn’t have company while she did it. Like the laundry, Ryouga was staying indoors today to avoid getting wet.

As she entered the room she came in on the middle of his phone conversation. “…Thanksgiving? No kidding?” Ryouga, ensconced in an armchair, smiled and gave a little wave to his mother as she sat herself down and set to work. She watched, and listened to half a conversation.

“So when are you going? … Wednesday? Are you gonna drive? … Oh, they have trains in America? I thought everyone drove… Uh-huh… uh-huh…” He grinned. “Sounds like fun.”

He listened for a while more, then laughed. “That was really nice of her. Hey, Mom is here. You wanna say Hi to her?” He nodded. “OK, just a sec. You should tell her that story about your friend.” He handed the phone over. “Mom, she wants to say Hi.”

Aneha paused in her labors and brought the phone to her ear. “Hello, Dear.”

Her future daughter-in-law’s voice came from the earpiece. “Hello, Mother. How are you?”

“I’m just fine, Dear. Things are a little lonely around here with Father gone, but he should be back in a week or two. My goodness, I still can’t believe I can count on things like that these days. How about you?”

“Busy, busy, busy. I’m giving a public performance of Vivaldi’s ‘Four Seasons’ in a little less than three weeks. I’ve never played them before, so I’ve been practicing a lot. The orchestra came back from San Francisco today, so I’ll be practicing with the Juilliard String Ensemble starting tomorrow.”

Aneha didn’t understand all the details, but couldn’t miss how excited her son’s fiancée was. “That’s wonderful, Dear. I wish we could listen to it.”

“You can! Juilliard webcasts all their concerts these days, for the students who can’t attend, and for families. They don’t put the information on their public website, but I can send Ryouga the details and you can listen in on his computer. I listened to all the performances in San Francisco that way.”

Aneha beamed. “We’ll be sure to do that, Dear. What was this story about your friend?”

“Oh, my friend Allison Yamamoto—she’s third generation Japanese-American—she had told me all about San Francisco before I knew I wasn’t going. Since I didn’t go, she brought back a few jars of fudge sauce from an ice cream place she told me about. She brought that and some ice cream and bananas and things over to my suite tonight and we all made our own hot fudge sundaes! We had a blast eating sundaes and talking about how the trip went. It was kind of like a party, but it ended early because the girls who went on the trip were pretty worn out.”

“She sounds like a good friend.”

“Yes, I’ve made a lot of friends here in America. I was surprised at how many.”

“I’m not surprised at all, Dear. You’re a sweetheart.”

“Mother!”

Aneha could almost hear the blush from the other end, and laughed. “Well, it’s true. I’m going to give you back to Ryou-chan now, all right? Take care, Dear.”

“Take care, Mother.” Aneha handed the phone over to Ryouga.

Her son leaned back in his chair. “Me? Not much. Midterms went OK.” He snorted. “Yeah, I did use the computer to write my term paper after all. Your sister threatened to repossess my GPS receiver if I didn’t.” He blushed. “It’s just as well, it did make things easier.” He grinned. “She is one lady who definitely knows how to get what she wants.”

He listened for a while, his smile fading. “Yeah… yeah.” He sighed. “She oughta tell the old fool off and quit… Yeah, I guess she’s like you; she’s not a quitter.” Suddenly he sat up straight. “Me? Umm… umm, that’s going great! I’ve got some leads for a few dojos.” Aneha stopped folding laundry and blinked. “I’ll talk it over with you when you come home for New Year’s, and, umm, take you to see some of them. Uhhh, no, I don’t have… umm, I haven’t worked out the financial details yet.” Aneha started frowning, and Ryouga waved at her to keep quiet.

As he listened, Ryouga’s stiffness left him, and he leaned back in the chair again. “Yeah… yeah, I’m looking forward to that, too. More than anything.” He smiled a small, quiet smile, relaxing further. “The two of us, living our lives together… Yeah… Yeah, me too. You mean the world to me, Honey. Yeah… yeah. Love you too. Bye.” He pushed the button to hang up, the tension of a few moments earlier forgotten, a contented smile on his face.

It didn’t last. “Ryou-chan, I thought you told me that the dojos you looked into were far beyond what you could manage financially. You said the economy was so bad you haven’t even been able to find someone willing to take you on as an employee, much less be an owner. Why didn’t you tell her all that?”

Ryouga sighed, seeming to deflate. “She’s stressed out with her studies, Mom. She didn’t need to hear that I can’t find a job.”

Aneha was shaking her head. “Ryou-chan, you said it yourself. You’ll be living your lives together; you’ll be husband and wife. You should share everything, the good times and the bad. You have to, for your marriage to work.”

Ryouga stared at the floor for a long time. “Mom… I know, but right now I’m not there to support her, to hold her, to make her happy. She’s got enough problems, and I don’t need to lay mine on her, too.” He looked up. “I promise, I’ll tell her when she’s here for New Year’s. It’ll be so much easier when she’s in the same room.”

“Ryou-chan,” said Aneha gently, “they’re not just your problems. They’re her problems, too. She’s going to be your wife.”

Ryouga nodded. “I know. But I know her, too. When there’s something wrong and she can’t do anything to help, it drives her crazy. If I tell her when she comes home, I’ll be able to help her work off that energy before she goes back.” His gaze hardened. “I don’t want her worrying 6,000 kilometers away where I can’t cheer her up.” He added quietly, “She deserves to be happy.”

Aneha sighed. “I hope you’re right, Dear.” She started to fold laundry again. Ryouga stared out the window at the dreary, wet day, his mind far, far away.

“Providence!” blared the loudspeaker. “Station stop Providence in approximately five minutes. Providence!”

