The letter from home disturbed Pingping as well. She advised Nan to forgive his father and not to be annoyed. She even ventured, "He might have a point. You shouldn't continue to live like this."
"What can I do, eh?" asked Nan.
"Maybe go to school again?"
"To study what? Law or business or computer science?"
"I didn't say any of those. Why can't you specialize in something you like? You write in English better than most people. Why not put that to good use?"
"I need money for tuition. Nowadays there're so many Chinese students in America that schools don't give as many scholarships as before. After the Tiananmen massacre, who still wants to admit students from that ruthless country?"
"But it won't hurt to try."
They did have some savings, which both of them had agreed not to touch-they must keep some cash on hand in case of emergency, now that their child was with them. "I want to be a writer, to write many books," Nan muttered.
"In Chinese?"
"Of course."
"You'll have no chance if you do that." "Why do you say that?"
"Where can you have your writings published? Besides, you can't get along with those Chinese writers living in this area. Some of them are plain scoundrels. You're a different type and can never find acceptance among them."
"You worry too much. I don't need to befriend anyone to be a writer. If my work is good, of course someone will publish it. My problem is that I have to make a living as well, have to secure a regular income. That I don't know how to do." He grasped the chest of his olive green turtleneck and shook it. "Never have I felt so useless. I don't know how to sell myself here, I don't know how to sell anything, I can never be a salesman! Oh well, as I'm already worthless, I'd better not dream of making a salary."
Pingping fell silent. Nan 's state of mind troubled her. How could they live decently if he indulged in writing poetry? She wasn't even sure whether he had talent for that, though he had published about a dozen short poems back in China, all in small magazines. She knew that if he studied any subject in the humanities or social sciences, he might become a scholar eventually. But somehow he had just lost interest in academia, though he was still a dreamer and read a lot every day. True, he had always worked since coming to America, but he seemed to be getting nowhere and had never held a real job. Among some of his compatriots at Brandeis, Nan had a nickname, Mr. Wagon Man, because he had once quoted Emerson at a party- "Hitch your wagon to a star"-in an attempt to dissuade a linguist from switching to the field of economics. A historian, an arch-browed man from Henan Province, admonished Nan not to "parrot that so-called New England sage" who was a racist and always despised the Chinese.
Nan let out a sigh and told Pingping, "Don't worry. I'll figure out a way. I'll make certain Taotao will live a life better than ours."
"Sure, that's why we are here."
She said no more, not wanting to pressure him. In a way, she was pleased to know he still wanted to write, which indicated that he hadn't lost his spirit, though at the same time she feared he might blunder into a blind alley. She had no idea what she could do here. Compared with her, Nan was far more capable and should be able to lead a full life if he found his way. In any case, he mustn't remain wobbly too long; this family depended on him.
12
"I'M YOUR FRIEND. You can trust me," Nan said to Pingping two days later.
They were sitting on the sky blue carpet in Nan 's bedroom while their son watched television in the other room, letting out peals of laughter from time to time. Pingping understood what Nan implied- no matter how he tried, he couldn't love her wholeheartedly. Accustomed to his confessions of this kind, she murmured while looking away and choking back her tears, "Still, I love you."
He sighed. "If only I could go somewhere nobody can find me. I'm so tired."
"You always want to walk out on us!" "No, I've never thought of doing anything like that." "Fine. I want a divorce so you'll have to support both Taotao and me."
"You know I'll never have enough money for the alimony. Divorce will make matters worse, unless you marry a rich man." He forced a smile.
"I hate you! You've turned me into your servant, your slave!"
That silenced him. He dared not continue-more exchange on this subject would make her more distraught. She might even go to the lawyer's office next to the bank at the town center and file for divorce. He regretted having brought it up again.
It was true that he didn't love her, but it was also true that he had always cherished her as his wife, determined to be a decent husband and father. He felt for her, knowing she loved him devotedly. Many times she had said that death would be a great relief for her, and that only because Taotao was still so young did she have to live, to raise him. She'd accuse Nan of having a heart of stone-however hard she tried to please and comfort him, he'd be as impassive as before.
The truth was that, exhausted emotionally, he was incapable of loving any woman. Ever since his first love, Beina, had abandoned him eight years before, his heart had remained numb. Soon after that ill-fated relationship he had met Pingping, who had also been crossed in love, jilted by a naval officer. Nan married her soon afterward because they enjoyed spending time together and both were tired of dating, and because he assumed that the marriage would help him heal quickly, at least forcing him to forget the heartless Beina. He knew he didn't love Pingping passionately, but now that he was too tired to look for another woman, why not marry her to help her out? Also, love could always be developed and nurtured after they married. Afraid of hurting her feelings, he had told her he loved her and wanted to live with her for the rest of his life. She adored him, saying he was the most honest and intelligent man she had ever met, although he appeared a little absentminded and was so kind-hearted that some people would take advantage of him.
If only he could pluck Beina out of his heart! Now and then this scene would rise behind his eyes: He was standing in a cold drizzle and drenched through, in his arm a bouquet of carnations that had turned fresher and crisper in the rain. In the distance, horses' hooves were clattering on an asphalt road, the sound mixed with a muffled jingle of harness bells; a horn boomed from a ferryboat in the north as if to announce a solemn ceremony. He had been waiting more than three hours, but that wild-eyed woman never showed up. He guessed she must have gone to a beach resort to celebrate her twenty-sixth birthday with another man. How Nan was crushed! Why? Why? Why? His heart writhed with endless questions. He felt maimed, as though all of a sudden drained of lifeblood. When he met her two days later, she said with that impenetrable smile on her plump lips, "I just didn't feel like coming out on that wet day. Didn't I tell you it was over between us?"