Good Chinese Wife

by Susan Blumberg-Kason

  “I don’t know. Jake has been crying since I left, and Cai gets really upset when that happens.”

  “Why’s he crying?”

  “He’s not used to me being away at night. I always put him to bed.” As I explained to her and another colleague how I’d asked my parents to fly out to watch him that night, it sounded as outlandish to me as it did to them. But it also felt good to talk about my bizarre family life. In the past I would have kept this inside, yet after hearing Jake’s screams that evening I didn’t see the point in protecting Cai anymore.

  “Sounds like you need to get out more.” Anna lived near me and was raising her daughter, May, on her own, although her mother and sister often helped out on nights and weekends. She enjoyed more freedom than I did.

  The interval between the main course and dessert dragged. I fidgeted in my chair, wondering if Jake was still crying. If I called home and woke him up, my parents would have to start soothing him all over again. Maybe I should just forgo dessert and leave. It was becoming increasingly difficult to join the table’s conversation.

  Cai’s brooding face kept creeping into my mind, sucking away all my energy like a parasite. The waiter passed out dishes of tiramisu, but I had no desire to eat another bite. When the waitress took coffee orders, I stood to leave. I said a hurried good-bye to my coworkers and rushed out the door. I couldn’t get home fast enough.

  The living room lights were visible from the street, but dimmed. I pulled into the garage and expected to hear Jake’s cries when I opened the door leading to the first floor. Instead, an eerie stillness hung in the air. I found the living room empty, the rest of the floor silenced in darkness. When I reached the master bedroom, I first noticed Jake asleep in the middle of the bed. My eyes then shot to Cai, standing at the foot of the bed, glaring at me with hatred like I had never seen before. He walked briskly past me to the bathroom and shut the door with a definitive slam. Fortunately Jake didn’t stir. Once Cai finished in the bathroom, he undressed and got into bed as if I were invisible.

  “Cai, why are you so mad? You knew I was going out. Besides, my parents were here to help. You didn’t even have to stay home tonight.”

  He neither replied nor turned his head. Was he really not speaking to me because I went to one work-related dinner? I couldn’t even keep track of the times he had left me alone with Jake at night. It probably numbered in the hundreds. I quivered to think what he would say when he started talking to me again.

  That question remained unanswered the next morning when he refused to look at me before leaving the house to teach piano. At breakfast I told my mom about Cai’s latest antics.

  She put her teacup down before taking her next sip. “Let’s go somewhere nice for lunch today. You don’t deserve this.”

  My mom drove, and my dad sat next to her in the front seat while Jake and I rode in the middle section of their minivan. As we crossed the Bay Bridge to Berkeley, I stared out the window, still wondering why Cai was so angry. Going to a work function was not a break in our marriage vows.

  Under the warm December sun, we strolled down Shattuck Boulevard in Berkeley, stopping in front of a bakery to buy Jake a muffin. My dad entered the shop as my mom and I waited with Jake in his stroller on the sidewalk.

  My mom turned to me. “Susan, you don’t have to put up with this.”

  I looked away from my mother as I felt my eyes tear up. All I could think about what how exhausted I had become. It wasn’t just from working during the week or trying to get Jake to sleep each night. I was also tired from missing Jake during the day and wishing I could spend more time with him in a positive light. In some ways I felt more like a guardian than a parent to him. Most of all, I was spent from trying to keep the peace in my family and to help Cai adjust to America.

  My mom reached out to gently pat my shoulder. “There’s another way, you know.”

  I turned my head to look at her this time. “What do you mean?”

  “Have you ever thought of leaving him?” Her serious tone of voice masked the anxiety in her eyes.

  I almost choked. A kaleidoscope of pictures flashed through my mind: meeting Cai in our dorm, marrying him in Hong Kong, buying our first house, racing to the hospital to deliver Jake. They were all things that made me fall—and stay—in love with him. How could I just leave someone who had been through all that with me? But the images soon changed, and what came into view were the Shanghai Railway Station, freezing winters in Hidden River, our first day in San Francisco, and the night Cai threatened to hit me.