Ranko watched as some of the passengers rose wearily and started to collect their belongings. Luggage overflowed the overhead racks and the closets at either end of the car; the train was absolutely packed. She and Tish had been lucky to find two seats together.

As she watched, she felt the train start to gently decelerate. She glanced out the window, and watched the somewhat decrepit urban landscape as it crawled by. When they’d left Penn Station, Ranko had waited patiently for the train to accelerate… and waited… until they’d gotten to New Haven. After the trains in Japan, she couldn’t quite believe how slow this one was. No wonder it took so many hours to get to Boston, a distance the bullet train would have covered in just one.

Playing her violin would disturb the other passengers, and the train was too crowded to do any stretching or katas, so she’d tried to pass the time reading some sheet music: cadenzas by Kreisler, Heifetz, and others for the more popular violin concerti. That had kept her busy for a while, but with her violin off limits there was only so much she could accomplish. The cadenzas had given her some ideas of her own… for which she needed to play her violin. Tish was busy with her own work, so eventually, she’d had to settle for looking out the window.

The train drifted lazily over some crosspoints, beating out a noisy percussion as it worked its way over to a different track. It slowed even more, and a platform appeared outside the window, thick with people peering in as Ranko peered out. Faces in the crowd lit up as loved ones were recognized; children shrieked with excitement.

Finally, the train came to a halt. “Providence!” insisted the loudspeaker. “Providence!” Passengers started to shuffle out the doors at either end of the car, and Ranko yawned.

Tish looked up from her reading and smiled at her roommate. “Bored?”

Ranko rolled her eyes and nodded. “Very.” She blinked. “You’re speaking English.”

Tish nodded. “I want to get in the habit.” She blushed slightly. “Dad thinks I overdo it on the Japanese.”

Ranko grinned at her roommate. She looked back out the window at the throng of people on the platform, waiting to board or having just gotten off. It was a familiar sight from back home, except that back home nearly everyone on the platform would have been Japanese. The variety of people in America still amazed her.

New passengers started to file onto the train, toting backpacks and suitcases, shuffling past them in quest of open seats. Most of them were college students like themselves, with a few older and younger people thrown in for good measure. Ranko turned back to Tish, who’d buried her nose in her volume of the works of Ibsen again. “Tish, how many more stations until Boston?”

Tish closed her book, chiding herself. She’d only meant to read one scene while Ranko had been busy with her sheet music, but as usual she’d gotten wrapped up and lost track of the time. She really should have been talking to her friend instead. “This is the last one for this train; it’s an express. The next stop is Boston. Then we’ll take the T to Harvard Square.” She noticed her friend’s bewildered look. “The T is the subway.” Ranko smiled.

Just then the train lurched, accompanied by a muffled curse halfway down the car as someone clutched at the overhead luggage rack to avoid falling. They both looked out the window as the platform slowly started to fall behind. “Next stop is Boston!” shouted the loudspeaker. “Boston, Massachusetts is next!” The wheels clattered as the trained moved over the points once more, crossing onto the main line, gathering speed all the while—or what passed for speed, anyway.

Ranko watched Providence drift by, her view constrained by the depressed right-of-way of the tracks. Buildings, cars, and people were just barely visible above them. Ranko smiled; it reminded her of the part of the Yamanote line between Ueno and Ikebukuro, the route she’d traveled every day on her way to and from the University. “You live close to the University?”

“To the main campus, yes. The medical school is a couple of miles away, though.”

Ranko smiled. “Only a couple of miles? That’s pretty close.”

Tish laughed. “Only by Japanese standards. We could have lived a couple of blocks away.”

Ranko looked puzzled. “Why do you live in Cambridge, then?”

The train rose slowly to ground level as it began to leave Providence behind. Tish looked off to one side. “Daddy wanted to live in Cambridge, near the main campus. He likes the atmosphere there, the life of a college town, the chance to interact with people who aren’t doctors. The medical school is in the middle of a bunch of hospitals, in Boston proper.” She smiled. “Cambridge is much more lively.” Ranko nodded slowly.

Tish glanced out the window. “We’re in Massachusetts now.”

Ranko blinked. “Didn’t we just get to Rhode Island?”

Tish grinned. “It’s a very small state.”

She let her roommate stare out the window at southeastern Massachusetts, until she saw her start to drum her fingers nervously on the armrest. “How’s your Vivaldi coming?”

Ranko turned away from the scenery and smiled. “Very well. I’ve memorized three of the concerti, and the first two sessions with the string ensemble were good. I want to memorize the fourth one over the holiday, so I can work on my intonation and phrasing starting next week.”

“How are things with Don Juan?”

Ranko laughed. “I didn’t work with him this week because of the Vivaldi. I just had a chance to congratulate him on his performance in San Francisco. He was his usual self.” She rolled her eyes, and they both laughed.

Ranko’s eyes went to Tish’s bag, where the book she’d been reading peeked out. “Is that a play you’re working on now?”

Tish smiled. “No, I just like to read my favorite plays for inspiration sometimes. I’ve acted them out in my head so many times. We’re working on Albee this week, ‘Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?’”

“Is there going to be a show I can come see?” Ranko smiled.

Tish shook her head. “We only do a couple of productions for an audience each year. Usually we just do a final run-through for the faculty and other students. That way we can get through more plays, without having to have sets and costumes for each one. My class’ next production for the public is in February. I don’t know what it is yet; we’ll be starting on it after New Year’s.”

The two of them continued chatting, and both were caught by surprise when the landscape outside the window started to turn urban again. “Boston!” called the loudspeaker. “Boston South Station in approximately ten minutes. Boston! Last stop.”

The train tracks paralleled a large elevated highway for a while; it seemed to be packed with traffic. Ranko could catch glimpses of a body of water but couldn’t see very much. “Is that the ocean?”

