The Unwanted (19 page)
“A thousand dong per person to start?” My mother let out a small cry. “I don't have that much. Where am I going to get a thousand dong?”
“Sell your furniture,” Mrs. Dang said coldly. “That's how I raised my money. We can leave the day after tomorrow. However, I need your word that you are with me in this.”
In the other room, my little sister woke up from her nap and started to cry. At the age of two and a half, she was still physically and mentally a one-year-old child, trapped in a frail and wrinkled body that had always been covered with painful ulcers, mostly on her head and neck. She had learned to walk and talk with great difficulty. Mainly, she preferred to crawl on the floor instead of walking; cry instead of asking for food. Her face was like that of an old woman, and her voice was tiny, like the mew of a newborn kitten.
My sister's cry startled my mother, and she stopped tending my grandmother's wound. “Kien, shut her up,” she yelled out in frustration. “I am busy with Auntie Dang.”
I picked my sister up in my arms and rocked her as she clutched a torn pillow to her chest. Although it was half decomposed and smelled like fish sauce from her drooling, the pillow was her source of security. In my lap, BeTi looked at me dully with her large, bulging brown eyes and favored me with a toothless smile. Her baby teeth had rotted away before her adult teeth could come in to replace them.
In the next room, my mother was asking my grandmother's opinion about Mrs. Dang's proposal. I heard my grandmother's weak voice as she offered her advice.
“I think you should go to Saigon,” my grandmother said. “Don't worry about us. I will be fine with your father, and Kien can take care of his brother and sister. Your staying here won't make things any better.”
Two days later, with the money she had received from selling her sewing machine, my mother was ready for her trip. She crammed a fifty-dong bill in my hand. Reassuring me that it would be sufficient to keep the five of us comfortable for the next five days, she bid us good-bye.
THAT SAME DAY
at my school, the great parade marked the last day of the term. Leading the march were the members of the Ho Chi Minh Communist Youth Union, distinguished from the rest of the students by their red neckerchiefs. My class's vice president led the parade proudly with the national flag fluttering in his arms. They marched through the city, singing the national anthem and chanting Communist propaganda before a zealous crowd.
I stayed inside my classroom to avoid the festivity. Keeping me company was Duy, who sat by the window watching the parade from a distance. It was half past noon; the early summer sun was already merciless with its heat. The faint smell of cow dung mixed with the sweet odor of ripened rice in the nearby fields. All this had a sedative effect, and my lashes hung heavily over my eyes.
“Did you hear what happened to Miss San?” Duy asked me.
“No.” I sat up, my drowsiness replaced by curiosity. “What did you hear?”
Duy said with little emotion, “I heard she tried to escape a few days ago, and there was a traitor in her boat. She was shot. No one is supposed to know. The police were talking to the dean. They said she's dead.”
“Oh, no!” My ears rang as though a bomb had exploded inside my head.
“Yes, isn't that terrible? And there won't be any funeral either. They won't allow the students to mourn her loss.” He stared at me. “If Miss San were still here, she would definitely fight to keep you in that parade.”
I shook my head. “The dean said that I don't deserve that honor. I don't think he would believe Miss San deserves a proper mourning, either. It's nothing personal. That's just the way things are.”
O
n the fifth day of my mother's absence, I took my brother and sister to the bus station to welcome her home. To our dismay, the bus arrived with no sign of her or Mrs. Dang. We stood by the entrance, searching for her familiar face among the strangers, until every last person was off the vehicle. At last I found the driver and asked if he had a message from her. He shook his head and walked away.
That was the first night in my eleven years that I did not rest. Lying awake in my bed, I wondered what had happened to my mother. Silently I cried in the dark, not so much to mourn for her disappearance but because of the uncertainty of my future and my sense of responsibility for the rest of my family. Morning came, and I returned to the bus station. At the end of the day I returned home alone once more.
The household was beset by crises. The money my mother had left us was spent. My grandmother's condition took a turn for the worse and she had to be readmitted to the hospital. My grandfather stayed by her side, leaving me in charge of my siblings. My aunt could offer only two explanations for my mother's disappearance: death or abandonment. She considered informing the government about our situation. She felt no responsibility to feed us, telling the neighbors that it was my mother's fault for deserting her own family.
