That evening, I arrived home with Jake just as Cai’s show started. I flipped on the radio and listened as he cohosted with another man from China. Cai handled the callers with diplomacy, not cutting them off when their time was up, but suggesting they call back another day when there was more time to chat. I thought he sounded like a natural, as if he had been doing this for years. I couldn’t wait to congratulate him when he arrived home.
A little after ten, I heard Cai drive into the garage. Jake had fallen asleep in our bed moments earlier.
I greeted him at the top of the garage stairs. “You did a great job tonight.”
“It was okay.” He walked past me, holding the black plastic bag synonymous with porn rentals.
“I thought it was wonderful.”
Walking up the stairs to our bedroom, he stopped and turned back toward me. “It was just a bunch of crazies calling. What’s so wonderful about that?” He faced forward and continued upstairs.
When he slammed the bathroom door, Jake woke up, screaming. Cai rushed out of the bathroom, and before I could enter the bedroom from the hallway, he grabbed Jake. Storming into the hall, he held Jake over the ledge at the top of the stairs, an exposed space with nothing to break Jake’s fall but the carpeting a floor below.
“Stop crying!” Cai screamed. Without speaking, I secured my hands around Jake’s upper body.
“Please let me have Jake.” Trembling, I tried to speak slowly and softly to show Cai I had a solid grasp. He brought Jake closer to him, away from the danger of dropping him down a flight of stairs. Once Jake was on our side of the ledge, I felt Cai’s hold on Jake lessen. The next thing I knew, Cai was walking into the bedroom, his head slumped in defeat. Within seconds, he returned with the black plastic bag and headed downstairs.
I phoned the international law expert the next morning.
• • •
It was my boss’s last day at work before his two-week speaking trip to Europe. To make sure he had everything he needed before his trip, I checked in with him moments after he walked past my door. He handed me a list of contact numbers where I could reach him in an emergency and said email would suffice for less urgent matters. As my boss went over his itinerary, I barely listened. My thoughts drifted to the phone call I would make when I left his office.
Back at my computer, I searched the Internet for “international custody law” and “California.” Hundreds of sites appeared, including a listing for a law professor specializing in this field at the University of California, Davis. I closed my office door and dialed the long-distance number. I felt my stomach drop when a receptionist answered the phone. My pulse quickened as I asked for a professor listed on the website.
“And the purpose of your call?”
“I’d like some information about custody laws for American children in China.”
“Please hold.”
A woman answered the phone, introducing herself as the professor.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m an American citizen married to a Chinese national. My husband wants us to visit China in a couple months with our twenty-month-old son. He has threatened to send our son to live with his parents in China, so I wanted to know my rights if they decided to keep our son there. Is there any law that would protect me and guarantee my son’s safe return to the United States?”
A second passed. I thought I heard her typing in the background.
“What’s your name?”
“Susan.”
“Thanks, Susan. Well, there’s something called the United Nations Hague Convention on the Civil Aspects of International Child Abduction. When a child born in Country A travels to Country B and one parent wants to keep the child in Country B, the Hague Convention stipulates that the child must return to Country A. It’s often a long-winded process to hear a Hague case, but the law theoretically protects the child from remaining in Country B.”
I sighed, relieved. “Thank you. That’s what I wanted to know.”
“Wait. I’m not finished.”
“I don’t understand.”
“China hasn’t signed the Hague Convention.”
My stomach fell. “You mean I wouldn’t have any rights in China?”
“You got it. I’m sorry, Susan. When’s your trip?”
“My husband wants to go in April.”
“If you worry he’ll try to keep your son there, just tell him that you and your son won’t go. That’s the only way to avoid a problem.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks. “I can’t tell him that.”
“What do you mean you can’t tell him?”
“He hates it here.” I sobbed, trying to hold back more tears. “This trip means so much to him. If I tell him Jake and I won’t go, it’ll be the end of my marriage.”
“I see. You’re really scared, aren’t you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Can I be blunt here?” But before I answered, she continued. “Why are you married to this guy?”
And that’s when it hit me. Tears flowed again, this time without restraint. “I don’t know. I thought I understood Chinese culture.”
“It’s okay, Susan. There’s a way out when you’re ready. Where do you live?”
I tried to pull myself together enough to answer “San Francisco.”
“And where is your family? Are they local?”
“No, Chicago.”
“All right. Can you move back to Chicago?”
Between sobs I mumbled yes. My parents would take Jake and me in. When my mom suggested leaving Cai back in December, I knew she had implied that Jake and I could move in with them until I got back on my feet.
“You’re going to need an attorney who specializes in interstate custody law. That’s going to be our main priority now. If you’d like, I can give you the names of a few in San Francisco.”
I agreed and took down the names, numbers, and addresses of three lawyers. She suggested trying one first.
“Joanne will be able to give you a lot of personal attention.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Good luck, Susan. You’ve gotten into a mess here, but Joanne will be able to help.”