“Well, Massachusetts Bay. I guess it is a part of the Atlantic, just sheltered by Cape Cod.”

The water was lost to view as the train plunged underground, slowing all the while. The other passengers started to rise and gather their belongings, and the two of them followed suit. Soon, a platform slowly drifted into view. The train rolled along slowly, then finally stopped, its brakes screeching for a few moments. “Boston!” shrieked the loudspeaker. “Boston South Station!” There was a loud hiss as the brakes locked.

Ranko and Tish queued up to exit the car, toting their bags and Ranko’s violin. They were carried by the human current out onto a dingy platform, and up a flight of stairs. Even if Tish hadn’t been with her, Ranko would have known which way to go; a large “T” heralded the direction to follow, with a smaller sign, “MBTA Red Line straight ahead.” They headed down the corridor towards the subway station. When they got there, there was a surprise waiting for them.

Tish’s face lit up. “Daddy!” she called, waving. “Thomas!” Ranko’s eyes scanned the crowd ahead of them, and lit on Tish’s father and a gangly teenage boy who was nearly as tall. They were both smiling and waving.

Tish hurried her pace a little, and Ranko followed suit. The taller girl rushed into her father’s arms. “Daddy, you came to meet us!”

Tish’s father was smiling broadly. “Of course.” He turned his head and nodded. “Welcome to Boston, Ranko.”

“Thank you, Dr. Williams.”

Thomas cleared his throat. “Why, Oneechan, what a surprise! Fancy running into you at the train station.”

Tish grinned and went to hug her brother. “It’s good to see you, too, Thomas. I missed you.” She turned towards Ranko. “Ranko, this is my little brother, Thomas. Thomas, this is Ranko Saotome, my roommate.” Ranko looked up at the teenager. And up…

Thomas patted the top of his sister’s head. “Heh. Who’s little now, Oneechan?” She stuck a tongue out, and he laughed. He turned his attention to Ranko. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Saotome.” He stuck out a hand and shook hers.

Ranko smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Thomas. Did you also go to Japanese schools? You called Tish ‘Oneechan.’”

There was a short, awkward silence. “Umm, no,” said Thomas. “I didn’t go to Japanese schools.” The three family members exchanged glances. “I don’t really speak Japanese; I’ve just always called her that, for as long as I can remember.”

After five years of being herself again, Ranko had made peace with the fact that some of her personality was unchanged from when she had been Ranma; she could now see her former self in a kinder light. She wished, however, that somewhere along the way she’d managed to lose her talent for putting her foot in it.

Ranko blinked at the sunlight as the escalator deposited the Williams family and herself at street level. They were right in the middle of Harvard Square; she twisted her neck as she looked around. Shops and restaurants were on one side, and the University was on the other: stately colonial buildings partially hidden behind a tall red brick wall. There was traffic on all sides, seemingly frozen in gridlock, and pedestrians were everywhere, mostly students her own age and mostly in a tearing hurry. The late afternoon sun was low, casting its wan light over the scene, and the air was very chilly. Ranko pulled her hat down a little tighter over her head and adjusted her scarf.

“Our house is this way,” shouted Dr. Williams over the din, pointing across the street in the general direction of the shops. They lined up at the pedestrian crosswalk, part of a huge throng.

Some pedestrians were darting back and forth between the stop and go traffic, raising Ranko’s eyebrows. She was glad Dr. Williams and his family seemed content to wait for the signal to change.

While they were waiting, Dr. Williams turned and pointed in the opposite direction. “Thomas’ high school is down that street. It’s very convenient; he can walk to school.”

Thomas looked like he was about to say something, but just then the light changed and they were swept along by the crowd. They regrouped on the other side, and Dr. Williams pointed wordlessly down the street. They all followed, swimming through the crowd of pedestrians.

As they got further away from Harvard Square, the noise level fell a little, and Ranko turned to Tish’s brother. “What year are you in, Thomas?”

“2004. What year are you in?” replied Thomas.

Tish slugged her brother in the arm. “Behave yourself.” She turned to Ranko. “He’s a junior. His humor is definitely sophomoric, though.”

Ranko laughed; Thomas reminded her somewhat of her friend Yuka’s little brother. “Thomas, have you thought about your… umm…”

“My ‘umm’?”

Ranko blushed. “Tish, how do you say shinro in English?”

“Ah.” Tish nodded. “‘Your future’ or ‘your career’ or ‘your plans.’ Something like that.”

“Oh, that,” said Thomas. “When I grow up I wanna be a curmudgeon.”

Tish snorted. “You’re there, Thomas.” Ranko decided not to ask what a curmudgeon was.

They turned onto a side street, and the noise faded further, allowing them to lower their voices to a normal level. Dr. Williams turned to look at his guest. “Don’t let my son get to you, Ranko. He’s a comedian.”

Ranko smiled and shook her head. “I have a friend back home who has a little brother. He’s kind of the same way.”

“And here I thought I was unique,” groused Thomas. He turned serious and thought for a few moments. “Not sure yet. I guess I’ll decide when I get to college. I like math; maybe I’ll do something with that.” Ranko noticed the proud smile on Dr. Williams’ face, and smiled herself; Thomas was clearly not telling all.

Nearly ten minutes from the subway station, Tish pointed. “There,” she said. “That’s our house.”

Ranko looked up the street. Sandwiched in between two multistory apartment buildings was a large two-story colonial-style house covered with white clapboard, and sporting sky blue shutters on the windows; she could not tell its age. It suddenly occurred to her that if the Williamses lived in a house like this in the middle of a dense, upscale urban area, they must be rather wealthy. “How old is it?” she asked.

