Good Chinese Wife

by Susan Blumberg-Kason

  “This is wild,” Uncle Jeff mouthed through the voices of two hundred people speaking all at once. Although his real name was Jeffrey, we all called him Budgie. Fifteen months older than Jeff, my mom couldn’t pronounce his name when she was a toddler. It came out as Budgie and had stuck ever since.

  Cai and I moved on, making our way to the seventeen other tables. I took small sips so my flat orange soda would last until we reached the final table, but the heat and the stale, smoky air scratched my throat. About halfway through the toasts, I felt faint and started to see black spots in front of my eyes.

  I pulled on Cai’s shoulder. “I need more soda.”

  He took one look at my lackluster appearance and rushed to the next table, reaching over for a half-empty bottle to refill my cup. A baritone started singing karaoke off in a corner, the melody barely audible. Cai held my arm until we finally returned to our table. The wait staff was in the process of clearing the dishes, but I didn’t mind. I wasn’t hungry in this heat and thick air.

  I thought that maybe now Cai would chat with his sisters about the banquet and this big day, while I slipped off for a few minutes to talk to my family. Looking up, I noticed that people were making a mad dash for the exit. It was as if a fire had broken out in the opposite corner and they were running for their lives.

  “What’s going on?” I asked Cai.

  “It’s over.” He smiled, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Time to go home.”

  In Hong Kong, people also left banquets as soon as they finished the last dish, but I hadn’t realized the same held true for weddings. Although there wasn’t much else to do at the banquet but talk with each other, I was sad it was ending so quickly. I hadn’t had much time to enjoy my own wedding.

  Cai and I returned to his parents’ apartment, where we were to stay for the remainder of our trip in Hidden River. After the banquet, my family returned to their hotel to rest up after the heavy dinner in scorching temperatures. Mama turned on the television while we four rehashed the highlights of the banquet. Baba sounded like a government official when he stated with pride that never before had an American woman married a man from Hidden River, and certainly no American had ever held a wedding banquet in the town, at least to anyone’s recollection.

  “You are míngxīng here,” Mama said proudly. Famous, like a movie star. I did relish the idea of being known to strangers as the only American in Hidden River. It made me feel like a pioneer, like someone special. Just as I started to daydream of people in Hidden River pointing me out as the American bride while I shopped along the main street, Mama and Baba changed gears and started to scrutinize all that had gone wrong. The food was mediocre, the special dishes on my family’s table didn’t look fresh, the air-conditioning didn’t work, and the final bill was too expensive.

  My parents had offered to split the costs, but Mama and Baba knew they had paid thousands of dollars to fly to China and then for hotels and other travel expenses once we left Hidden River. So they gave my parents a figure much lower than half the cost of the banquet. I didn’t want to embarrass Mama and Baba by telling my parents the true cost of the banquet, so I kept quiet.

  But I vowed to myself to help Cai’s parents in any way I could. It wasn’t just because they gave us a wedding banquet; I had also been touched by their support and good blessings ever since Cai told them about me. While they decried some friends for paying less than the standard wedding gift amount, I could feel myself starting to doze off on the living room sofa. I stood up and said, “Time for bed.”

  The three of them nodded good night as they remained sitting and continued their conversation. Even though this afternoon had been extraordinary, now it seemed like any other night in Hidden River.

  Chapter 14

  Visit from “Japanese Father”

  To differentiate my mother and father from his, Cai named our sets of parents. In fact, we had three. Mine were known as American parents. Mama and Baba were our Hidden River parents. And a Japanese professor named Yoshimoto, whom Cai had met in China and gotten to know mainly through weekly letters, was Japanese Father.

  Professor Yoshimoto was a Buddhist scholar from Kyoto in his early sixties. He was estranged from his wife and his adult son, but still spoke to his grown daughter. Yoshimoto could converse in Mandarin and had traveled to the Wuhan Conservatory two summers earlier for a conference on Chinese religious music. It was there that he had met Cai. A couple weeks before my family had arrived in Shanghai for our wedding banquet, Baba walked into the apartment, waving an airmail letter.

