“Aysha!” shouted Ben Rosenbaum’s voice, “I’m so glad to have reached you at home. Let’s have dinner. I know it’s a school night, but I know a great place.”
Why had I picked up? “I’m so sorry,” I said, “I can’t go out right now.”
“Oh, well, in that case, maybe I could stop by,” he said. “I was just at a Columbia function, so I’m in your hood.”
Hood? How did he know where I lived? “Maybe some other time,” I said.
Da Ge was listening attentively, even though he continued to stare at the TV.
“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Ben said.
“I’m afraid I’m busy, Ben,” I said, wanting to soften the insult with his name but instantly regretting that I had used it, in case Da Ge made the connection. “I have company,” I added.
He wouldn’t let up. “I’m great in a group,” he said.
“Shoot!” I called into the phone, “I’m burning something on the stove. Let me call you some other time. Thanks for the thought, though!” I hung up.
“You and Ben date?” Da Ge asked.
“Are you joking? I don’t even know him, I—”
“Why does he call you the way he do?”
“What do you mean the way he does?” He caught this correction, even though I felt like it was a freebie since it wasn’t my point. His jaw tightened.
“That’s the first time he’s ever called me, and it’s not like I—” Why was I justifying myself?
“Ben has good English,” Da Ge said.
“Spare me, Da Ge,” I told him. “Xiao Wang has good Chinese.”
“What does that mean?” He was sitting up now, straight.
“Forget it,” I said.
“Let’s study.”
“No,” he said.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Say the truth,” he said.
“Fuck you,” I told him. “I’m supposed to ‘say the truth’ when I know nothing about you? Some loser colleague of mine calls me on the phone and you demand an explanation? There is no truth. Ben wants to go out to dinner with me and I don’t want to go. Are you happy?”
“Tell him we get married,” Da Ge proposed. The chill reclimbed my spine.
“No.”
“Why not?” His voice was thin now.
Mine was pathetic, low, far away. “Because I don’t know whether it’s true.”
At this, he backed off a bit.
“Are we?” I pressed, hearing the speed gather underneath my voice. “Married? Do you want to be my boyfriend? My husband? Should I tell Ben you love me? Do you? Do you want to have a baby with me?”
“Why do you ask me this things?” he shouted.
Because I wanted to know the answers. But before I could say that, he was off the couch, down the hall, and out the door. It was the kind of fight kids have the night before summer camp ends. You have to cut off your friends in anger, or you’ll miss them too much to bear. It’s better to be enemies when you have to leave each other the next day. I just wasn’t in on the secret that Da Ge and I were parting ways.
At the end of my lesson with Teacher Hao today, he showed me his daughter’s college application and essay. “Embarrassed to ask,” he said. I waved my hand at him.
“No, no,” I said, “Ask anything.”
“Maybe you can look these over and also—” He paused.
“I’ll be happy to look. What else? Is there anything else I can do to help?”
“Maybe take Sha Mei to the embassy?”
“Of course.”
Sha Mei’s essay was so penetratingly sweet and confused that I almost regretted having to comment on it. She said that her life had been shaped by books and newspapers because it was difficult for her to travel. But she had been on trains to Kaifeng, where her parents were from, and many times to Tianjin, a port city full of boats and swimmers. She believed that she could widen her perspective in America, and bring back whatever knowledge she gained to China—to help bring glory to her country. I gently fixed the most egregious grammatical glitches and then went to find my mom.
She was in Julia Too’s room, decorating Julia Too, Phoebe, and Lili with makeup for a play they had written, a musical they apparently planned to perform after dinner. Phoebe is as in love with Naomi as Julia Too is, of course. Even Lili finds her irresistible.
When Xiao Wang and Yang Tao arrived, my mother was on her best behavior, delighted that I had agreed to introduce her and Yang Tao. She sized him up politely with questions about his pedigree and his parents. Xiao Wang watched their interaction as if it were a good sitcom, no doubt waiting to tell me later how blunt and nosy Americans are, forgetting that when I met her mother in Jinhong the first time I came to China, her mom asked me immediately why I had no husband, how much money I made in America, and whether she could please set me up with a “more suitable” man than the one I had mistakenly chosen myself.
