“In 1966, Father Takakura had to change cooks. A woman named Satsue Yoshiki, who was thirty-five years old, recently cured of tuberculosis, and recently baptized, had been told to report for an interview at the Mukaihara church. Having been given the Japanese name of the priest, she was astonished to be greeted by a big gaijin, a foreigner, dressed in a quilted Japanese gown. His face, which was rounded out and puffy (doubtless from medication), struck her as that of a baby. At once, indeed, there commenced a relationship, soon to blossom into one of complete mutual trust, in which her role seemed to be ambiguous: part daughter, part mother. His growing helplessness kept her in subjugation; she tenderly nursed him. Her cooking was primitive, his temper cranky. He had said he would eat anything, even Japanese noodles, but he was sharp with her about his food, as he had never been with anyone else. Once, he spoke of “strained baked potatoes” his real mother had cooked. She tried to make them. He said, “These are not like my mother’s.” He loved fried prawns and ate them when he went to Hiroshima for checkups. She tried to cook them. He said, “These are burned.” She stood beside him in the tiny room, her hands behind her gripping the doorjamb so tightly that in time its paint was all worn away. Yet he praised her, confined in her, joked with her, apologized to her each time he lost his temper. She thought him—under the shortness, which she attributed to pain—gentle, pure, patient, sweet, humorous, and deeply kind.” (Hersey, 1988, pp. 149-150)
“Could this paragraph be divided into at least two smaller paragraphs? Leave a comment to address this question and explain your position.”
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There are three paragraphs in this passage.
The first paragraph is “In 1966, Father Takakura had to change cooks. A woman named Satsue Yoshiki, who was thirty-five years old, recently cured of tuberculosis, and recently baptized, had been told to report for an interview at the Mukaihara church. Having been given the Japanese name of the priest, she was astonished to be greeted by a big gaijin, a foreigner, dressed in a quilted Japanese gown. His face, which was rounded out and puffy (doubtless from medication), struck her as that of a baby.” It tells us who is the new cook of Father Takakura.
The second paragraph is “At once, indeed, there commenced a relationship, soon to blossom into one of complete mutual trust, in which her role seemed to be ambiguous: part daughter, part mother. His growing helplessness kept her in subjugation; she tenderly nursed him. Her cooking was primitive, his temper cranky. He had said he would eat anything, even Japanese noodles, but he was sharp with her about his food, as he had never been with anyone else.” It talks about the role of the new cook in Father Takakura’s house.
The third paragraph is “Once, he spoke of “strained baked potatoes” his real mother had cooked. She tried to make them. He said, “These are not like my mother’s.” He loved fried prawns and ate them when he went to Hiroshima for checkups. She tried to cook them. He said, “These are burned.” She stood beside him in the tiny room, her hands behind her gripping the doorjamb so tightly that in time its paint was all worn away. Yet he praised her, confined in her, joked with her, apologized to her each time he lost his temper. She thought him—under the shortness, which she attributed to pain—gentle, pure, patient, sweet, humorous, and deeply kind.” It talks about how the new cook tries her best to cook for Father Takakura.
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