Good Chinese Wife

by Susan Blumberg-Kason

  “What do you know about her?” I asked.

  He looked up from the paper. “The neighbors’ friends send their kids there. They say it’s a little cold in the winter.”

  “Why is it cold?”

  “I guess the basement doesn’t have heat.”

  “That doesn’t sound good. I don’t want Jake to be cold all winter.”

  “It doesn’t get that cold here. We can just put more clothes on him.”

  I supposed we couldn’t lose anything by just looking at the day care. “Do you have her number? I’ll call to make an appointment.”

  “I’ll call.” He continued reading the paper.

  The following week, Cai, my parents, and I walked with Jake in his stroller to Mrs. Lim’s house on the other side of San Bruno. When we rang the doorbell, a girl no older than five answered.

  I peered over her head, expecting to encounter Mrs. Lim. But all I saw was a younger boy wandering to the front door.

  “Is Mrs. Lim here?”

  “Yes.” The girl opened the door.

  We followed her to the back, through the basement, and found ourselves in a dark room where several kids sat in front of a TV. The open back door led to a spacious yard. Mrs. Lim came in from the outside, while a middle-aged man stood before several preschool-aged children riding tricycles on naked concrete surrounded by shrubbery sprouting like patches of fur on a mangy dog.

  Mrs. Lim nodded her head and shook my hand like a limp fish. She spoke to Cai in Cantonese.

  I tapped Cai’s shoulder as Mrs. Lim led us outside. “Does she speak English or Mandarin?”

  “I’ll ask.”

  The setting sun cast a red stream of light on a small puddle near some of the shrubbery. Three industrial-sized paint buckets stood near a layer of wooden planks covering a hole in the cement. Several nails sprouted from the wood, their points facing the sky. As the tricyclists neared the planks, I winced, hoping the kids wouldn’t stumble on a stray rock and fly onto the boards, nails and all.

  My mom peeked into the buckets while Cai held Jake and questioned Mrs. Lim in halting Cantonese. When he walked closer to me, I asked again if she spoke English or Mandarin.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, can you find out? It’ll be hard for me to communicate with her if she doesn’t.” Cai nodded quickly without looking at me, and I instantly regretted even asking that. There was no way we’d send Jake here.

  After our tour, we reemerged on the street and headed home.

  “She seemed very nice,” my dad volunteered. Cai nodded proudly, as if Mrs. Lim were his star protégé.

  I glanced at my mom, who rolled her eyes. Back at home, Cai slumped onto the sofa, turned on the television, and mumbled something about how we had found Jake a suitable day care.

  “I’m not sure about her,” I said. “She doesn’t speak English or Mandarin. What if there’s an emergency and she can’t communicate with me? Or if I’m running late and she doesn’t understand what I’m staying?”

  “She could call me and I’ll call you.”

  “But you’re always out and might not get the call right away. I think it’s too risky.” It wasn’t just the thought of leaving Jake in this woman’s care that brought a lump to my throat. How could Cai think about sending his son to such a place? And why couldn’t Cai and I discuss this matter like two responsible adults? His tired eyes showed a look of finality: he had made his decision and wanted Jake to go to this day care.

  Even with my parents in close proximity, I felt afraid to speak to Cai about something I knew he wouldn’t agree with. I had thought talking to him would become easier after we had Jake, but if anything, it had become more difficult. I felt nauseous thinking about Jake spending his days in an environment so unsafe.

  Later that evening, Cai left to meet his friends at a restaurant in the Sunset district. As I sat down with my parents and Jake to eat Cai’s home-cooked leftovers, my mom broke some news about the day care.

  “Those paint buckets were filled halfway with water. There’s a drowning waiting to happen.”

  My appetite vanished. “Jake can’t go there. Did you see those nails in the wooden boards? And why did those kids answer the door when Mrs. Lim was outside with her husband?”

  My dad remained silent. He never liked to argue. I had always admired this quality, but now I wasn’t so sure. My dad probably still thought Mrs. Lim was a nice woman, but Jake’s well-being was my priority. I couldn’t sit back in silence this time.

  “I just don’t know how to tell Cai we can’t send Jake there. Despite my protests, Cai thinks the decision—his decision—is final. When I asked about the language barrier, he said he could be the go-between. That’s never going to work.” I slumped into my chair.

  My mom’s eyes focused on something in the distance, then back at me. “Do you want to have a family discussion? Then Cai might not be so quick to discount your opinion. There’s no way Jake can go there.”

  “That would be great. I hate not being able to talk to him on my own.”

  “I know.” My mom nodded in empathy. “He’s still getting adjusted to life here. It’s only been a little over a year. That’s a short time in the long run.”

  I hoped what she said was true, and remembered what it felt like being isolated in Hidden River. Even though he hadn’t been supportive of me in China, I would be supportive of him in San Francisco. For Jake’s sake, I needed Cai to acclimate. I would do whatever I could to see that happen. But first I had to convince Cai that we couldn’t send Jake to Mrs. Lim’s.

