One morning as I was writing on the computer, I heard a sudden cry from outside my window. It was someone screaming for help.

“I want to see you, my grandson!”

My thoughts interrupted, I was shocked and my heart was beating at a quickened pace.

The cry was lasting, and annoying. It was an elderly Chinese woman’s voice, something very familiar to me. I moved out of my chair and walked close to the window, curious to find out what was happening.

An old Chinese woman was standing in front of my neighbor’s door. She was about sixty, with short gray hair, dressed in faded clothes and khaki trousers. She was crying and furiously knocking on the door. No one answered.

After a while, her cries ran out and she just squatted there. I decided to go out to give her a hand. She looked at me with a shocked expression as I approached.

“Chinese?!” She asked me. There was a gleam in her eyes. I nodded.

“What can I do for you?” I asked.

She quickly stood up and grabbed my hand. It made me feel uneasy, but I could say nothing.

She burst out crying again. There was a strange feeling that morning. I almost panicked, worrying about a misunderstanding with my neighbors. I tried to calm her down.

“Please, tell me what has happened!”

She only kept whining, “I want to see my grandson.”

I tried to get out from her hand, and then she noticed and released me.

She sobbed, “Comrade, you must help me!”

I seemed to be her only chance. She poured out her story. Maybe she spoke too quickly, or her story was too crazy, but I was still panicking and just couldn’t put together the pieces. I think got the key points, though: she wanted to speak to the house owner, and she wanted to visit her grandson.

I tried to calm myself down, and knocked on the door, asking if anyone was inside. But no one replied. So I invited her to my house to see if I could help her.

As she headed to my house, she kept repeating her story.

“Please, take a seat,” I said once we were inside my house, passing a cup of water to her.

“Cold!” she said to me.

Oh, I forgot Chinese people are used to drinking hot water. I filled the kettle and boiled the water. She continued her story while sitting in my sofa.

Soon, I passed her the cup of hot water.

“Too hot!” she snapped, as if stung by bees.

“Sorry!” I said, and suggested she put the cup on table. She did so, while still talking during the entire time. I listened but said nothing.

Because she repeated her story over and over, eventually I got the whole picture. The house’s owners were her daughter and son-in-law. She desired a visit with her lovely grandson. She hadn’t been seen him for several weeks, and missed him so much.

I had seen the couple on occasion, and thought about the nice boy in the mother’s arms.

Suddenly, the old lady asked me, “Are you listening?” I nodded. “Do you agree with me?” she asked.

What could I say? I just tried to comfort her with, “I think you will be able to see your grandson after they come back home.”

“But they didn’t let me in!”

The old lady complained more and more. What could I do? I lent my ears to her, encouraging her to think about the kindnesses that her daughter had done for her over the years.

I felt tired and yawned several times; I was used to taking a short nap at about noon.

“I’m sorry about that.”

She stopped talking to me and stood up from the sofa. I felt sorry for her then.

“You can phone me,” I told her, and wrote down my number.

She was excited and thanked me for my consideration.

“If they were you…,” she seemed ready to burst out crying again.

Dread appeared on my face. She noticed, toned down, and shook my hand.

“It will be better,” I said to her.

I lay in bed after she left, but couldn’t get to sleep. I thought about her story, putting it all together again. After I got up, I couldn’t concentrate on my writing any more. Time passed, and the evening came. My wife Sue returned home, and cooked dinner in the kitchen.

I didn’t tell her the old lady’s story, because I still felt very tired and confused. Sue was exhausted after work, and I didn’t want to annoy her. She didn’t pay attention to my yawning, and just focused on cooking.

Years ago, she used to kill time and loneliness by cooking, even sending emails to me from New Zealand to China saying, “Cooking cures my homesickness.”

                              2

One day while I was gardening, my neighbor the husband went to his mailbox. I decided to walk up to him and say hello.

He smiled and replied, “How are you?”

I told him that the Chinese woman had visited his house. His smile iced up, and a dour expression covered his face. I slowly realized what was happening, but I was still somewhat confused.

I thought perhaps my broken English was unable to clearly express what I was trying to say. I felt my face burn, and I couldn’t continue.

The man unceremoniously took his mail and returned to his house. In the meantime, his Chinese wife appeared to say hello to me. It seemed there was a chance for me to turn the situation around.

So I said hello back to her in Chinese, and she smiled. When I told her that an old Chinese lady had been here, her smile quickly disappeared and she didn’t say anything else, quietly returning to her house.

