“The Unbroken Chain”
(1939– )
Among the writers represented in this anthology, Huang Ch’un-ming should be a more familiar name. His The Drowning of an Old Cat and Other Stories (1980) was published by Indiana University Press. A peripatetic writer celebrated for his sympathetic portrayal of little people in small towns, Huang was relatively uninterested in topical subjects until a series of international events affecting Taiwan’s political entity forced him to change direction. First it was the State Department’s decision to return the Tiao Yü T’ai islands to Japanese jurisdiction in 1971. In the same year, the Nationalist Government was expelled from the United Nations. Then came the “Nixon shokku”—President Nixon’s visit to Peking in 1972. Though no Kuomintang loyalist, Huang nevertheless felt the snub as a Chinese national. But to read “I Love Mary” as an anti-American story would miss the point, for the butt of the author’s ridicule and contempt is reserved for the “imitation American,” the chia Mei-kuo jen. Like “Night Freight,” Huang’s story is a “cautionary tale” about the corrosion of Chinese identity in the teeth of a superior materialistic culture. Huang graduated from Pingtung Normal College but finds himself temperamentally more suited to be a writer. He supports himself by odd jobs, seldom staying in the same position for more than a year. By common consent, Huang’s tour de force is “A Flower in the Rainy Night” (K’an-hai ti jih-tzu, 1967, included in Chinese Stories from Taiwan). His works are listed and discussed in Chinese Fiction from Taiwan: Critical Perspectives.
Translated by Howard Goldblatt
A RECTIFICATION OF NAMES
Ta-wei Chen’s legal Chinese name was Chen Shun-te.1 He had found it necessary to adopt the name Ta-wei Chen because he worked in one of Taipei’s foreign establishments. The foreign name was intended as a convenience for his foreign employers, but unexpectedly his friends and acquaintances, even his wife, also took to calling him Ta-wei. When foreigners or English-speaking Chinese friends addressed him, Ta-wei easily became David2 in standard English pronunciation. All his other friends pronounced the name in true Chinese fashion, with two distinct tonal syllables—Ta-wei. But it really made no difference, for whenever he was addressed as Ta-wei, either in standard English or in transliterated Chinese, it evoked the same quick response. However, on those infrequent occasions when someone called him by his formal Chinese name, Mr. Chen Shun-te, or, more intimately, by his given name alone—Shun-te—his reaction was considerably blunted. He would first pretend that he hadn’t heard; when the name was repeated he would contemplate it momentarily; but on the third mention, he would once again pretend that he hadn’t heard, even though by then he would be somewhat disgruntled. If the person hadn’t the patience or the confidence to call out a fourth time, that person could get our hero to turn around and acknowledge his presence only by a slap on the shoulder. In short, whenever someone addressed him by his true Chinese name, his reaction, far from being natural and spontaneous, was carefully measured. Still, it would be inaccurate to say that he was repelled by his Chinese name; often, for example, when someone used it he would eventually turn around and respond with evident embarrassment:
“Oh, pardon me, I’m sorry. Were you addressing me? You must have called me several times. Ai, I’m just about deaf in my left ear. When I was a child, one of my teachers hit me on the ear and damaged it permanently. Foreigners don’t believe in corporal punishment with their students, you know.”
On other occasions he might react with displeasure:
“How was I to know you were addressing me? There are so many people named Chen Shun-te it’s enough to drive a person nuts! No one’s called me Chen Shun-te for a long time—call me Ta-wei.” Naturally his displeasure at being called by his Chinese name was linked to the identity of the person addressing him and the class to which that person was supposed to belong.
The clear difference in responses between being called by his foreign name on the one hand and his Chinese name on the other was solid evidence of how he had thrown himself into his work at the foreign company over the past four years; Ta-wei Chen had disembodied himself from Chen Shun-te and had immersed himself totally in his work environment. He was just the kind of person his foreign employer liked to have around. This preference had nothing to do with personal affection, but was a potential source of inestimable benefits in virtually every aspect of promoting his company’s position locally. But Ta-wei Chen never wavered in the belief that his relationship with his foreign employer was nothing less than true friendship, a belief that had long since become the rock-bottom support for his psychological well-being.
As far as his outward appearance was concerned, Ta-wei Chen had become a sort of stooge. He slept well and had a good appetite, which gave him a look of affluence that belied his youthful age. Stooges like him have a unique personality trait: they are totally servile toward the cruel taskmasters above them and can stoically accept any adversity forced upon them. Otherwise how could he, for instance, have functioned in this foreign establishment—especially under the supervision of a swaggering boss like Raymond—without getting the axe or calling it quits? On the other hand, for those who were socially below him, no matter how servilely or stoically they took what he dished out, it did them no good at all.
In a nutshell, it was no easy task to work for a man like Raymond for all these years and even manage to develop a paunch. Moreover, Ta-wei’s affectations gave him the appearance of a tendril coiled around the branches of a great tree, bathing in the spring sunlight and blossoming forth. He was unabashedly content with his present circumstances. During leisure hours away from the office, his favorite pastime was stretching out on the sofa, raising his legs slightly, and spreading his delicate fingers atop his slightly protuding belly, which rose and fell with the rhythm of his hurried breathing. Once in a while he would observe his reclining image in the bay windows of the coffee shop across the way, and at such times he felt he could almost see in this reflection a view of his own promising future.
Somewhere along the way, Ta-wei s friends had begun using a sound-alike word for the second half of his name, for which an appropriate translation might be “Potbelly.” This he discovered through some notes his friends had left for him in which they had unabashedly called him Potbelly. Even those friends who customarily called him David began using Ta-wei—Potbelly. Fortunately for him, in Chinese this term sounded exactly the same as the Ta-wei meaning David. There had been a time when the distortion of his name had bothered him, but, to his amazement, before long even his employer, Mr. Raymond, had begun addressing him by the name Ta-wei. He thought about this for a while and wound up delighted with the turn of events, seeing it as a blessing in disguise. For some time after that, he laughingly said to nearly everyone he met:
“Shit, even my American boss calls me Ta-wei—Potbelly. Hey! Shit!” He would be grinning so broadly his eyes would be narrow slits, for he interpreted this development as an indication that the relationship between him and his employer had undergone a change, that they were now closer than ever. And so, when he learned that his boss was being transferred back to the States, he pestered Mr. and Mrs. Raymond until he was blue in the face, begging them to leave Mary with him. For the first few days he got on their nerves, and he knew it. But secure in the knowledge that Mr. Raymond called him Potbelly, what was there to fear? He knew they’d let him have Mary if he kept it up long enough, and this realization served to embolden him. He could not have felt more deserving.
AN AMERICAN LIFESTYLE
Ta-wei spent NT$4,0003 to buy a copy of a painting of a faded lotus by the renowned artist Ch’i Pai-shih, and with great difficulty drove from the frame shop in Taipei to the foreign residential community of T’ien-mu. As he sped down Taipei’s major artery, each time he approached an intersection he prayed to himself, mumbling softly, “Green light, please, a green light . . .” But every single traffic light evoked an outburst of cursing, for it was one red light after another. He breathed a sigh of relief as he drove up to the lane where the Raymonds lived, for a glance at his watch showed that he was twelve minutes early for his four o’clock appointment to bid them farewell.
Ta-wei instinctively considered very carefully what he would do with these twelve minutes. During his employment with this establishment, experience had taught him the value of time from a foreigner’s point of view. A man like Raymond was obsessed with the scheduling, utilization, and demands of time, and Chinese who worked for him understood that they had to always be on the alert. As far as Raymond was concerned, punctuality meant being neither early nor late, and this concept of time was clearly understood by Ta-wei and a few of the others. Raymond demanded that every job be carried out precisely on schedule, like the smooth flow of a river. To him it was more than a simple matter of efficiency—it was a sort of work ethic; more than that, it was the epitome of the laborer’s art. Time and again he emphasized the concept that any job carried out with this principle firmly in grasp produced its own enjoyment, that labor itself was a form of pleasure. He was content in the belief that he was the founder of a school of philosophy.
Throughout his experience, whenever Ta-wei or one of the others fell short of being punctual or failed to complete a job on time, no matter how insignificant it might be, Raymond never missed an opportunity to preach his philosophy. And he didn’t stop with singling out the individual in his rebuke:
“I won’t deny that China has a 5,000-year history, that she’s got 5,000 years behind her. But if this is the way things have always been done, then those precious 5,000 years have been wasted. If you’re time conscious, you don’t need 5,000 years, or even 500—200 is more than enough. I’m afraid I’ll be dragged into the mire by you people if you don’t mend your time-wasting ways.”
They had been subjected to more of this type of officious prattle than they cared to remember. It had all come to a head when several of Tawei’s Chinese co-workers had banded together to demand an apology from Raymond for one of his insulting outbursts against their country. Tawei had prudently kept himself above the fray. His noninvolvement led to the resignation of his co-workers, which in turn resulted in added pressures on him at the office. He was fearful that Raymond would repeat his public tirades and that his new co-workers would again unite in defiance. As a result, he was more heedful of punctuality than ever before.
As his car approached the Raymonds’ lane, with twelve minutes still to go, he chose not to bring the car to a stop, but stepped down on the gas pedal instead and shot past, casting a quick glance at the Raymonds’ home as he did so. Looking straight ahead again, he was relieved by the assurance that the Raymonds were not out in front. He had not yet forgotten his harrowing experience at the frame shop: when the shopkeeper had told him that the job wouldn’t be ready for another two hours, he had jumped to his feet and started screaming at the man. By now it all seemed so amusing. As he drove past one Western style residence after another, he was conscious of how fresh and clear the air was. In another year or so, he figured, one of the homes in this neighborhood ought to be his. He drove around the block, lost in thought. When he arrived back at the entrance to the lane, he quickly brought the car to a stop and looked at his watch—it was four minutes to four.
He knew there wasn’t enough time to make another turn around the block, so he decided to play it safe by staying where he was and smoking a cigarette. He lazily put a cigarette into his mouth but quickly took it out again, for he realized how embarrassed he would be if the Raymonds spotted him waiting there before the appointed hour. He got out of the car, raised the hood, and stuck his head and upper body into the engine space. He tinkered around for a moment until he was nearly overcome by the steam from the engine. He was painfully aware of why he was having to make such a show of being busy.
While Ta-wei was feeling miserable about himself, his hands were fumbling around inside the engine space. He came perilously close to removing the radiator cap and scalding himself, saved only by the fact that he brushed his hand against the radiator and burned it. This made him angry, but then amused him. About all he could do was mock himself by cursing: “The Chinese are lowdown scum! We’re a lot stricter about time when we work in foreign companies than when we work for our fellow countrymen. And that’s the shits!’’
The four minutes were nearly up. It would take about two minutes to finish his tinkering and negotiate the distance to Raymond’s gate. That was just right. Arriving two minutes late would give him a chance to make some proper apologies. He had learned his lessons well after working so long under Raymond: whatever the job, it was always best to be less than perfect. By intentionally letting some tiny defect remain, he gave Raymond the opportunity to do some nit-picking, after which Ta-wei would deferentially promise to improve in the future. This always pleased his employer, sometimes to the point that he would bestow some comforting balm:
“Actually, Ta-wei, youve done just fine. I’ve made my demands so strict for your own good, to help you do even better work. Do you understand?”
Of course he understood. This little speech of Raymond’s was invariably orchestrated by Ta-wei himself, so whenever he heard it he nodded and said “I understand, I do.”
The effect on Raymond was an assurance that his astuteness had not been misconstrued as nit-picking, that the other man had understood him and was grateful. For this he would reward Ta-wei with extra attention and affection.
As for Ta-wei, he was content in having mastered the psychology of his boss. Their relationship was indeed a fragile one: while it was necessary for Ta-wei to avoid damaging his superior s self-respect and sense of authority, it was equally important to keep the man’s haughtiness in check. All this was above and beyond the call of duty, but because Ta-wei had played the game so well, his employer was forced to admit that he was satisfied with the performance of his employee. What did it matter to Tawei that he had to endure all that officious prattle, as long as he could achieve these results, especially since he himself had orchestrated the whole affair? Whose business was it anyway if what happened to him was precisely what he had asked for? This had always been the guiding principle in his thoughts and deeds.
