Good Chinese Wife Read online

  The digital clock on my mini hi-fi seemed stuck at 6:45. I flipped through one of Na Wei’s Hong Kong celebrity gossip magazines, wishing I hadn’t eaten so quickly. My Chinese-English dictionary rested on my side of the wall-length desk I shared with Na Wei. Along the opposite wall was our metal bunk bed, where Na Wei’s mattress had been untouched for days.

  After what seemed like another hour, I heard a knock. When I opened the door, Cai stood before me, smiling widely. He was dressed in the same hunting vest he wore the night we met, but this time he wore a navy blue T-shirt underneath. In one hand he held his paper and a thin Chinese-English dictionary and, in the other, a white floral tea mug.

  “Is this a good time?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course. I usually stay inside on weeknights.” That wasn’t exactly true. That night was an exception, as I had canceled dinner with Janice. For my first semester, I had signed up for a full load of graduate-level classes in political theory, public administration, and Hong Kong politics. I would spend this first year in classwork and the second year writing my thesis. If I didn’t start hitting the books soon, I knew my grades would suffer. Looking at Cai with his paper and teacup, I sensed that he would be a good academic influence.

  As soon as he placed his things on Na Wei’s side of the desk, Cai reached into a pocket of his hunting vest and pulled out a small bag filled with dried, green tea leaves.

  “Would you like some tea?”

  “Sure.” I handed him a cup from the ledge above my side of the desk.

  Checking myself in the mirror after he left the room, I readjusted my vest and smoothed out my blouse. I saw that my ponytail needed retying to rein in some loose strands. Several minutes later, I heard a knock on a door. “It’s me,” Cai said. I opened the door to find him grinning again, holding two steaming mugs.

  Cai and I sipped our tea, which was surprisingly refreshing in Hong Kong’s hot autumn, while I read a paragraph of his paper for him to repeat. He’d taught himself a little English back in Wuhan, but had never taken a class and could only put a few words together on his own. We had a lot of work ahead of us.

  Just as I’d pictured, his paper was filled with descriptions of clouds, trees, ritual music pieces, and Chinese instruments like gongs, two-stringed erhus, and bamboo flutes. Translated into English by a local student in Cai’s department, his paper centered on a temple in Suzhou, not too far from Shanghai. I had visited both cities on my first trip to China but hadn’t seen the temple in his paper. After thirty minutes of Cai repeating each paragraph, he rubbed his eyes. “Lèile,” he said. I’m tired.

  “I’d be tired, too, if I had to read in Chinese for a half hour straight.”

  “But you speak Mandarin very well.”

  “Bùyào kèqì.” Don’t be polite.

  “No, really, you do. I’ve never met a foreigner who could say more than ni hao. Where did you learn Mandarin?”

  “I studied in America for about four years, but also here in Hong Kong when I was an exchange student a few years back. That’s why I’m in Hong Kong now. I loved it so much that I wanted to return. Going to graduate school was the only way I could get a long-term visa.”

  “Have you been to China? It’s much easier to learn Mandarin there.”

  “Yes, I know. I went in 1988 with a group from my high school. Then I returned a couple times during my study-abroad year.”

  “Excellent.” He sat back in his chair. “Where did you go?”

  “The first time to Beijing, Nanjing, Shanghai, Wuxi, and Suzhou, just like in your paper. My dad teaches chemistry at a university in Chicago and has several Chinese students, so I visited their families in Shanghai and Beijing after my year in Hong Kong. Before that, I went back to Nanjing to see my tour guide from the first trip. I stayed with him and his family for Chinese New Year.”

  Cai’s eyes lit up. “Chinese New Year is very loud and exciting. I can’t wait to go back home for it this February.”

  “Your family is all in Wuhan?”

  “Actually, I’m not from Wuhan city. I studied and taught there for eight years before I came here last year, but I’m from a small city two hours outside Wuhan called Hidden River. My parents and two sisters are still there. I have another sister who lives two hours in the other direction.”