I couldn’t figure out what on earth could be wrong. Was it because of my broken English? But what about my Chinese? Maybe it was because I am a Cantonese from the south, and she’s a northern lady? But we both understood Mandarin, even if I had a different accent.

My own wife and I had moved to the neighborhood only one week before, so I wasn’t very familiar with the neighbors. There was still much to learn. I wanted to figure out what was happening, so on the weekend I questioned my wife about it. She had no idea. She said to leave it alone—it’s not our business.

I felt bored with it after a while, and continued my writing. Then, one day, the phone rang. Someone spoke to me in Chinese, saying, “They didn’t listen to me!”

I couldn’t recognize the speaker, so I asked, “Who are you?”

She replied, “I am your Chinese comrade.” I realized it was she, as she told me that she was the old Chinese lady I had met before. “I have been to your home,” she mentioned.

“Oh, I remember,” I said to her.

The woman kept on talking, just like last time. I felt faint, and tried to comfort her, but it was useless.

“You must help me. You are Chinese too—you are my countryman!” She raised her tone hysterically. “If you will not help me, who can help me?” she continued.

She talked too much. I was already tired of it, but she kept going. Suddenly, my cell phone rang loudly. I had to say sorry to her, and hung up the land line. It was my wife Sue on the cell. She asked me to bring a book to her school.

I drove there quickly, and passed the book to her.

“Who were you talking to when I called?” Sue complained.

“A lady,” I replied. Her face turned to another color. So I grinned, and added one more word: “Old!” Sue was a little embarrassed, and relaxed again.

                              3

I became upset over the following several days as the old lady constantly phoned me, reporting her new stories and interrupting my writing. I had lost my peaceful writer’s life.

Whenever the phone rang, I wondered if I should answer. If I didn’t answer, I might miss some important messages. If I did, and it was her, then damn!

She reported every conversation and argument she had with her daughter. She said to me, “If you’re my daughter, you should be on my side? Right?” I just listened, never answering. She continued:“Can you guess what she had said to me?”

“No,” I said.

“’Mum, I do really love you,’” she said, mimicking her daughter’s speech. “She loves me? Really? I want to see the proof!”

“Proof?” I was confused.

“She should stand by me!” she shouted over the phone.

“What did your daughter say?”

“She said that she really loves me, but…she loves her husband, too.”

I didn’t know what to say.

One day, I couldn’t help but complain about it to my wife.

“You’ve gotten in trouble?” Sue said, joking at first.

I was not happy. “I’m serious!” I insisted.

Sue simply expressed that I shouldn’t even have given our home phone number to the old lady.

I explained, “I have no experience with these things, I just wanted to help her….”

Sue smiled. “But you didn’t imagine what would happen next.”

She gave me the number to a community at-risk hotline.

“She can get some expert advice there.”

Sue had been a volunteer at the hotline for years—she thought that was good for her to adapt to the local culture.

“We are professionals,” she added.

After I gave the hotline number to the old lady, my home phone still rang sometimes, but we wouldn’t answer. Sue and I made a deal to only use cell phones for a period of time, until the old lady gave up. It worked. Peace returned to my life once more, and I was happy. But it seemed the opposite for Sue.

Every Sunday evening, she returned home from her community hotline work with grey clouds over her face.

“I want to kill them!” she would say while chopping vegetables in the kitchen.

This made me worry about what had happened, but she wasn’t willing to tell me. “Everything is fine,” she’d say, trying to comfort me. She talked about business, but gave no details. I did not believe everything was fine, as the shadows over her face were getting thicker than ever.

One evening, while she was chopping meat, she accidently cut herself. I helped her to wrap her wounded finger, asking what happened. But she kept silent. I had to try to persuade her:

“You need to get some help. You seem like a patient yourself nowadays.”

She did not respond, and only sighed softly. Then she continued to cook.

But she did say more before we went to sleep: “It is all up to you!”

I didn’t understand what she was talking about. I asked her to tell me more, and after several long seconds of silence, she finally told me what had happened.

The old lady had been phoning the hotline. Unfortunately, Sue was the one to answer. She praised Sue for her patience in listening, and from then on the old lady had locked Sue up, and constantly phoned according to Sue’s work schedule.

“In the beginning it was okay, but it’s always getting worse.”

Sue went on to summarize the whole story, which I had missed out on.