Everything was going according to plan. As he stood at the Raymonds’ gate, his hand raised to ring the bell, he was greeted by the barking of a German shepherd inside. He was given a fright, and began shouting: “It’s me, it’s me, Ta-wei!”
But the dog kept it up unrelentingly until Ta-wei heard Mrs. Raymond shout: “It’s okay, Mary, it’s okay. Stop barking now, stop barking. Ta-wei is your new master,” she said as she unlocked the gate. Mary’s nose was the first to appear as the gate opened just a crack, then the dog pushed the gate open enough to squeeze through. Ta-wei was nearly frightened out of his skin by the menacing sight of the approaching dog. “Mrs. Raymond . . .,” he yelled. She followed the dog out the gate and laughed as she saw Ta-wei backing up hastily, his arms thrust upward, and looking as though he were about to be launched into the air.
“It’s all right, she won’t hurt you. Come here, Mary!”
The dog obeyed at first but quickly turned and bounded back over to Ta-wei, where she sniffed him up one side and down the other. She paused in the area of the groin, sniffing long and hard, so frightening Ta-wei that he was reduced to protesting weakly: “Ma . . . Mary . . . Mary.” The more he tried to back off, the higher his rear end arched, and he was barely able to stand on his shaky legs. As for the cherished area being so carefully scrutinized, it grew so numb it might as well have been frozen.
“Mary, come here,” Mrs. Raymond shouted.
“Please, please hold onto her, all right?” Ta-wei pleaded fearfully.
“It’s all right, she won’t bite you. Come over here and pet her. Just do it gently and everything’ll be fine. She just wants to get to know you. Isn’t that right, Mary? Good girl.” Mrs. Raymond knelt down to hug the dog and give her a kiss.
It was obvious to Ta-wei that he was expected to follow her lead, so he walked slowly over, patted the dog gently, and very gingerly called her name. He seemed ready to spring to his feet and scream in terror. But Mary wagged her tail and refrained from barking, so that Ta-wei’s soul, which had beat a hasty retreat from his body, began cautiously to make its return.
“You see, isn’t everything just fine now? You don’t have to be afraid of her.” Mrs. Raymond got to her feet. “Come inside and sit down. Jim’s taking a shower, but he’ll be right out.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve come at a bad time.”
“No, we were expecting you at four o’clock. Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thanks, don’t go to any trouble.”
“Please have a seat.” Once he was settled, Mrs. Raymond asked: “Would you like some tea? Or would you prefer coffee or cola?”
Now everyone knows that these are the most common, most natural of all civilities, but they made Ta-wei squirm uncomfortably. Feeling terribly ill at ease, he didn’t quite know how to handle the situation. He felt that Mrs. Raymond’s politeness was more than he deserved, that she was treating him too well. Having just managed to sit down, he sprang back to his feet and objected: “Nothing for me, please, there’s no need.”
“But I am going to get you something, so what’ll it be?” By now Mrs. Raymond was beginning to feel uncomfortable, too, but she forced a smile to let him know that it wasn’t such a big deal, and softened her tone of voice.
“Then I’ll . . . I’ll have a cup of coffee.”
“Coffee’s more expensive than the others.”
Ta-wei’s obvious discomfort had by now tickled Mrs. Raymond’s fancy, so she decided to tease him a little.
“Oh, then tea will be fine.”
She laughed out loud. “President Carter has urged us to drink more tea, but since you’re a guest in our home, we won’t let that stop us. Coffee it is, then. Sugar?”
“No, no sugar. Thank you, thank you very much.” Ta-wei politely refused Mrs. Raymond’s offer, unable to shake the feeling that she had no need to be so polite to him, that he was putting her to too much trouble. The truth was, not only did he take sugar in his coffee, he used more than most people, and this sweet tooth was the cause of all the cavities in his teeth.
“You look like you’re putting on weight, so you’re better off cutting down on sweets. You sit where you are and play with Mary awhile. You’ll be fast friends before you know it.” With that she turned and started off to the kitchen, rolling her eyes upward and letting out a deep sigh as she walked past the screen, as though a great load had been lifted from her.
Mary followed her mistress into the kitchen, then turned and walked back into the living room. As Ta-wei softly called her name, she walked briskly over to him and meekly allowed him to stroke her back. She buried her nose between his legs, forcing him to sit like a young lady, his legs pressed closely together off to one side. Before long, he and Mary were getting along beautifully. Ta-wei steadied her head with one hand, pointed to her nose with the other, and said, not forgetting that he had to speak softly and in English: “That’s some snout you’ve got there, some snout.” He laughed at his own joke.
In the kitchen, after filling up the kettle and setting it on the stove, Mrs. Raymond went over to the bathroom and spoke to her husband, softly enough that Ta-wei couldn’t hear: “Hurry up, will you? I really can’t stand that man.”
Raymond laughed heartily: “He’s a good fellow,” he said.
“I don’t care what he is, I still don’t like him. Now, hurry up.” She walked back to the kitchen, adding along the way: “Jim . . . please!”
“Okay, okay,” he answered, turning off the shower.
Meanwhile, in the living room, Ta-wei was playing with Mary, thinking to himself that from now on she belonged to him. The thought that after today he could take her out in the car on days off brought him a sense of self-satisfaction. He rubbed and rubbed her head, and was soon not only completely at ease with the dog, but was even developing a fondness for her. Meanwhile, she lay down and stretched out lazily, letting Ta-wei do whatever he wanted to her.
Raymond strode into the living room, saying as he entered, “A hot day today. Sorry to keep you waiting while I cooled off.”
Ta-wei quickly stood up. “Oh, I just arrived. “Mary jumped to her feet and ran over to lick Raymond.
Ta-wei was wondering whether he should give Raymond the painting right away, but he decided to wait for Mrs. Raymond, since the gift was actually for her. He drew back his hand that had reached out for the package, beginning to feel strangely ill at ease.
“Will you be taking Mary with you today?”
“It’s all the same to me,” he said with an embarrassed smile.
“Go ahead. My wife’s resigned to it.” Raymond patted Mary. “Mary, Ta-wei’s your new master. Understand?”
“Mary, come here,” Ta-wei said softly. To his surprise, Mary bounded over to him.
“Hey, she really listens to you.”
Taking advantage of Ta-wei’s distraction, as soon as she reached him Mary stuck her nose in between his legs, just as Mrs. Raymond walked in with the coffee. Ta-wei quickly pushed the dog away and slammed his legs shut, accidentally giving Mary’s head a solid rap with his knees. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m terribly sorry!” He rushed forward to apologize to the rapidly retreating Mary. The excessive concern over how this was being taken by his hosts caused him considerable nervousness, which in turn was an embarrassment to them. Mrs. Raymond scowled at her husband, but he merely shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
“Don’t worry,” said Raymond, “dogs have hard heads.” Seeing his wife put the coffee onto the table, he said: “Come on, drink your coffee.”
“Oh, thank you very much.” By now, Ta-wei was in a state of near panic. He had just finished apologizing, and now he was being given coffee, for which he had to express his thanks, and then it was back to apologizing. “Oh, excuse me, I’m so sorry . . .”
“You ought to take a look at your knees and see if they’re hurt. If they are, we’re the ones who should be apologizing.” This little joke by Raymond eased the tension and put them all in a lighter mood.
Ta-wei’s thoughts returned to the gift; the time had come to make the presentation, so before the laughter had died out, he picked up the package and said to Mrs. Raymond: “This is for you. I hope you like it.”
“Oh, another gift for me! What is it? May I open it now?” This was the first time since Ta-wei’s arrival that Mrs. Raymond seemed to be truly pleased.
“You’re always giving my wife things, but never anything for me,” Raymond said with a smile.
Fortunately, Mrs. Raymond spoke up before Ta-wei was again thrown into a state of nervous embarrassment.
“That’s enough of that talk. You tease people too much.”
“You see how smart you were to give her a gift—she’s taking your side now.”
“Just ignore him,” she said to Ta-wei. “Shall I open it?”
“By all means, but . . .” Mrs. Raymond cut him off before he had finished.
“Don’t tell me, let me guess.”
“Ta-wei, you’ll have to learn that women love surprises. They appreciate something more if they have to guess what it is.”
Mrs. Raymond paid them no attention, turning the long package over and over and shaking it to guess its contents. Actually, she knew right away that it was a Chinese scroll. Ever since she began making preparations to return to the States, she had been looking forward to taking several good scrolls back with her, and now her wish was about to be partially fulfilled by what she was holding in her hand. Whether this particular painting was good or bad didn’t really matter; her happiness was already halfway complete, so she said spiritedly: “I’ll bet it’s a Chinese scroll, right?”
“That’s exactly what it is,” Ta-wei said with a nod of his head, sharing her happiness.
“You see, I was right,” she said to her husband.
“Mrs. Raymond, how about guessing the name of the artist and the theme of the painting,” Ta-wei said.
“I’ll bet she can. All the foreigners in Taipei consider her to be a real China hand.”
Ta-wei’s comment had filled her heart with joy, and her husband’s praises made her even happier. “Do you really think I could guess it?”
“Unless my memory fails me, I’m sure you’ll be able to guess this particular artist,” Ta-wei responded, intending to boost her confidence.
“Really? Do I like his work?” She was so happy her eyes were nearly popping out. She thought hard, then asked: “Is he one of my favorite Chinese artists?”
“Ta-wei, you’re really something. Even I don’t know which artists my wife likes,” Raymond teases.
“Jim, keep quiet and let me think!”
“Okay, I’ll keep quiet, but let me first register one complaint with Tawei,” he said with a smile. “Ta-wei, you shouldn’t have told her a moment ago that she would know, because now if her guess is wrong, she’ll blame me. Okay, that’s all, I’m gonna get a beer.”
“Hold on a second,” Mrs. Raymond said, “don’t leave till I’ve guessed. Otherwise, if I do get the right answer, you’ll say that Ta-wei told me while you were out.”
“Whoops, now if she doesn’t guess it, I won’t get my beer.”
“I was just joking. You go ahead, and get me one while you’re at it.” Then she asked Ta-wei eagerly: “How can you be sure I know this particular artist? Are you positive?”
“I’m positive.”
“That’s strange,” she said as she racked her brains. “How come I can’t be sure I know?”
“I’m just sure, that’s all. Here, I’ll give you a hint,” he said ingratiatingly. “Do you remember that time I took you and several other American wives to visit the orphanage? Well, in the cafeteria you mentioned to Mrs. Smith and some of the others that you were fond of this particular artist, and that . . .”
“All right, that’s enough. In the orphanage cafeteria, you say?” Having drawn a blank, she wasn’t sure she believed him. She began to suspect that he was making fun of her when he said that she had been discussing famous artists during her tour of the orphanage. But when she sized him up again, she doubted that he was that sharp-witted. So she recommenced trying to figure out Ta-wei’s hint. Her recollection was hazy, but she thought she knew the answer. “I think I’ve got it,” she said excitedly, “I think I’ve got it. Jim, I’ve got the answer,” she yelled to her husband.
Jim was just then entering the room with the beers. “Who is it?”
“It’s . . .” Mrs. Raymond said very deliberately, “Ch’i . . . Pai-shih.”
“Right—” This did not catch Ta-wei unprepared; without a thought for the tens of thousands of cells that would suffer under the onslaught, he began clapping his hands loud and hard the moment she said the name.
“Is it really one of Ch’i Pai-shih’s paintings?” Mrs. Raymond asked, her mouth cracked in a broad grin, her hand outstretched as she reached for the proffered can of beer.
“It sure is!” Ta-wei seemed the happiest of all, as he too reached out to take the beer Raymond was handing him.