  “Actually, I’ve been hoping he’d leave and just go back to China.” Although I had never expressed those feelings out loud, it now felt good to tell my mother. It felt reassuring to know that my mom would support me unconditionally. She no longer seemed to be holding on to the illusion that Cai just needed time to adjust to San Francisco.

  We both noticed my dad exiting the bakery. As he reached us, my mom told me again to think about it. “You don’t deserve this.”

  Later that afternoon, after we’d returned home, I played with Jake on the living room floor while my parents read on the sofa. My heart raced when I heard the garage door open. My mom turned to me without speaking. The air felt as tense as if we were waiting defenseless for an intruder to enter the house.

  I heard footsteps on the stairs that led up from the garage. My father concentrated on a journal article and my mom went back to her book. I, too, tried to act normal, building a tower with colorful soft blocks Jake had received for his birthday.

  With each of Cai’s steps up the staircase, my heart seemed to thump faster. The door gently opened. Cai stepped out and he nodded at my parents, but he didn’t so much as a look in my direction. As Cai headed toward the kitchen, Jake toddled after him, but Cai didn’t slow down. My mom glanced at me again and rolled her eyes.

  Jake wandered back to the living room where we resumed knocking over block towers. It seemed like Cai remained in the kitchen for hours. When he finally reemerged, he headed toward the stairs leading to the second floor. My mother stood up and quickly uttered his name. He turned back to look at her.

  “I don’t know why you’re ignoring Susan. You certainly have no problem going out whenever you wish. Can’t she go out for a work dinner and not worry about coming home to this?”

  Cai stared at my mother in disbelief for a moment. He then quickly turned and stormed upstairs. I was so grateful to my mother for speaking up, for doing something I wish I had had the nerve to do years ago. Without uttering a word to my parents, I followed Cai upstairs. I found him in our bedroom, seated on the edge of the bed, seething with rage.

  “She shouldn’t have said that to me,” he said. There was no explanation for his silent treatment since I returned from my work dinner the previous night. Instead, he continued to stew about what my mother had said. “No one has ever spoken that way to me.”

  Are you serious? I wanted to scream at him. No one? Inside I could feel the same anger bubbling, but mine was only directed at Cai, not my mother. And, to be honest, my rage was directed at myself as well. Why had I been so frightened to speak out all these years? Starting with the events surrounding Jake’s birth, I’d confided in my parents about cultural problems with Cai. And after my disastrous first Mother’s Day, I had complained to my parents again. Instead of telling them, I should have spoken directly to Cai. I’d done none of us any favors by tiptoeing around him. But how would I change now? I felt afraid he’d either yell at me or continue to give me the silent treatment.

  I just wished I knew why Cai was acting this way. And after all these years, I wondered if perhaps our cultural differences were not at the root of our problems, but rather irreconcilable differences that had nothing to do with culture. With nothing else to say and my mind in a jumble, I silently crept out of the room and downstairs to the refuge of my parents and of Jake.

  Cai appeared downsta
irs an hour later, quickly announcing that he was leaving for a meeting in the South Bay.

  Two months later would mark our second year in San Francisco. Cai seemed more distant than ever, staying home all day while I worked and leaving at night after I returned home from day care with Jake. During my lonely nights when I felt like a single mother, I stopped centering my hopes on Cai suddenly adjusting to life in the United States. Instead, I realized I needed professional help.

  Chapter 41

  A Storm Is Brewing

  With the new year, I knew it was time to work on my marriage. If things didn’t change soon, I couldn’t imagine that my relationship with Cai would improve. Most of all, I owed it to Jake to try to fix the problems in our family. He was now eighteen months old and if he didn’t understand the tension brewing at home now, he would soon. To reverse our misfortunes, I would need to start speaking out. And I had to see if Cai could change, too.

