Read Less Than Human for Free Online Page B

here, he regressed into a spoiled Japanese boy.
     It infuriated her.
    “Have a glass of tea first. We don’t stand on ceremony here.” Yoshiko laughed without humor and began slicing beans.
    Eleanor drank some cold barley tea and still felt hot. An old electric fan purred in the corner. The usual kitchen table mess
     had been pushed to one side to make way for the food. Yoshiko always complained about the table, saying she couldn’t keep
     it tidy because everyone else dumped their things on it. Just then it held a saltshaker, two pickle containers, rubber bands,
     chopsticks standing in a cup, a rolled-up newspaper, Grandma’s medicine cup, a piece of carrot on some wet cotton wool, many
     small plastic packs of mustard that came with ready-made dumplings, and a jar of red, squishy-looking ovals. In her more whimsical
     moods, Eleanor visualized the table as a symbol of the dingy chaos she’d moved to the Betta to get away from.
    “There’s an apron in the second drawer down,” said Yoshiko, neatly lifting the sliced beans with the flat of the cleaver to
     a different location.
    “No, thank you.” Eleanor shuddered at the thought of more layers of cloth between herself and the fan. In the Betta and the
     train she’d been cold in her thin blouse; now it felt like a blanket.
    “Grandma and Papa,” said Yoshiko, referring to her mother and own husband, Kazu, “have gone to do the graves. They’ll be back
     soon.”
    During the two weeks of Bon most Japanese families cleaned up their family gravestones and presented fresh flowers and offerings
     to the departed, whose souls would visit at that time. Many city dwellers returned to their hometowns, or their family’s hometowns,
     for the festival. The post-Quake Seikai reforms tried to get each part of the country to do so at different times, to avoid
     traffic congestion and confusion, but it never caught on, not even at the urging of the Buddhist clergy. Some customs were
     too old to change.
    “Can you slice this carrot? Small, please.” Yoshiko passed Eleanor pieces of cooked vegetable and peered critically over her
     shoulder. “You know, for someone who’s good at repairing things, you’re not very dexterous, are you?”
    Eleanor half-smiled automatically. “No, not very.” Five or six years earlier she might have made a lighthearted comment about
     not criticizing a person holding a cleaver, or perhaps tried a joke about it being hard to repair robots with a knife. But
     Yoshiko never smiled.
    Eleanor scraped her clumsy carrots into another bowl.
    Yoshiko emptied the contents of all the little bowls one by one onto the mound of sushi rice and mixed it together. She seemed
     more flustered than usual—she dropped a couple of peas and didn’t notice.
    “Mari-chan’s here for the day,” she said, with a quick glance at Eleanor’s face.
    So that was the problem. Yoshiko had never liked the way her daughter enjoyed Eleanor’s company.
    “She can’t stay, she’s got summer classes next week.”
    I bet she’s working, and doesn’t want Mum and Dad to know, thought Eleanor. Mari was smart enough to pass all her courses
     without the need for extra classes.
    Yoshiko mounded the sushi rice with unnecessary vigor. “While she’s here, Eleanor-san, I’ve got some important things to discuss
     with her.” She kept her eyes on the rice.
    So don’t butt in, you mean, Eleanor thought. “Yoshikosan, I haven’t seen Mari-chan since last New Year. We don’t have much
     to talk about anymore.”
    She had a swift, vivid memory of an overweight ten-year-old lying on her stomach on the fluffy pink carpet of her room, pages
     of her latest effort at drawing manga strewn around her. Face glowing with achievement, she read the pages aloud to Eleanor,
     who had been glad to listen and escape the minefield of family relationships that at holiday times extended to dozens of people.
     Eleanor had also solved problems with computer games for her niece, and