I hung up and took a piece of tissue to blow my nose. The tears had stopped, and I suddenly felt like I needed to act quickly before I changed my mind or convinced myself that Cai would finally revert back to the person I knew in our Hong Kong dormitory. I couldn’t wait another day.
Staring at the numbers I had just written down, I picked up the receiver and dialed the one for Joanne. A receptionist answered and put me through a moment later. I explained my situation, just as I had to the law professor.
“Wow,” she said after I had finished my story. “We have to make sure this stays an interstate case, not an international one. Does your son have a passport?”
“No, not yet.”
“Can you get his photos taken and apply for his passport this week? You should have it mailed to your parents in Chicago so your husband doesn’t get his hands on it.”
“That’s no problem. I can take him for photos this Saturday when Cai’s working all day and then apply for the passport on Monday during my lunch break.” I hadn’t thought about any of this until Joanne mentioned it, but as I spoke with her, these plans smoothly fell into place. My boss would be in Europe, so I could take all the time I needed on Monday to walk to the post office and apply for Jake’s passport.
“Good. He can probably still apply for a Chinese passport for your son, but let’s hope he hasn’t thought of that. Can you come to my office during lunch another day so we can speak? But before then, I’ll need a five-thousand-dollar retainer. Whatever you don’t use, I’ll return.”
“That’s fine. I can get you the money by the end of the week.”
“What about coming in next Tuesday at lunchtime? Are you free
then?”
“Yes. Is noon okay?”
“Sounds good. Do you have my address and full name to send the check?”
“Yes, the professor gave it to me. Thank you for everything.”
“Hang in there, Susan. No matter what you decide to do, you need to know your rights so you can protect yourself and your son.”
When I hung up, I opened my door and sent a quick email to my parents, detailing my conversations with the professor and Joanne. I asked if I could borrow money for the retainer. Ten minutes later, I received a reply from my mom. She agreed to overnight a check that afternoon and asked me to keep her posted.
Paranoid that Cai would learn I was consulting with a lawyer, I only told a few friends at work, like Anna and Doug, who had never met him. They already knew about our problems, so at lunch that day I filled them in on my phone call with Joanne.
That night I was determined not to let Cai’s negativity get me down. When he returned after his radio show, I went about getting ready for bed, not bothering to ask about his evening. My mind focused on one thing: I had a way out.
On Saturday when Cai was teaching piano at the world music center, I drove with Jake to the Inner Sunset district, near my office, to a camera shop that handled passport photos. Jake sat still and smiled widely for the photo. I took him out to lunch, something I rarely did with our tight budget, to celebrate that accomplishment. On Monday I skipped lunch with Doug so I could apply for Jake’s passport at the neighborhood post office. When I reached the window, the postal officer took my application, photos, and check.
“The next time you apply for his passport, you’ll need both parents’ signatures. A new law is going into effect in a few months.”
“Thanks. I’ll remember that.” I took the receipt, my hands shaking, thankful I’d narrowly escaped this new law.
The following day, I boarded the N-Judah streetcar for Joanne’s office near City Hall. When I entered her office suite, dark and bereft of furniture besides the receptionist’s bent metal desk and Naugahyde chair, I wondered if I was at the right place.
The receptionist sat in the middle of the lobby, surrounded by half a dozen frosted doors. “Who are you here to see?”
“Joanne—”
She asked my name and picked up the phone, briefly speaking to someone on the other end. “It’s the third door on the left.”
I knocked and a middle-aged woman with frosted Janis Joplin hair opened it.
“Susan!” She hugged me as if we were old friends and closed the door. Walking back to her desk, Joanne motioned for me to take the chair before her. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Thank you so much. Did you get the check?”
“I did. Thank you. As for your case, if you decide to return to Chicago, you will need to live there for six months to establish Illinois residency. However, if your husband takes any legal action against you in California before those six months are over, your case will be in California’s jurisdiction and you will be required by law to return here. Assuming he doesn’t take legal action and you remain in Illinois for six months, you can file for divorce in Chicago.”
I nodded while scribbling notes on a legal pad she’d given me. “What happens if we divorce in California?”
“The courts will require you to stay in the state of California until your son is eighteen years of age. You won’t be able to leave with your son unless your husband agrees.”
I choked back tears.
“And if you’re worried about him taking your son to China, I would advise you do whatever you can to stall your husband for six months to establish Illinois residency.”
I wiped tears from my face with a few fingers. “I don’t know how I’m going tell him we’re leaving.”
She handed me a box of tissues. “You don’t have to. This isn’t about him anymore. We’ll work on a letter you’ll leave for him.”
I nodded, grateful for a clean exit.
Joanne looked me in the eyes. “Have you gone to couples counseling?”
“No. I asked him once and he said Chinese people don’t do that. According to him, I’m the one with problems, not him.”
