How to Be an American Housewife - Margaret Dilloway [14]
“There was no reason to.” Charlie didn’t want to see the other islands, not even the volcanoes or rain forests, no matter how much Mike and I begged. “Oahu had everything we needed. It was too expensive to go all over the place.”
I took my hand off of him. “I want go Japan.”
He was quiet, like he didn’t hear. Then he said, “Why do you want to go there?” like I had said I wanted to go to Iraq in the middle of the war.
“You promise me we go back. I no go back. Now we almost too old to move. My sister dead. I see Taro, before too late.”
Still he said nothing. Maybe he was hoping I’d shut up if he ignored me. “How ’bout it?” I asked.
“Maybe next year,” he said. “We don’t have the money now.”
“I do.” I plumped the brown floral couch cushion. We didn’t have money for furniture for fifteen years after we moved in here. Charlie had put a redwood patio chair set in this room. It had two seats, vinyl cushions, and a table in the middle with a hole for an umbrella. Mike was too embarrassed to have his friends over. He moved out as soon as he could. Sue was little and didn’t know any better. “I save little bit here and there.”
“Your brother won’t even see you,” he said. “All these years, you hardly talked about him. You said you’re dead to him.”
“He see me if I’m there. We both old now.” I wanted to believe this. Taro may have softened with age.
Charlie shook his head. “I’m not coming.”
“Because your knee?” He still said nothing. “You too proud. Not use cane. Not tell doctor you need new knee. Always wearing slippery shoes, falling all over place.” Charlie liked to wear Italian dress shoes, too narrow for his feet. “Baka-tare!” Stubborn fool.
“Your doctor won’t let you go,” Charlie said. “You’re too sick, Shoko.”
“Maybe I no live through surgery,” I said, saying what everyone was afraid to say. “I want go.” I thought of something. “If Dr. Cunningham say okay, you say okay, too? You go with me?”
Charlie nodded, looking relieved. “But he’s not going to say okay, Shoko.”
“Deal,” I said, sticking my hand out and shaking my husband’s.
When you marry and integrate with Americans, it is only natural not to have friends. Most American women will dislike you. Perhaps looking for other Japanese women will be possible, but probably not. Expect to be alone much of the time. Children help relieve this melancholy.
—from the chapter “Culture for Women,”
How to Be an American Housewife
Five
In the afternoon, Charlie drove us home from Dr. Cunningham. He had said no to Japan, just as Charlie said he would.
“You’ll need oxygen by the time you get off the plane.” Dr. Cunningham crossed his arms and spoke as to a child. He was even more handsome when he looked stern.
“I do fine,” I said.
He and Charlie exchanged looks. “If you put this off, you will die,” Dr. Cunningham said quietly. “I’m afraid there’s no other way to say it.”
“I know that. But I always this way. No different.” I spoke softly, but I wanted to yell. “I need go.”
“He said no,” Charlie said.
“Next year, when you recover,” Dr. Cunningham said, touching my arm.
I grabbed my purse and stood up. Didn’t they know I didn’t care if there was a next year anymore? I felt dizzy and had to sit down again. “Take me home.”
WE ALWAYS TOOK SURFACE STREETS, all the way from Balboa Park to San Carlos, through the terrible neighborhoods and potholes bigger than the Grand Canyon. “Take too long,” I said every time. Charlie hated driving on the freeway.
“Less traffic this way,” he said. Or he said nothing. Often I thought he didn’t hear me. I knew he never listened to me.
Despite this, Charlie was a better husband than some other American men. He had a steady Navy job that was enough money, especially when we lived in Japan. He bought books for me and tried to learn Japanese. Another Japanese Navy wife I met in Guam had a husband who made her sit behind him in the car, like they did in Japan. But if Charlie had asked me to, I would have.
I would have done almost anything for Charlie to