by Fan Wu
“What happened to Steven?” she asks hesitantly.
“We broke up right before I moved to New York.”
“Why?”
“We weren’t serious to begin with. We just thought we’d have fun for a while. I have to say I dated him partially to provoke you—I knew you wouldn’t approve. But you weren’t the only one who disliked us being together. His parents also didn’t want him to be with a non-Indian. So, he dated me to irritate his parents. Ironic, isn’t it? You didn’t like his race and skin color, neither did his parents like mine. They belonged to a high caste in India, with aristocratic ancestors. His parents wanted him to marry a girl they had picked for him in India, someone from their caste. What’s our family background? Our father came from an illiterate pauper family, and our mother’s family was a combination of petit bourgeois and business owner. Well, if I had been Steven’s parents, I wouldn’t have liked this relationship, either,” Ingrid says sarcastically. She doesn’t mention that she later became serious with Steven, yet he succumbed to his family’s pressure and agreed to marry the girl they had chosen for him.
Even in the darkness Ingrid can detect Mary’s embarrassment, so she adds quickly, “Let’s forget about it.”
“I’m sure you’ve dated after Steven?”
“Yes, there were a few guys.”
“And…”
“None worked out.”
“Really?”
“It’s fine with me. You know, it’s better for things not to work out than to be stuck with the wrong person.”
“I’m sorry that none of these relationships worked out. I’ve told you before that it’s important to be with someone who is responsible.”
“Mary.” Ingrid tries to repress her irritation. “You don’t need be sorry for me. Could you just let me handle my own relationships? Please?”
“Well, if you say so.” Mary smiles awkwardly.
“You don’t get it. It’s not that I don’t want to talk about them with you. It’s just that we have different views about certain things.”
“But we’re a family. We can talk about them.”
“We can, but—” Ingrid doesn’t want to continue discussing this subject, nor does she want to hurt her sister’s feelings. “I’ll tell you when I’m ready, okay?”
No longer relaxed, Ingrid looks up at the sky again while Mary fixes her eyes on the far end of the fence.
“Ingrid, how do you like your new company?” Mary asks, breaking the silence between them. “Do you get paid well? Do they have a good benefits package? You’ve yet to tell me the company’s name.”
Ingrid pities Mary’s practicality, though, on consideration, she knows that her sister worries about her finances and is probably thinking about giving her money.
“There is no company. I lied so Ma wouldn’t worry about me. But I have money. I saved when I was in New York.”
“I knew it!” Mary stares into Ingrid’s face. “Why don’t you get a job in the South Bay? You’ll be closer to Ma and me. I can pass your résumé to my friends in the big high-tech companies, like IBM, Intel, and Cisco. Though the economy isn’t doing well, it’s always easy for an accountant to get a job. And you’re quite experienced.”
“I didn’t do accounting in New York.”
“What did you do?”
“I did a lot of things. But in the past two years, I was a tour guide and did freelance translation and interpretation. I still get work from translation agencies, and I’ve built my own client list. The money is good. And I don’t need to sit in the office nine to five.”
Despite what Ingrid has said, Mary must have imagined that her sister lived a miserable life in New York. “I’m sorry. If I had known that, I’d have traveled there to bring you back.”
Ingrid laughs. “Oh, come on, Mary, don’t be ridiculous. I had a great time in New York.”
Still not convinced, Mary says, “You shouldn’t have sent me those checks.”
“I owed you. You borrow money, you pay back. It can’t be more straightforward than that. But you didn’t cash them anyway. I put the money aside in a separate account. If you don’t want it, it’ll go toward Alex’s college fund.”
“You don’t have to do that. Bob and I can surely pay for Alex’s college. I’m your older sister, not a stranger, or a bank.” Mary’s body quivers slightly, and her voice sounds angry as well as hurt. “You should have told me when you didn’t have money in New York.”