  “Yan, it’s for you.”

  Cai glanced quickly at the envelope. “It’s from Japanese Father!”

  “Ay, laotóu hěn cōngmíng. The old man is brilliant,” Mama said, gushing like a schoolgirl. Yoshimoto had visited Cai and his parents in Hidden River the previous summer and clearly left Mama with a strong impression.

  Cai carefully tore one of the short ends of the envelope and pried the letter out like recovered treasure. He pinched his brows together as he read in concentration. When he finished reading, he looked up with a wide grin. “Japanese Father wants to come to our banquet, but is busy that day. He’d like us to change the date.”

  Change the date? Our wedding was planned for July 25. Not only had my family already booked tickets to arrive days before July 25, but my brother Jonathan was only able to get a week off work and had to be back in Washington, DC, by August 1. If we moved the banquet back even two days, Jonathan would miss it.

  “I think we can do that,” Cai declared.

  Mama and Baba smiled and nodded. I could feel my stomach turn into knots. We were not going to shift our wedding date for some guy I didn’t know, especially when my family had arranged their whole summer around our banquet. And who was this Yoshimoto person to ask us to change our date?

  Baba turned to me. “Susan, your family will still be here in early August, right?”

  “My brother won’t.”

  “Nà bù hao.” Baba agreed this new plan wouldn’t work. But Cai and his parents knew Jonathan’s schedule very well. After all, they’d arranged outings for every day of my family’s visit, which included Shanghai, Wuhan, Hidden River, Chongqing, and a river cruise down the Yangtze to see the Three Gorges. Jonathan would leave right before my parents, Budgie, Cai, and I would fly to Chongqing for the river cruise.

  Cai sucked air through his teeth. “I’ll just write him back and say we need to keep the date because Susan’s family has already booked their tickets. He should understand.”

  Crisis averted. Since we were going ahead with our wedding banquet as scheduled, I saw no reason to make a fuss about Yoshimoto’s request to move it. But it was difficult for me to comprehend Cai’s parents’ devotion to Yoshimoto. Baba was born at a time when the Japanese occupied northern China. And Mama was born two years after Japan invaded many other parts of China, two years after the Rape of Nanking.

  The older generation in Hong Kong still held resentment toward the Japanese, so I figured the same age group in China would feel the same or even stronger. Mama and Baba must be very accepting of others, I reasoned. And though Japanese Father wasn’t family, he was an elder and a professor—two Confucian factors that warranted respect. But I still couldn’t get around how Cai and his family were willing, for a moment, to put Yoshimoto’s wishes above my family’s. I couldn’t help but feel like the typical lowly daughter-in-law I’d read about in classical Chinese novels.

  Japanese Father wrote back a few days before Cai and I left Hidden River for Shanghai. He grasped that we couldn’t change our plans, and said he would fly to Wuhan a couple of days after our banquet. We would spend a week in Wuhan and Shanghai with him.

  • • •

  On the day of his arrival, Professor Yoshimoto entered Mama and Baba’s apartment like a timid recluse. With dyed black hair, slicked back and as shiny as a beetle, he conversed in Man
darin with Cai’s parents in short, quick sentences. He barely glanced at my family and me, even though Cai had boasted of the professor’s English proficiency. I figured Yoshimoto wanted to focus his attention on Mama and Baba during his short visit with them. We would get to know one another after leaving Hidden River.

  In Wuhan the following day, which we chose to visit so that Yoshimoto could shop for cheap clothes, Cai booked us rooms in a three-star hotel on a busy intersection in the old Hankou district. For entertainment that evening, he led us to a cocktail lounge on the hotel’s first floor. Cai’s friend and former classmate, Rui, joined us in the lounge. Short and a little plump around the waist, Rui had a kind smile and wavy, permed hair.

  When Cai explained that Rui was planning to study in Kyoto with Professor Yoshimoto, he added that he had been Yoshimoto’s first choice. Cai chose not to follow Yoshimoto to Japan because he’d already committed to study in Hong Kong with Dr. Tsang. Rui was the professor’s second choice and would leave for Kyoto at the end of the summer.