Dinner took a long, luxurious time. My mom had prepared salmon and a mesclun salad with avocado and grapefruit and sesame seeds. She placed half a teaspoon of salmon on her fork, then set upon it several grains of rice. She was so focused it was if she were building a bridge that might collapse and kill people. Then she picked up her fork-with-gingered-salmon installation and slipped it into her mouth like an actress.
Yang Tao, after watching my mother’s performance art, turned to Julia Too.
“How are rehearsals?” he asked.
Julia Too glanced at Phoebe, who was watching Lili. None of the girls answered.
“Are you still preparing to be professional actresses?” Xiao Wang asked. I was grateful to her for this question, which I took to be a kind of siding with Yang Tao.
“Maybe we’ll go on American Idol when we move back to America,” Phoebe said. They looked at each other, nodded.
“Why not stay here and do a CCTV show?” I asked, joking.
“What is CCTV?” my mother asked.
“CCTV sucks!” Phoebe said. “It’s like the cheesy Chinese version of real TV.” The thought crossed my mind that Yang Tao was the only Chinese guy I’d ever met who knew the word “cheesy.” I wondered if Xiao Wang knew what it meant.
“It’s China Central Television,” Yang Tao told my mother, “and Phoebe’s right. The programming is not so good.”
Julia Too wasn’t chiming in or ganging up, but didn’t rise to his defense, either.
“China’s been around a lot longer than the U.S., guys,” I said, sounding like a TV program myself. “Maybe American things are just cheesy versions of Chinese ones. Like noodles and pizza!” I meant to lighten the tone and spark a fun debate, but Phoebe felt outclassed and attacked, and Julia Too was angry.
“Whatever, Mom,” she said. “If China’s been around so long, how come they don’t even have their own coffee shops or movies or music?” She glanced at Yang Tao. “Maybe ancient culture was so great that China wants to stay back in it.”
I was surprised. Phoebe laughed, but Lili’s eyes widened. She looked nervously over at Xiao Wang, who was carefully watching the interaction but not involving herself. Lili was both enamored of Julia Too—the way Julia Too was of Phoebe—and a bit afraid of the scandalous things Julia Too was willing to say. Lili was a patriot like Xiao Wang, felt loyal, could lip-sync the pop song “I Love Beijing Tiananmen.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Lili said to Julia Too, in Chinese.
Xiao Wang threw me a look of such pride that I had to smile and nod. Frankly I was relieved. Having Lili scold Julia Too was like being in a class in which one of the students gives another the comment you were hoping not to have to make. I guessed Julia Too hadn’t meant the content of her attack anyway—she loves Chinese movies and music. She just wanted to fight. Coffee shops? Since when does Julia Too drink coffee?
“Who wants more salmon or salad?” my mother asked. Xiao Wang said no, thank you, but Yang Tao, winning my mother’s love forever, took the platter and spooned another enormous portion onto his
plate.
“Save room for dessert,” she flirted. “I made a molten chocolate cake.”
Maybe this was the straw that broke something, because Julia Too jumped up and left. Phoebe and Lili glanced around, awkward in their indecision about whether to follow her.
“Don’t worry,” I told them, “We’ll be right back.” I went after Julia Too.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, in her room.
“Nothing,” she said. “There’s just too many people around all the time.”
“I think Yang Tao would love to see your play,” I said. “In fact I know he would. He really likes you. And I like him. Can we work on making this okay?”
“He’s not my dad,” she said, surprising me not with the sentiment but with the presentation. As soon as she’d said it, she added, “That sounds pretty stupid, right?”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I know what you mean.”
I was interested that she could hear how much we sounded like a TV show or play. She was trying on roles, and even her attacks, although often articulate and well positioned to offend, had a childish affect. Julia Too had met other men, but she’d never protested so directly. I wondered if she perceived that there was something different about the way I liked Yang Tao. I wondered if there was something different about it.