After eight days had passed we ate the last grain of rice in the house. I took my brother and sister to bed hungry, not knowing what to do. In the dark, Jimmy and I lay awake, listening to my sister keening through the night like a tormented ghost. Hearing her cry from hunger was the worst thing I had ever experienced. And just a short distance away we could hear the sound of my cousins dining noisily.
The following morning I went to my aunt's door, carrying my sister on my back and leading Jimmy by my side. In the kitchen my cousin Pink was boiling a pot of sweet potatoes on top of a stove. The food was part of a little business she had after school selling snacks at a local market to earn extra cash. The rich aroma swept up into the air, and instantly, my sister begged to be fed. I pushed her pillow into her hands and ventured up the steps to the main house.
Inside the living room, my aunt was sitting on her divan chewing betel nut. Its juice, when mixed with the saliva, would become a rich, thick vegetable dye. She used this mixture to stain her teeth black, as among women of her generation gleaming black teeth were considered highly desirable. My cousins were scattered around the room, watching us with aggressive glee.
“Auntie, I want to borrow some money,” I stammered in my shaky voice. “My mother is missing and we have run out of food.”
“Wait till tomorrow,” she said.
“I beg your pardon?” I asked her.
“Wait till tomorrow,” she repeated through a mouthful of red saliva, triggered by the betel dye. “If your mother doesn't return by then, I will think of something.” Next to her, Moonlight lay on a pillow and coughed softly into a handkerchief.
“I don't think I can wait any longer,” I told her. “We haven't eaten for two days. I was hoping that you could give me a loan now, please.”
In a bed near the window, Tin raised his voice. “She said to wait till tomorrow. Are you deaf or stupid?”
“A loan?” My aunt snickered. “How are you going to repay me?”
“My mother will be home soon. She will pay you back.”
My aunt raised her eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?” she asked. “What if she doesn't come back?” She spat into a metal basin next to her, wiping her lips with the tips of her fingers, then added, “Ever.”
Jimmy pulled on my arm. “Let's go, Kien.”
We walked back to our house, passing the kitchen one more time. The smell coming from the pot tugged at our empty stomachs. The door was open. No one was inside.
Jimmy looked at me, and his stomach growled from within his thin abdomen like a broken whistle. “I am so hungry, Kien. Do something,” he said miserably.
“Me, too, very hungry,” my sister joined him, hitting the back of my head with her pillow.
I put my sister down and crept into the kitchen. Near the stove, Pink had left a small notebook that she used to keep track of her customers' accounts. Choosing a clean page, I scribbled a brief note to her.
“Dear Pink,, I took, three botatoes from your pot because we were very hungry. I promise to pay you back when my mother returns. Thank you. Kien.”
I set the note by the stove where it could be easily spotted. With a chopstick I speared out three scalding potatoes into a bowl and ran outside, joining my brother and sister. But before I could reach the back door of my home, I bumped into Pink. She let out a scream, but her shock turned to rage in seconds.
“Mommy,” she shouted, “the half-breed stole my potatoes.”
“No, no, Pink.” I covered her mouth with my free hand, hoping to gain some time for my explanation. “I am going to buy these. See? I put them on your tab. I did not steal them. Please, stop yelling.”
But it was too late. From their living room, her family rushed down to the kitchen. Tin stormed like a wildcat in front of me, snatching the food from my hands. The potatoes fell onto the dirty cement and broke into small pieces, which made him madder.
He clenched his hand into a fist and punched my jaw with all his strength. The impact crashed my head into the wall a few feet away. I registered the metallic taste of blood from my cut tongue, the sound of my sister's cry, and the barking of Jimmy's dog before my consciousness drifted away. Tin rushed forward to pull me to my feet. I slowly regained my senses, but couldn't see clearly. Tin punched my face again, holding me upright by the front of my shirt. In desperation, I grabbed his arm and bit down hard on the flesh. He let out a surprised growl and shook me off him. I fell back on the ground, while his family watched in silence.
