Chris had more admonitions in mind. "Listen, don't let the children play outside by themselves. It's dangerous," he said. But Japan wasn't dangerous at all by American standards, and definitely not the nice neighborhood on the outskirts of Tokyo where her parents lived. Chris's words were just an effort to exert control over a situation in which he had long ago lost control.
Listen.
Listen to me.
I am the boss in this house.

Now, over our lunch, a set-menu bento of grilled fish, seaweed salad, and pickles in a compartmentalized box, Yukie pondered her future. She was slowly beginning to understand, she told me, why her husband had chosen her. As a Japanese woman, Yukie said, she appeared non-aggressive, non-threatening, as someone who would respect her husband's wishes, as someone who would follow along, be traditional, deferential, and obedient. Was she, to him, supposed to fulfill some sort of idealized role of Asian wife, like a geisha he had perhaps seen in a movie somewhere? She wondered it aloud as she prodded her fish. Traditional and obedient was not how she was. It was not how any Japanese women she knew were. It was not why she had come to America to study, and had decided to marry an American man. And it didn't make sense given the untraditional roles she and her husband had assumed when it came to bread-winning and childcare. She did not understand why her husband did not understand her after all these years.