by Sanmao
Now, as luck would have it, you’ve been forced to take up residence in your enemy’s home. (She has a grudge against you. She won’t tell you this. You’ll have to confirm your suspicions and carefully find proof.)
You were the first to do harm. Now don’t be careless when it comes to your defence. There are all kinds of ways to trap the authorities.
If your imaginary enemy is a stupid person, she’ll toss a large vase at you as soon as you enter the door. You’ll be a bloody mess. That’ll play right into your hands. You can run out the door and escape – he who fights and runs away may live to fight another day – but the original sin will still be on you. If you have a conscience, then there is no need to report her for injuring you – if you think otherwise, your knowledge of this world is truly laughable indeed!
Unfortunately, my imaginary enemy is completely unlike this. She’s taking the high road, not hitting or yelling. This is even more frightening. I see that she’s crossed way more bridges than I’ve ever walked roads. I’ll have to think carefully back to The Art of War, Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Water Margin, Dream of the Red Chamber, Journey to the West… These great books can provide you with some ideas. Tome of the Filial Daughter and Master Zhu’s Maxims for the Home might have the opposite effect, but flip through them when you have the need. One can learn much from historical precedence on the art of dealing with mothers-in-law.
During my stay at my mother-in-law’s house, I never forget that the person I am facing harbours immense hatred for me. Don’t relax your imagination. Keep this firmly in mind. (I’ve got some brains yet, heh heh!)
As a guest in your mother-in-law’s house, don’t let yourself be a defenceless city. Even as a guest, do not forget: you are still the daughter-in-law.
In the morning, when you hear Mother getting out of bed and going to shower, you must immediately get up, too. After putting on clothes and make-up and freshening up, don’t let the enemy snatch up the dishrag and broom. Best to strike pre-emptively and grab the goods. You must complete the chores of household cleaning to absolute perfection. (Don’t let the enemy catch any little mistakes!)
So, in my mother-in-law’s house, I display warmth and affection to my all my in-laws. But my true essence is often revealed to José. When I’m alone in the bathroom, I warn myself frequently and quietly: Don’t scold José, he belongs to her now, if you scold him, she’ll hit you. This is no secret. Even children understand this logic.
Alright. Maybe you’ll listen to me and not scold your husband in front of his mother to avoid a beating. If you’ve listened too closely, you’ll think, Fine, I’ll be very sweet to her son. I love him too, after all! Maybe this way I can make peace with the imaginary enemy.
You’re a product of the times. May I please ask how you plan to express your so-called sweetness? Have you ever thought that the sight of you lying in natural repose, watching television next to your husband, is already offensive to your mother-in-law’s sense of decency?
Furthermore, have you seen your mother-in-law eating cake while sitting on your father-in-law’s knees? Of course not, right? So, of course, I wouldn’t go and sit in José’s lap in front of my mother-in-law. And I most certainly would not kiss him. That would be a capital offence.
Don’t even bother watching television. When movies come on in the afternoon, you can go straight to the kitchen and take on those greasy pots and pans and knives and forks and cups. This would be best. Should you emerge from the kitchen after long hours of toil, you’ll find your father-in-law asleep, the siblings out, mother-in-law talking to her beloved son in the TV room. You walk in awkwardly, sit down silently. Your mother-in-law doesn’t so much as glance at you. Quietly, you move closer to your husband, wanting to join the conversation. But he suddenly seems annoyed by you. After this small evasion, if you’re sensitive, you’ll realise that you have leprosy!
Don’t get too upset. Sandwiching your beloved husband between you and the enemy will really make him suffer. You should walk away. No matter how evil-hearted you are, sometimes you must be fair and reasonable. (Occasional moments like this won’t hurt your vitality.)