  I held my breath, waiting for him to explain that his wife still lives in Wuhan, or that his girlfriend is from there but studying in Germany or Great Britain. Cai had to have a wife or at the very least a girlfriend. He was too good-looking and intelligent to still be single. My jealousy started to boil, and I wondered what I’d do if his wife or girlfriend came to Hong Kong to visit. Would I even be tutoring Cai at that point?

  But that was it. Cai had stopped speaking.

  This was the perfect opening to inquire about his personal life, but I just couldn’t bring myself to ask him. The last thing I wanted was to make a social faux pas and scare Cai away. Since he hadn’t asked if I had a boyfriend, I worried it might be premature to bring it up now. Besides, I didn’t like feeling jealous, so I stuck to the conversation at hand. “I bet few people from Hidden River have made it to Hong Kong.”

  Cai chuckled. “That’s true. Hidden River is very small for a Chinese city, but it’s also a relaxed and peaceful place. Of course, there’s no job for an ethnomusicologist there, but it will always stay close to my heart.” Again, he spoke the word ethnomusicologist in English. I could already hear the improvement in pronunciation. He shifted in Na Wei’s chair and took a quick sip of tea. “Aren’t your parents worried about you being so far from home?”

  “They’re fine with it. My mom lived in Japan for a year when she was about my age. My dad has traveled a lot, too. They visited me twice the year I was an exchange student. And now they’re planning to come again this December. I think my parents like having me here. It’s a good excuse to travel and to see Hong Kong.”

  What I didn’t say, but thought at that moment, was that my parents would like Cai. All of my dad’s Chinese graduate students had become close to my parents, joining my family for Thanksgiving every year. Cai reminded me of these students and their spouses: diligent, kind, and curious to learn more, even after they had finished their studies.

  “China is becoming more like the United States in that way,” Cai said. “Many college students are going to America, and most stay there after they graduate.”

  “My dad’s students have all stayed, and they came to Chicago ten years ago.”

  He didn’t reply and I didn’t ask what he thought about Chinese students moving abroad for good. Thinking about my dad’s students—all of whom had found good jobs and bought homes—I assumed most young people from China wished to live in the United States.

  Cai looked at his watch. “It’s late and you must be tired. Is tomorrow night at seven okay with you? I still have so much work to do on this paper. It’ll be a miracle if I’m ready by January.”

  “Tomorrow’s great. And of course you’ll be ready. It’s still early October and we’ve only met once. There’s plenty of time.” And plenty of time to get to know him better, I mused.

  Cai stood and took his paper, dictionary, and empty teacup. “Good night, Susan. Thank you for working with me.”

  “No problem. I’m happy to help.”

  “See you tomorrow,” Cai said as he stepped into the hallway.

  As soon as I heard the elevator door close, I grabbed my key—I wouldn’t forget it this time—and phoned Janice on the hall phone. She would have to go clubbing tomorrow night without me.

  • • •

  The next evening, I saw that Cai’s musical background gave him a good ear for languages. Although we continued to use Mandarin in our conversations, his English pronunciation improved faster than I’d first imagined it would.

  “I never thought it would be so exhausting to read in English.”

 
“That’s just because you’re doing really well. If you weren’t improving, it wouldn’t feel so difficult.”

  Cai smiled and leaned back in his chair. I wanted to know more about him, so I took this opportunity to ask, “What is Hidden River like?”

  He nodded and began to speak of his idyllic childhood full of carefree days roaming the countryside and wading through ponds covered with lily pads the size of Frisbees. He fished and caught frogs with a band of friends, completely free of want. But then he started talking about his adolescence.

  “It was a very hard time in China. Just before I finished middle school, all high schools were closed. Teenagers had to work in the countryside so they could learn from the peasants. But I didn’t want to do manual labor. I was actually very lucky. One day, a traveling opera group came to Hidden River to hold auditions. This troupe traveled throughout Hubei province to perform revolutionary operas. I’d seen some operas and always enjoyed the colorful costumes and lively music. So I tried out.”