Dr. Williams replied, “It dates from the end of the nineteenth century. Luckily for us, it hasn’t been declared a historic landmark yet.”

Ranko looked the house up and down as they walked up the front steps. “Why is that lucky?”

Dr. Williams was fumbling in his pocket for a key. “When we moved in, the bathrooms and kitchen badly needed updating. If this house had been a landmark it would have been much harder to get the remodeling permits.” He opened a storm door and unlocked the large, black wooden front door, pushing it open. Ranko and the others followed him in.

“Yeah,” said Thomas. “It had these tiny little claw foot bathtubs. Man, were they cold to step into on winter mornings.”

Ranko looked around, and was immediately entranced. Whatever they might have done with the bathrooms and kitchen, the rest of the house was like something out of an old movie or book. It had wood everywhere, from the massive railings on the staircase to the arches between rooms to the trim on the walls and the ceilings, all of it carved with elaborate filigree. The lighting looked liked the original gas fixtures converted to electric use. She felt like she had gone back in time by a century.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. She noticed that her hosts were following the Japanese custom of removing their shoes, and started to do the same.

“Thank you,” said Dr. Williams. “It was like this when we bought it, and we tried to preserve as much as we could. We actually pulled out some modern things that seemed out of place.” He was hanging up his coat. “Tish, why don’t you show Ranko to her room so she can put her luggage away?”

Tish nodded. “Come on, it’s upstairs, next to mine.” Ranko followed her roommate up the stairs, peeking around corners with the curiosity of a five year old. The upstairs was more of the same decor; she continued to goggle, never having been in a house like this before. They reached the upper floor, and Tish led her down the landing and through a wooden doorway.

The taller girl waved her arm around. “The guest room.” The room had antique furniture and lacy curtains, and a big four-poster bed with a large, goose-down comforter. Ranko was grinning madly; this was like something out of “Anne of Green Gables.” Five years ago she’d never even heard of “Anne of Green Gables,” but once she’d become a redheaded girl she’d heard all about it—from her mother, her sisters, her girlfriends, and not a few total strangers who’d stopped her on the street. She’d finally read the book in self-defense.

“There’s no central heat,” continued Tish, “but there are heaters in the individual rooms.”

“That’s OK. Our house in Tokyo is traditional Japanese style. It doesn’t have central heat either.”

Tish nodded. “Why don’t you put your stuff down and I’ll show you where the bathroom is.” A moment later they went back out the door and down the hall. Tish was ticking off landmarks: “My room, Thomas’ room, my father’s room.” She paused at a wooden door. “The bath.” She had an enigmatic smile on her face. Ranko, her curiosity piqued, pushed the door open.

The interior of the bath was definitely not nineteenth century New England. Rather, it was a very up-to-date hybrid of a Western and Japanese bathroom. There was a shower and a toilet, but there was also a very large Japanese-style tub. “Daddy had to have a wall moved to make room for the tub.” Tish grinned. “He got addicted to Japanese baths when we lived there.”

Ranko shivered slightly in anticipation; she hadn’t had a proper bath since moving to New York. Her eyes found Tish’s, and a smile spread over her own face.

“Tish?” inquired Ranko softly. There was no response.

She watched her bathing companion in silence. Tish’s head had lolled back against the side of the tub; her eyes were closed, and her mouth was slightly open. She must have been dead tired and crashed while Ranko was rinsing off in the shower. Ranko decided to let her friend sleep for a few minutes and settled herself a little lower in the tub, the hot water lapping at her chin and her thoughts drifting back over the evening.

She’d managed a solid couple of hours of practice on her Vivaldi, sitting in front of the crackling fire in the living room while Tish read a book. In the meantime, Dr. Williams and his son had made pasta for dinner. It had been very good; Tish had told her that Thomas was the best cook in the family, despite his protestations that he and his father were “Iron Chef Frozen Pizza” and “Iron Chef Canned Spaghetti.”

She and Tish had offered to help, but her host had been adamant that the two women should relax after traveling all day; Ranko had chosen to practice as her form of relaxation. In return, they’d volunteered to prepare Thanksgiving dinner the next day. Ranko was looking forward to learning more about traditional American cuisine.

After dinner she’d played her violin a little more, holding the Williams family in thrall with some Paganini caprices and her Bach E major partita—which was still one of her favorite pieces. She and Tish had then gone up to Tish’s room, which hadn’t been part of the quick tour earlier.

Once inside, Ranko had felt like she’d stepped through some kind of teleportation device. Other than the furniture and the house itself, practically everything could have been found in the room of any young Japanese woman. The bookshelves were filled with manga and Japanese novels, plus a few videos; there were stuffed animals, including an enormous Totoro; there were slightly yellowing posters on the walls from the Japan of ten years ago: exhibitions, events, an idol singer Ranko had never heard of. When Ranko had spotted a familiar-looking storage case in a corner, Tish had pulled out her collection of hina matsuri dolls, a complete set of the emperor and his court. When Tish had asked whether she had a set, Ranko had made a noncommittal reply; needless to say, Ranma had never celebrated Girl’s Day. One more lost experience in the girlhood she’d never had.

After Ranko had asked if she had any pictures from her time in Japan, Tish had gotten out her photo album, which had been filled with a long parade of images. Tish at age 5, adorable, the lone black face in a sea of blue smocks and yellow hats. Tish at age 7 with the very same set of dolls she had just seen. Tish at age 8, a skinny full head taller than her two Japanese girlfriends, all three of them dressed in kimonos for a New Year’s shrine visit. Tish with the same two girls, all wearing their standard-issue school backpacks, all flashing peace signs. Tish and friends roller-blading, shopping in Shibuya, in kimonos at a festival. Tish with her classmates at age 12, wearing a junior high school uniform. Ranko had looked for the two friends in that photo but couldn’t find them.

