A Free Life Page 8

  Without another word, mother and son went out of the kitchen, climbing the stairs to their quarters.

  Nan resumed eating. He didn’t feel hungry anymore, but was so angry that his appetite knew no bounds. He didn’t care what he put into his mouth and just ate and ate and ate, chewing the food ferociously while not tasting it.

  To his astonishment, he finished the whole chicken and most of the Tater Tots without noticing how much he had eaten. Strange to say, he didn’t feel stuffed. He was sick at heart and regretted his eruption and began blaming himself. Taotao is right. You’re full of it. You use self-sacrifice as a pretext for your own failure and uselessness, and you want others to pity you and share your bitterness. You’re silly and pathetic!

  In fact, his daily grouchiness was mostly due to his loathing for his job, which he kept mainly for its substandard health insurance. At work he had to walk around in the parking lot constantly, and at the close of the day his legs were heavy and stiff. He often returned home loaded with gas. His family kept out of his way most of the time and avoided eating with him. This aggravated him more. As a result, he ate without restraint and often finished whatever Pingping put on the table. His wife joked once that she was afraid he might eat the plates and bowls as well. Despite the voracious eating, he didn’t gain weight and even looked more haggard than before.

  16

  THOUGH he didn’t see his dad very often, Taotao would play pranks on him whenever he could. The boy loved his father and by now knew his parents couldn’t possibly mail him back to his grandparents. On the last Saturday morning of March, Nan came back from a graveyard shift with a stiff neck and shoulders. The moment he pulled into the yard, Taotao ran to the front entrance of the house and locked the screen door from inside. His father saw him, but exhausted and moody, Nan shambled over without looking at his son and yanked the door open. The latch snapped. The boy stood stock-still as his father checked the broken catch.

  Heidi had seen everything. She said to Nan, “Why did you bust the latch on purpose?”

  “I’m sorry. It was already loose,” he mumbled, though that was true.

  “But didn’t Taotao lock the screen door when he saw you coming in?”

  “He did.”

  “Well, you should have it fixed.”

  “All right, I will do zat.”

  “I have Bob’s phone number. You can call him.”

  “Sure, I will eef I need him.”

  Bob was the carpenter who had put the latch in the previous spring, and Heidi assumed Nan was going to call him in to install a new one. But after breakfast, Nan unscrewed the catch. Then he and Taotao set out for the hardware store at the town center, carrying the broken part in a brown paper bag. Nan wasn’t sure if they could find a match. All the way he blamed his son for being so careless. This time the boy remained quiet.

  Without difficulty the salesman at Motts Hardware, who eyed Nan enviously for his fatherhood, found the same kind of latch, which cost less than seven dollars. Although Nan needed only the catch, he had to buy the whole set. On his way back, his mood lifted and he began talking with his son casually. Taotao told him that he had several friends now, Mark, Ralph, Billy, and others. He had risen to the reading group of the second level and was doing superbly in the arithmetic tests.

  “How about Loreen?” Nan asked in English, remembering the frail, freckled girl who had often read to his son.

  “Her family moved.”

  “Where did zey go?”

  “Her dad retired from the Celtics and they went back to Indiana.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  “Not really.”

  “Wasn’t she your friend?”

  “She was okay.”

  “She helped you a lawt, didn’t she? You shouldn’t forget her.”

  The boy fell silent. Nan was amazed how easy it was for him to speak English with Taotao. Perhaps from now on he should talk with him more often to improve his own English.

  Together father and son installed the catch. The whole job took just a few minutes. Heidi was impressed, saying, “Bob charged me eighty dollars for it last time. I didn’t know it was so easy.”

  That was a major problem in this household, Pingping and Nan had noticed long before. People sometimes overcharged Heidi when they worked for her. Very often a mechanic or plumber or carpenter didn’t finish a job and would soon have to come back again. Heidi didn’t have the vaguest idea how much the cost should be. Over the winter a mechanic who spoke only Portuguese had come three times to fix the cooking range, just to make two burners work again, but he had billed Heidi more than $150 for each visit, plus the parts. Once a huckster had stopped by with a powerful vacuum cleaner that could pick up an iron ball four inches in diameter; Heidi was so taken with his demonstration that she paid $1,000 for the machine.