  Growing up, I thought people who went to therapy were either all mentally ill or, if they weren’t, others would view them that way. Even though I had friends who went to therapists, I still thought of therapy as something shameful. It was definitely a matter that you kept secret. But after four months without parents or in-laws, my relationship with Cai hadn’t improved. If anything, it was growing more contentious. I couldn’t fix these issues on my own and knew it was time to see a therapist myself.

  On my first day back at work after the long New Year’s weekend, I flipped through a booklet listing health-care providers in my insurance network. I found a few psychologists, one of whom worked near an affiliate UCSF hospital that I could easily reach by a free shuttle. I called her and made an appointment for later that week during lunchtime. It would be easy to duck out for an hour and a half in the middle of the day.

  I arrived on time for my first appointment with Nancy, a blond middle-aged woman with a reserved disposition. As I sat on the couch in her warm, living-room-like office, I wondered why I hadn’t started therapy years ago.

  Nancy took a chair opposite me and held a legal pad. “I’d like you to use this first session to tell me your background and why you’re here. I might not speak much because I want to hear your story.”

  Lightly clearing my throat, my hands on my knees, I chronicled my quick courtship to Cai. I told her about our years in Hong Kong and how his personality changed when we traveled to China. I spoke of my frustrations with his inability to adapt to San Francisco and how for almost a year I had supported five people on a secretary’s salary. When the timer rang, Nancy hadn’t said a word. She stood up and escorted me to the lobby. “I’ll see you next week, Susan. Good work today.”

  I floated to the shuttle stop like a balloon whose weight had been cut. It had been years since I had felt so hopeful. Therapy wasn’t such a bad thing after all. In fact, next Thursday couldn’t come soon enough. Nancy would help me figure out ways to cope with Cai’s moods. We would role-play to come up with the best ways for me to build my confidence and communicate better with Cai. Maybe she would even give me her cell phone number so I could check in after I tried one of our exercises.

  By the time I picked up Jake at Laura’s day care that evening, Cai had left to go out with friends. I didn’t mind because I wasn’t ready to tell him about Nancy quite yet. If he knew I was going to a therapist, I was sure he’d say something demeaning and would use it against me as proof that I was a crazy, unfit mother. But once I regained my confidence and worked out a plan with Nancy, I would tell him everything and try to get him to go with me to couples counseling.

  The phone rang as I brought Jake upstairs for bed that evening. An unknown woman’s voice asked for Cai. She spoke English with a thick mainland accent.

  “He’s not home. Can I take a message?” I reached for a pen and a piece of paper on my bedside table.

  “Just tell him Pan Mihui called. He has my number.” She sounded young and confident, yet still demure. Something about her insouciance made me think that she wasn’t just a casual acquaintance, but I shut it out of my mind because I didn’t want to ruin the positive outlook I’d gained since my session with Nancy that afternoon.

  I tried to soothe Jake to sleep and ended up dozing off myself. Hours later, I awoke when Cai strolled into the bedroom, turning on the bathroom light near my side of the bed.

  “Someone called for you tonight.”

  “Who was it?” He turned and stopped before entering the bathroom. Jake stirred next to me.

  “Pan Mihui or Pammy Hui. Something like that.”

  I could hear Cai sigh and could see the frustration and anger on his face. “Why did she call here?” he asked.

  How would I know? He was the one who knew her, not me. I remained silent and thought he would explain who she was. But he didn’t. The only woman he mentioned on a regular basis was Xiaohong, the woman who brought me three dozen eggs after Jake’s birth. Pammy was a new name to me.

  “Hěn máfan.” He mumbled that something was troublesome as he stepped into the bathroom. It was clear that her call threatened him in some way. But I was afraid to probe further because ultimately I didn’t want to know the truth about this woman and whatever she was to my husband—and to have to choose what to do about it. I wanted to save my marriage, so I didn’t ask why he felt so angry she had called. He wouldn’t have told me anyway.