  “As an actor?”

  “No, as a cellist. I played with this opera troupe for seven years and never had to do manual labor.”

  “Had you played the cello before the troupe came to your town?”

  “No. I’d never even seen one before.”

  What an incredible story. It seemed like something from a Chinese novel or film, especially compared to my predictable childhood in suburban Chicago. My dad’s students also grew up during the Cultural Revolution, but they spoke of those days in vague terms, how they stopped going to school and were sent to the countryside to work with peasants. Although I had read similar stories about famous people like actress Joan Chen and author Anchee Min, Cai was the first person I knew who had been saved from this fate through the arts.

  He went on to tell me that he was the youngest in his opera troupe and was doted on by the other members, both the men and the women. They all kept an eye out for him and made sure he was well cared for.

  “Everyone was my parent.”

  “Didn’t you miss your family? You were so young when you started with the opera.” It must have been difficult to be the youngest. And I couldn’t imagine leaving home just as I was supposed to start high school. That age was difficult enough with struggling to fit in. I didn’t think I could have successfully navigated those years on my own, far from my family.

  “I got used to it. Most teenagers lived apart from their parents back then.” He shrugged sheepishly.

  A slew of images floated through my mind: his years away from his family, constantly on the road, the thrill of the applause after each performance. Yet something nagged at me. “How could you enter college if you were on the road with the opera for seven years?”

  “There’s a Chinese saying, ‘If a son is uneducated, his father is to blame.’ My parents were both teachers, so my dad often sent me homework. He loves to read and study on his own, so he developed lessons for me in reading, writing, and math. When I was twenty-one and finished with the opera, I took the college entrance exams and got into the Wuhan Conservatory of Music.”

  “That’s amazing. Do you still play the cello?”

  “No,” he chuckled. “I haven’t picked one up in years. I don’t even own one. After I finished college, I knew I’d never be good enough to play professionally again, so I switched to ethnomusicology for my master’s degree. I like the peaceful philosophy behind Taoism and find the music both uplifting and sad. I’ve even written a few books about Taoist music and will travel to Suzhou this summer to do fieldwork for my dissertation.”

  His life really was something out of a movie. I felt not just admiration for Cai, but also a newfound respect. I didn’t want the night to end, but it was getting late and we both had early morning classes. Before he left my room, we arranged to meet the following evening and every night that week, except Saturday and Sunday evenings.

  Cai explained that on Sundays he took the train a few stations north to play the erhu, a two-stringed Chinese instrument, in the music rituals at a Taoist temple renowned in Hong Kong’s business community. This schedule suited me well. I could meet with Cai during the week and still hang out with Janice on the weekends.

  Chapter 4

  Learning the Chinese Rules of Dating

  Several weeks after the magical dance, Cai took a long sip of his tea while he leaned back in Na Wei’s blocky, wooden chair. We had been reading through his paper and it was getting late. He looked around the room as if debating whether to say something.

  “There’s another mainland student dance tomorrow.” He made brief eye contact with me. “Do you want to meet there? I have to go off campus before that.”

  It took me a minute to realize he was asking me to go—with him. All these weeks of wondering how he felt about me, and now this invitation to finally venture out of our dorm together. Ever since we had started meeting nightly, Cai and I had been locked away in my room working on his paper.

  “That would be great.” I steadied my voice in case he was only asking me as a friend. But would he really ask me if he just wanted to be friends? Could this be a turning point in our friendship? I still didn’t know about his personal life and if there was someone back in China or elsewhere. But this invitation to the dance seemed promising.

