Letter from Boston
Interesting Encounter
By MASAKO YAMADA
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おもしろい出会い
いつものように地下鉄に乗っていた雅子さんは、電車の中で買い物袋をたくさん抱えた老婦人と知り合いました。婦人の荷物を持ってあげたのをきっかけに会話が始まったのです。最初は相手のおしゃべりに圧倒された雅子さんですが、やがて機知に飛んだ会話を楽しむことに…。
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I was riding the Red Line T home from my salsa lesson and I noticed an
elderly woman sitting in front of me with a lot of shopping bags. As I got off
the Red Line to switch to the Green Line, she asked me whether I'd carry her
bags up the stairs for her. I said, "Sure," and carried her bags. It turned
out that she was heading in the same direction, so I took her bags to the
Green Line T and boarded the train with her.
Once we sat down, I realized that I had gotten a lot more than I had
expected. This woman was not just an old lady who needed physical help. She
was a talkative, vibrant woman who fascinated me with her witty anecdotes
and observations. She reminded me of a friend from college who would change
the topic of conversation every few minutes. It seems to be those with agile
minds, not scatterbrains, that can manage this well.
I was initially bowled over by her chattiness, but she asked me many
questions as well, and listened attentively as I answered. She asked me
whether I was from Boston. I told her that I'm originally from New Jersey, but
that I'd lived in the area for about 6 years. She happily said, "I knew you
weren't from around here! You don't look like you're from Boston." She's a
lifelong native and knows Boston through and through.
When I told her that I had studied at Wellesley as an undergraduate, she
asked me what Wellesley students thought of Hillary Clinton. I answered, "I
think they like her."
She followed, "I can't grasp her. I saw her on the `Rosie O'Donnell
Show' the other day, and she had all the physical gestures down like she
was Rosie's next door neighbor, but you could tell that it wasn't real."
When I countered, "Well, I don't think Wellesley students aspire to be
the typical girl next door ...," she nodded her head vigorously and
said, "Yes, I understand. But I just don't get her. She seems very
shrewd."
Her shopping bags had the name of a popular local health foods store on
them, so I asked her whether she had just gone to that store. She said that
she had gone to another health foods store but that she had brought her own
plastic bags.
I wondered why she had taken an hour-long trip to Cambridge when she lives
across the street from a very nice health foods store, but she explained that
things are cheaper in Cambridge, and she makes a point of going there twice
a week to do her grocery shopping.
When she said that she saves about $2 ( ¥240) per trip, I felt a bit sad. I
think there must be better things to do than spend two hours to save $2.
However, I also thought it was great that she has the desire to shop with
discrimination. She told me that she had found her scarf — with the YSL
insignia — on sale at Filene's Basement. She had just gotten compliments
on her scarf that day, and she was obviously proud to show it off.
I knew that she lived in an area with many recent Russian-Jewish
immigrants, and I asked her about this. She replied that the great
majority of people in her apartment — a government-subsidized apartment
that is managed by a Jewish charity group called B'nai B'rith — are of that
ethnic group.
She said with a mixture of frustration, sympathy and resignation that it
is almost impossible to communicate with them because of the language
barrier, and because of their tendency to engage in their own group
activities. However, it was clear that she was trying very hard to break the
ice.
The train was nearing my stop, but I offered to stay on to help take her
bags up to her apartment. I must admit that I was partly interested in seeing
the place, which she had described in such detail.
When we got there, I was amazed. It was certainly nicer than any graduate
student flat that I'd ever seen. I wanted to know more about how she ended up
there: Did her husband die? Did she have a job? Did it depress her to live
in public housing? But I knew that that would cross an uncrossable line.
Instead, we chatted about benign nothings, such as the wonderful apartment
facilities, and the food that she had just bought at the market.
As I was about to leave, she asked me what my name was, and I asked her.
Judy asked me what it felt like to go to Japan as an American. I told her that
it felt nice. She said with starry eyes, "Oh, if I could ever go to
Japan!" and told me that she'd never been abroad.
Shukan ST: March 26, 1999
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