When the door closed, Philip coughed. The sound was loud and hacking, and his breaths grew short.
Had we not been fighting, I would have brought him to sit and put a blanket over his shoulders and boiled water for him to inhale the steam. But I was livid. “Who was that?”
Philip leaned against the wall gulping air until the wheezing subsided.
Then he turned around, his shoulders squared. “Next time, ask before you open the door.”
“Next time, ask before you take my money,” I snapped. “Who was that man?”
“I’ll explain tomorrow.” He went to the basin and filled a cup of water, which he finished in one gulp. “I’m going to bed.”
That was it? I couldn’t stomach the thought of sleeping beside my reprobate husband. While he retreated to the bedroom, I stormed into the kitchenette. On the counter was a stack of mail and magazines. From the bottom, I took out my English workbook and started practicing my letters.
Some minutes later, Philip emerged from the bedroom. “Aren’t you coming to sleep?”
“I’m not tired.”
Philip’s shadow fell over my work. “You didn’t tell me you were learning English.”
“Why are you surprised? This is America, shouldn’t I try to speak the language?”
“You should have told me.”
“You gamble away our money without telling me.”
“I’m your husband.Imade that money.”
“What do you think I do in the restaurant all day, dillydally with the customers? I work as hard as you and Francis.”
He knew this was true, which turned him petulant. “I didn’t say you could learn English.”
“I don’t need your permission.”
“I mean it, Helen. You keep learning English, and I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”
“You’ll what?” I spat. “You’ll fire me? I already work for free, what more can you do to me?”
My sharp words goaded Philip. “I’ll divorce you.”
“Go ahead. I wouldn’t be worse off than I am now.”
I thought he would hit me, but he pounded the sofa instead, letting his frustration out on the pillows. Once he was calm, he came to me. “Close the book. I’ll get the money back.”
“Not by gambling you won’t.”
“I know.”
So often, I wished I had married a man with a different vice. Even a mistress would be better. At least then the hours I spent working would go to our future—instead of paying off Philip’s debts.
It could be worse,I told myself. I thought of Baba sitting on the sedan in his den, pale as an apparition, lapped in a cocoon of smoke. I wondered if he even knew I’d left Hong Kong.
“Why can’t I learn English?” I demanded.
“Because . . .”
“Because what?”
He swallowed visibly, too proud to say it aloud. No, too ashamed.