Even though you don’t have anybody to talk to, you must pay attention. Maybe you get up at seven in the morning to follow after the enemy, tidying up, making beds, buying groceries, chopping and cleaning in the kitchen, serving lunch, bringing out plates, then washing the whole big batch of pots and pans. Maybe you’re getting used to being the Second Little Sister of the house. You’ll get tired and want to take a nap like your father-in-law, but wouldn’t that be too dangerous if your enemy has her eyes open and you have them shut? I implore you not to be tempted by small gains. Go to the back balcony instead, take down the dry clothes. Find the ironing board and iron the pretty Little Sister’s jeans in the kitchen. She’s dating boys and studying at the same time. Don’t give her more work to do.
The imaginary enemy is your most dangerous enemy. Whether she sees good or ill in your marriage, she has a major influence on all of it. (Is there a son in this world who doesn’t love his mother?) She has a mother–son love complex. Your husband (and my husband is the same) has an Oedipus complex. This is a naturally occurring principle of the world. If you refuse to understand and want man to conquer nature, then please go and ask the great master psychologist Freud. The consequences are sure to be disastrous. Even though I’ve practised a little hypnotism myself, there is no treatment for this malady.
Maybe after you finish the ironing it’s already sunset and lights are coming on all around. You’ve lived in the desert for so long. Perhaps you might enjoy diving into the bustle of the city, frolicking with all its splendid men and women, watching neon lights flicker and tasting once more the sorrows and joys of civilisation.
You can give it a shot. Ask, ‘Can I go out for a walk with José?’
Mother might answer, ‘Didn’t you already go out this morning? Where else are you off to?’
Don’t get pouty and talk back. This morning was to buy groceries with you. It doesn’t count. By all means, you mustn’t go crazy, slip on your coat and escape for an all-nighter because you didn’t get permission.
Respect the enemy. Reduce your conflicts as much as possible. This is the key factor to keep you from stumbling. At the end of the day, you’re still a featherweight scarecrow.
Christmas finally arrives. Three days before, Mother calculated how many people would be coming over: Father, Mother, five daughters, three sons, four sons-in-law, one daughter-in-law, two family friends, Uncle and Auntie, cousins, Eldest Bro’s foreign girlfriend, Little Sister’s French teacher, fourteen thrashing, shrieking, flailing grandchildren… Altogether a blissful family of thirty-seven.
It’s the newcomer’s turn to make Christmas dinner this year. We want sweet and sour pork and chop suey and Kung Pao chicken. . .
Everybody at the family meeting raises their hand with a great cheer to pass this motion. My heart thuds so hard, it almost bursts out of my chest. I glance at José, whose head is buried in a detective novel. He might as well have plugs in his ears. He might as well be blind.
Only in this moment do you realise that your beloved husband is like Jesus’s disciple Peter and will thrice deny you before the rooster crows.
On 23 December, you get up early and take three baskets and a small trailer to buy enough food for a battalion. You poke your head around to see what Mother’s doing. She’s kneeling on the ground, scrubbing away at an enormous array of special silverware. You turn to go and find Little Sister. She’s always with her boyfriend in the morning and going to class in the afternoon.
Under the pretence of changing into boots, you creep into the bedroom. You raise your head to glance at your beloved husband. (Still curled up in bed.)
‘Can you come help carry groceries?’
Right at that moment, Mother walks in and your husband’s name becomes Peter. He answers loudly, ‘Go by yourself. Men don’t go to the market.’ (The second denial of Peter.)
Don’t hate him for it. How he can be your slave in front of his mother’s face?
You start striding towards the vegetable market alone, unable to keep your hands in your pockets as you usually do, the empty baskets jostling uncomfortably against you. But, let me tell you, no matter how awkward you feel, you must keep your head high and back straight. This way, a certain warm and salty liquid will flow down into your stomach rather than ruin your beautiful eye make-up.
So, the fact of the matter is, maybe you’ve lost, but this round of bets isn’t over yet. Until you reach the end, you won’t know who’s won. A critical point – don’t lose heart!
It’s Christmas Eve. You wake up early in the morning. Mother is already away getting her hair done. Father is taking a walk, as usual. Little Sis is meeting her boyfriend, Eldest Bro has gone sledging. Second Bro is God knows where. José is meeting his former classmate. The house is totally deserted.