  Heidi was impressed by Nan’s ability to fix small things. He had always changed the oil in his car and replaced the battery by himself, and once even repaired the rear brake of Nathan’s bicycle. The previous winter he had replaced the toilet flapper to stop a leak in the bathroom next to the kitchen. Pingping was pleased by his handy-manship and praised him. Back in China he had been a clumsy man and couldn’t even patch a flat bicycle tire, which most men could do. In their neighborhood he was known for being lazy. He wouldn’t do any housework and instead raised four doves, which were snow-white and lovely, each wearing a brass whistle on its wing, so they’d emit a fluty sound when flying. Several times the wives in the neighborhood complained to Pingping that their husbands had begun to emulate Nan and had stopped doing household chores. They urged her at least to let him wash dishes and his underwear. She promised to make him work, but he seldom lifted a finger to help her. Even Nan’s mother said that if a bottle of cooking oil fell over and spilled, he wouldn’t bother to pick it up.

  American life had changed him. Now he loved hand tools—oh, the infinite varieties of American tools, each designed for one purpose, just like the vast English vocabulary, each word denoting precisely one thing or one idea. What’s more, Nan was always ready to run an errand for his wife, though he still grumbled on occasion. This was mainly due to the job he hated intensely but had to keep. Even he could feel the change in himself. He wasn’t a feeble bookworm anymore; he was no longer ashamed of working hard to make a dollar.

  17

  NAN and Pingping sometimes quarreled when their son wasn’t around. But they had agreed to stay together until Taotao grew up. Nan once asked Pingping, “What will you do after that?”

  “Either go to a nunnery or kill myself,” she said. Ever since girl-hood she had been infatuated with the image of a nun: the long gown, the flying headpiece, the white gloves, the glossy rosary.

  “I’ll be a monk, then,” said Nan.

  “Let’s go to a temple together so we can often meet. Promise, you’ll spend some time with me every week.”

  Nan always liked her peculiar kind of innocence, and replied, “You’re talking as if all the monks will leave you alone.”

  She punched his arm. “I’m serious.”

  Nan said no more. How he wished he could work up more emotion to reciprocate her love. If only he weren’t so exhausted and so sick at heart. If only he hadn’t been wounded so deeply by that fox Beina.

  Sometimes when Pingping couldn’t stand his impassivity anymore, she’d pick up the phone and call someone. Nan would do the same when he was unhappy. He’d talk with Danning, and most times they’d chat for a long while. His friend would urge him to be more considerate to Pingping. For better or worse, she was willing to sacrifice everything for their family and was absolutely loyal to him. What else could he want from her? Where could he find a better woman? He ought to feel fortunate and grateful.

  Unlike Nan, Pingping didn’t have a friend of her own. Then who did she call when she was upset or angry? Nan often wondered and got unsettled. Sometimes the instant the line went through, she’d hang up. Once he asked who she was phoning. “None of your busi
ness,” she said. “I can call anyone I want to.”

  One evening in mid-April they quarreled again. She dropped his tea mug on the floor. About that he said nothing and just wiped the wet spot on the carpet with a rag. He was afraid she might go so far as to tear one of his books, which she’d done before. Yet today his silence incensed her more. She rushed out of the room, picked up the phone from the top of a wooden chest and began dialing. He followed her out and pressed down the plunger of the phone. She glared at him, her eyes flashing madly.

  “Who do you want to speak to?” he asked.

  “Leave me alone!”

  “No. You must let me know.”

  “You never care anyway.”

  “Please! If you have someone you’d like to meet, I won’t hold you back, I promise. Just let me know.” He reached for the handset but couldn’t wrench it off her hand.

  “Let go of me!”

  “Not until you tell me who you’re calling.”