  Our party of eight converged on a table facing a large dance floor. A stage sat on the other side. Soon the lights went out and a thin woman dressed in a tight minidress and stiletto heels sashayed onto the stage to wild applause. She shooed off the emcee, first winking at him and then at the nightclub audience. A karaoke song appeared on the screen behind her, and the woman sang a few words as another rush of applause burst out. Yoshimoto slithered around to look at the singer and sat mesmerized for several minutes.

  Jonathan leaned toward me. “I think that’s a man.”

  “Huh?”

  “Look closer. You can see her Adam’s apple.”

  And there it was. I scrutinized the singer’s body and saw no hips. Her tight calf muscles bulged in the fishnet stockings, and her makeup rivaled that of any drag queen.

  Japanese Father turned his back to the stage and stuck his pointer fingers in his ears like a two-year-old who no longer wished to listen. He sat with tightened lips, staring down at the table.

  Facing the stage, gaping along with the rest of the audience, Cai moved his head to the beat of the Chinese folk song that blared from the speakers while Rui mouthed the lyrics. But Japanese Father continued to sulk with his fingers in his ears. For once, I sympathized with Yoshimoto. He obviously didn’t want to sit through this performance. So I tapped Cai’s shoulder, prompting him to snap around, eyeing me as if I were interrupting a concert at Carnegie Hall.

  “I think Professor Yoshimoto wants to leave,” I screamed, barely audible amid the roar of the audience.

  “Really?” Cai turned his head to see Japanese Father with his fingers plugged in his ears.

  I leaned into Cai’s ear. “He thinks it’s too loud. We should leave.”

  “Rui and I will take him back to his room,” Cai shouted to me above the cheering.

  I rose to join them, but Cai held up his hand. “You stay with your family. I’ll meet you back in the room later.”

  Given his nightly chats with his Wuhan professors, I wasn’t surprised when Cai returned just after midnight, stirring me from a light sleep as he turned on a small lamp and headed toward the bathroom to take a shower.

  “Japanese Father wanted to do some chatting.” Cai spoke in English as he climbed into bed five minutes later. “He likes the quiet environment.”

  Just as Cai settled into bed, the phone rang. In my head I cursed Yoshimoto. Could he not give us one evening of peace? I imagined he was calling with some urgent message for Cai that couldn’t wait until the morning. Or perhaps he suddenly wanted to go out for a midnight snack. It must be Yoshimoto, because after Cai answered the phone, he spoke in a familiar way, as though he knew the person on the other end. I turned my head and tried to fall asleep, but Cai was wide awake, as energetic as if it were noon and not midnight.

  “She’s right here,” he said in Chinese, “right next to me.” He giggled and tsk-tsked the way mainland Chinese do to show endearment.

  “It’s true,” Cai playfully chided, as if Yoshimoto didn’t believe I was in the room, in the same bed. Where did the professor think I was? And why was Cai acting so flirtatious?

  But then something clicked.

  Cai wasn’t speaking in Mandarin. He was using the Wuhan dialect. Yoshimoto spoke decent Mandarin, but I could bet money he didn’t know Wuhàn huà.

  So who was on the other end of the conversation?

  “Yes, she’s American,” I heard Cai say when I started paying attention again. “Do you want to talk to her?”

  Cai nodded at me, as if I was in on the joke with this mystery person. His relaxed eyes told me not to worry, that everything was under control. He giggled and tsked-tsked for five more minutes. When he finally hung up, Cai exhaled loudly and leaned back into the headboard as if he’d just won an evening of high-stakes poker.

  “Haowán.” That was really fun.

  “Who was that?” Had Rui called him from home to play some kind of joke? Or was it an old girlfriend? It certainly couldn’t be his ex-wife, Wei Ling, could it? I was utterly confused and couldn’t imagine who would know we were staying at this hotel besides my family, Rui, and Yoshimoto.

  “Jìnü,” Cai said, as if it was someone we both knew.

  “A prostitute?”

  Cai nodded as he fluffed his pillow.