  I didn’t wait long after Cai left my room before phoning Janice to tell her about this sudden change. I knew I would sound like a love-struck middle school girl, but I needed to analyze it with someone, and Janice was my best friend. We hadn’t seen each other the last couple of weekends because I needed to use that time to write papers or study for exams. Soon most of my contact with her took place over the phone when I could catch her at home.

  She continued to go out most nights of the week and sail on junk cruises around Hong Kong’s outlaying islands on the weekends. Although I had once aspired to that lifestyle, it no longer held sway. I would rather stay in and talk to Cai every night, and attend mainland dances once a month. By chance, when I phoned Janice that night, she had just returned from a party in the fancy Mid-Levels district on Hong Kong Island.

  “Just be careful,” she warned me. “You still don’t know him very well.”

  “But we meet every night. And isn’t this a chance to get to know him better? I can’t wait to dance with him again!” In less than twenty-four hours, Cai would be twirling me around the dance floor, holding me tightly in his arms.

  “You’re right. It’s good you’re getting to know him. Just be cautious, okay? I’d hate for you to jump ahead of yourself when it’s still so early.”

  • • •

  Cai and I had made plans to meet at seven the following evening, so I arrived a couple minutes after that. I didn’t want to keep him waiting. The room was filled with mainland students. As I scanned the area, I saw that none of the expats or local students from the last dance had arrived yet. I was so excited to go with Cai that I had neglected to ask my friend Cee Cee if she would be attending this one, too. I found a place to wait for Cai, not too far from the door. Leaning against the peach cinder block wall, I tried to tune out “Rainy Days and Mondays.”

  Quite a few mainland men who had danced with me last time were now waltzing by with other women. They never once looked in my direction. But it didn’t faze me because I wasn’t there to be with other guys; I had come to dance with Cai. He should arrive any minute now. More familiar faces swished by—both men and women—yet they continued not to make eye contact. I started to feel invisible, like I did as a young girl in Evanston, when I was the last kid picked for teams in gym class and never got invited to parties. When Cai arrived, I imagined we would dance the rest of the night away.

  Maybe the train was delayed or he was still waiting for the campus bus at the bottom of the mountain. Only a small percentage of people had cell phones back then, so we were all used to waiting around an extra half hour or forty-five minutes. It happened all the tim
e when I made plans to meet Janice during rush hour. I decided to wait ten more minutes now before heading back up to my building to check with the guard at the front desk. Maybe Cai had left a message with him.

  Air Supply’s “All Out of Love” came on, and I wanted to crawl into a corner and hide. The mainland students still hadn’t acknowledged me, but surely they saw me and were wondering why I was standing against the wall alone. I hoped they couldn’t see my humiliation. Last time I had danced with a lot of men, so I knew they weren’t staying away now because they had an aversion to foreigners. What could it be?

  And then I saw him.

  It was like I was back in the dorm lobby, locked out and desperate to borrow a replacement key. Cai walked into the room and my nerves waned. I almost forgot I’d been standing alone all this time.

  He glanced over at me as he adjusted his eyes to the dark room. But instead of joining me, he stopped to chat with a few friends who stood along another wall. Surely he had seen me. Or maybe he wanted to greet these friends before spending the rest of the evening with me. Please save me! I wanted to scream into the crowd. Even if I’d been that bold, no one would have heard me over the pulsating synthesized music. A few minutes later, Cai finally made his way toward me. He smiled as if we’d both just arrived at the dance and brought me to the center of the room.

  He looked over my shoulder as I tried to follow his box steps. “You look really nice. Sorry I’m late.”

  “Thank you.” His compliment washed away the embarrassment of waiting alone. I certainly couldn’t let him know I’d almost suffered a panic attack. “That’s all right. I got here a little early.”

  After we waltzed to a Faye Wong song and “Endless Love,” Cai pushed his hands into his pants pockets. “I should probably dance with some people in my department. It looks like they’re all alone.”

  “Sure, go ahead.” The irony wasn’t lost on me, but what could it hurt to sit out a couple songs now that Cai was here?