The other good folks won’t be back until they drag their sons and daughters home for family merriment in the evening. Hmm, you think. What a great opportunity. If you don’t abscond now, then when? I’ll go to the department store and buy myself some nice new clothes in a stroke of vanity.
No need to run. You’re forgetting that you are the mainstay of this evening. Christmas dinner for thirty-seven, and they want you to make it happen with two large saucepans. You roar with laughter. How often do you get such an amazing opportunity to show off your authority to your imaginary enemy? You are not the weak one. You aren’t any less capable than her. This is the perfect chance to kill your mother-in-law’s spirit and boost your own prestige. If you don’t attack now, then when?
Don’t think you can’t summon the strength to cut through these mountains of meat. Don’t let that broken ankle from four months ago get in your way either. Use great wisdom and tell yourself: weakness of the flesh is temporary, triumph of the spirit is forever…
To raise another example, perhaps your physical strength is already like ‘the boundless forest shedding its leaves shower by shower.’ But your will happens to be ‘the endless river rolling its waves hour after hour.’5
If you want to be annoying and ask yourself repeatedly, Why me, why do I have to? then you, scarecrow, are truly a hollow bag of straw. Why? For your own good. But I don’t want to eat that much meat. Let me tell you again. You’re just making this much and you won’t have to eat it all yourself. The benefits are yet to come.
Every man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost. Christmas is just once a year. When you return to your own home in the desert, you’ll have to revert to something completely different and show more love and respect to your good husband. You won’t lose anything in this business! (Remember Dream of the Red Chamber. Who married Jia Baoyu in the end? Don’t take after Miss Lin any more. She’s lovable and sympathetic but ultimately ends up nowhere good!)
Silent night, holy night. The great feast finally reaches the table, one course after another. Thirty-six people gathered together, eating in boundless happiness. As someone new, you’ve been forgotten, of course. What’s so bad about that? For once the imaginary enemy isn’t studying you with great urgency. You also don’t need to track her every move. Perfect time to relax your nerves. Sprinkle soy sauce, white sugar and garlic everywhere. Doesn’t it feel like going back to those happy times of home-made mischief?
Only when they open the champagne in the antechamber do you manage to squeeze into the crowd. You wipe the grease from your hands and take a big gulp from José’s cup. He won’t notice you’re there next to him, of course. (Don’t worry. The Bible says Peter had to deny thrice. His conscience came back after the roosters crowed and he left, covering his sobs. At the time, Jesus only looked at him with love and affection and didn’t say a word of accusation. So you shouldn’t curse either. José will go out and cry, naturally. It is not that he will not come around; the hour has not arrived.)
After looking all over the place, dear Father nabs the new daughter-in-law from her corner by the wall, hugging and kissing her. In front of everyone, he cries, ‘Long live the cook! Long may she live!’
Don’t get carried away and start declaring this yourself. Mother has been toiling her entire life and Father hasn’t given her a single word of praise. Today he praises you because he is showing his humanity, but also as a stratagem. You better back away wisely, clean up the plates and dishes and return to the kitchen to make yourself scarce. Don’t get giddy with the rest of them and go dancing around the living room. Mother is still cleaning the table and chairs. She’s also tired. You have even more reason to see this through all the way. Don’t let her snatch away both credit and labour at this hour. (Don’t forget that an Aries girl like yourself is predatory by nature.)
To deal with your heavyweight imaginary enemy, you must kill her with kindness. Don’t dash your eggs on a rock.
Silent night! Let me sleep peacefully for once! This scarecrow is so exhausted, her hay is coming loose one sheaf at a time. You close your eyes, counting sheep one by one in the ice-cold dishwater. O beloved and cherished desert, how I want to go home to you soon!
People disperse as the music ends. I wipe my hands and come out to say goodbye to the married older sisters.
‘You two must come over to see our new swimming pool,’ says the husband of one of José’s sisters. ‘José said he can come tomorrow with Mamá and Papá.’ (A swimming pool in the winter?)
‘Tomorrow? I. . . I made plans with a few friends,’ I reply quickly. ‘We used to be room-mates. I have to see them.’