“Come on, let’s drink to Lucy, our China hand,” Raymond said with a chuckle, snapping open his can of beer.
“Oh! This is wonderful!” Lucy opened her can of beer. “Ta-wei, thank you very, very much.”
Seeing Mrs. Raymond nearly beside herself with delight, Ta-wei suddenly grew uneasy, and although he too started to open the can of beer, owing to a rush of sudden anxieties, he was unable to snap it open as they had done; instead of the popping sound that should have emerged, it just sort of fizzled.
“I really do like Ch’i Pai-shih!” Mrs. Raymond said emphatically.
Ta-wei’s spirits plummeted even further. How was he going to break the news that this was only a copy? If he was going to say it, he should have done so at the very beginning: she was sure to be disappointed if he told her now. Seeing that she was about to open the package, he cleared his throat a couple of times and said, “Uh, Mrs. Raymond.”
“Call her Lucy, she’d like that.” Raymond turned to Lucy. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Lucy, uh, Mrs. Raymond, there’s something I have to tell you.” Accustomed as he was to addressing her in formal fashion, in his nervousness he called her by both her familiar and formal names, and all that kept the Raymonds from laughing out loud was the seriousness with which he said there was something he had to tell her. They stood there speechless, listening to his explanation. “With all the Ch’i Pai-shih paintings around, there are bound to be a lot of forgeries. I can’t guarantee that this particular one is an original.” He was by now quite flustered.
“Tsk-tsk!” Lucy’s disappointment showed as she untied the silk ribbon.
“Open it and take a look,” Raymond said.
For a moment the only sound to be heard was the unrolling of the scroll. Lucy spread it out on the rug and they all looked at it in silence, no one willing to express an opinion. Actually, they could tell at first glance that it wasn’t bad. Raymond broke the silence with an involuntary “umh.” Lucy and Ta-wei, thinking he was going to say something, looked over at him. With their eyes on him, Raymond voiced his impression of the painting: “It looks pretty good to me.”
“To me, too,” Lucy commented as her smile began to reappear. Ta-wei was pleased with their reaction.
“It is pretty good, isn’t it,” he said. “My friend is an expert.”
“It looks pretty old.”
“The older it is, the greater the possibility that it’s the genuine article,” Lucy said. “Who knows, maybe our luck’s held out and we’ve got the real thing here.”
“Mrs. Raymond’s got a point there. Buying antiques depends a lot on luck, even when experts are involved. My luck’s been pretty good so far, so this is probably the real thing.”
Raymond and his wife turned simultaneously to look at Ta-wei, causing him to shrink back considerably.
“Thanks ever so much.” The politeness of Lucy’s response was evident by the change in her tone of voice. “How did you find this painting?”
“I had a friend buy it from an aristocratic mainlander who had fallen on hard times.”
“You bought it?” Lucy nearly shouted. “That must have cost a pretty penny. Now I feel bad!”
“No, no, it’s nothing, nothing at all. How could this possibly compensate for all Mr. Raymond’s done for me over the years? This little thing doesn’t begin to express my regard for you.” He rubbed his hands as he spoke, all the while looking strangely apologetic.
“You’re much too polite.” Raymond was embarrassed by the earnestness of Ta-wei’s expression of gratitude.
“I mean it, I really do. I’m truly grateful.”
Mr. and Mrs. Raymond wondered what they had done for Ta-wei to make him feel that way, for whenever they discussed him at home, they generally concluded that he was a pig or a dog, until by and by, any reference to him came out “that pig did this or that,” or “that dog did thus and so.” It was not something they did unconsciously. Now here he was, standing in front of them expressing with genuine sincerity his boundless gratitude, causing them considerable discomfort. Lucy’s distress stemmed in part from the fact that in the brief period of time before returning to the States, Ta-wei had already given her a pair of bracelets, two custom-made Chinese gowns, and now an antique scroll. Whether the scroll was authentic or not, she was moved by its power as an artistic creation, and this feeling served to increase its value in her mind. She felt that she had no right to accept so many gifts from Ta-wei, and was eager to calm her troubled heart.
“Hey, where’s Mary?” she said, looking around. Mary, who had been resting in a corner of the living room, bounded over to her. Mrs. Raymond hurriedly straddled the scroll, which was still on the rug, knelt down, and wrapped her arms around Mary. “Jim, roll up the scroll before Mary ruins it.”
“I’ll get it!” Ta-wei stepped in to pick the scroll up off the floor.
“Ta-wei, are you going to take Mary with you when you leave?” She continued hugging the dog intimately.
“I don’t have to. I can wait a few more days till you leave, if you’d prefer. I’m in no hurry.”
“Lucy, we have so many things to take care of that we won’t have time to look after the dog.”
“I know, I was just asking,” she said as she petted the dog.
“I’m in no hurry. I can imagine what Mrs. Raymond must be feeling now.”
Raymond had been restraining the smoldering anger inside him: he had to be very, very careful, since lately Lucy had been arguing with him at the drop of a hat. He was afraid that during a real flare-up she might fall to pieces and he’d be unable to save the situation. This was one of the reasons he had asked to be transferred back to the States. That way he could get Lucy to a doctor—the only apparent alternative was divorce. The situation with Mary, simply stated was: they had paid NT $600 for this part-German shepherd in a pet shop on Hsin-yi Road shortly after their arrival in Taipei, and it was he, not Lucy, who took care of the animal. But as time went on, if he so much as called the dog’s name once too often, Lucy would get angry and start an argument. Even if Ta-wei hadn’t asked them to leave Mary with him, they would not have spent the several hundreds of dollars it would have cost to take the dog back home with them. And Lucy knew it. As for her husband, he was nauseated by the disgusting sight of his wife kissing Mary in the presence of Ta-wei.
Lucy was also a very cautious person, and she knew Raymond’s thoughts on the matter. So she let the dog go. “Is the doghouse finished?”
“It was finished several days ago. It cost me NT $2,000. I even bought a book on dog care, which I’ve read carefully the last three nights.”
“You take him with you today.” She was looking directly at her husband, for whom this statement was intended. She knew he was angry. Then she added: “Mary’s been in heat the past few days, so make sure you don’t let her mate with any strays. She must mate only with a pedigreed German shepherd.”
“Absolutely!” Then Ta-wei laughed: “Really, you must be joking. How could she ever mate with a stray!”
Raymond was obviously growing impatient, but at this stage only Lucy was aware of it. “I’ve already let the dog go,” she was thinking, “so what are you getting so huffy about?” She forced herself to control her temper, saying to Ta-wei instead: “There’s one thing that still troubles me. I know there’s nothing to worry about with you, but I’m afraid that someone might steal Mary and cook her. No other people in the world except you Chinese eat dog meat—you even call it ‘fragrant flesh’!”
“I know, it’s really barbaric,” Ta-wei responded apologetically. “But I’m different from the rest of them—I don’t do things like that.”
“I know you don’t, but don’t you let anyone else mistreat her. I plan to ask Mr. and Mrs. Brown to look in on her, not because we don’t trust you, but because of our concern over Mary.”
“I know, I know. I’ll take good care of her.”
Raymond could no longer hold back the anger that was welling up inside him, so he decided to leave the room as a sign to his wife not to go overboard. Naturally, he was protesting not for Ta-wei’s sake, but for his own. Lucy saw what was happening and decided to stand up to him.
“Mary, come here.” Lucy called Mary over to her, where the dog stood up with her paws on Mrs. Raymond’s legs and gave her a wet kiss on the mouth. This threw a fright into Raymond, for he knew that if he walked out now, there’d be a real knock-down, drag-out fight afterwards. So he decided to stick it out and stay where he was. Lucy hugged the dog, sneaking a look at her husband as she said to Ta-wei: “Mary’s a very intelligent dog, smarter than some people I know. Dogs are like people: if you love ‘em, they’ll love you back. She understands me when I say I love Mary.’ ” As though that were a signal, Mary reached up and licked her mistress. “You see, I wasn’t fooling. You call her and see what she does.”
“Mary, come here.” Sure enough, Mary bounded over to Ta-wei, who quickly snapped his legs shut.
“See what happens when you say you love her.”
Ta-wei was more than a little hesitant, for he didn’t dare say the word “love,” even to a woman. How could he possibly say it to a dog? He didn’t think he could bring himself to say it, but Lucy wouldn’t let him off the hook: “Hurry up, tell her you love her. I’m sure she’ll understand, and she’ll like you for it.”
Suddenly, for reasons he could not fathom, he grew light-headed, then blurted out: “I love Mary, I love Mary, I love Mary.” He wasn’t even aware of what he was doing until the words were out. Mary friskily put her paws up on his legs, stretched toward him, and began licking his face all over with the slobbering tongue of a dog in heat. He was startled nearly out of his wits.
“You see, she understood you!”
Seeing the funny expression on Ta-wei’s face, Raymond could no longer remain silent:
“Ta-wei’s English has always been very good,” he observed teasingly, “but when he said ‘I love Mary’ just now, it sounded almost musical.”
This comment made everyone laugh, and the sight of Lucy laughing so happily came as a big relief to Raymond. They exchanged a quick glance, and the concession of defeat in his eyes made her laugh ever more spiritedly. Looking first to her master then to her mistress, for some mysterious reason Mary joined the merriment by barking enthusiastically.
Ta-wei was completely oblivious to the fact that during their conversation a violent cold war had occurred between the Raymonds. He was much too happy about being allowed to take Mary home with him today to take notice.
Having settled Mary into the back seat, he saw things differently now than when he complained nervously about the children’s getting the seat dirty. Seeing Mary jump willingly into the back seat of the car blinded him to the muddy footprints she made on the seat cushions as she hopped around nervously. He was extremely attentive to whether or not he was being noticed by people on the street: each time he stopped at a traffic light, he glanced to the right and left and into the rear view mirror to see if anyone was watching him, after which he turned back to play briefly with Mary. She was fussing and fretting in the back seat, scratching at the side and rear windows and leaving abstract masterpieces in slobber on the windows with her wet tongue. All of this naturally captured the attention of bystanders and drivers of cars behind him. Not that any special significance could be attached to their reaction to all this activity, but there was no mistaking that Ta-wei pictured himself as having taken a giant step up the social ladder, and that his lifestyle was more and more in the American mold.
Never before in his life had he experienced the euphoria that accompanied him on the trip from the American residential district through the streets of Taipei, with Mary seated behind him.
“LAI” IS COME, “CH’Ü” IS GO
The Raymonds returned to the States.
On every conceivable opportunity at the office, Ta-wei deftly turned the conversation to a discussion of Mary’s daily activities, thereby hinting at the closeness of his relationship with the former manager. Naturally, he limited his comments to Mary’s presence in his home, and how he and his family had to wait upon her. There was never a word about all the distress Mary caused his wife, Yü-yün—Jade Cloud.
According to Ta-wei, this foreign dog was highly intelligent, not your usual brainless mutt. As for poor Mrs. Chen, who had never learned English—one of her husband’s great disappointments—no matter how many times she called the dog with her Taiwanese accent—“Mei-li”—Mary never once wagged her tail to express the liberally used American greeting “hello,” and no wonder.
Mrs. Chen had opposed the idea of bringing Mary home from the very beginning, basing her opposition solely on a fear of dogs she had carried with her since being bitten once. All this proved to Ta-wei was that she was not only a shallow woman, but a selfish one as well.
“What a woman you are! I’m perfectly willing to talk this out in a civilized fashion, but have you asked yourself whether you’re being reasonable or not?” He raised his voice and said self-confidently: “You’re afraid of dogs, so you don’t want anyone else to have one. Someday, if you choked on some food, you’d be so skittish you’d force everyone else to stop eating. That’s called ‘Better unfed than dead.’ You’re a high school graduate, so you should at least understand the logic of what I’m saying.”
“But, but the children are afraid too, and you know it.”
“Of course I know. With a scaredy-cat mother like you, how could they be anything else?”
