"Happy Family" - 1947
人人都说我够福气，人人都对我投射羡慕的眼光，因为我不再是一个结了婚而不知家庭生活的海外流浪汉了。 妻和我及两个相差十岁年龄的儿子，屈居在两个又暗又窄的房子里，十分亲密。
妻是年多前上岸的。 他们之来美国，并不是我自己的主意，是老父要我这样做。 我也要他支付所有的费用以为条件。 妻上岸时穿了不称身的花旗袍，皮肤黑黑的，形容消瘦的。 辫子是给时代的剪刀剪去了，不过表现不出一点摩登的感觉，而且脚上还穿着一对黑色的平底男装皮鞋。 她几乎可说是战后第一批 “唐山货”。 我把她和自己脑海中十年前的模糊影像拉拢起来总是不大符合，十年的隔别，已使我无法辨认她的了，至少青春已从她的面上溜走了。 更何况我是在结婚的第四天早晨匆忙地出路的呢！ 现在既来之则安之。 我也设法去爱她，第二个儿子就是我们努力的结晶。
初时妻对我正如我对她一样，除了面相容易认识之外，我们虽然同床共寝， 却十分隔膜。 我相信日子久了，自然这座围墙会倒下来的。 而事实上，这围墙比我预料的时间还要快的消失。
“算了吧，节俭一点就好了。 唐山有许多人的生活过得真不易呀！” 先前几个月妻不时这样劝我，我以为到底她是从中国乡边灰色图画中来的，看过的见过的一定比我多。 父亲也常常教训我，要知道稼穑之艰难，所以每次她这样说的时候，我会多少感动而暗暗欢喜自己有一个贤妻。 对于她的服装不入时，我也不加以指责了。 不过自己渐渐生了害怕和她一同出街的念头。 大儿子老早就在公众的地方不愿跟着父母在一起的了。
说到这个儿子，我得承认直到现在还不大认识他。 除了要问我给钱去看电映或其他原因需要钱之外，他就永远不和我说话。 如果我偏要问一句，他就畏缩地答一句，好像把我看作老虎一样，更不必说到和我亲近的了。 有时我闲坐着的时候，望望他—— 一个连面貌半点也不像我的小东西—— 心里不免起了怀疑。 这到底是不是我自己经手的儿子？
妻第一次大胆向我挑战，还是在第二儿子未出生前的。 因为她要大儿子和她一同去看戏。 儿子不肯，她由几乎是哀求而至大骂起来，并且要我去教训他： “这样不爱生母还要得吗？ 同我去就丢了你的面子吗？ 阿谁的爸，还不教训他？”
这一连串的问题使我更加坚持不干涉政策。 儿子看见势头不对，竟溜走了。 妻却没有放过我： “别人做爸爸，你也做爸爸，却又做成这个样子，生了就算本事了么？”
“是你的儿子呀！” 我终于忍不住要还击了，到底我是一家之长。 “这样就不是你的儿子了吗？ 坏的总推到我的身上来。 ” 她哭了。儿子给她纵坏了十年，而今日却把这个责任压在我的身上。 我到底不是神仙。 我想： 天下的女人总是无理的。
自从第二个儿子出生之后，她也渐渐发胖起来。 更使人讨厌，她又喜欢打扮，常常涂得面孔活像猴子的红色屁股。 这个黄面婆看来更加发黄，头像猪头的发肿，嘴像猪嘴般的凸起。 尽管我要和一只猪同居，我都可以忍受，但我一听到她的叫骂声，就战抖起来。
这一天，我放工带着疲倦的躯干，回到这个 “快乐的家庭” 来。 一开门就吓得我要却步，她已准备好一篇演说词了：
“别人的丈夫，就陪同自己的妻子到商店去，任由妻子选择。 要什么就买什么，没有半句怨语。”“放底一点声浪就不行么”？ 我对于吵声本已听惯，当能忍受，但我还未交屋租，很不愿给屋主以不良的印象。
她敲着胸膛大哭了。 敲得冬冬作响，不绝地埋怨着命运，嫁上我这个死佬。 后来也自己觉得敲得太痛了，就放轻了点。 这幕剧我看得太多了，这样的眼泪引不起我半点同情，只有增加恼恨。 于是奔出来，用力闭上了门，骂了一声 “监狱”。
Everyone tosses me an envying look and says I am quite fortunate because I am no longer an overseas wanderer who is married without experiencing family life. Wife and I and our two sons, almost ten years apart, are condescending to living in two small, dark rooms, yet we are very intimate.