  “I dialed nobody but 911, all right?”

  “What?” he gasped. “You’re insane!”

  The gravity of his voice stopped her. She released the phone, staring at him.

  “They may come here with an ambulance,” he told her, still in disbelief.

  “No, I’ve never said a word to them. How could they get here?”

  “Their machine must show the caller’s number, so they can trace you to this place.”

  That stunned her and she started sobbing. Nan replaced the phone, enfolded her with one arm, and said, “Come, stop crying. Nothing like that has happened yet.”

  “I really didn’t know they could find out I called. I just meant to make you jealous.”

  Her last sentence surprised him, but also somewhat pleased him. He smiled and told her, “You acted like a small child. All right, no more crying. Don’t dial 911 again.”

  She nodded yes and muttered, “I hate you as much as I love you. If only I could leave and never see you again.”

  “Just give me some time, okay? I’ll find a decent job and then my temper will improve. I’ll be a better man.”

  “You really need to do something to save yourself and our family. We can’t continue to live like this.”

  “I know we can’t stay under Heidi’s roof forever. I’ll figure out a way.”

  “You’re always a good talker.”

  “Only in Chinese.” He grimaced.

  “Remember what you said to me when we first met?”

  “What did I say?”

  “You said, ‘Life is a tragedy, but its meaning lies in how we face the tragedy.’”

  “That was just juvenile rubbish I had picked up from reading Hemingway.”

  “But I fell in love with you for that. You were a full man then, the first man who ever said something meaningful to me. I had always been angry whenever I was with another man. You were so different from others, but now you’ve been losing your spirit. You must brace up and save yourself.”

  “I know I’m just drifting along.”

  “We must find our way.”

  Nan nodded without another word. His heart was filled with pain and gratitude. If his wife had been of two hearts with him, this family would have fallen apart long ago. He must find a way to make a decent living and mustn’t despair of himself.

  18

  PINGPING was mending Heidi’s bathrobe in the kitchen while talking with Heidi. On the table were three stacks of laundered clothes she had just folded. Outside, the clouds had broken, electric wires and leafy branches still glistening with rainwater. The lilacs and young dogwood trees had lowered their white and pinkish blossoms in the glowing afternoon sun. Beyond the shrubs two rabbits scampered about, now nibbling grass and now chasing each other. Pingping and Nan were both allergic to pollen. Nan was extremely sensitive to oak and dogwood, whereas Pingping didn’t know what she was allergic to. She was most miserable in late April, when her nose would dribble and swell and she’d keep a wad of tissue in her pocket all the time. Nan would repeat in English “April is the cruelest month,” though his wife had no idea it was a line of poetry. The previous spring when pollen had set in, they had thought they were suffering from the flu and had taken Tylenol, Bayer, and other cold pills available over the counter, but none of the medicines helped much. Not until mid-May had Nan figured out what it was, but by then the miserable season was almost over for them.

  Pingping was glad that a morning shower had washed away a lot of pollen so the air would be somewhat clean for a day or two. She and Heidi had been talking about yesterday evening’s quarrel. Heidi told her that Eric, her late husband’s younger brother, was a ladies’ man, so she wondered if Nan was the same.

  “Nan doesn’t like woman,” Pingping said.

  Heidi looked surprised. “What did you say? You mean, he’s more fond of men?”

  “No, he’s not gay.”

  “Then what’s his problem? Most men like women.”

  “His mind.”

  “I don’t get it.” Heidi shook her newly permed hair, which made her head appear larger than usual, her cheeks shiny and pinkish, and her face three or four years younger than the past week.

  “How can I say this?” Pingping said. “Back in China he like pretty womans—women, but now he always say he’s tired.” She was too ashamed to reveal he didn’t love her.

  “I know some men are like that, especially after they’ve had too many women.”

  “Nan doesn’t have affair.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I just know. When he come to USA, I told him he can have another woman if he want, but just don’t forget me and Taotao, and don’t get disease.”

  “Wow, you said that?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he do then?”