“Don’t talk like a tyrant, okay?”
“Just let me handle my own affairs. My mind’s made up!”
Yü-yün knew that the case was closed as soon as Ta-wei said “my own affairs.”
Ever since their marriage had been arranged by Assemblyman Lin from their hometown, she had observed this Chen Shun-te, how he had worked his way up from an English teacher at a rural middle school to a position with a Taipei trading company. Within two years he had risen to the position of manager. Then as soon as the opportunity presented itself, he took a job with this foreign concern. He climbed and clawed his way up the ladder, and on his personnel file a minor promotion appeared every year or so. All of the major and minor incidents that comprised this personal history, all of the decisions, had been Chen Shun-te’s alone—his wife had played no role at all. In fact, there was no need for her to get involved in any of this. They had food to eat, clothes to wear, and a place to live, so the question was no longer one of need or practicalities; it was time to talk of creature comforts and status. Yü-yün intuitively felt that this sort of lifestyle precluded her from questioning anything her husband did. Although she often suffered considerable emotional distress over the despotic arrogance that was fostered in her husband by his accomplishments at the office, there were still some bright spots in her cloistered life, thanks also to her husband’s career achievements. Virtually all of their friends, relatives, or old schoolmates at reunions congratulated her on having married someone who had done so well in a foreign company. Then when these people considered the increased possibility of Ta-wei and Yü-yün’s going overseas, they were downright envious. This phenomenon of securing others’ envy and praise for something that caused her so much emotional distress made it tough for Yü-yün to diagnose her problem. Hearing the flattering comments of friends and relatives strengthened her resolve to put up with her overbearing husband.
On this occasion, Yü-yün would not have even considered opposing her husband’s plan to keep the pet if it hadn’t been for her uncontrollable fear of dogs. The whole affair ceased to be a simple matter the moment Ta-wei said truculently: “Just let me handle my own affairs. My mind’s made up!” Yü-yün viewed it with the same fatalism as she felt toward Ta-wei’s achievements at the office; she knew for certain that the raising of a dog in their home was now a foregone conclusion. Nonetheless, she continued to be bothered by what Ta-wei had told her: it was to be a big German shepherd. She even had nightmares over this. She briefly considered telling Ta-wei about her dreams, but past experience told her that he would react by screaming or laughing at her. Finally, after suffering through several more nights of bad dreams, she decided to speak up:
“The coffee’s ready. Drink it while it’s hot.” Seeing that Ta-wei was in a good mood, she continued: “Why don’t we get a small dog? Something like a Pekingese or a Pomeranian. They don’t get too big and they’re awfully cute. The children would really like one of them.”
All of this talk greatly displeased Ta-wei, but, detecting the pleading tone of her voice, he took pity on her. Following a swallow of coffee to settle his nerves, he said: “You’re wrong if you think I want to raise just any old dog. I’m only interested in raising the Raymonds’ dog.” A thoughtful pause, then he continued: “Our relationship with Raymond hasn’t ended just because he’s returned to the States. Who knows, he may return someday.” It occurred to him that this analytical explanation showed that deep down he was nothing but a schemer, and even though it was only his wife he was talking to, he was embarrassed nonetheless, so he let the matter drop right there. Actually there was yet another reason behind his decision to take the dog into his home, and that was his complete intoxication with the American lifestyle. Even though he didn’t elaborate on this, Yü-yün was still able to grasp the essence of the matter. There was no mistaking what he meant by “my business.” It did not occur to her that he had said it for the simple reason that he did not want her to annoy him any more. This happy misinterpretation of “my business” resulted in her feeling that she had wronged him, which caused her deep remorse. And so she abandoned her opposition to adopting Mary and began making mental preparations for the dog’s arrival.
On the afternoon that Ta-wei brought Mary home, he was so pleased with himself that he began honking his horn before the car had even pulled up to the house. This sort of thing rarely occurred in Ta-wei’s life. That’s not to say that he seldom honked his horn. Quite the contrary, he was famous for doing so whenever he came to a pedestrian crossing, and especially during the period just following his purchase of an older European car from one of his foreign colleagues last year. On those occasions when he took his whole family out for a ride, he would go out and start up the engine, then lay on his horn to get the others moving, usually causing poor Yü-yün to scurry around the house in such a flustered state that she would forget to bring something, or she would leave the children’s shoes untied and shirt buttons undone until everyone was seated in the car. They were by now quite accustomed to Papa’s fondness for honking the horn, although they seldom heard him doing it in such obviously high spirits upon his return home.
“Hey, Daddy’s home,” the children called out, quickly falling under the spell of the horn’s infectious gaiety.
“Mommy, Daddy’s home,” the youngest chimed in.
Naturally, Yü-yün had heard the horn too, and she was reminded of the joyous scene on the familiar TV commerical for mortgage insurance, where the head of the household returns home to his beloved family. Each day as he drives up to his home he toots his horn once to announce happily to one and all: “I’m home!” And there are the wife and kiddies lined up at the doorway joyously awaiting Father’s return. Today, since this sort of emotional blaring of the horn was uncharacteristic of Ta-wei, Yü-yün unconsciously related it to her experience in front of the TV and had the feeling that she was tasting the sweetness of model family life.
By the time Yü-yün and the three children had rushed to the front door and opened it, Ta-wei had already parked the car and was standing outside holding the leash with both hands, a broad grin on his face as he prepared to lead Mary across the street. The sight that greeted Yü-yün as she swung the door open was of Mary, a rotund canine the size of a brown bear, and she was so stunned she nearly slammed the door shut immediately. Instead she huddled the children close to her. She was riveted to the spot. Her innate fear of dogs was not going to go away just because she willed it to, especially when confronted with a brutish, lively animal like Mary.
Ta-wei had no preconceived notion of what sort of welcome would be awaiting him, but he was something less than pleased by the sight of his wife standing there looking frightened to death. Fortunately for her, the flow of cars, which kept Ta-wei from crossing the street, afforded her the opportunity to spot the look of displeasure on his face; realizing how tense she must appear, she struggled to compose herself and look as relaxed as possible. The most noticeable effect of this inner struggle was a frozen smile on her face. As for her hands, she maintained a tight grip on her two children, the one on her right by the collar, the one on her left by his shoulder, hugging them both close to her.
By now, although several breaks in the flow of traffic had appeared, Tawei remained where he was, unable to drag Mary, who was agitated over being taken from her master and mistress, across the street. In reality, rather than say Ta-wei was dragging Mary, it would be more accurate to say that Mary was dragging him. Now Mary was turning back constantly and pawing the car door, trying to get in, or tugging on the leash in an attempt to dash up one end of the street or the other. And there was Tawei, looking like a man engaged in a wrestling match: grappling with all his might, his round, perspiration-streaked face so flushed it looked like a watermelon stripped of its rind. All the while he was shouting incessantly: “Mary! Mary!” Poor Yü-yün! The frightening sight of the struggle across the street erased even the weak smile she had managed for her husband s welcome.
For Mary it was a series of trial-and-error experiments: since there was no going back, and the left and right avenues of escape were closed to her, there was nothing left but to bolt across the street. Much to everyone’s surprise, in a flash she had crossed the street, dragging Ta-wei along with her. This sight so frightened the three children, who watched her rush headlong toward them, that they spun around, held onto their mother’s thighs and waist for dear life, and cried out in terror. Their mother meanwhile shut her eyes tightly as though facing an impending calamity that she was powerless to ward off. She bent over deeply to protect her children in an act of ultimate maternal love, but when what she feared did not materialize, she opened her eyes to discover that Ta-wei and Mary were nowhere to be seen.
“Where’s Daddy?” she asked.
Her oldest son, Tsu-wei, timidly stuck out his arm, prepared at any moment to pull it back, and pointed into the house.
Yü-yün finally straightened up, but the two smaller children held onto her as tightly as ever. She thought for a moment, then decided she’d better go inside before Ta-wei blew his stack.
“Come on, let’s go inside.”
When they heard their mama say this, Chin-wen and Han-k’e4 grasped her even more tightly to keep from having to enter the house.
“Foolish children,” she said, bending down, “don’t be afraid. Didn’t Daddy tell us not to be afraid? Daddy would be angry if he saw you like this. Be good boys and come inside with me, all right?”
Han-k’e started to sob. Yü-yün didn’t know what to do now. Just then Ta-wei came noiselessly up behind her. He didn’t say a word, which left her in a quandary, not knowing what to say. She could see at a glance that he was really steamed up.
Ta-wei was angered by his family’s reaction, but he was angriest at Mary for her lack of obedience. To top it all off, he was embarrassed at not having any control over the dog, for he was sure his wife had noticed the fear in his eyes, and this loss of face had put him in a foul mood. But in fact Yü-yün had been in such a state of fright herself that she had no idea her husband was afraid of Mary. If that weren’t enough, his pudgy body had been strained to its limit by the struggle with Mary.
Nonetheless, his mood and his exhaustion were momentarily eclipsed by pangs of pity for his wife and children as he stepped outside and heard what Yü-yün was saying, and when he saw how petrified they were of the dog and of him. He kept his sullen thoughts to himself. Without saying a word, he bent down to pick up Han-k’e and carry him into the house, but he was shocked by the boy’s reaction of wailing hysterically and lurching backwards to keep from having to go inside.
“Okay, okay, we won’t go inside! Daddy’ll take you all out for ice cream.” With that he headed toward the car parked across the street.
“Do you have your keys?” Yü-yün asked him.
“Come on!” he said impatiently.
Yü-yün closed the front door and crossed the street, where she joined the rest of the family in the car. Ta-wei then drove them all to an ice cream parlor. They negotiated the entire trip without exchanging a word. In fact, Ta-wei did not lift the veil of silence until the ice cream was on the table and the children were attacking it with gusto.
“Don’t be afraid of Mary,” he finally said. “She’s a nice doggie, and in a couple of days she’ll be your very best friend.” Yü-yün was struck by how gentle, how fatherly he sounded, and was comforted by his tone. “Hank’e, are you still frightened?” Ta-wei asked.
Han-k’e smiled and looked into the others’ faces, then, with a noticeable trace of apprehension, said what he knew his father wanted to hear: “No.”
“Good boy, that’s the way to be.” Ta-wei patted his son on the head, then turned to the next youngest: “Chin-wen, are you afraid of her?” Chin-wen was too busy eating to say anything, so he merely shook his head and smiled.
“Daddy’s not sure if that means you’re not afraid, or what,” Ta-wei said.
“I’m not,” he snapped back in a soft voice, like he was fibbing, which embarrassed him.
“Tsu-wei, how about you?”
“Not me!”
“Right, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Mary’s gonna be our watchdog and keep the thieves away. We don’t have to be afraid of her—only thieves have to. You kids certainly aren’t thieves.”
By now everyone was in high spirits, so Yü-yün spoke up: “Where’d you put the dog?”
“I tied her up in the patio and opened a can of dog food for her.”
“I never imagined she’d be so big,” Yü-yün commented, still experiencing a few trembles.
Ta-wei quickly gave her a warning with his eyes. “Sure! We want her to be big. No thief would ever dare come to our house after seeing her.” Yü-yün quickly comprehended the look he had given her: he didn’t want her to say anything that might give the children cause for fear.
“Daddy, our big doggie is an American dog, isn’t she?” Han-k’e asked in the proud manner of someone who could boast of American ties.
“That’s right! Mary’s an American dog. Mary is an American name. From now on, call her Mary as often as you can, and she’ll be real happy.”
Seeing that the children were no longer frightened by the mention of the dog, and that they were chatting about her happily, Yü-yün turned to look at Ta-wei, willing to concede defeat.