  The next day, while my mom baked lasagna, I joined Cai in the living room where he soaked up the evening news rebroadcast from Beijing. “Cai, my parents have some concerns about Mrs. Lim and want to discuss it with us.”

  He nodded as if I’d just told him I was running to the store to pick up a gallon of milk.

  “I think they want to talk about it before dinner.” Just then, my parents entered from the kitchen.

  My mom reiterated what I’d told Cai: she and my dad had some reservations. The paint buckets, the nails, the hole in the cement, the language, the children planted in front of the television.

  Cai’s brow furrowed. “Susan lets Jake watch TV all the time.”

  Yes, I sometimes watched TV while holding Jake, but Mama and Baba camped out in front of the TV day and night with Jake every day for almost a year. I wasn’t going to pay for Jake to spend yet another year in front of the television. Afraid I’d blow up if I opened my mouth, I remained silent.

  “It’s not just the TV.” My mom’s voice remained even and calm. “We’d be so worried about Jake if he goes there.”

  Cai looked back at the stoic news anchor and muttered something about looking for another day care.

  My heart trembled and I could feel my face flush. We didn’t need to start from scratch. “But we’ve already visited other places. There’s Laura on Crane Street or the Russian one near my work.”

  Cai’s eyes remained focused on the television. “I don’t care.”

  “But I want you to help make the decision. We’re both Jake’s parents.” I should have just made the choice myself, but I needed to prove to myself that we could still make a joint decision.

  “I liked the Chinese woman,” Cai said, pouting.

  “I know, but we don’t feel comfortable sending Jake there. Do you want to visit Laura’s or the Russian place?”

  “I have no interest in that.”

  “Well, then where do you want Jake to go?” Pulling teeth had to be easier than getting a decision from this man.

  “I don’t want him going to the Russian’s.”

  “Laura’s it is, then,” I responded with a finality that surprised even me. Although frustrated that Cai based his decision on such an arbitrary reason, I was more relieved that Jake would be in s
afe hands. And although my first choice had been the Russian place, I liked and trusted Laura. So I called her the next day to reserve a place at her day care starting in early September. I wasn’t taking any chances that Cai might change his mind.

  When the husband goes out,

  The wife should respectfully ask how far he must walk.

  If by the middle of the night

  He has not returned home,

  She may not sleep, but must still wait for him.

  —Ban Zhao

  Instruction for Chinese Women and Girls

  Chapter 39

  Indian Summer

  An Indian summer came to San Francisco in early October. I settled into my morning routine of dropping Jake off at Laura’s day care, then driving up through the foggy hills of Twin Peaks to Inner Sunset and searching for a parking place along the southern perimeter of Golden Gate Park. We’d bought a used car that summer after I started a new job administering a neuroscience research center on the UCSF campus.

  With both sets of parents back in their respective homes, Cai’s days still remained free except for Saturday, when he taught piano at a world music center. He had stumbled upon this center in Chinatown and quickly accepted their offer to teach very part time. He continued to spend his nights out with friends, singing karaoke or simply chatting, as he described it, until the early hours of the next morning.

  One evening when Cai was out with his friends, Jake was inconsolable. No matter how I tried to soothe him—rocking him in my arms like Mama and Baba had done or resting with him on our bed—he cried and thrashed. We were both exhausted. Just as I thought about throwing my hands up and letting Jake cry it out in the crib he never used, I heard the garage door open. Cai could help. He still had a way of cradling Jake that calmed him and lulled him to sleep.

  I carried Jake downstairs, eager to pass him off to Cai. But when Cai opened the door to the living room, he jumped back as his eyes landed on us.

  “Ay yo. You scared me.”

  “Sorry, but Jake isn’t going to sleep and I’m so tired. Can you try rocking him?”

  Cai looked away from me, his lips tightening together. “If Jake is so troublesome, I’ll just send him to China to live with my parents. It’s better there anyway. And cheaper.”

  I felt a jolt up my spine. Is that what he really wanted after standing up to his mother years earlier when she suggested the same thing? Or was he just saying this to hurt me? No matter the reason, I had to put an end to this discussion. “We are not sending Jake to China. I just asked for help this one time. He’s your son, too.”

  He sighed deeply. “I’ve been here for almost two years, and now I know what American wives are like. I also know what Chinese wives are like. And then there’s you.” He spat out that last word.

  “I just asked for help this one time.”

  “You didn’t leave your country and your family for a life like this. No meaning, no anything here.”

  “I thought you had a wife and son here.”

  Anger swelled up in his eyes. “You’re so lucky I don’t hit you.”

  Speechless and shaking, I fled upstairs with Jake, too afraid to look back at Cai. How had I gotten myself (and now Jake, too!) into such a mess? No one had ever threatened me like that before. I desperately wanted to talk to Cai about it, to figure out why he was so unhappy and held so much resentment toward me. But I was too exhausted to muster up the energy that would take. All I could think about was crawling into bed with Jake at my side and blocking it out. So I did and prayed things would be back to “normal” in the morning.

  • • •

  After that night, I never asked Cai for help again. I couldn’t bear to give him any scrap of a reason to take Jake back to China. His threat to hit me had a lingering sting, like a sharp slap to the face. Cai and I barely spoke to one another in the weeks to come. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d been intimate. I still attributed our problems to the changes in our lives.