“Anyway, of course he’s not your dad. He’s just a friend of mine. We can negotiate ways to make that friendship tolerable for you. This is your house. But just for tonight—can you please give him a chance?”
“I’m not sure I like him,” she said.
“Okay,” I said. “If that stays true, we’ll revisit it. I won’t have people over who make you unhappy.”
She softened. “Can you go back to the table first, please?” she asked. I ruffled her hair and got up. She wanted to save face, to return to the table on her own time.
When she did, she was wearing red devil horns from some Halloween or another, and humming a Christina Aguilera song. Naomi immediately served her the piece of molten cake with the most insides, gazed at her lovingly. I thought of how Julia Too had reunited my mother and Benj, reignited Old Chen’s heart, and saved me from myself. My mom wrapped her arms around Julia Too and kept them there; maybe she was feeling grateful, too.
After dessert we all sat on the couch, and the girls disappeared and then skipped out of the bedroom, stood side by side and began a synchronized dance that looked half like fly girl moves and half like Muppet seizures. Then Lili and Phoebe froze in poses, and Julia Too popped to the front and sang an original Chinglish song that went like this:
You can see that I’m meili (cute)
Ni kan bu dao de shi (but you can’t tell)
I have girl qiang li (power).
I’ll tell you boy, I’ll tell you boy
There’s some things you don’t know.
Ni yikao wo (you lean on me),
Ni xiang xin wo (you trust me).
Ni yaole wo yi kou. (You take a bite out of me)
Let me tell you. Wo gaosu ni. Let me tell you, hey hey.
So what you bite and bu dong wo (misunderstand me)?
I love you anyway.
Hey hey, wo ai ni anyway. Guess what?
Wo ai ni anyway.
Yang Tao and my mother were stunned silent, and Xiao Wang occupied herself with creating an accurate translation for Naomi, showing off her fabulous English, although I had to supply the phrase “girl power.” As soon as she’d heard the translation, my mother leapt off the couch in a standing ovation.
“Who wrote that?” she asked.
Lili and Phoebe rolled their eyes.
“Do you really have to ask?” said Xiao Wang. I was delighted that she felt comfortable enough to tease my mother. “It was your granddaughter, of course!”
“She’s a real feminist,” Yang Tao said.
“I’m not sure,” I said, laughing, “I mean, she ‘loves him anyway.’”
“You guys are losers!” said Julia Too joyfully. “It’s a song, not an English paper!”
“Sing it one more time,” my mom said.
“Yes. Encore, encore!” said Yang Tao. He leaned forward with real anticipation.
Julia Too threw me a grin.
Late in the summer of 1990, after Da Ge’s and my fight, Xiao Wang finally called to invite me out with her and Jin. She was nervous and excited about introducing us. I asked if I could bring Da Ge, hoping we’d be made up by the time dinner took place. Xiao Wang did not like the idea, but agreed to it anyway. I called Da Ge and left messages about where we’d be and when. I didn’t hear from him.
I arrived at Ocean Seafood five minutes early and saw that Xiao Wang and Jin were already seated. They looked as if they had been at the restaurant for weeks, waiting. I looked at my watch defensively, but Xiao Wang stood and put her hand on my arm, showing Jin how close we were. I was distraught that Da Ge wasn’t there.
“Did you hear from Da Ge?” I asked.
“This is my teacher, Aysha,” she said to Jin, who was standing.
“Aysha, This is my husband, Jin.”
“Of course! Hi, Jin, how are you? I mean, welcome to New York.”
He reached his hand out, and I shook it. He wore gray slacks, a white shirt with a label visible on its sleeve, and, to my surprise, a leather belt with a metal Playboy bunny buckle. He was significantly more handsome than I’d expected, thin and strong with a jaw so defined it made his face look like a TV set. His eyes were animated, suggested intelligence and wit. I felt pathologically nervous, as if he were about to interview me for a job.
“So, um,” I said, “Da Ge didn’t call you, huh?”