When they arrived home, it was clear that the children weren’t nearly as frightened as they had been, and although none had the courage to go straight to the patio to take a look, they did go into the kitchen to watch her though the window. They immediately cried out excitedly, all at the same time:
“Daddy . . . the big doggie’s in trouble—she smashed all your orchids!” Since they were all shouting at once, their parents couldn’t understand what they were saying, although they knew that something was wrong. Ta-wei was already walking over toward the patio, and when he heard the children shouting, he burst through the door and discovered that some thirty potted orchids had been knocked to the floor, ten of them lying there smashed. He was livid with rage. Yü-yün and the children held their breath, waiting to see how Ta-wei was going to punish Mary. Oh, how well they knew what these orchids meant to Daddy! For accidentally knocking over a single pot one day, Tsu-wei had received a spanking, and all the children were forbidden to play in the patio after that.
Mary began wagging her tail when she saw Ta-wei enter the patio; she strained at the leash, trying to jump at him, happy sounds of welcome emerging from her throat. He raised his hands to get her to calm down, but she stood up on her hind legs, pawing the air in front of her as she tried to reach him with her forelegs. Ta-wei kept his distance and tried to quiet her down with hand motions and a steady stream of commands in English. Neither would give in, especially Mary, whose struggle didn’t seem to tire her in the least. Ta-wei moved a little closer, holding on to one of her front paws with one hand and patting her head with the other, saying over and over, “Nice dog.” All of this finally won Mary’s confidence and she eased back down, putting all four feet on the floor, allowing Ta-wei to pat her head to demonstrate how obedient she was.
Ta-wei’s attention was caught by four pairs of disbelieving eyes looking at him through the kitchen window; he turned back and barked out angrily to Yü-yün: “Get a broom and clean this mess up—what are you staring at?”
“The dog,” she stammered fearfully.
“She hasn’t gobbled me up yet, has she?”
Yü-yün walked into the patio with a broom and dustpan, her nerves so taut that the slightest scare would have been sufficient to give her a nervous breakdown. Hardly daring to breathe, she begged Ta-wei: “Don’t . . . don’t you let her go! I’d die of fright!”
She bent over to pick up some broken flower pots, in such a jittery manner that she looked like someone clearing a mine field with her bare hands. The children also got jittery as they watched her through the window. The only thing that kept her moving was the constant stream of English mutterings directed at Mary by Ta-wei. She hoped that he would keep it up at least until she finished tidying up.
As Ta-wei worked at calming Mary down, he managed to find the time to direct Yü-yün in her work, telling her where to put the flowers and accusing her of being stupid when she didn’t do things the way he wanted. As soon as the reclining Mary, who was used to being pampered, heard Ta-wei switch from English and adopt a harsh tone of voice, she quickly got to her feet and struck a menacing, restless pose. Ta-wei immediately switched back to English and changed his tone of voice: “No! No! Not you, not you . . .” He grasped the leash firmly with one hand and patted her gently on the head with the other, stroking her all the way down her back. Before long she was stretched out comfortably on the floor again. As she was tidying up, Yü-yün never took her eyes off the dog, while her every move was in turn scrutinized by Ta-wei, as he watched to see if she damaged any of the orchids.
Yü-yün held an unearthed orchid in her hand, the root of which was just hanging by a thread, causing her considerable uneasiness. After a moment’s reflection, she concluded that she had better not make the decision, so she raised it up and asked: “Look at the root on this one. It’s about to snap off. Shall I remove it?”
“What’s that? You want to break off the root?” Ta-wei had heard only the last few words without seeing clearly what Yü-yün was holding, and he blew his stack. Again the greatest impact was on Mary; not understanding a word of Chinese and recognizing the anger in his voice, she assumed that the hostility was directed toward her. She sprang to her feet. Ta-wei reacted quickly: “Not you. Nice dog,” he said in a comforting voice, “nice dog.” Yü-yün was angered by the realization that in Ta-wei’s eyes she was lower than a dog. What surprised her most of all was that she felt far less threatened by Mary this time when the dog stood up. Why was that?
“Put the flower down and get the floor swept. And hurry up!” This time he spoke to her in a soft, intimate tone of voice to prevent any misunderstanding on Mary’s part. Finishing what he had to say in Chinese, he switched to English and said to Mary, who was already looking at him suspiciously: “Nice dog. Nice dog.” His hands were busily petting her.
After a few moments, when Yü-yün was nearly finished cleaning up, Tawei said confidently: “See, what’s to fear from her? If you’re nice to her, she’ll obey you. Nice dog.” While instructing Yü-yün, he was constantly watchful of Mary’s mood, so he spoke in a mixture of Chinese and English. Not for a moment did he let up with his petting of the dog, even introducing some style to his movements: “You’ll get along just fine if you pat her on the head or move your hand down her back like you were brushing her coat. Oh, and you can gently scratch her in the hollows of her legs too.” He gave her a demonstration of the latter. This was so soothing to Mary that she stretched out on the floor invitingly and let herself be rubbed and rubbed. “You see what I mean? She likes this best of all.” Ta-wei watched Mary, stretched out comfortably on her back, her hind legs pawing the air as he rubbed her, and he was so intrigued that he began to scratch her hard in the hollows of her legs. Mary cocked her head, opened her mouth, letting her bright red tongue loll lazily to the side as she stared at the magic fingers that were bringing such pleasure to her. From time to time she gazed up at Ta-wei. “There, you see how she understands me. From now on, if you’ll just rub and pet her regularly, she’ll do what you want her to.”
Yü-yün had picked up all the shards of broken pottery and had walked out with her dustpan. Ta-wei was completely oblivious to her feelings; he was too busy petting and making friends with Mary. By now, disappointment was written on the faces of the children as they watched the activity through the kitchen window. They had assumed from the beginning that Daddy was going to give Mary a sound whipping, and, considering all those orchids, which Daddy loved as much as life itself, strewn all over the floor, he might even beat her to death. They were astonished to see him direct his anger at Mommy, saving his soothing gestures for the very dog that had ruined his orchids. What was happening in front of their eyes was unique in their experience. Finally, Han-k’e could hold back no longer:
“Daddy,” he asked, “when are you going to beat Doggie to death?”
His two elder brothers’ eyes lit up at this question. But for some reason, Ta-wei didn’t catch his son’s drift, so he asked Han-k’e with a puzzled look: “Did you say beat Mary?” Seeing his son nod his head, he continued: “Why would I want to do that?”
“Since Doggie knocked over all Daddy’s flowers, won’t you beat her to death?” Han-k’e’s brothers, feeling that he had said exactly what was in their hearts, gleefully turned to watch first him then their daddy.
“Oh!” Ta-wei finally understood what his son was driving at. He knew he had to give an answer that would satisfy them all. “That’s right, Daddy’ll really give Mary a whipping. This time, uh, this is her first day here and she didn’t know. But the next time she knocks over the flowers, Daddy 11 beat her within an inch of her life.”
Since Ta-wei hadn’t been expecting this question from his son, he had momentarily been stumped for an answer, and while trying to come up with an answer, he had unconsciously stopped rubbing Mary; this plus the speech that was so strange to her ears caused her to rise with a start, and in order to get Ta-wei’s attention, she bounded over toward him. He had been crouching down, and there wasn’t enough time to straighten up before Mary leaped onto him, sending him sprawling to the floor and crashing into the flower pots that had been spared the first time around. Down they came, stands and all. Poor Ta-wei was lying there pinned to the floor by Mary’s forelegs and before he even managed to extricate himself he was already shouting: “No! No! I love Mary! I love Mary . . .” Mary nuzzled up to him and planted several wet kisses on his face with her tongue. He climbed to his feet unsteadily, picking up the leash with one hand, and, not daring to be remiss, quickly patted Mary lightly, all the while spewing out a torrent of English phrases calculated to get into the dog’s good graces.
Mary quickly calmed down, but the children just stood there wideeyed, not knowing what to make of Daddy’s actions.
“Daddy, what’re you sayin’ to Doggie?” Han-k’e asked.
“I’m bawling her out—can’t you tell?” He was angry as hell, but dared not raise his voice.
His children knew no English, so they accepted his explanation as an act of faith.
Fortunately for all of them, Mary had come to their house on a Saturday afternoon, and since the next day was Sunday, that meant that Ta-wei would be around to attend to her needs. Yü-yün congratulated herself over this, but her relief was short-lived, for from then on, it was she who would have to spend the most time with Mary. This added a great many unnecessary difficulties to her life; over the coming days she would suffer countless indignities and hardships because of that dog.
As for Mary, she soon began to feel penned in. Granted that on this vast earth the ten kilometers or so that separated the foreign residential community of T’ien-mu from Taipei was an insignificant distance, nevertheless Mary, who had left the Raymonds’ home and had come to Ta-wei’s house, where the people, language, and surroundings were different, not to mention other less obvious factors, experienced the disquietude of a timid person traveling alone in a foreign country. At every opportunity she tried to escape from these unfamiliar surroundings; sometimes, reminded of Lucy, her former mistress, even if the leash was securely fastened, Mary would strain against it until she tired from the exertion or forgot what it was she was struggling for.
Following Mary’s first day at Ta-wei’s house, when she had wreaked such havoc in the patio, the flower pots were all suspended from the ceiling by wires. But when they were hung too low, Mary could knock them down, since she was as tall as a man when she stood on her hind legs. When they were raised out of her reach, then the line was too high for Yü-yün to use as a clothesline. What really angered Yü-yün was that whenever she accidentally bumped one of the pots while hanging out the laundry, one would think that she had touched an open sore on Ta-wei’s body: the slightest touch evoked screams and curses, until Yü-yün began breaking into a cold sweat whenever she had to go out into the patio for any reason. Her fears stemmed partly from her wariness of the dog and partly from all the precautions she had to take to avoid bumping the flower pots while standing on a stool to hang out the laundry.
In the end, in the peculiar manner of human beings, she reacted as though Ta-wei had taken a lover, directing her anger at the usurping slut; in this case, the object of her scorn and anger was, needless to say, Mary. She grew to hate Mary, but because she was afraid of dogs and afraid of Ta-wei, who was Mary’s biggest supporter, she could muster no true resistance whatsoever.
Several days later, as Yü-yün was sweeping the patio, in a careless moment she loosened the dog’s leash, freeing Mary’s wild spirit in the process, and the dog leaped and bounded throughout the apartment, looking for a way to the outside. Mary grew more and more restless as she fantasized that she could hear Lucy’s voice, until she grew almost frenzied. She dashed wildly around the apartment for more than an hour, until the place looked like it had been struck by a private minityphoon: the kitchen pantry was lying on its side, its contents of jars and bottles strewn all over the floor; in the living room every lamp and vase had crashed to the floor; the lampshades and two embroidered cushions were ripped; the carpet was stained black from the soot in the fireplace; and even the children’s room was a disaster area, owing to Yü-yün’s tardiness in closing the door. Finally, every curtain and drape in the house, most notably in the living room, had been ripped from its curtainrod and was lying in a heap at the base of the window. Yü-yün had tried her best to stop the destruction, running back and forth behind Mary, broom in hand, and yelling for all she was worth, but it was all in vain.
She had placed an urgent phone call to Ta-wei, asking him to come home right away and take care of the dog, but the timing could not have been worse: after having just regaled his co-workers about how wonderful Mary was working out at his home, it would have been a loss of face to admit to problems; besides, he was trying hard to impress his new employer. So there was Yü-yün, reporting the gruesome details of the catastrophe that had befallen her, and not only did it elicit no reaction from Tawei, but, to Yü-yün’s great bewilderment, he answered as though he hadn’t heard a word she was saying. As she described the scene with growing urgency, he responded in a voice dripping with congeniality: “Um, um, uh-huh, uh-huh, fine, fine,” over and over. Then he interrupted her before she had finished, taking pains to sound as pleasant as possible: “That sounds fine to me, go ahead and do it that way. Bye-bye!” Then he added a few comments in English, obviously not intended for Yü-yün’s consumption. For some moments after he had hung up on her, Yü-yün stood there staring at the receiver in her hand and wondering if perhaps she had dialed a wrong number.