Tin ran back inside his house, only to reappear a moment later. His hand was curled into a fist, and the handle of a hammer stuck out from between his fingers. My aunt spoke warningly to him.
“Be careful, Tin, don't hit him in the face.”
From their living room, Moonlight called out weakly. “Stop it, please. What are you doing? They are your cousins —” Her cough drowned down her last few words.
“Shut up,” Tin spat to Moonlight. “Whose side are you on?” To his mother, he continued, “Don't worry, Mother. I am going to teach this half-breed a lesson today about stealing from my sister.”
I saw him lunge at me, the weapon aimed at my face. All I could do was wrap my head in between my arms before he got too close. Jimmy jumped in to grab Tin's legs, pulling him away. I was aware of my brother's dog above me as it leaped out to bite Tin on the side of his abdomen. Tin let out another frustrated scream, but only for a second. He shook the dog off and kicked my brother in the groin. Jimmy fell down, gasping and holding his privates in agony. However, the dog did not give up. It bared its fangs and launched itself again at my cousin. Fully prepared this time, Tin swung the hammer and whacked it across Lou's face. His strength sent the dog into the air to land a few feet away, howling wildly. He then dove on top of me, pounding on my exposed back with his fist, which was still wrapped around the head of the hammer. Lying on the ground, I lost count of his punches and passed out.
Sometime later I was dimly aware of someone poking my side. The sunlight blinded me as I opened my eyes. My cousins' faces were looming above me, with my aunt's head poking in between them.
As one of my cousins kicked me, she asked, “Is he dead? Can someone check? Tin, you are in trouble, child. You've hit him too hard.”
I turned away from them. From somewhere behind his brothers, Tin's voice exploded mockingly. “That dumb half-breed misspelled
potatoes.
If he is too stupid to spell, maybe he shouldn't write any note at all.”
“Why didn't you tell us that you left Pink a note?” my aunt asked me.
I stood up, and pain shot up my spine like an electric current. My knees wobbled and I fell back to the ground. Ignoring their stares, I pushed myself up again. Clutching the wall, I took baby steps back to my house. An eerie numbness began to spread from my waist downward.
Pink caught up with me. With a solemn look, she shoved a bowl of potatoes in my hand.
“Take these. Go ahead,” she said. “They are on me.”
I pushed my way past her. All I wanted to do was get away.
My aunt's sour voice chased after me. “You caused this to happen to yourself. Didn't I tell you earlier that you should wait for your mother to get home? Why must you be so stubborn all the time? You've provoked my son, knowing his short temper —”
Tin interrupted her. “Why bother to explain, Mother? He is lucky that I didn't kill him. Didn't you see him and that damned dog bite me?” He called after me, “You animals. I hope you all go to hell.”
I limped inside the house with Jimmy's help. “Are you all right?” I asked him. “Does it still hurt where he kicked you?”
“Just a little bit,” Jimmy answered me. Next to him, Lou tried to lick away the blood around his neck with little success. With his hind leg he scratched the injury in frustration. Blood dripped from his coarse fur to the floor, drying instantly in the heat.
I sank to a chair with difficulty and said to my brother, “Let's wait a few minutes until I feel better, then we will get out of here.”
“Where are we going, Kien?”
“We are going to see Loan.”
L
oan?” Jimmy looked at me with surprise. “But she lives so far away, and we have no money to take the bus.” “We are going to walk to her house,” I told him.
Jimmy looked at me in disbelief. “Are you sure you can walk at all?”
“Yes,” I said, nodding. “We have no choice. I don't want to die here. Give me a minute to rest, and if you can carry BeTi, then I will be able to go with you.”
“No problem, I will carry her, Kien.”
It was about ten o'clock in the morning when we left the house through the main gates. Some of my aunt's family watched us from their windows. The numbness in my lower body had slowly dissipated, giving way to a sharper pain that dug like long fingernails into my back with each step I took. Jimmy trudged a few feet ahead of me, carrying my sister on his back, and Lou was by his side. Occasionally, my brother and his dog would turn back to examine me with their intense dark eyes.
As we approached the first turn from our street, Jimmy stopped. His face was full of anxiety. “Do you know how to get there?” he asked.