There were pages and pages of photographs that could have been found in the scrapbook of any Japanese girl, with the occasional interlopers: Tish gently cradling her baby brother; Dr. Williams in an Air Force uniform, looking very impressive; a woman Ranko knew instantly must be Tish’s mother—she had that same hungry intelligence in her eyes. She couldn’t help noticing that in the family photos near the end of the album, Tish and her mother never stood next to one another.

Ranko’s curiosity had been fanned to a bright flame by all of this. She had peppered Tish with questions about her life in Japan: her friends, her school, what life had been like for her and her family. Japan was so insular a country in some ways that Ranko was intensely curious about what the society looked like to an outsider like Tish who had been so immersed in it.

Tish had answered the questions, but had grown increasingly distracted; her mind seemed more and more to be elsewhere. Ranko had watched as her body language grew tense, and had decided to back off. Clearly, there were still things that Tish didn’t want to talk about. She’d suggested a nice relaxing bath, and Tish had agreed, her relief obvious.

And so Ranko sat in the tub, watching her sleeping friend, pondering what it could be that still had Tish so upset nine years after the fact. She mulled over her own secret—at least, the one she planned to confess to Tish on this trip. She wondered whether doing so would bring them closer together or push them farther apart; whether it would lead Tish to make her own confessions and, if so, whether that would help or hurt her friend.

She’d thought about telling Tish here in the bath—it was relaxing and private, and they were guaranteed not to be interrupted by the men—but didn’t want to spring the Cat Fist on her the very first night. Thomas was going to visit a friend on Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, and that seemed like a better bet. The issue had been rendered moot by Tish’s early loss of consciousness.

As she watched, Tish’s eyes popped halfway open, and seemed to focus. She looked around, and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. Did I zone out?”

Ranko smiled. “Yes, you looked tired so I let you nap a little.” She paused a moment. “I thought you wanted to speak English on this trip?”

“Huh? But…” replied Tish, still sleepy. “Oh. Right.”

As Ranko watched, the eyelids started to flutter again. She smiled. “Maybe I should help you to go to bed.”

Tish nodded slowly. “Sounds good to me.” Ranko raised an eyebrow.

She climbed out of the tub, shivering, and hurried to fetch two towels. She helped Tish out of the bath and handed her one of them.

As they toweled off, Tish seemed to wake up more completely. “Sorry about that.” She yawned. “I feel like an old lady tonight.”

Ranko giggled at the image. “It’s from sitting on the train all day, I think. I’m tired, too.” Tish nodded, and they both put on their pajamas and bathrobes. Ranko followed Tish out the door and down the hall.

Dr. Williams popped his head out of his room as they passed. “Bath free?” She nodded, and he grinned. “Think I’ll go have a quick soak.” He headed the other way as she smiled.

They paused at the door to Tish’s room. “Thank you for inviting me to your home, Tish.”

Tish yawned again. “You’re welcome. S’fun to have you here. G’night.”

Ranko suppressed a giggle. “Good night.” Tish went inside, and Ranko went to her own room. She considered writing an e-mail to Akane, but decided to wait until the morning. Besides, she’d neglected to ask one of her hosts how to use their Internet connection. Tish had told her they had one, but she had no idea how to set up her computer.

Instead, she turned the heater down, turned off the lights, and slipped under the big down comforter. She took a moment to luxuriate, wiggling her toes and pulling the comforter to her chin; she’d never slept in a bed this cozy.

Sleep came quickly.

Ranko stumbled down the stairs in the pre-dawn light, wearing her sweats, and trying not to wake the rest of the family. She didn’t have anyplace to work out, but she could at least do some yoga, and for that she needed the floor space in the living room. She was still a little groggy, though she’d slept well. Well, except for the dream where she’d been Anne Saotome of Green Gables—with a Jusenkyou curse. The Cuthberts hadn’t minded so much that she was a girl since she could be a boy, too.

She paused at the bottom of the stairs; the kitchen light was on. Someone must have left it on overnight, and she went to turn it off before starting her exercises. She was astonished to find Dr. Williams in his bathrobe and pajamas, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. She blinked and ventured, “Good morning.”

He looked up and smiled. “Good morning. You’re certainly up early.”

Ranko smiled. “I exercise every morning. You’re up early as well.”

Dr. Williams grinned. “It’s the Air Force; it got me in the habit. What kind of exercise?”

“Well, normally martial arts, but there is no room so I’ll do some yoga instead. May I use the living room?” She winked. “I promise I won’t break anything.”

He waved his coffee mug in consent. “Yes, of course. Come join me when you’re done.” He paused a moment. “There’s a health club nearby where I have a membership; I play tennis there. They’re closed today for the holiday, but I can get you in as a guest starting tomorrow if you like. They have a gym where you should have more room to move around.”

Ranko smiled a sunny smile. “Thank you so much, Dr. Williams! That would be very nice.” She inclined her head, then left, and Dr. Williams went back to his newspaper.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he heard a gasp from the entryway—a gasp which sounded like Thomas. He set down his coffee and newspaper and rushed out to see what had happened. When he got to the entryway, he stopped abruptly.

Ranko was in the living room, balanced upside down on one hand, her back arched and her legs in the air in a wide split. Her free arm was held out horizontally, and her head raised; she had a look of intense concentration on her face. That in itself was remarkable, but what was even more remarkable was that she had a very heavy book balanced on each foot, in her free hand, and on top of her head.

She noticed them and looked up, the book on her head not even wiggling. “Oh. Good morning, Thomas! Hi, Dr. Williams!”