Mary finally grew tired of her frenzied activity and let herself be led back to the patio, where Yü-yün tied her up. The entire apartment was a shambles. In terms of activity, Mary’s had now come to an end, while Yü-yün’s was just beginning. Her ability to put up with painstaking work, with which she had always been blessed, dissolved as she surveyed the scene of destruction before her. The thought occurred to her that if she left everything just as it was until Ta-wei got home that night, he might begin to question the wisdom of raising a dog. But this thought brought tears to her eyes. Who would have dreamed that the very family that had given her such security could have been thrown into such utter turmoil by the addition of one female dog? She sighed bitterly. She lay on the sofa as though in a trance, and although her heart was severely troubled, there was at least some rest for her weary body; just then her gaze fell upon a pile of excrement on the wool rug that had gone unnoticed up till now. She looked more closely, then jumped to her feet. It had taken Ta-wei a full year to obtain this red rug, whose precious nap he treasured as much as the hair on his own body. Many of his rules around the house had been formulated to protect this rug. This was forbidden, that was out, the children were not allowed to eat anything on the rug. The sight threw Yü-yün into a panic; she had to think of some way to remove the offending stain. The children would soon return from school, so there was little time to get the place cleaned up—once they got home, she’d be busier than ever. Putting her mind to it, she somehow managed to straighten the apartment up. It was, after all, the right thing to do, she thought, because if Ta-wei saw it like it had been, he might let the dog off the hook and vent his anger on her instead.
The disastrous episode with Mary occupied Yü-yün for the better part of the day. As she figured it, reason was on her side, but she knew that it would be futile to point out the physical toll it had taken on her; on the other hand, Ta-wei would be visibly saddened by the damage inflicted on the apartment and its contents. Having thought it all out carefully, she calmly sat and waited for Ta-wei to return home, when she could lay before him her case against Mary.
Ta-wei was home—it was all of five minutes earlier than usual, which meant he must have rushed home. He entered the apartment with a scowl on his face. Without saying a word, he followed Yü-yün from one end of the apartment to the other, surveying the damage. Yü-yün kept up a running commentary until she came to the rug. Ta-wei could hold back no longer: “Just what the hell do you do around the house anyway?” he bellowed.
“Wh—at? Are you blaming me for this?” Yü-yün had taken courage from a conviction that she was blameless in the whole episode, and now here she was, getting yelled at. The accumulated anger gave her voice an uncharacteristic shrillness.
“Then you tell me, how did Mary get loose in the apartment in the first place?”
“I was sweeping up the patio, and she, she just ran in.” Yü-yün wasn’t feeling so confident any longer.
“What a stupid, useless woman . . .”
“If you’d listened to me when I said not to take the dog, none of this would’ve happened.”
“Rubbish! You’re too stupid to know what’s goin’ on.”
“Aha! Now I understand. Anyone who touches your precious orchids, or your rug, or your car, or your dog is in for trouble.” She was releasing all her pent-up resentment.
“Shut your bitching mouth!”
“Oh?” Yü-yün’s anger evaporated and she laughed cynically as she said dispassionately: “I’ve got the mouth of a bitch, eh? Well that’s an improvement, ‘cause in your eyes I’m lower than a dog.”
Whenever Yü-yün could no longer appeal to Ta-wei’s reason, she resorted to complaints of her destiny, the lot of women, and the unkindness of fate. She didn’t want to go that route this time, since the source of the problem was a dog, but what else could she do? Feeling very sorry for herself, she reverted to a fatalistic view, as she went over in her mind all that had happened to her. This was, she thought to herself, about what she could expect for the rest of her life, and this train of thought gave her renewed courage. Within a remarkably short period of time, she had changed from a person who feared dogs to one who had the nerve to deal with a huge German shepherd like Mary. To be perfectly fair, “having the nerve” is a little wide of the mark; “putting up a bold front” would be more like it.
Every morning after Ta-wei left for work and the children were off to school, Mary made a fuss to go outside and relieve herself. Of all the duties Yü-yün had to perform, this one of letting the dog out caused her the greatest tension, while it was the happiest time of the day for Mary. The tenseness of the confrontation between the two of them was obvious to anyone who saw Yü-yün leading Mary outside on any given morning. The one would be hopping around gaily, the other holding on to the leash for dear life. The tauter the leash, the greater Yü-yün’s apprehension. Then when Mary, with all her bulk, planted her feet on the ground, there was no way in the world Yü-yün was going to budge her. Sometimes, Yüyün would tug in one direction, but the dog would pull in the other. When Mary had a mind to go, there was no stopping her. She would strain forward on the leash until the best that Yü-yün could hope for was to slow her down a little, as she watched her hand turn purple in the tightening handle of the leash. For the first few days, she thought her poor right hand was going to drop off. But none of this really mattered so long as she was able to drag Mary home after the dog had relieved herself and had gotten a little exercise.
One morning, as Yü-yün took Mary out for her daily walk, they were met at the gate by a pack of male dogs Yü-yün had never seen before. A panicky feeling gripped her. She quickly wrapped the handle of the leash around her wrist. (Up until recently, this is how she had always held onto the leash, but two days earlier, Mary had pulled so hard in an attempt to break free that the leash had torn the skin on Yü-yün’s wrist. That’s why she was holding it in her hand today.)
One of the dogs sidled over and sniffed at Mary’s tail, then without any warning quickly mounted her. Yü-yün, in the midst of extreme embarrassment, bent down to pick up a rock to drive the mongrel off, but in the process she also frightened Mary, who bolted forward, causing the leash to pull hard against the still unhealed wound. Crying out in pain, Yü-yün let the leash drop, and off Mary ran, dragging the leash behind her. This development so shocked Yü-yün that she forgot all about the pain in her hand and ran after the dog, shouting for all she was worth: “Mei-li, Mei-li!” Her voice was so shrill it didn’t sound anything like her. Just then she lost her footing and crashed to the ground, hard, the sound of her latest “Mei-li” dying on her lips. This was all Mary’s fault, and Yü-yün hated her for it. But she knew she’d have to answer to Ta-wei if Mary were lost while she was supposed to be watching over her. So even though she took a really bad fall, she still had her wits about her, and before she even had time to climb to her feet, her head was raised as she watched to see where Mary was heading. Realizing that at any moment she would lose the dog among the pedestrians on the street, she sprang to her feet and bounded off after the dog without even stopping to look for her sandals.
“Mei-li—Mei-li!” she shouted and ran, and ran and shouted, pointing ahead of her as she went along: “Kind . . . kindly . . . up ahead . . . dog . . . the dog . . .” She was so flustered and winded she couldn’t manage a complete sentence. Meanwhile, blood from her skinned knees oozed down her legs until she appeared to be wearing red stockings. Some of the passersby pointed this out to her, but there was no time to worry about herself. In that instant when she had let go of the leash that was holding the dog, it was as though she herself had acquired an imaginary leash, which was pulling her after the fleeing dog. She hoped with all her heart that someone would head the dog off for her, but she was so winded she could hardly breathe, let alone say anything. She took a gulp of air and shouted laboriously: “P . . . please, help me! Grab that Dog!”
She had slowed down a great deal and was falling farther and farther behind—she could barely see the dog. Her shouts were now nothing more than whispers, and she felt herself starting to black out. Like a piece of worn out machinery, she was exhausted and slowing down, but she put all her effort into each and every step. No hint of her earlier mood was evident in her plodding steps, and she was running on instinct alone now, sensing that she was drifting away, little by little. Even her heart was numbed to the point that she felt no more urgency in retrieving the dog, nor any concern over the possibility of having to face Ta-wei with the bad news. So why was she still running? She couldn’t have told you. She ran like this, injuries and all, for some three or four blocks, until eventually the people who saw her could not have guessed that she was chasing after a dog. Some of the more softhearted ones attributed her look of despondency to the probability that she was suffering a nervous breakdown.
Just as Yü-yün was on the verge of giving in to despair, a young man, towing Mary behind him, came walking up to her. She could scarcely believe her eyes! Gathering her wits about her, she was once again gripped by the fear she had experienced at the moment Mary broke loose. Now it was all over, and Yü-yün could not hold back her tears. She thanked the young man through her sobs and bowed her head in gratitude, causing him great embarrassment. She held her hand out weakly to take the leash from him, but when he saw how she was trembling, he held back.
“Would you like me to handle the dog for you till you get home?”
“Thank you, thank you so much. I hate to trouble you.” To her surprise, another gush of warm tears coursed down her cheeks in response to his offer. She was ashamed to see the state she had been put into because of a dog. But neither the young man nor any of the people who had been watching the incident could have imagined how selfless and herioc she considered the young man to be in returning her dog to her.
Once the dog was penned up in the patio, Yü-yün found herself getting angrier and angrier. She picked up the broom and turned to give Mary a good beating because of what had happened. She paused momentarily, raised the broom over her head, then hit the dog a couple of times, shouting: “Damned dog! Damned dog!” Mary leapt to her feet and strained at the leash, giving Yü-yün a scare that she might somehow snap the leash in two, the consequences of which Yü-yün preferred not to even consider. She threw the broom to the floor, like a prisoner of war abandoning her weapon to save her own skin. Mary sized the broom, then walked over and began chewing on the bamboo handle, eventually with such force that she tore it to pieces.
Yü-yün’s completely natural impulse to exact punishment from Mary for the trouble she had caused had backfired—the dog’s subsequent actions had been a very effective threat. Yü-yün sat on the sofa rubbing her wounds and resolving to once again oppose—forcefully this time—Tawei’s desire to keep Mary. She surveyed her injuries: both knees and both elbows were badly skinned, and the pain she was feeling in her heart was far greater than if it were being pricked by needles. Her unhappiness was mounting. As she daubed iodine onto her wounds, she muttered to herself: “Damned dog! I mean it, someday I’ll slaughter that damned dog!”
By afternoon, scabs had begun to form on the injuries Yü-yün had sustained that morning. Since they were all located on joints—elbows and knees—they made any movement difficult and painful. When it was nearly time for Ta-wei to get off work, Yü-yün sat down in the living room, hoping that as soon as he entered the apartment, he would see her iodine-covered knees and ask what happened, giving her an opening to voice her opposition. But no such luck: when he walked in the door, even though he was standing directly opposite his wife, he didn’t so much as notice her knees, even though they stuck out in all their redness like Japanese flags. He held his suitcoat with one hand, using the other to loosen his tie as he walked directly into the bedroom. This took even the children by surprise. Yü-yün signaled them with her eyes not to say anything, but Hank’e couldn’t hold back:
“Daddy, come and look at Mommy’s red legs!”
Ta-wei was just then waving hello to Mary through the window, to which she responded with a few frisky barks.
“Did you feed Mary this afternoon?” Ta-wei yelled from the bedroom.
Yü-yün was so enraged she didn’t know what to say. So she didn’t say anything.
“Daddy,” Han-k’e said as he entered his father’s room, “the big doggie bit Mommy here and here and . . .”
Before Han-k’e had finished, Ta-wei rushed into the living room. “What about Mary?”
“Are you blind?” She lifted up her skirt even higher so he couldn’t miss it.
But Ta-wei characteristically mistook her action as suggestive, and he grew impatient with her. Once he noticed that her knees had been skinned, he reacted like a man deceived.
“What do you mean, Mary bit you?” he asked angrily.
“I never said that Mei-li bit me!” But then, after a moment’s reflection, she lost her temper completely: “So, you’ll only be happy when the dog bites me, huh? From tomorrow on, you’ll not find me taking care of that dog of yours!”
Ta-wei wasn’t very happy to begin with, and when she referred to Mary as “that dog of yours,” his mood turned even worse. But then, Yü-yün’s injuries were serious enough that he had the common sense to be less harsh with her. The only way he knew to keep his anger in check was to button his lip and say nothing.
“And look,” Yü-yün said as she raised her arms in the air, “my elbows too.”
Ta-wei took a good look and cooled down considerably, asking her as tenderly as he could, “How in the world did that happen?”