She jotted something on her pad. “When you write the letter, it must indicate you’ve tried to get him into counseling. But you can’t tell him you want a divorce. We need to make sure you come across as exhausted, scared, and frustrated because you did everything you could to work on your marriage, to no avail. The courts need to see that.”
When the law professor mentioned the possibility of divorce, the word sounded threatening and grotesque. In the days since that conversation, I knew I had no other choice. Now when Joanne uttered the word “divorce,” it felt like I’d been given a diagnosis I didn’t want to hear but could learn to live with. As with many diagnoses, there’s often a worse predicament. Seated across from her, I knew if I didn’t go through with this now, I wouldn’t have the strength to do it later. I nodded as she continued.
“You aren’t taking your son from him. Your husband is free to visit Jake in Chicago whenever he wishes. Your letter has to be clear about that.”
My eyes popped out at that last statement.
“Susan, if you keep your son from him, you are kidnapping him. Kidnapping is a felony. You are just visiting your family and don’t know how long you’ll stay. When you have a chance, draft a letter. Do you have access to a fax machine?”
“Yes, at work.” I was lucky that my tiny office housed the only fax machine in the research center. It would be easy for me to fax my letter to Joanne without anyone seeing it.
“Good. Can you draft the letter during lunch or a break, when you’re not around your husband? When you’re finished, please fax it to me so I can make sure we cover all grounds.”
“I’ll have it to you by tomorrow after lunch.”
“There’s no hurry. You can take longer if you—”
“I’m leaving this weekend.”
Joanne looked at me aghast, and it felt like I, too, was hearing this plan for the first time. It was if someone had taken over my body, someone who was determined and could think clearly. Starting with the call to the law professor, the momentum of this trajectory extended to phoning Joanne, applying for Jake’s passport, and now stating without hesitation that I would leave this weekend. Cai was working all day Saturday, the only day I could guarantee he’d be away from home for a long stretch of time. I had to do it Saturday.
“You mean in four days?”
“Yes. If I don’t do it now, I won’t have the guts to do it later. He wants us to go to China in April. That’s only a month away. I’m running out of time.”
Leaning back in her chair, Joanne’s eyes honed in on me. “You really want to do this? This weekend?”
“Yes. Is it possible?”
“Sure, but you need to fax me the letter by tomorrow. I’ll be in court on Thursday and back in the office Friday. Your son is two?”
“Twenty months. Two in June.”
“You’re prepared to leave most of your things behind, right?”
“Yes, of course. I just want Jake.”
“I don’t advise you to do this alone. Can your mother fly out and help you? You seem very calm now, but you’ll need help the day you leave.”
Mom taught on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so I hoped she’d be free on Friday. “I’ll call her when I get back to work. I think she’ll be able to do it.”
“One more thing: once you return to Chicago, I’m going to need a written statement documenting everything that went wrong in your marriage. If we go to trial, I’ll need to know the details of your marriage so I can build your case. There’s no great rush, but if you could send it to me a week or two after you arrive in Chicago, that’d be great.”
As I stood to leave, she hugged me tightly. “You’re very brave, Susan. But I hope I never see
you again.”
• • •
On the streetcar back to my office, I thought back to my first few months in graduate school. I could clearly visualize how Cai had spent his free evenings with me, talking to me as an equal, asking me to marry him, and kissing me in our dorm room. But when we traveled to China that first summer, he had showed that other side. What drove him to change? And how had I put up with his nightly visits to his professors’ room or Yoshimoto’s tight grip?
Since that summer, I had constantly struggled with the insoluble question of whether Cai’s unkindness, his punitive temper, and his exclusion of me from his social life were a product of his Chinese upbringing or his increasing depression. Was it a cultural difference or a personality one? The longer we were married, the more I tailored my every move to avoid his outbursts and evade his criticisms. Constantly I wondered why he behaved this way and how I could help him. Now on the streetcar, thankful the end was near, the answer was finally clear to me: it didn’t matter.
What mattered was me. I couldn’t spend my life orbiting around him like a satellite. I would soon be free and would stop myself in the future from trying to be something I wasn’t. Something I’d attempted to construct from notions about culture and marriage that I thought existed, but had made up myself all along.
Back in my office, I closed my door, locking it from the inside.
“Susan?” My mom sounded surprised to hear from me at work.
“I just came back from Joanne’s office.”
“What happened? What did she say?”
As much as I tried to remain calm, I started to sob. “Mom…I’m coming home.”
“It’s okay. Take a breath. Does Cai know?”
Sniffling, I reached for a tissue and wiped my eyes. “No. And he’s not going to until Jake and I have left. Joanne will help me draft a letter so I’m absolved from kidnapping charges.”
“Oh my God. I guess I was so worried about Cai taking Jake to China that I forgot about that possibility.”
“It’s okay. My letter won’t say I want a divorce, just a break. And that Cai can visit Jake in Chicago anytime he wants.”
Good Chinese Wife Page 27