Thomas and his father looked at each other, blinked, and turned back to Ranko. “Good morning,” croaked Thomas.

“Please wait a moment,” said Ranko, “I’m done with this exercise.” She sprang off the floor and flipped; the books flew through the air. Dr. Williams cringed…

…until Ranko landed upright on her feet and held out her arms; the books landed in a neat stack in her outstretched hands. “I hope you don’t mind that I used your books. I was extra-careful.”

Dr. Williams reply, if he had any, was cut off by Thomas. “No way. No… fuckin’… way.”

“Thomas!” chided his father, Ranko’s gymnastics momentarily forgotten.

“Sorry.” The boy cleared his throat. “Merciful Heavens!” He clapped his hands to the sides of his face.

Dr. Williams gave him a less than approving look, then turned to Ranko. “Is that part of your normal workout?”

Ranko shook her head as she moved about the room, putting the books back in their places. “Oh, no. My usual workout is much harder. But this exercise is good for balance and muscle tone if you can’t move around like I usually do.”

“Wait a minute,” said Thomas. “That was slacking off? That was taking it easy?” He swallowed. “That was real?”

Ranko blinked. “Umm… yes?”

Dr. Williams had regained his aplomb somewhat. “Tish told me about your skills, but seeing them in action is different from hearing about them.” He paused a moment. “Are you done yet?” he asked tentatively.

“Yes, just about. I’ve done all the yoga positions I know, plus some exercises I worked out with my sister, the martial arts instructor. That was one of them.” She smiled. “I’ll do my regular workout at your club tomorrow morning.”

Thomas and his father exchanged glances. Tomorrow morning, bright and early.

Dr. Williams hesitated. “Tish says you can use your ki…” He had a very hopeful look on his face.

Ranko giggled; Dr. Williams looked like a little boy. “Would you like a demonstration?” He grinned sheepishly and nodded.

“Ki?” asked Thomas. “What’s ‘ki’?”

“This,” said Ranko. She held out her hand, palm up, and concentrated for a moment. A small light flickered into existence, hovering a half an inch or so above her outstretched palm. “It’s a person’s life energy. If you train long enough, you can learn to control it and use it.” She blushed. “I don’t know a lot of ki moves, actually. Once I met… umm, someone who did.” Her eyes took on a faraway look, and her mind was in another world—literally. “He was much better than me, but he didn’t have time to teach me anything before I had to come home. My sister and I have tried to figure out some of the techniques I saw him use, but we haven’t, yet.”

Dr. Williams was staring intently at the little spark in Ranko’s palm. “That’s your life energy? Does it hurt you to use it like that?”

She shook her head. “At this level, no. I could do this for an hour. If I use it to fight, though, I can only do that for a few minutes.”

She concentrated again, and the light in her palm flared, and elongated swiftly into a staff. “Like this.” Both the Williamses were silent, their faces illuminated by the soft, flickering glow of Ranko’s ki staff.

Mindful of the breakables in close proximity, Ranko carefully spun the staff a few times, then planted it upright on the floor in front of her. She ceased her flow of ki, and the staff flickered and disappeared with a soft pop. She blew out her breath and wiped her brow. “You can’t use a technique like that too much, as it will make you tired. But it’s very useful sometimes.”

“…freakin’ awesome…” whispered Thomas.

Ranko rubbed the back of her head, a little embarrassed. “Maybe I should go start my shower. I usually wash my hair after I work out in the morning.”

Dr. Williams switched gears smoothly, from awestruck little boy to gracious host. “Of course, please go ahead. We’ll have breakfast when you get back.”

Ranko nodded and headed up the stairs, Thomas’ eyes following her the whole way. She passed Tish, on her way down, and they exchanged greetings.

Tish walked up to her father and brother. “What’s going on? Why’s everyone standing around?”

Dr. Williams grinned. “Ranko was just giving us a little demonstration of her martial arts skills.” Tish grinned herself.

Thomas was still staring up the stairs. “Y’know, I don’t get it.”

Tish blinked. “Get what?”

Thomas shook his head and folded his arms. “Why did she switch from martial arts to the violin?”

Dr. Williams smiled. “Maybe you should ask her yourself.”

Thomas shook his head again. “No, I mean how can she walk away from that? She’s so awesome!”

Tish frowned. “She’s pretty awesome at the violin, too. You heard her last night.”

“Yeah, she plays the violin pretty well, but I’ve never seen anyone do the kind of things she can do with martial arts. She’s like a real-life superhero! I just don’t get it.”

Tish smiled. “Superhero was the word that came to my mind, too, when I saw her catch that mugger.” She tilted her head and thought for a while. “But you know… I’ve lived with her for three months, and… somehow… being a violinist, sharing her love of music… it fits her personality, who she is.” She frowned slightly. “Now that you mention it, it’s the martial arts that seem odd. I know she enjoys keeping up with it, but it’s hard to imagine her being interested enough to go through all the training she did.” She shook her head. “I wonder how her father got her to do it?”

Ranko smiled as she set the turkey down on the dining room table. “Well, it’s kind of late, but we made it.” Tish set down the covered casserole of stuffing, and they took their seats; that was the last of it. The table was set with white linen and fine china, and covered with wonderful things to eat. They’d nearly wound up having leftover eggplant lasagna for Thanksgiving dinner, because early on she and Tish had discovered that while Thomas had carefully ordered a large, fresh turkey for them, what they had received was in fact a largely frozen turkey, thanks to the market storing it incorrectly. This had led to a somewhat panicky strategy conference involving Thomas, Tish, and Ranko, and they’d decided to go ahead and try to defrost it. That had taken a good couple of hours, with lots of cold water and numb, stinging fingers. They’d had to cook it longer, too.

