From a Town on the Hudson Read Online Free Page B

officers generally were people to be trusted. American police officers, however, seemed stern, tough, and willing to fire their guns, like the police in old American TV dramas like "The Untouchables."
    They also didn't seem the type to be patient about listening to our poor English. So we waited with resignation for the police car to appear in the public parking lot while trying to think of several English words that might be required. When we saw that the police car was coming, Kiyoko nudged me since I was older than her, and asked me to talk to the police officer.
    As I expected, the policeman, who appeared to be in his early fifties, and I, a Japanese woman, couldn't understand each other very easily. It was not because he wasn't patient but because I couldn't speak English well. The honest-looking man strained his ears to catch my words when I explained the situation to him. Then he tilted his head and blinked his eyes. Kiyoko and I held our breath as we waited for his words. Then we alternated between relief and disappointment as he responded. We at least understood that we could pay the fine at the Borough Hall, but we didn't know where it was. We shot imploring glances at the gentleman. "Well..." The next moment he started making elaborate gestures as he explained the location. However, the more gestures he made, the farther the Borough Hall seemed to be. An embarrassed atmosphere prevailed among the three of us. At last he seemed to give up as he looked at our frustrated expressions. He promptly got out of the car and opened the door for us. He was so kind that he would take us to the distant destination, I thought. When I made an apology, he said, "It's a piece of cake, ma'am." It was three months later that Kiyoko and I learned the meaning of the idiom "a piece of cake" at the English conversation class in Fort Lee's adult school.
    For the first time, we rode in a police car. There was a metal grille on the back of the front seat, probably for protecting police officers from criminals. I could smell something. I regretted my actions a bit because I felt I might have acted hastily at that moment. We two Japanese wives, thirty-two and thirty-nine, sat down on the hard seat meant for criminals, looking at each other awkwardly. He started the car. Kiyoko apologized for troubling him. "No problem, ma'am," he answered through the grille. Kiyoko asked me, "Do you think we will be back in time to pick up the children?" Because I didn't want to ask the police officer such a bothersome question, I answered, "I think so." As we prepared ourselves for the long drive ahead, the car stopped suddenly. "Here we are, ma'am." When the police officer pointed in the direction we had to go, I realized that we had arrived at the Borough Hall. When I heard him say "Take care, and have a nice day, ma'am," I noticed the three of us had only crossed Center Avenue from the public parking lot. It was a ten-second drive. Kiyoko and I entered the building with a blank look on our faces.
    "Three dollars!" a clerk at a window of the Parking Authority said bluntly. All the confusion Kiyoko and I had had was just about to go away with three one-dollar bills. We paid half and half, suppressing our laughter in the presence of the clerk, who gave us a suspicious look. When my friend and I left the building, I remembered that the police officer had never fired his gun. Walking to the parking lot, I came to feel as if I would be able to flourish in this host country.

IN OCTOBER 1985, our family was spending our first autumn in Fort Lee, New Jersey. There were a great many big trees in the town. A lot of leaves fell that season. In the beginning, I raked them as I used to do, remembering our home in Japan.
    In 1979 our family owned a house in Japan. It was not a big house with a large garden like those in the United States, however. We planted about twenty trees in our small garden. They were small trees, as tall as a person, but most of them were