How to Be an American Housewife - Margaret Dilloway [47]
I refused. This was difficult for me to say no to. In Japan, community is everything. Here I had nothing, no one, only my immediate family. I spent my years growing up poor, but we still attended every picnic and festival with the whole community.
Sue had had nothing until high school, when she was old enough to have friends who drove her to events. I felt bad for her, but I felt more strongly that I couldn’t let Charlie make her into something I didn’t believe in. I didn’t know how the Mormons felt about Charlie being married to me, but since he was already married, they couldn’t very well tell him to get rid of me.
Mormons were an okay bunch, on the whole. They helped each other out. Old Man Tattinger, who lived across from us, was a Mormon, and when he became unable to landscape his front yard, a big group of them came to do it. Free. I told Charlie he should ask Mormons to help with the floor, but he refused. Maybe they wouldn’t come because of me. More likely it was because Charlie hated to get help from anyone, freely given or not. I didn’t know. There were some things I would never know about Charlie, just as there were things Charlie would never know about me. This was how it should be.
An orderly in a lab coat appeared. “Mrs. Morgan?”
I got up slowly. A young veteran moved his cane out of the way for me. The orderly rushed forward to help me.
“You can stay here,” I said to Charlie, who hadn’t moved. “Be right back.”
“Want to get an ice cream after?” Charlie asked.
I shook my head. “No good for you.” I took the orderly’s arm. “Diabetic, want sugar more and more.” The orderly nodded sympathetically, moving slowly with me along the narrow hall to the tiny bright room where they would take my blood.
Marriages arranged by parents often work out best. Parents know that sentiment is rarely the best predictor of long-term compatibility. Financial matters, temperament, and status are the objective criteria used to create successful marriages.
However, your parents will most likely not have arranged a marriage to an American for you. Perhaps they gave you input into choosing the right suitor, perhaps not. You may be unsure of whether you have done the correct thing, especially when your American husband acts in ways un-Japanese (keep this book near!). Do not be faint-hearted and never give up.
—from the chapter “A Map to Husbands,”
How to Be an American Housewife
Fourteen
A few days after Sue and Helena left for Japan, I began having trouble sleeping again. At first I thought it was because I was worried about them. Neither had ever been out of the country before. Anything could happen, I fretted. Charlie had been right.
This morning, I sensed something was wrong. My body knew it. All night I sweated, pain deep in my joints, unable to turn over or call out to Charlie, who slept deeply beside me. Finally the sun broke through the horizontal blinds and Charlie got up to use the bathroom. When he returned, my eyes were open and staring at him. I floated outside of myself.
“You all right?” he said in alarm.
My lips and mouth were parched. “No,” I whispered.
He put his hand on my forehead. “You’re paler than a ghost.” He felt for my pulse in my neck. “We better go to the hospital.”
They put me in the ICU, oxygen tubes stuck up my nose, a machine helping my heart pump, an IV shooting fluids and medication through me.
Dr. Cunningham arrived and didn’t say much. He wrote something down on my chart and put his hand on my leg. “Feeling better now?”
“When can I go home?” My voice sounded weaker than I expected. It felt like a weight was on my chest.
“You’re going to stay for observation.”
I kicked my feet under the thin blankets. I hated staying there. “When you going do big operation? Pretty soon, huh?”
“Let’s get you stabilized. Then we’ll worry about that.” He gestured to Charlie to come outside with him, probably to tell him I was really about die