A strange impulse comes over Ingrid: to embrace Mary and tell her that she appreciates what she has done for her. But Mary has to learn how to respect her choices: she is thirty-two, not a little kid, for God’s sake. “Mary, I apologize if I hurt you, but I feel better returning the money. Besides, it was my choice to go to New York, to not do accounting. I had many opportunities to find an office job, and more than once I thought about doing so. Whenever I had to worry about my rent, I told myself that I was going back to accounting. I even tried to convince myself that sitting at a computer dealing with numbers and money wasn’t as bad as I imagined. After all, I did that for more than two years after graduation, didn’t I? Sitting in a big-windowed Bank of America office, wearing suits, doing balance sheets and income statements all day long, my brain filled with terms like return on investment, equity, cash flow, abatement, estimated tax, revenue, and all that stuff. I hated the job! The first thing I did when I got home in the evening was change into casual clothes. I told you that, but you wouldn’t listen and kept telling me that I’d like the job better after I’d gained more experience.”
While she is speaking, Ingrid blames herself once again for not standing up to her sister’s manipulation earlier: she could have changed to a different major, or a different school, and she could have tried to find a different job, yet she did nothing until she went to New York. She gave herself too many excuses in those six years. Or was her idleness a way to punish herself for what happened in 1989?
Mary slides her hands from her thighs to her knees slowly, as if this movement will help her think. Then she sits forward, placing her hands between her thighs. For a while she remains silent. At last she looks at Ingrid. “You know why I chose accounting for you. I just didn’t want you to have difficulty finding a job. Every company and every organization needs accountants. If it has to lay off people, it lays off marketing, sales, or other functions first. Even if a company is down to its last few employees, it has to keep at least one accountant to do the bookkeeping. And accountants get paid well. It’s fine that you majored in history in China. I could care less. It’s in China, your own country; you know people, the language, the culture. You can survive. But in the U.S., you had to start from zero. When you can’t carry on a simple conversation in English and don’t have money, I just don’t believe that you have the luxury to talk about your interests and passions. What’s the chance of getting a job with a history major? Have you seen many new immigrants studying history, or other arts and humanities programs? When we decided to leave China, wasn’t it our principal goal to lead a better life?”
“No.” Ingrid shakes her head. “We came here so we would have more choices.”
“Choices? Your current, unstable life is based on your choices?”
“At least it’s what I prefer now.”
Mary sneers. “You remind me of some characters in Russian novels I read in college, who are called ‘extra people’ by the critics. I’m sure you’ve read those books too. These people long for spiritual freedom, living for their ideals and looking down on a worldly life. But you know what? They get disappointed soon—the society is real, not something they can control. You can hide in a cave, but you still have to eat, drink, and sleep. Now, you’re young and can do whatever you want. But how about when you get old? You want to live on welfare and Medicare?”
Ingrid leaps from the bench. Something is burning in her chest. “Mary, I don’t need your lecture, not as much as you might think. Yes, I’m your younger sister, but I’m over thirty. Wouldn’t it
be fair for me to run my own life? I won’t mention all our previous conflicts, but you have to understand that I wouldn’t exchange my life with yours even if I had your house, your fantastic office job, and your annual income.”
Ingrid feels the chill in the air. She sits down and pulls up her jacket collar.
“We came here with nothing, having no connections and no heritage to speak of.” Mary speaks slowly, not looking at her sister. “Our parents were lucky to survive the Mao era. When Ba died, I paid for his funeral because Ma didn’t have money. Now, Ma’s retirement income barely covers her daily expenses. If she had major surgery or if her factory changed its medical insurance and no longer covered her, what would happen? You know what the hospitals are like in China. They stop your treatment the moment your deposit runs out. And how about the bribes to the doctors and nurses? That’s money too, right? Go ahead and laugh at me for being paranoid and practical, but I worry about Ma and I think I have good reason to worry.” Mary pauses to breathe heavily. “I didn’t want to have such a talk with you. I didn’t mean to blame you or make you feel guilty. But it’s just that you have to give some thought to Ma and your children. Do you know how difficult it was for Ma to raise us? How sad she would be if we didn’t do well? The Chinese say ‘Cookies won’t fall from the sky’ and the Americans say ‘There is no free lunch.’ It’s the same everywhere.”