  Cai must have spoken with her because I never heard from Pammy again.

  • • •

  The day after I first met with my therapist, Cai stayed home and cooked his standard, Chinese three-course meal. It was hot out of the wok when I returned home with Jake. He never inquired about my day or if anything special happened. It wasn’t something I ever heard Mama or Baba ask one another, so I chalked it up to another cultural difference. Nonetheless, with my new resolve to restore my marriage, I asked, “How was your day?”

  Throwing the dishrag onto the counter, he groaned as if I had just suggested he donate bone marrow.

  “Cai, what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. Every day is the same. Stay at home, do nothing, cook dinner, watch TV, go to sleep. There’s no meaning here.”

  Here we go again. But I kept my composure, taking a deep breath. “You usually go out with your friends, so it’s not like you’re home every—”

  “You know what I mean. There’s no meaning here. It’s so different from China.”

  I’d heard his soliloquy so many times I could finish his sentences. In China, friends come over every day, people chat and sing together, everything is so rènào, so loud and exciting.

  “If you hate it here so much, why don’t you go to China and see if you want to move back?” I spoke slowly and steadily, hopeful that he would listen to me like a reasonable adult. I wanted him to think about his words, to understand the weight they placed on me. It was too unsettling for me to hear this veiled threat every few weeks. Besides, I felt fairly confident that he wouldn’t take me up on this offer. If he really wanted to go to back to China, he would have done it long ago. “Before you make any decisions, go back and look for a job and see if that’s really what you want.”

  His eyes widened as if I had threatened divorce. “But what about you and Jake?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge later. Your happiness is most important. If you really like it back in China, if you find a job at a conservatory that you like, then we can see where we are and can decide later.”

  “That’s no way for a family to live.” He continued to mope, putting the last dish on the table for dinner. We ate in silence, Cai never once looking at me. Compared to the other times when he grew angry or gave me the silent treatment, I could tell that this time was different, that he was just frustrated with life in California. I hoped to learn some coping skills the next time I saw my therapist, Nancy.

  After dinner, Cai retreated to the living room to listen to a local Mandarin radio talk show. He stay
ed in that evening and watched Chinese television after the radio show finished. I brought Jake upstairs to start his bedtime routine, changing him and settling him into the middle of our bed. He hadn’t slept in his crib in over a year, yet it remained next to our bed, untouched. Soon Jake started to cry. I rubbed his back like I did most nights to soothe him to sleep, but he continued to wail. Next I picked him up, pacing the room to calm him, but that didn’t work either. Jake’s screams became louder and more piercing. Just as I turned toward the door, Cai burst into the room.

  “What’s going on in here? Why isn’t he sleeping?”

  “Cai, this happens every night. He needs to learn to sleep on his own.”

  “He shouldn’t be crying like this.” Cai took Jake from me, but Jake only cried harder and louder.

  I stood back, half wishing Cai would volunteer to lie with Jake for three hours. The other half of me hoped Cai would let Jake cry it out so he could learn to soothe himself to sleep. It was no wonder we were all exhausted.

  “Jake! Stop crying!” Cai started screaming, competing with Jake’s piercing cries. When Jake thrashed his head as if reaching back to lie on the bed, Cai stormed down the hallway to the empty guest room where Mama and Baba, and at other times my parents, had slept for many months.

  “Stop crying. No one likes you when you cry,” Cai yelled. I raced after him and before I could get to him, Cai kicked the guest room door open, placed Jake on the carpet inside the room, came out, and slammed the door shut, closing Jake off from the light in the hallway. Jake’s screams intensified.

  “Cai, what are you doing? He’s only a year and a half.” I ran past Cai to open the door gently so I wouldn’t hit Jake if he was too close to it. When I reached him, I cradled him in my arms, sick with grief. Cai had started to retreat downstairs, mumbling that Jake shouldn’t cry. I huddled with Jake on my side of the bed, hoping Cai would go out and never return.