  “Nothing. He said he has no time to chase women, he’s too tired. He want to study hard and then come back home.”

  “Something could be wrong with his mind. You know what? He should see a shrink.”

  “What is shrink?”

  “A psychiatrist. Nathan has seen Dr. Blumenthal in Wellesley every Tuesday afternoon since his dad died.”

  “That help him?”

  “Of course, a lot. He’s steadier now. He used to be very moody.”

  “Maybe Nan should meet that shrink too. How much it cost?”

  “It depends. I guess around seventy an hour.”

  “I see.”

  Heidi put on her reading glasses and began leafing through a mail-order catalog while Pingping spread the bathrobe on the table to see whether there was another spot that needed patching. She was impressed that Heidi wouldn’t throw away the tattered robe. Both of them turned silent for the time being.

  Later that afternoon Pingping asked Nathan what Dr. Blumenthal had done to him on Tuesday. The boy blinked his whitish eyes and said, “Nothing. He just listened to me talk.”

  “Really? He make money just by listen to you?”

  “Sure. He also asked questions.”

  “What kind?”

  “Like ‘How do you feel today?’ and ‘Did Scott bug you again last week?’”

  “I can do that.” She was amazed.

  That evening she told Nan about her conversation with Heidi and suggested he consider seeing a psychiatrist. He had just received his diploma for his M.A., which had come in a large envelope braced with a rectangle of cardboard, so he was in a pleasant frame of mind and was about to play checkers with Taotao. He said in response to Pingping’s suggestion, “I don’t believe in psychiatry. Why should we throw away money like that?”

  “Nathan said it made him feel much better.”

  “But it doesn’t really calm him down. Don’t you see he still has an outburst every now and then?”

  “I’m afraid you might lose your mind.”

  “I’ve already lost most of it. I can’t get worse.” He gave a short laugh. “Don’t worry. I can talk to you. We can be each other’s psychiatrists.”

  “At least you s
hould give it a try.”

  “Even if it helps, I won’t do that. You know how hard it is for us to make a dollar. We have to save as much as we can. In this country, without money you can’t do anything. We should move out of this house soon and have to have more cash in hand.”

  In reality, Nan didn’t often speak to Pingping about his feelings, which were disordered and unclear to himself. If he couldn’t help it anymore, he just poured his misery out on her, and once in a while she did the same to him. In appearance he was peaceful and gentle, but at heart he felt as if he were running a temperature, about to collapse. But somehow he always managed to pull himself together and go through his daily drudgery without a hitch. He didn’t have time to read books now, though at work he tried to dip into his dictionary whenever it was possible. How he missed his former job at the factory, where he had been able even to catnap if he was tired of reading. Nowadays, besides the dictionary, he also carried with him a small notebook in which he had copied out some poems, both English and Chinese. He wanted to memorize the lines he loved.

  19

  NEVER having contacted Harbin Teachers College, Nan couldn’t send its approval letter to the Chinese consulate to have his passport renewed, but it was said that lately the policy for such a renewal had changed and that no permission from one’s former work unit was required anymore. So when Nan received a letter from the Chinese consulate one day in mid-May, he was pleased, fingering the booklet enclosed in a manila envelope with the thought that it must contain his passport. It did indeed. But when he opened the gilt-worded cover, he was stunned by a scarlet seal that declared cANCELED.

  Both he and Pingping were devastated, knowing this was the official revenge for his involvement in the plan for the kidnap. Though Nan, shocked and outraged, couldn’t think coherently for hours, the significance of the cancellation gradually sank in. Now the door back to China was shut and he had become a countryless man. What was to be done? The more he thought, the more angry he felt. Why had he been so passive, letting the Chinese consulate deliver blows on him at will? Why should he remain an obedient subject of that ruthless country? Shouldn’t people be entitled to abandon their country if all the authorities did was make them sacrifice and suffer? He’d get naturalized here as soon as possible. By any means, he’d better discard the baggage of China so as to travel light. He must become an independent man.