Ingrid is irritated. She hates Mary for bringing their mother into the conversation to remind her of her duty as a daughter and a potential parent, yet she cannot deny that there is truth in what her sister has said. Inside, Ingrid has always sensed an undercurrent of uncertainty and trepidation, which makes her wonder what her next step is, where her future lies. She dreams of becoming a writer but has done little to prove herself. Allowing herself to drift, as she has found out, is easier than making a decision. During this drifting she has become a kite with a broken string. Now, Mary is trying to grab the string, to drag her back to reality.
Meanwhile, Ingrid sees Mary’s sacrifice, her succumbing to family responsibilities and other obligations, not in a cowardly way, yet still pitiable in Ingrid’s opinion. She remembers what Mary said to her right before she left China: “Just wait and see, I’ll become one of the best chemists in the world.” She had looked determined, her face glowing with youth, beauty, and intelligence. Now, a serene, gentle look has replaced this resolution.
“I only have one sister,” Mary says. “And we only have our mother left.”
At this moment, their mother appears. She opens the door and looks around until she finds Mary and Ingrid in the darkness. She doesn’t speak right away, as if guessing what her daughters have been talking about.
“Ma,” Ingrid and Mary call out at the same time, both putting on jovial voices.
“Ma,” Mary adds, “we were talking about work.”
“Guo-Mei just gave me some good advice,” Ingrid says, not sure why.
Pleased, their mother says, “It’s so cold outside. You don’t want to get sick. I’ve made some soup with bird’s nest and rock sugar. Drink some now. The soup tastes best when it’s hot.”
TWELVE
January
MARY DRIVES INTO HER company’s four-story garage and parks on the ground level, where there are a dozen cars already. It’s the first time she has come to the office this early: it’s barely six a.m. She looks out the window at the dark sky, surprised that people are here earlier. They must live far and, to avoid traffic, have to hit the road before daybreak so that they can leave the office by three p.m., before the rush hour. Though the economy has slowed and jobs are fewer than the year before, traffic is still horrendous. Several of Mary’s co-workers live in San Francisco and commute daily, driving more than one hour each way. They sometimes take Caltrain, but it usually takes much longer considering the waiting time and the time needed to get from the station to work.
Not only does the traffic remain heavy, but the housing market holds strong. Over the past year, Mary has been dreading a correction in the real-estate market, but so far she hasn’t seen it. Maybe Julia was right, Mary thinks, as she gets out of her silver Toyota Camry, that California is a place everyone wants to come—for jobs, for the sun, and for the scenery.
She didn’t have to start her day so early, but Claudia Dawn had sent her an e-mail late yesterday afternoon asking her to complete a PowerPoint presentation by ten a.m. and present it to a marketing team today. “These are the challenges that grow you in your career,” Claudia likes to say to her employees about such short-notice projects. In Mary’s opinion, Claudia just wants to show that she is the boss. She could have ignored the e-mail, pretending that she hadn’t seen it until she arrived at work this morning, but it wouldn’t be smart to confront Claudia, nicknamed “Stroppy Cow” by one of her co-workers—not now, with annual performance review time approaching. Who knows if this nasty woman would use this incident to say something unpleasant in her evaluation? Every year that Mary has worked for the company, she has been rated a top performer. She has had opportunities to be promoted to managerial positions, but she doesn’t like to manage people, preferring to be an independent contributor.
She started the PowerPoint slides last night, but then Mingyi came over to discuss a new Bible study group at the church, which they had been asked to co-lead. Afterward they chatted. Mingyi has started to work four days a week, so that she will have more time for the church and for volunteering. Though Mary used to volunteer with Mingyi now and then, she hasn’t been able to find time since her mother arrived.