The old lady’s daughter came from northern China to study in New Zealand. After graduation she got a job, married a local Kiwi, and their first baby was born. She was very happy, and helped her parents to immigrate to New Zealand. Two generations of families had lived together to take care of a baby. It seemed to be a happy ending!

“But…things got complicated,” Sue said sadly. “Because of the difference between eastern and western cultures, they argued every day.”

For instance, the grandma wanted to dress the baby in bundles of thick coats, but her son-in-law did not agree and said that Kiwi kids should be a little wild and not afraid of cold weather.

Another time she complained about how her daughter went back to work so quickly after giving birth. But the daughter and her husband always ignored the old lady. They argued so much that the daughter had to rent another house for her parents to live in.

“The problem seemed be solved that way.”

“But then, the mother still wanted to visit her grandson.”

“It’s human nature.”

“She still thought she could go to their house all the time.”

The old lady acted like the daughter’s home was also hers. She came without warning—any time she wished. But her son-in-law didn’t even let her in. The old lady wouldn’t go away, and banged on the door, cried, and asked neighbors for help.

Finally, one day the old lady got to her son-in-law and dragged him away by the arm, and in the scuffle her hand was hurt. She burst out crying, claiming to the neighbors that she had been injured by her son-in-law. They suggested she that she go to the doctor for a checkup. Then the doctor wanted to report it to the police.

“He may be arrested,” she told Sue.

The old lady worried about more trouble, so she stopped the doctor from going further: “You can cure my body, but what about my heart?”

Other than prescribe some pain medication, the doctor could do nothing.

Suddenly, Sue stopped her story and yawned widely. I suppose she felt guilty. So I reminded her to go to sleep soon, because she had to get up at 5a.m. the next morning. She held me as she slipped into dreams.

                              4

One Sunday morning, I got up at 8a.m., wrote until noon and, feeling hungry, I realized Sue had not gotten up yet. Oh God, I thought. She forgot to go to the community hotline. So I went up to the bedroom to check on her.

“Get up!” I shouted, waking her. She held her pillow and stared at me sleepily. “It’s volunteer time,” I said.

Yawning, she answered, “I’ve quit.”

I was surprised. “Quit? Why?”

Sue patted the bed, pulling me to her: “I want to survive.”

She told me more about the story of the old lady.

The last time she was at the hotline, the old lady had continued phoning her.“My husband wants to divorce with me!” she said.

Sue was surprised, and tried to comfort her by saying maybe her husband was just joking.

The old lady explained, “I just want to see my grandson. He does not support me, and instead complains about how I’m annoying him!” She cried over phone, “I do everything for them, but in the end they all betrayed me!”

“Crying won’t help. Could you please talk to them?”

“I went to their house, but my son-in-law won’t open the door.”

“Maybe you can leave them be for a while? Wait until there’s a better time?”

“I just want to see my grandson, but they won’t ever let me in!”

The old lady repeated herself again and again. Sue gave her suggestions, like waiting and making appointments, and pointed out that adults must do what is best for children.

The old lady cried sadly, “I can’t give up on this. My heart was broken! I don’t even understand English. Could the staff talk to my husband and son-in-law?” Sue said it was impossible. “What can I do now?” The old lady’s cries increased.

“You can talk to the manager face-to-face.”

Sue could do nothing but turn to her manager.

After finishing the story, she sighed and took a deep breath. I joked with her, “You are a trained expert! It’s fine, you can stay home and spend more time with me.”

I kissed her, and tried to go back to my writing.

Suddenly, the phone rang loudly. Sue answered, and then quickly motioned to me and tilted the phone so that I could hear.

I leaned in and listened.

“They’re all unwilling to help me…Just tried to stop me…Oh, I want to talk to Sir Tang? Has he moved out? Oh, you are my comrade, your voice is so familiar, hotline consultant Miss Sue …Yes, you sound so similar… I miss her, such patience.”

“Sorry…I… I am not Miss Sue.”

“Oh…Well, I told her, ‘You are my daughter, forever, I love you.’ She told me that she loves me, too. So I said to her that she must make a choice between her husband and me. She said she can’t make that choice. I said she is my daughter, she should be on my side. We are Chinese!”

Sue couldn’t help replying, “This is New Zealand. Not China.”

The old lady went right on talking: “You are my daughter, this is a fact, no one can change it, even in a foreign country….”

                  

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