  Cai was right that it was difficult for him to adjust to living in the United States. But when I compared the way he’d treated me in China to the way I gave him carte blanche in America, it made me furious. And since I wasn’t accustomed to voicing anger, I reminded myself instead that we had only been a family of three for one month since my parents left San Francisco. I owed it to Jake to try harder.

  One rare night when Cai didn’t go out, the three of us sat down to dinner. Serving a spoonful of sautéed tofu into his rice bowl, Cai rehashed his karaoke session from the previous night.

  “And then this guy asked me if he could sing a song with Xiaohong.” He laughed as he mentioned her name.

  I stabbed a piece of ku guā with my chopsticks, placing the ridged vegetable on my tongue and feeling the bitterness seep into my taste buds. When I didn’t reply, he must have felt an explanation was needed.

  “This guy thought I was with Xiaohong.” He gazed at the ceiling, grinning as if remembering a tender moment. “So I said, of course you can sing with her. We’re not together.”

  What could I say? There’s always a reason people think couples are together—usually it’s because the two people are acting like it somehow. I wasn’t sure I wanted to learn the details, and besides, I couldn’t imagine he’d ever confess to anything other than friendship.

  I thought back to when Xiaohong brought me the flat of eggs after Jake was born. Willowy with long, wavy hair, Xiaohong was divorced with a child who still lived in Beijing with his father. I’d met her type before in China: flirty, witty, and full of confidence. She was as outgoing as I was reserved, and I could see how anyone would be taken in by her charm. Yet it was intimidating.

  To the best of my knowledge, Xiaohong didn’t work, but lived with her mother and brother in a San Jose McMansion. When Cai went out at night, he sometimes drove to Xiaohong’s place to meet his group of friends. According to Cai, he and his friends either ate and talked at her house or went to a restaurant. She sang in most of the performances Cai emceed.

  Since I had met Cai, he’d never divulged any information about his previous relationships, except with Wei Ling. So I doubted he would suddenly reveal an affair with Xiaohong this way. I figured they were just friends and that he probably just relayed this story to show me how important he was in the Chinese community. At least that’s what I told myself.

  Chapter 40

  The Plan

  In early December when I read an invitation in my work mailbox, I immediately began to conjure up excuses to skip the office holiday party in two weeks. No significant others. Cai hadn’t stayed alone with Jake since before his parents moved in with us more than a year earlier. And after his threat to ship Jake off to China, I felt like I couldn’t ask for help again. I needed to prove I was the best person to raise my son.

  Then I had a thought. My parents. I knew it was an extreme idea, but Cai and I had never hired a babysitter, and with his volatile behavior, this wasn’t the time to suggest that a stranger come to our home to care for Jake.

  That evening, after Cai left for San Jose, I phoned my parents in Chicago. My mom didn’t even question it or ask why Cai couldn’t stay with Jake. We both understood why. Since my parents were scheduled to visit London over their winter break, they wanted to see Jake before they left, and that weekend was as good a time as any. My mom immediately agreed to my plan.

  I simply told Cai that my parents were going to visit us for a weekend before they flew to London. He never opposed their visits and was always willing to let them stay with us. I steadied my voice as I tried to casually mention that I’d be going to my office holiday party for a few hours the Friday my parents would be in town. He nodded without commenting.

  They arrived Thursday night, after finishing their morning classes. While the five of us sat in the living room, Cai announced that he didn’t have plans the following night. “There’s no gathering tomo
rrow.”

  My first thought was that I hadn’t needed to ask my parents to come out to San Francisco after all. Yet upon reflection, I realized that it was a good thing they were here. Now Cai would be able to see how easy it would be for me to go out once in a while.

  I returned home from work around six on Friday so I could see Jake before I left for the restaurant. When it was time for me to head back out, my mom held Jake and walked with me to the door leading down to the garage.

  “Have a good time,” my mother said.

  But as I opened the door and started downstairs, Jake’s screams echoed through the walls. He still cried when I dropped him off at day care, but usually he stopped minutes after I left to go outside. I drove to McCormick & Kuleto’s assuming the same would happen this time. But just to be sure, I paused outside the restaurant and called home on my cell phone. As my mom answered, I heard Jake wailing in the background.

  “He’s still crying?” I gasped.

  “Yes, but don’t worry. I’m trying to get him to go to sleep.”

  “How’s Cai doing?”

  “Well, you know… Just have a good time and don’t worry.”

  “Is he really upset?”

  “He’ll be okay.”

  I didn’t know whom I should worry about more: Cai or Jake. I hadn’t expected Jake to cry so much when I left. Although I had always been there when he went to sleep at night, he was used to me leaving for work each morning and should know that I would eventually come home. Still, his cries tugged at my heart in a way that was more distressing than when I left him at day care. I could barely muster up an appetite.

  During the soup course, I checked my watch, only half listening to my coworkers’ stories that erupted in laughter every few minutes. While waiting for the main course, my colleague Anna turned to me, asking if something was wrong.