As a result, they were sitting down to dinner at 8 PM instead of the 5 PM they’d been shooting for. At least it wasn’t leftovers.

Ranko had boggled at the size of the bird. The largest thing she’d ever worked with in Kasumi’s kitchen was a chicken; turkeys were not a staple in Japan. In fact, the only dish that wasn’t strange to her was the steamed broccoli. Still, she’d had a lot fun of learning to cook all these new recipes, and as she ran her eyes over the unfamiliar but colorful dishes, her mouth started to water.

Dr. Williams and Thomas looked quite appreciative as well. “This looks wonderful, ladies. Thank you very much for putting it all together.”

Tish and Ranko smiled at each other. “We thought you guys deserved a break from the kitchen. I did miss cooking with Thomas, but Ranko and I had a blast. She’s a pretty mean cook, as well as being a professional musician and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.” Thomas laughed.

Ranko frowned. “I don’t think I ever leapt over a building… Onto the roof, maybe…”

Tish shook her head. “Never mind.” She laughed. “I’ve never seen anyone chop vegetables and sort cranberries that fast, though.”

Ranko blushed. “I hope it didn’t bother you too much. My sister Kasumi helped teach me to cook, but she gets kind of nervous when I do that.”

“Well, I did think you were starting a food fight at first, but I didn’t mind.” They all laughed.

Dr. Williams cleared his throat. “Shall we?” He bowed his head a moment, as did Thomas; Ranko followed suit out of respect, and whispered “Itadakimasu” under her breath. Tish seemed to be murmuring something as well, though she couldn’t make it out.

Dr. Williams stood and started to carve. Ranko rose partway from her chair. “Dr. Williams, would you like me to do that?”

He laughed. “No, thank you. I’m sure you could do it in the blink of an eye, but I like to do this part myself, since I’m not much use in the kitchen otherwise.” He winked. “Besides, I did go to medical school.”

Tish and Ranko turned slightly green. “Daddy! Now I see where Thomas gets it.”

Dr. Williams’ eyes twinkled. “Sorry.”

In short order Tish’s father had produced a platter of sliced turkey. They all started to serve themselves, passing the various dishes around. Ranko felt compelled to try everything, and her plate was fairly heaped when she was done: turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, broccoli, and more. Though she was ravenous, she started to eat politely, pacing herself.

“It’s great!” enthused Thomas; his father chimed in as well. Ranko had to agree; it was simple food, but very satisfying. Maybe she’d try making this for her family some time after she went home, just for fun. She wondered if it was possible to get a turkey in Nerima, and whether it would fit in a Japanese oven.

Everyone mostly focused on eating for a while, but eventually the conversation started to flow in between bites. “How did your chess games go this afternoon, Dr. Williams?”

Dr. Williams laughed. “Thomas creamed me, as usual.”

Ranko frowned. “‘Creamed’?”

Tish smiled. “Thoroughly defeated, routed, humiliated, embarrassed…”

Dr. Williams cleared his throat. “Thank you, Tish, that will do.”

Ranko grinned. “Do you play chess a lot, Thomas?”

Thomas studied his broccoli intently. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Thomas is president of the chess club at school,” offered Dr. Williams, beaming.

“Dad!” exclaimed Thomas.

“Oh, you must play very well, then,” said Ranko.

“Great. There goes my reputation as a regular dude,” grumbled Thomas. “Yeah, I like to play. I especially like to watch my opponents twist in the wind.” He sent a feral grin his father’s way. “Do you play chess, Ms. Saotome?”

“Please, call me Ranko.” She smiled sheepishly and shook her head. “No, I am not very good at chess or shogi. I really am bad at strategy; I’ve always been a tactical fighter. I… what’s that word?… improvise a lot, but don’t think far ahead. That’s OK for martial arts but not for chess.”

Thomas’ eyes shone. “Could you tell us more about your martial arts? Have you really been training since you were a little girl?”

Ranko’s eyes tightened momentarily. “Yes, since I was about five years old. I trained in my family’s school, which is called… uhh…” she sighed, “Tish, how do you say ‘musabetsu kakutou ryuu’ in English?”

Tish blinked. “Hmm… I’m not sure. Umm… ‘no distinctions fighting style’?”

Thomas laughed. “‘Anything goes’?”

Ranko tilted her head. “Yes, that’s about right. My family’s school is to take advantage of everything, instead of stick to one style. Anyway, my father took me all over Japan and China, where I learned lots of styles. We stayed at many different dojos.” And usually left in the middle of the night…

“It must have been hard on you, being away from your mother,” sympathized Dr. Williams.

Ranko paused for a long moment; she wasn’t sure any words were adequate as a response. “Yes, I missed her alot. When I met her again I didn’t even know I had a mother, or what she looked like.”

Dr. Williams frowned. “Didn’t your father tell you about her? Show you pictures?”

Ranko stopped eating as a familiar twinge pulled at her heart. “Actually… my father ran away without telling her, and took me with him. He didn’t tell me about her at all as I got older.” Her eyes unfocused slightly. “I met her again completely as an accident. I didn’t recognize her, but luckily she recognized me.”

There was a short, melancholy silence. “Ranko, I’m sorry,” apologized Dr. Williams. “I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.”

“No, no, that’s OK,” she assured him, waving a hand. “Really.” She reached to serve herself more stuffing.

“So why’d your dad run away with you?” asked Thomas, momentarily distracted from martial arts.

“Thomas,” chided Dr. Williams, “that’s not an appropriate question.” He turned to Ranko. “Please don’t feel that you have to answer that.”

Ranko released the breath she’d been holding, and finished serving herself. “I would be happier not to discuss that. Thank you.”