‘This won’t do,’ another sister interjects. ‘This won’t do at all. You won’t even come once to their home? Why don’t you make some calls and drop your other plans?’
‘Alright, that’s enough. We’ll take turns. The whole lot of us can see them on separate days. We want to learn how to cook Chinese food.’
‘I. . . José, aren’t we going back to the desert on the twenty-sixth?’
‘Ha! This old dog has already helped you pull off the perfect deception. José has a really bad cold. The doctor’s note is here. Heh heh, you two can bask in your freedom until January the sixth.’
You know that Uncle and Auntie have traditional values regarding contact between men and women. If you fall into the pool, he won’t rescue you. You turn quickly to look for José, your eyes crying out Help!
The horror of split personalities. Peter refuses to look at you again. (The roosters are almost about to crow. You’ve already denied thrice. Why aren’t you leaving to go and sob? Oh, Peter!)
The imaginary enemy smiles sweetly at you. Don’t go out and sob in Peter’s place. You have to reciprocate and beam back at her.
After so much talking and struggling, you’re weary. You can no longer struggle. It’s time for peace talks. No more bashing your head against the wall.
This large family keeps eleven modern cars of all different colours in its garage. But on all the home visits to come, you still tag along with José, threading above ground and underground like city rats. Every day you undercut the restaurants of your countrymen. Today it’s catering for Second Sister’s family. Tomorrow, a buffet for Auntie’s family. Your copy of Yuanshan’s Cookery is almost worn to pieces.
Maybe you return to the home of your imaginary enemy by night, amid the ice and snow. You look at your two hands, so coarse now, and have an urge to pinch your husband to death. You throw yourself at him, preparing to attack. (Don’t forget to lock the door to your bedroom first.) But your José’s movements are quicker than yours. ‘What are you doing?’ he hisses.
‘I’m going crazy. Ever since I got to your home, I’ve lost myself and I’ve lost you. All I have is a bunch of enemies that I’ve dreamed up. I struggle and struggle, I’m going crazy from exhaustion. . .’
‘They all love you so much, even more than I’d imagined. And you’re still not happy? Don’t you see how they eat your gruel every day and don’t ever complain? Now you want to repay them in this way. Wha
t a thoughtless woman you are.’
Fine. You don’t need to be like the wife in Mad Woman. Turn out the lights, take a Valium, set your alarm. Cover up these few dry hay-stalks of yours and go to sleep. In your dreams, there will be a river of tears on which you can float all the way home to the desert.
(Peter, Peter, don’t forget. You’ll be taking down the cruelly crucified later.)
Only a few days after Christmas does the imaginary enemy go out and buy a gift for you. You won’t lose to her. She’s been using the large, colourful bedspread you brought her from the desert for a while now. (Ha! You had the forethought to strike pre-emptively.)
The holy object she presents you with happens to be a thick volume entitled Encyclopedia of Spanish Recipes for Every Season.
Don’t forget your foreign etiquette. After you open the present in front of her, you must immediately gasp in amazement and appreciation and cluck your thanks. Your enemy will smile sweetly and say, ‘Come and thank Mother with a kiss.’ Don’t hesitate. Go and give her a firm kiss on the cheek. (Good thing you don’t wear lipstick. You won’t leave a bloodstain mark.)
‘You should learn how to cook some Western cuisine. José is too skinny. You must feed him food from his homeland on a proper schedule.’ (Food of the homeland, for us, means camel meat.)
The new year passes. The beautiful coming Sunday happens to be 6 January. Don’t be too naive and ruffle your feathers against the birdcage before you’re entirely out of it. The imaginary enemy is neither old nor deaf.
Seeing the imaginary enemy grow sadder with every passing day, I wish I could turn invisible. I don’t want her to see me; I’d rather not open up this abduction case again for her to settle accounts.
Long ago, her son could have chosen not to leave the nest at such a young age. It was me, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, who abducted him and brought him to this land beyond time, gravely injuring the old bird’s heart.