  “Why would a hooker call our room? Do you know her?” And why had Cai spoken to her in such a familiar manner?

  “Of course not.” He sounded as if I was the one who had just crossed a boundary. “They all call from the hotel lobby. This is China.”

  This was certainly a custom I’d never heard of before (nor had we experienced it in previous Chinese hotels). “Why did you talk to her for so long? No wait, why did you talk to her at all?”

  “It’s funny.” He sighed joyfully and turned off the light.

  I didn’t know what was so fun about talking to a prostitute he had no intention of meeting. Had he spoken to hookers before? Had he been with a prostitute? Was that the reason he was afraid of HIV/AIDS? I knew I might be being paranoid, but the thoughts had to cross my mind. Before I could ask anything further, though, I heard gentle snoring.

  Porn was one thing, but talking to a prostitute was definitely unacceptable for a married man. Or was I being too prudish in worrying about an innocent phone call? I had to close my eyes to keep my head from spinning. When I met my family the next morning, I knew I could not tell them about this phone call. If I did, I knew they would develop a bad impression of Cai. It was one more thing that I had to keep inside.

  • • •

  The next morning, I woke with a start to what seemed like the sound of running water. Groggy, I squinted at the clock. A few minutes past 6:00 a.m. It was then that I realized Cai wasn’t beside me. He must be in the bathroom. But why so early? He couldn’t have slept for more than six hours. Just then, he reappeared, full of energy and dressed in his button-down shirt and black khakis.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  His eyes showed his surprise. “I didn’t know you were awake.”

  “Well, I am now.”

  “Japanese Father gets up early. He wants to meet for breakfast.”

  “Now? It’s only six.”

  “That’s okay. You sleep and meet parents, Jonathan, and Uncle at nine. I’ll take Japanese Father to do shopping after breakfast. We’ll meet you later.” Once my family arrived in China, Cai started speaking in English. Now that we were alone, he continued to speak in my native tongue and would use English in most of our conversations from that point on. When I stopped to ask him why he rarely spoke in Chinese with me, he said he wanted to practice his English for future trips to the United States and for interactions with people in Hong Kong who didn’t speak Mandarin.

  I sat up. I didn’t know whether to be more upset that Cai was going off alone with Yoshimoto or that he’
d meant to sneak out while I was sleeping without telling me his plans. And why couldn’t Rui take Yoshimoto out this early? He was the one who would soon be the professor’s student. But I feared another confrontation so I only asked, “Where should we meet?”

  Cai sat on the bed next to me and caressed my legs over the covers. “Sorry, but Japanese Father has his own ways. Can you just take parents, Uncle, and Jonathan to the sights?”

  I suddenly felt petty for wanting Cai to stay with my family and me. Yoshimoto was only in China for a week and depended on Cai to get around, even though he could speak Mandarin and read Chinese characters. I figured this would be the first and last time I’d ever see Yoshimoto. They could have their time together.

  “Let’s meet back at the hotel for dinner at six o’clock,” Cai said, slowly standing up.

  “Sure.” I smiled.

  “Oh, by the way, Japanese Father and I were talking last night after Rui went home,” he chirped. “He thinks it’s not good for the health to have sex relations more than once a week.”

  “What?”

  “Japanese Father says—”

  “I heard what you said,” I snapped. “Why’s he telling you this?”

  “He just wants to help,” Cai replied defensively.

  “Help with what? I didn’t think there was a problem.”

  “Of course there’s not a problem,” he barked. “Since I’m a scholar, he thinks I should concentrate on my research and not use all my energy on other things.”

  “I’ve never heard of that. Besides, it’s none of his business.”

  Cai nodded as if in agreement before leaving the room. I tried to fall back asleep but couldn’t get this bizarre conversation out of my mind. Cai’s relationship with his Wuhan professors was weird enough, but now Yoshimoto was distributing sex advice. In Hong Kong, Cai was adamant about keeping our private life to ourselves. So why did he think it normal and even appropriate to discuss it with someone who was little more than a pen pal? And how had this conversation with Yoshimoto even come up?