Wife came on shore many years ago. It was not my intention for her to come to America. My father made me do it, and I had him pay for all the expenses as a condition. When Wife came ashore she was wearing an unfitting, floral cheongsam dress in darkened skin and thinning complexion. Her braid was cut by the scissors of time, but it didn’t show any sense of modernity. Moreover, she is wearing a pair of black men’s flat shoes. She could be considered as the first batch of “products of Tongsan” after the war. I tried to connect her to the fussy image I had in my mind from ten years ago, but they just don’t quite match up. Ten years of separation renders her unrecognizable to me. At least youth had slipped away from her face. Furthermore, I was leaving home to go aboard in a rush on the fourth morning after our marriage. Now having been in such a situation, I just have to accept it. I have also tried to love her, and the second son was the result of our efforts.
At the beginning Wife to me was just like I was to her. Besides being able to mutually recognize each other by our facial features, we were very estranged despite sharing the same bed. I believed in time this wall would collapse, but in fact, this wall disappeared sooner than I anticipated.
“Never mind. It’s better to save a little more. Many people in Tongsan don’t even have an easy life!” Wife often urged me to do so in the first few months. I thought she was, afterall, coming from the dark gray picture of the Chinese village and that she had seen more than I had. My father too, had often lectured me on the difficulties of farming. So each time when she said such things I was quite moved and secretly felt glad that I had a virtuous wife. So I no longer criticized her clothing for not being in fashion. But gradually I developed a sense of fear of going out with her. My elder son had long been unwilling to be together with his parents in public places.
Speaking of this son, I must admit up to now I hardly know him. Besides asking me for money to go to the movies or for other matters in need of money, he has never talked with me. When I insisted on asking a question, he would flinch and give an answer as if I was seen as a tiger, let alone the thought about him wanting to be close to me. Sometimes while I was relaxing, sitting and looking at him –a small being who did not have any resemblance to me – I couldn’t help feeling suspicious in my mind. Was this really the son I had personally created?
The first time Wife dared to challenge me was before the second son was born. It was because she wanted the elder son to go see a show with her but the son refused, and she went from begging at first to scolding loudly and wanting me to lecture him: “How is not loving your own mother acceptable? Does going out with me lose your face? His Dad, aren’t you going to lecture him?”
These series of questions reinforced my policy of non-interference. The son saw that the odds were against him, so he slipped out. But Wife didn’t let me off the hook: “Others serve as fathers and so do you, but your role has become like this. Is it enough just to give birth and consider it a great skill?”
“But he is the son of yours!” I finally couldn’t bear it any longer without fighting back. After all, I am the head of the family.
“So now he is not your son? You push all the bad deeds on me,” she cried.
The son was spoiled by her for ten years and now she held me responsible. I really am not a celestial being. I think: women worldwide are all unreasonable.
After the birth of the second son, she has gradually become fat. The most annoying part is her fondness for makeup. She often painted her face looking like the red butts of a monkey. This woman with a yellowish complexion appears to be more yellow. Her head was swollen like a pig’s head, with bulging lips like a pig’s snort. If I live with a pig I can still bear it, but once I hear her voice yelling and scolding, I am all shaken up.
This very day, I return to this “happy family” with my fatigued body. Once I open the door, I am frightened to step back. She has already prepared a speech:
“Others’ husbands will accompany their wives to the store and let them shop and buy what they want. There is not a word of complaint.”
“Wouldn’t it be impossible to lower your voice?” I have been used to hearing such sound of quarrel and should be able to endure it, but I haven’t paid the rent and don’t want to give the landlord a bad impression.
She starts pounding on her chest making “dong dong” sounds and crying out loud, while relentlessly complaining about her bitter fate in marrying this damn fellow. She then feels pain and lightens on the pounding. I have too often seen this act of play. This kind of tear does not evoke my sympathy at all; it only intensifies my resentment. So I dash right out, forcefully slam shut the door, and curse out “PRISON.”