Xiao Wang shook her head no.
“Jin already orders for us—he gets nice food, I think you’ll like.”
I tried a polite nod in Jin’s direction. Later, Xiao Wang let it slip that Jin had not approved, that he found me too luan, and hutu, chaotic and confused, to be a good influence. I can’t blame him for that impression or for warning Xiao Wang. The fact is, I don’t remember a single moment of our conversation that night, even though Nai Nai’s health had begun falling apart and they must have told me, maybe even talked about it all night. Did I not respond? Did Xiao Wang guess what was happening? That I was pregnant? That Da Ge was gone? She told me months later that that wretched night was when Lili was conceived.
“Maybe because you are pregnant, it’s easier for me to become!” she said.
“But you didn’t even know I was pregnant yet.”
“No matter,” she said, “this is a situation of the body knowing.”
All I knew that night was panic. What I remember is not my pregnancy, the news about Nai Nai, Xiao Wang’s fertility, or Jin’s disapproval. It’s that Da Ge never showed up, and I was frantic because I knew something was terribly wrong.
He never called me about our fight or the dinner he missed. The next day, Wednesday, he was supposed to take his history test. When Xiao Wang called me, it was to say that Nai Nai was bedridden. I couldn’t bring myself to ask her if she knew where Da Ge was. She was crying on the phone. I didn’t know what to say.
I called Da Ge’s and left messages on a machine whose outgoing words I couldn’t understand. I tried apologizing, cajoling, begging, wishing him luck—anything. I said Xiao Wang’s grandmother was sick, that she needed him. I said I needed him. Then I began walking. I walked block after block, uptown disappearing behind me. Exhausted at 42nd Street, I took the subway down to Chinatown. On the train was an ad featuring the Statue of Liberty. The photograph glistened, its water spinning out at me. I studied the city, perched vertically at the edge, while the Statue of Liberty raised her hand, flaming green-gray above the waves. I imagined calling on her in class. “Yes? Ms. Liberty? Do you have a question?”
On Mott Street, video shops were papered with posters of martial arts movies, the heroes’ faces angling up toward cameras, violent and pretty. The planes of Da Ge’s cheek flashed before me, his scar. I walked into a grocery store that reek
ed of roots and antlers. Vegetables I’d never seen were stacked, flanked by shelves of condiments so dark and sweet they looked solid. I touched as many things as I could: rice noodles in plastic packages, zip-locked bags of peppercorns, leafy cabbages. I walked the aisles, breathing in hot oil, peppers, fish, and blood. I wondered if babies can smell and then realized of course not, that there’s no air for them yet. Reeling, I bought some Chinese sesame candy and then walked out as fast as I could.
The air outside was damp with heat that made the street lights sweat and glimmer. Fish vendors stood next to tables covered with melted ice and dead fish. The sidewalk was littered with shaved scales. Makeshift awnings hung from the roofs, flapping lazily every time a humid breeze oozed down Canal. I hailed the first cab I saw, pulled the door open, and climbed into the cold world of leather seat, air freshener, and car light that snapped off when I shut the door. “Where to, Miss?”
“Fifth Avenue and Eleventh, please,” I said.
I cooled in the cab, safe. Chinatown, now out the window, was another world, one where I felt sure I’d never been. I unwrapped a piece of sesame candy and put it in my mouth. The rice paper melted on my tongue, the sugar dissolved and left the seeds, rough against the backs of my teeth. I watched the chaos of the city ride by outside, each frame gone as soon as I’d seen it. Then I closed my eyes, leaned my head back. The driver was listening to Latin music. I wondered whether he knew how to salsa and tried to imagine his hips, swaying back and forth.
At Fifth and 11th I paid him and jumped out, ran up the steps to Dr. Meyers. My mind was racing. As soon as I’d begun to have one thought, a new one chased it away. I thought of chasers. Chases, changes, chances. Words scrolled out in my mind, choices. I couldn’t spell sentences because I couldn’t finish them. Afraid, I told Dr. Meyers I might be in trouble.
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