Ta-wei’s question and his tone of voice came as a godsend to Yü-yün, and the sudden change of heart produced an effect on her narration of the morning’s events, which she related to him in detail: the basic facts remained, but the attendant circumstances underwent considerable modification. First, she introduced a lightheartedness that was lacking during the incident itself, then she passed over some of the more gruesome details. If she were going to gain his sympathy or present a reasoned opposition to the raising of a dog, common sense dictated that even if she didn’t want to overdo the darker aspects, she should at least not hold anything back. But then a few nice words from Ta-wei, plus a show of emotion and pain as he looked at her damaged joints, won her over completely. When she had finished recounting the morning’s activities, she had to laugh at herself over what seemed even to her to be a comical incident: in fact, her narration was regularly punctuated by her own laughter.
Ta-wei had calmed down completely, but not because of Yü-yün’s assumption that he had been touched by her story; actually, this calmness had followed the entertaining spectacle of Yü-yün describing the events of the day.
“Ai!” Ta-wei sighed with a laugh, “I wonder how the Raymonds managed to handle Mary?”
“What makes me maddest of all . . .” Yü-yün so seldom found Ta-wei willing to listen to her on any subject and was so happy to find him that way now that she got carried away with what she was saying and paid no attention to anyone else. “She won’t come to me when I call her. You’re the only one she listens to.”
“Who told you to be so stupid? I don’t know how many times I’ve tried to teach you a few basic English words, but you still can’t say them. Now I’ve told you that her name is Mary, with the accent on the first syllable, not like you always say it—Mei-li—with no accent at all. Your English stinks.”
“You know good and well that I studied rural home economics, and English wasn’t part of the curriculum. You’re always laughin’ at me ‘cause my English is no good.”
“Take, for instance, simple words like lai for come and ch’ü for go; find anyone who’s never even been to school and in no time at all they’ll have ‘em down pat.” Then he added with a laugh: “You call Mary ‘Mei-li.’ Maybe Mei-li is a dog who belongs to someone else—some Chinese. Of course Mary doesn’t listen to you, since you call her Mei-li. Oh, yes, you, you’re the one who’s stupid, but you blame it all on Mary.”
“Okay, I’m stupid. I’m only good for taking care of three kids, so you go find someone who speaks English to take care of that dog of yours.”
But she really didn’t mean it, for from then on, whenever she had a free moment, she practiced the words in the “Ninety-nine English Sentences” booklet that Ta-wei had bought her so that she could communicate with Mary: “lai” is come, “ch’ü” is go, nice doggie is “ha gou-gou . . .”
WHOM DO YOU LOVE, ME OR THE DOG?
Mary gradually began to respond to Yü-yün, though one should not assume that Yü-yün’s English showed any real improvement; it was merely evidence of mutual compromise. When she called the dog’s name, there was still a trace of the “Mei-li” sound, but Yü-yün did the best she could. As long as the dog knew she was being called, Yü-yün had passed the test, if barely.
Yü-yün’s injuries had healed, leading to a disappearance of Ta-wei’s remorse; the latter diminished at about the same pace as the scabs on Yü-yün’s knees and elbows. Moreover, Yü-yün’s mastery of a few English words fell somewhat short of bringing the Chen’s troubles with Mary to an end. Without even trying, Mary brought all sorts of grief to Yü-yün just by being in heat.
This time it was the real thing, and the news was out: on this particular morning as Yü-yün was making breakfast for Ta-wei and the children before they left the house, there was a knock at the door. She walked over, opened the door, and was greeted by an astonishing sight: the knock had been made not by a person but by a nondescript mongrel. Yü-yün’s terrified screech startled the dog into stepping back a few paces, though he kept his eyes fixed in her direction. Yü-yün looked around, spotting, much to her horror, a pack of about ten dogs of all shapes and sizes, all of them staring fixedly at her.
“Ta-wei, come here, quick! My God, what a shock!” She stepped back and closed the door enough that the dogs could not get in.
“What’s all the excitement?” Ta-wei asked as he walked up to her.
Yü-yün threw the door open. “See for yourself! Just look at all the dogs we’ve got here!”
This took Ta-wei completely by surprise. He stepped out onto the porch, waved his arms and shouted “scat!” Then he made as if to drive the animals away. He took three steps forward—so did the dogs. He stopped—so did they. He went back inside the house—the dogs surged forward again.
“Mary’s in heat, and they’re all males. We’ve got to be careful that she doesn’t mate with any of these mongrels.”
“But how did they know? And where are they the rest of the time?” Yü-yün was puzzled.
“You couldn’t get this sort of punctuality if you sent out invitations—it’s their incredible sense of smell,” Ta-wei said with a chuckle.
“But that one even knocked on the door!” She pointed to the big black dog that was standing ten to twelve meters away. “That black one’s the one that did it.”
“Close the door. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let Mary mate with dogs like that. Lucy made it perfectly clear that Mary was to be mated only with a pedigreed dog. Besides, Lucy said that since this is Mary’s first time in heat they’d decided not to let her mate. So we’ve got to be extra careful.”
“Who’s Lucy?”
“Mrs. Raymond—that’s who!”
“Oh!” Yü-yün thought for a moment, then asked: “What’re we gonna do about all those dogs outside? Do you think anything will happen when I take her out for a walk?”
“That’s right! You’ll have to keep her inside from now on. Let her relieve herself in the patio. You go and get a bucket of sand.”
“Now, where am I gonna get a bucket of sand?”
“You can find it at any building site.”
Mary changed a great deal while she was in heat: she lost her appetite, and on those few occasions when she felt like eating something, it was always a spur-of-the-moment desire. If the food was even a little late in coming, she started a real row. What sorts of food would she eat? Only two: stewed beef and canned dogfood from the American PX. Once the desire and the supply were taken care of, Yü-yün had to worry about feeding her, and the whole procedure took on the appearance of the children’s game “paper, scissors, rock,” a game Yü-yün invariably lost. Mary was not an easy dog to please.
The first two or three days were unbelievably tense for Ta-wei, and it took little to make him fly off the handle. Yü-yün took so much verbal abuse from him over the dogs feeding schedule that she felt more resentment than usual—her days were long and difficult.
On the third day of the pack s vigil, one of the dogs was run over by a passing car. One would think that this sort of tragic warning would diminish their number, but quite the contrary—the pack grew larger by several dogs. All different types were represented, although they were nearly all the long-haired foreign import variety. These animals, with their long coats, were highly susceptible to skin diseases in the tropics, particularly here in the Taipei basin, with its hot, humid climate. No matter what the pedigree, whenever a dog suffered from this kind of malady it looked like any other mangy cur and was dumped unceremoniously out on the streets. Some of them were in such bad shape that their fur was gone and their skin rotting away, while others were crippled in one way or another. In fact, with the exception of two or three shorthairs, they were all sick or injured. They arranged themselves around the front of the Chen house in a sort of arc, their eyes glued on the front door. When the door was closed, as it was most of the time, they just lay there lazily conserving their energy. But at the slightest stirring in the vicinity of the door, they were on their feet, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. If it turned out to be a member of the Chen family, and not Mary, the dogs watched warily to see what the people had on their minds before making any moves of their own.
By afternoon it was apparent to Yü-yün that Mary was hungry, so she looked in the pot to see if there was enough meat to feed her. There wasn’t. She’d been so busy that morning that she’d been unable to go to market. There was no time like the present, since the children were in school, so she ran to the market, bought some vegetables and meat, and rushed home. But when she went through her purchases in the kitchen, she discovered that the beef was missing. She remembered distinctly that she had bought more than NT$100 worth of beef and had put it with everything else. She checked the bottom of her grocery cart—nothing. How could it simply disappear? She hadn’t a clue. Mary, who was now getting quite hungry, started raising a ruckus in the patio, but Yü-yün, who had just lost over NT$100 worth of beef, had too much on her mind to give Mary much thought; she turned and retraced her steps to the market, where she checked with all the tradespeople she had dealt with, but to no avail. She had no choice but to buy some more.
Yü-yün made her way back home, a package of beef in her hand and a belly full of anger. When she turned the corner near her house, she suddenly gasped, “Oh, my God!” She blinked and looked again, but there was no denying what she was seeing. Somehow, Mary had gotten loose and was unmistakably coupled to a dog much smaller than she in the shadow of the door. Yü-yün nearly flew into the house and phoned Ta-wei at the office. After waiting for him to come to the phone and pick it up, she quickly dissolved into tears.
“Oh, what’ll we do? Come home, hurry!” She was crying out of desperation.
“What is it?” Her unchecked sobbing made Ta-wei feel that he had never known her to be so feminine, so weak. He knew instinctively that something was seriously wrong. “I’ll be right home.”
Yü-yün hung up the phone, flung herself down onto the sofa, and cried her heart out fearfully. About ten minutes later, Ta-wei drove into the driveway, and the moment he stepped out of the car, he no longer had to ask what the problem was. On the way home he had been concerned about Yü-yün, wondering what could have happened to reduce her to such pitiful sobs. He also found himself concentrating on his wife’s many good points. But he was shocked out of his reveries by a totally unexpected sight: instead of seeing Yü-yün in distress, he was a witness to the mating of his beloved Mary to a street dog.
He burst into the living room. There was Yü-yün, cowering before him.
“Ta-wei, I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how it happened, I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . .” She was crying pitiably.
Ta-wei was fuming as he walked over, jerked her to her feet, and slapped her twice across the face, screaming as he did so: “What did I tell you before all this happened? You drop dead, woman, you just drop dead!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . .” Holding her face, she resembled a child begging forgiveness from an adult, as she repeated “I’m sorry” over and over.
But Ta-wei knocked her hands away and slapped her time and again.
“You horrid, selfish woman! You’re afraid of the dog. You hate it, so you’ve been wanting to get back at me. You probably think I don’t know what you’re doing. Well, you can just drop dead!”
All of a sudden, the cowering Yü-yün dropped her hands, stood up straight, and faced him dry-eyed. He froze on the spot; the hand with which he was about to slap her stopped in mid swing. Yü-yün casually straightened her mussed hair and said: “Ta-wei, do you know how despicable you are?”
“Despicable?” he shouted in the puffed up manner of a bully.
“I’ve taken all I’m going to take from Uncle Sam’s lackey! You can go and . . .”
“Uncle’s Sam lackey!” He raised his hand in a threatening gesture.
“Go ahead, hit me if you want to. I’ll neither cry nor beg for mercy, and I won’t even try to protect myself.”
“Then why did you let Mary mate with that mongrel? Why?”
Yü-yün’s sudden and virtually complete metamorphosis was in fact nothing more than an awakening to a single reality. This awakening was born in the midst of a highly contradictory frame of mind and took shape as she realized that although personally blameless, she had been experiencing the raw terror of someone facing a calamity, until Ta-wei’s vicious slaps snapped her out of it. Everything was suddenly clear as a bell, and she knew exactly what she had to do.
“I owe you my thanks,” she said calmly. “A moment ago I was in a daze, fearfully begging for your forgiveness, but your coldhearted slaps opened my eyes. I’ve always blamed Mary, hated her, in fact, but now I see the light: I had an unreasonable fear of you, and because of that I feared your orchids, your wool rug, your car, and your dog. But now I see how foolish I was. What’s there to be afraid of?”
Ta-wei stood there staring at her, his hands resting on his hips.
She continued: “We’ll forget about the past. What I want to know is . . .” She paused briefly. “Whom do you love, me or the dog?”
“I love the dog!” Ta-wei screamed hysterically. He turned on his heel and ran into the house, where he grabbed a stick and rushed back outside.
There in full view beyond the doorway were Mary and the nondescript cur, locked together, appearing for all the world to have fused into one. Their performance was being scrutinized by an admiring audience of horny male dogs, whose emotions ranged from envy to hatred. Ta-wei burst forward in a fit of uncontrollable rage, grabbed hold of Mary’s leash with one hand and flailed out with the stick, striking with full force the mongrel that had been blessed by fate. By the second or third blow, the animal began to wail loudly: it broke free and ran for its life.