The building where Mary works is quiet. The hallway carpet has dust, stains, paper scraps, and food droppings on it in many places. The janitors must have neglected their duty last night. She walks into her cubicle, places her handbag in an overhead file cabinet, and turns on her computer. Suddenly she realizes that she hasn’t watered her plants for more than a week, a rare oversight. Luckily, the plants are still alive, though their leaves have begun to turn yellow. She hasn’t been quite herself since she met Han Dong, she knows.
After she waters the plants, she begins to work, but she cannot focus. The recollections of Han Dong and her embracing and kissing, of him putting her on the hotel bed and taking off her clothes, return to her repeatedly. And the mysterious smile on his face while he stared at her half-naked body. Guilt, shame, and self-hatred well up inside her. She stops typing and buries her head in her folded arms on the desk, her temples pulsing with a dull pain.
For the past three weeks, Ingrid’s arrival had cheered her up so much that she had almost forgotten her encounter with Han Dong in Berkeley—even if she did think of him, she managed to see him as a ghost from the past. Ghosts weren’t real, and they’d go away, she consoled herself. After all, she didn’t have sex with him and she wasn’t even naked in front of him. American women wear bikinis on the beaches, she reasoned, while she’d had on not only her bra but also her long pants—she’d been much better covered than bikini wearers. No, it shouldn’t be considered even a fling.
These self-deceiving arguments had helped her enjoy her family reunion, but now, she is overwhelmed with anxiety and fear.
After they met, Han Dong had sent her a stream of e-mails and called her cell phone frequently, but she had remained unresponsive. He will return to China in a month. As soon as he gets on the plane, he will forget her or remember her only as a reserved and unattractive woman, she knows. He might even mention her later as an object of scorn to new lovers, who will be much prettier, younger, and more liberal than she. “My heaven, she was something! So eighties. She should have been displayed in a museum.” She imagines the amused expressions on his lovers’ faces.
He hadn’t gotten her, that was why he didn’t give up, she believes. Men were like that. They always felt the need to make a conquest, however unimportant the time, place, and person might be to them.
She resolves to go back to her peaceful world, to be a good wife, mother, and churchgoer, to consider her single indiscretion as
the kind of brief, unpleasant incident that is inevitable in one’s life. She’s not perfect, no one is perfect. She has sinned, but who hasn’t? Somehow, she remembers that when she was little she stole a piece of candy from a store. If she had had the money, she would have paid for it, but she had only enough to buy a notebook, and she had to have the notebook for her class that day. As the store owner, a grandpa, went to the back room to get one—he didn’t have it in the front—she opened a glass tin on the counter, took out a big White Rabbit, and slipped it into her pocket. It was easy: no one was around. She almost regretted that she hadn’t taken more. A moment later the store owner returned with her notebook. She paid and walked out into the sunshine, whistling like an innocent lark.
It was the first time she had ever done something like this. But her happiness didn’t last long. Approaching the school, as she was going to eat the candy, she suddenly thought of what her teachers had said about thieves: they were shameful parasites, people who should be thrown into jail. She was frightened. But the candy in her hand smelled so good! She couldn’t help but lick it several times, sensing the sweetness on her tongue. Then she rewrapped it in its cellophane and ran back to the store as fast as she could, so she wouldn’t have time to change her mind. No one was in the store but the owner. She asked to exchange the notebook for a different color. While the grandpa went to the back room, she opened the candy tin and replaced the big White Rabbit she had licked. She always remembers that day because she’d felt very proud of herself.
This time she knows that she cannot put the candy back as if nothing happened.
Her thoughts are tangled. She even wants to call Han Dong: she’d just tell him to stop contacting her, she thinks. But in fact, she longs to hear his voice, to hear him whisper her name. She lifts the phone and begins to dial but stops after pressing three numbers. If she did call him, what would happen next? She tries to imagine the outcome. Very likely she would drive to Berkeley to see him again, and then…