Thomas, thwarted, returned to the original topic. “No wonder you’re such a martial arts whiz, if you’ve been training for so long. Can you tell us about some of the things you did?”

Ranko, relieved to no longer have to evade things she really didn’t want to talk about, obliged them by recounting tales from her time on the road with her father. It seemed a lifetime ago, but as her mind drifted back over that time she grew more animated in the retelling. Of course, she left out a lot, like the Cat Fist, and her father’s habit of evading his debts. Dr. Williams was a gracious and relaxing host, the food was delicious, and she grew garrulous. She talked all through dinner, pausing frequently to enjoy the feast.

Tish and her father were fascinated, but Thomas was simply spellbound. He hung on her every word, eagerly asking questions for clarification. Ranko enjoyed the experience; for the first time in years she was able to think back over her time as a homeless wanderer in a positive way. It had been terribly hard, but there had been some bright spots along the way.

After a half hour or so, she reached their visit to Jusenkyou and Joketsuzoku, only mentioning the former as a dangerous training ground where one could fall into a pool and—err—drown. “After that we came home to Japan. My father didn’t want to see my mother again, so we stayed with the Tendou family.” She smiled. “After a few months, my mother found me by accident, and that was the end of my training trip.”

“She must have been furious with your dad,” remarked Tish, poking at her last little bit of cranberry sauce.

“She sure was,” laughed Ranko. “It took a year until they could talk to each other without looking angry.” She sighed. “I don’t think they’ll be in love again, but at least they’re friends again.” That had taken years.

“Anyway, my mother helped me be a… a more normal girl again. I started to make more friends, I settled down and became interested in school, and I fell in love with the violin and my fiancé at about the same time.” She smiled happily.

Thomas sat back from his empty plate and waggled his finger. “I’ve been meaning to ask you this. You have got to be the greatest martial artist I’ve ever seen. You spent twelve years training nonstop… and then you walked away from it. I don’t understand—why?”

Ranko was blushing from the compliments. She thought for a while before responding. “I know what you’re saying.” She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Part of the reason I worked so hard on martial arts was… was so I would please my father. He’s very obsessed about martial arts, and when I was good at it, he praised me. Martial arts was the most important thing in the world for him, and so it was the most important thing for me, too. Nothing else mattered.” She paused a moment, her eyes far away.

She blinked and shook her head. “But once I was with my mother, and my sisters and friends… they didn’t care only about martial arts. They cared about all kind of things. For the first time I thought about what I liked… what I cared about. I decided that I liked martial arts very much, but not like my father does. It wasn’t what I want to spend my life doing.” She smiled again. “When I found the violin, I knew that was the thing I did want to spend my life doing.” Thomas was nodding slowly. “I like martial arts very much… but I love the violin. I could never give it up.”

Thomas smiled. “I guess… yeah, I understand.” He laughed. “Well, at least you have something to fall back on if the violin doesn’t pay well. You could always moonlight in Hong Kong action films—you’re a walking Jackie Chan flick all by yourself.” They all shared a chuckle, though Ranko had no idea what moonlight had to do with anything.

“Y’know,” Thomas said diffidently, a slight frown on his face, “this is gonna sound rude, but… your dad sounds more like he was a drill instructor than a father.”

“Exactly right, Thomas,” chided Tish. “That was rude.”

Ranko laughed. “Actually, I’ve sometimes thought the same thing myself.” She smiled, bemused. “It seems like everything was martial arts. My father was completely focused to training me.”

“Didn’t you do anything else together as parent and child?” asked Dr. Williams, genuinely surprised.

Ranko squinted as she cast her mind back. “Well… no. Not really. The closest was when he would take me to a public bath.” She smiled. “When we did that, he couldn’t really surprise me with some training drill, so I could relax.”

Tish smiled sadly. “That’s not really even ‘together,’ though, is it?”

Ranko blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry… I don’t understand.” She’d spent plenty of time with her father at the bath. It was about the only quiet time they’d ever had together, when he’d actually talk about something other than martial arts.

Tish blinked herself. “I mean, your father was on the men’s side, and you were on the women’s side, right? You couldn’t even talk to each other.”

“Oh… uh, yes, that’s true, I guess.” Ranko paled; she felt a buzzing in her ears, and the pleasant, relaxed feeling she’d been enjoying evaporated, replaced by a queasy anxiety. She’d been so at ease she’d nearly given things away. She shivered slightly, and her body language closed up like a pillbug poked by a stick.

“It sounds like…” started Thomas.

“Thomas, I think we’ve interrogated our guest enough,” interrupted Dr. Williams smoothly. “We should give her a break.” He turned to his daughter. “Tish, I’d love to hear about the play you’re working on.” Tish seemed briefly taken by surprise, but started talking about her current production, and soon waxed enthusiastic.

Ranko barely heard what her roommate was saying for the next few minutes; her mind was busy chasing its own tail. She’d talked about her past before, with people who didn’t know about Ranma, but she’d never come this close to blowing it. The Williamses had made it so easy to talk, and she hadn’t even recognized the danger in what she was saying. If Tish hadn’t unwittingly rescued her, she could have easily painted herself into a corner.

On top of that, she knew Dr. Williams hadn’t changed the subject by accident. He had to have noticed her discomfort. From her prior experience with therapists she was pretty sure he wouldn’t pry, but she wondered what his children would make of all this.

No one was likely to guess her zig-zag gender history from this one incident, but Ranko had a sinking feeling that it was only a matter of time. Back home, even though most of her friends knew about Ranma because of high school, she had friends like Noriko who didn’t.

Noriko, however, was not nearly so acute an observer as the Williamses. And Noriko did not get to hear Ranko talk in her sleep.

End Chapter 5

Thursday, December 22, 2005

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