The beating with Ta-wei’s stick and the pitiful wails of the victim were all the lesson the other dogs needed; with nothing to envy, hate, or admire, they all slinked out of harm’s way, their tails between their legs.
Ta-wei quickly and anxiously put Mary into the patio, tied her up, then got into his car and drove back to the office.
Yü-yün sat on the sofa during all of this, the very picture of calmness. As she reflected on how the scales had fallen from her eyes, how she had suddenly felt herself to be a woman of substance and power, she experienced wonder, but not without a trace of inexplicable fear.
Silently she gathered up the clothes she would need. When she went out onto the patio to fetch the clothes that had been put out to dry, she wasn’t at all intimidated by the flower pots hanging over her head. Not only was she unafraid of Mary, she even pitied her. Returning to the living room, for the first time in her life she trod on the rug free of the feeling that she was walking on thin ice, added proof of how clearly she now saw things.
When the three children returned home from school, Yü-yün said to them: “Mommy’s going over to Uncle’s house for a few days. Do you want to come along?”
“Sure,” Han-k’e responded, with a clap of his hands.
“What about school?” Tsu-wei asked.
“Mommy can take you.”
“Can you drive?” asked Chin-wen.
“Who says we have to have a car? What’s wrong with buses?”
“Mommy, let’s not let Daddy come, okay?” Han-k’e said with a heavy heart.
“Why not?”
“Because he’ll bring the big doggie with him.”
This brief exchange with her children, in which she saw how happy they were to be leaving home, showed her how she and her husband had failed in the education of their children.
Ta-wei arrived home about a half hour later than usual that day. When he opened the door and discovered that the house was empty, his thoughts from the drive home of how he should go about smoothing things out with Yü-yün after this afternoon’s blowup were driven out by a surge of anger.
His carefully planned move of adopting Mary had been one of the concrete steps in an overall design to climb the promotional ladder in the foreign company where he worked—one of the most critical steps. But where had this critical importance led? In the end, he was left with only a fleeting image of his importance, which had little or no relevance to the realities that faced him. As a result, in his mind this importance loomed larger and larger until it was stretched so far out of proportion that it assumed an almost sacred, inviolate nature. This was the pedestal upon which he had placed Mary. To ruin Mary was, in his eyes, to throw away his own future, at least insofar as his social mobility was concerned, making all of his past labors go for naught. Consequently, he was unable to put himself in Yü-yün’s shoes—he was convinced that she was ruining his career. With this semi-intuitive conclusion preying on his mind, he found additional faults with her for taking the children from him. Actually, he could just as easily have found fault with her if she had left them behind. He hated her—she disgusted him. And so, not only did Yü-yün’s departure cause Ta-wei no disquiet whatsoever, it served to strengthen the heretofore vaguely formed belief that she had betrayed him. But even now there was one tiny bit of evidence that Ta-wei still had some affection for Yü-yün, and that was the incredulity her forceful opposition had evoked in him, especially after so many years of accepting everything that he had dished out.
If this were not enough to trouble his heart, there was always Mary’s adventure in copulation this afternoon—a dog that anyone could see was rather remarkable locked together with a street mutt. His complex feelings of remorse and frustration were superseded by the simple emotion of anger. To top it all off, the thought of the end product of today’s fiasco, in terms of Mary’s belly, made him fidget unbearably.
He took a look around the room, letting his gaze fall on the dog. Returning to the living room, he picked up the phone book, located a veterinarian, and anxiously dialed the number.
“Hello, is this the Humane Veterinary Hospital?”
“Yes.”
“I have a question concerning a dog.”
“Yes, what is it?”
“What are the chances of a dog’s getting pregnant from a single mating?”
“Pretty good, but of course it depends on the breeds.”
“A German shepherd and a mongrel.”
“Oh! I’d say about one hundred percent. Hee-hee-hee.”
“Can a dog have an abortion?”
“Wah—ha-ha-ha. An abortion for a dog? Forget it. Just let her go ahead and have her litter in three months or so. Hee-hee-hee, an abortion for a dog, really.” The vet seemed to be talking to someone next to him.
“You see, what happened was a purely accidental mating.”
“Well, what harm can it do to the shepherd? As for the mongrel, to hell with her—just let her have her puppies. Hee-hee-hee.”
“If that’s how it was, everything’d be easy. Unfortunately, you’ve got it backwards: the shepherd is the female, and she was given to me by an American. The male is a little mutt with God knows what kind of blood. It’s not fair! What should I do?”
“What should you do? Hee-hee-hee.” He turned and said to someone next to him: “An American dog was knocked up by a mutt, hee-hee-hee.”
“Well, can she have an abortion or not?”
“Sure, it’s possible, but I’ve never heard of anyone doing it.”
“Then what do other people do in cases like this?”
“They let ’em have their puppies. You can still sell ’em if they look anything like a shepherd. And if they don’t, just dump ’em. Hee-hee-hee, hee-hee-hee.”
“I want an abortion.”
“You? Or the dog? Oh, ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha. He said he wants an abortion.” The phone picked up the other person’s comment: “Is that a man or a woman on the phone?”
“Is an operation necessary?”
“When did the happy event occur?”
“About 2:30 this afternoon.”
“Then a shot’ll take care of it. I’ll tell you what, I’m busy now, so call back in half an hour.”
“Okay, fine. Thanks.”
“Think nothin’ of it, hee-hee-hee.”
Ta-wei’s mood had lightened because of the infectious laughter over the phone, but in the final analysis the happiness belonged to someone else, not to him. By the time he had hung up the receiver, the oppressive atmosphere of the room again hemmed him in. Just then Mary began to bark a rather coquettish welcome to him, a sound that rang in his ears until it seemed to fill the room and blot out everything else. His anger at Yü-yün increased.
Meanwhile, at the Humane Veterinary Hospital, the first order of business was to contact the pharmaceutical supply.
“Hello, this is the Humane Veterinary Hospital. Is Pharmacist Hsü in? . . . . Hey, it’s been a long time. . . . Yeah. . . . Right. Say, do you have any womb-contracting medicine? Either that or some ‘aphrodisiac hormones’? . . . . Oh-oh, no, no, no, nothin’ like that; I wouldn’t dare. . . . You’re joking, ha-ha-ha, hee-hee-hee. You see, there’s a guy who wants an abortion for his dog! . . . . Yeah, hee-hee-hee. . . . So what do you think I should use? . . . . Um, um, right, um, uh-huh. The dog’s safety is paramount. A lot depends on the owner; we don’t want him to get us for malpractice. . . . No, that’s no good. I won’t do it. . . . Um-hm, that’s what I think. Look here, I wouldn’t feel right having you make a special trip just for this, so why don’t you send over a couple of boxes of insect repellent as well, plus two dozen insecticides, and, uh, oh, yes, and some multiple vitamin shots—a dozen should do it. . . . I sure appreciate this. . . . Uh-huh, about twenty minutes? Fine, thanks a lot.”
Meanwhile, Ta-wei was contemplating a thirty-minute vacuum; he sat there in the living room not knowing what to do with himself and seeing nothing that needed his attention. He tried his damndest to clear his mind of all thoughts of Yü-yün, for he was riled up enough as it was. Forcing himself to think of his job, he naturally thought of his Chinese coworkers: he was disdainful of those who treated him well and was disdained by those whose companionship he sought. These thoughts of his interpersonal dealings in that small circle revealed his loneliness.
There was, he reflected, a good chance of his making a trip to the States each year, though it was more or less dependent upon his accomplishments at the office, and this all led back to Yü-yün and her influence on his work. And so he was right back to thoughts of her, despite all his efforts to the contrary. Mary’s barking drew him out of his musing and right back into a blaze of temper. Thus, with zero productivity he passed a half hour.
The thirty minutes were up, so he immediately placed a phone call to the Humane Veterinary Hospital, then walked out the door with Mary in tow.
To his astonishment, Mary climbed into the car and very calmly sat on the rear seat, showing no trace of the high-strung temperament that had characterized the past few days when she was in heat. She seemed to have grown wisely obedient, sitting there awaiting the future with complete resignation. But all Ta-wei had on his mind was the letter—his second to date—in which he would have to report to the Raymonds on Mary’s life in his home.
He located the Humane Veterinary Hospital. One glance was all Dr. Liu needed to realize that Mary was anything but a thoroughbred shepherd: large head, a large, puffy body, a little on the stupid side—it was immediately obvious that this was a dog totally lacking in training, physical or disciplinary. Forgetting any concerns for the feelings of its owner, as far as Dr. Liu was concerned Mary was a common, worthless dog. He had always been a straightforward, outspoken man, but fortunately he had his share of discretion, which now dictated a momentary pause. He stopped himself from divulging the truth that would have crushed Ta-wei. Noticing how indulgent Ta-wei was of Mary, Dr. Liu thought back to how Ta-wei had told him over and over during the phone conversation how valuable a dog she was, how she had been given to him by an American, and how, in a careless moment, she had been allowed to mate with a mongrel. The dog’s owner had even okayed an abortion. The aggregate effect on Dr. Liu was that he treated Mary as a pedigreed dog, mainly because that was the best way to justify a steep medical bill.
During what appeared to be a very complicated set of procedures, Mary was aborted and given a shot of multiple vitamins. The doctor praised the dog to the skies in the tone of an expert, not neglecting to recommend a set of dog brushes and some dog shampoo. He closed with some advice on dog care.
“Thanks, thanks a lot,” Ta-wei said with sincere gratitude.
“Just call if there are any problems.”
Mary was once again secured in the patio, so Ta-wei went into the kitchen to scare up something to eat. Without warning, Mary suddenly began to bark and jump around wildly, straining against her leash with such force that the sound reverberated throughout the house. Ta-wei hurried over to the patio and found that Mary was no longer the calm, obedient dog she had been earlier in the car. She had grown wild again and was struggling bitterly against her restraints.
“Mary, what happened?” Ta-wei called out anxiously, although he kept his distance as he watched her gnaw viciously at the wood and moan pitifully. He noticed that she was excreting great quantities of bloody vaginal fluid, and that the rear half of her body was trembling uncontrollably.
Ta-wei placed an urgent phone call to Dr. Liu.
“What’s happening to her? Why didn’t you warn me?”
“There’s nothing to worry about, this is a normal reaction. Don’t think for a moment that an abortion is a simple procedure.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing to worry about?”
“See what happens during the next half hour, then call me back.”
As soon as Ta-wei hung up, Dr. Liu quickly called Pharmacist Hsü as he intensely scrutinized the medicine bottle, which he had retrieved from the trash can.
“Hello,” he said, “didn’t you send me ‘aphrodisiac hormones’?”
“That’s right.”
“Shit, I trusted you completely, so I administered it without even looking at the bottle. It looks like I’ve screwed up.”
“What was it I sent you?”
“Womb-contracting medicine.”
“It really shouldn’t make any difference. How much did you administer?”
“All of it. I figured that a dog’s constitution was stronger than a human’s.”
“You’re the expert, so you should know what you’re doing.”
“Shit! You sent the wrong medicine, so quit tryin’ to pass the buck. Well, it looks like we’ll be eating dogmeat stew for a while, eh? Hee-hee-hee, hee-hee-hee. The guy says the dog’s suffering a lot.”
“You know damned well the dog won’t die, and might even be better off because of it.”
“Shit. Ha-ha-ha, hee-hee-hee . . .”
Ta-wei kept his vigil beside Mary. The worst had passed, it seemed, and she was now lying down while Ta-wei rubbed her and watched the rhythmic spasms of her belly. Mary rewarded him by licking his hand softly.
Ta-wei was reminded of Yü-yün’s question:
“Whom do you love, me or the dog?”
NOTES
1. The usual order for Chinese names is surname first, here Chen Shun-te.
2. Italicized words are in English in the original.
3. The current rate of exchange is slightly under NT $40 for one U.S. dollar.
4. A transliteration for Hank.
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