The Unwanted (35 page)
THAT DAY
I filled out more than twenty applications. The next day, more children arrived, bringing with them more papers. Not until then did I realize the shocking number of abandoned Amerasians in my city. Each morning, I woke up to see at least ten faces peering from behind the barbed wire that encircled my front lawn. All wore the same frightened, uncertain, yet trusting expression. They all wanted to touch me, to feel the significant reality of the Americans that I had come in contact with. For most of these children, what happened to my family was the dream they aspired to live someday themselves.
Nhatrang, March 21, 1985
J
immy's telegram came on Wednesday, March 21, 1985.
“Our family was first on the list this morning,”
it said.
“We are scheduled to leave Vietnam next Wednesday, March 28 . I am going home to say good-bye to Grandpa. Please send Kien out here to replace me. Love, Jimmy. p.s. Kien, have you taken care of all the paperwork yet?”
His last sentence overshadowed the exciting news, restraining me from jumping for joy. For over two and a half months, I had not been able to get the Department of Real Estate to sign a release for my mother's house. Every deputy commander that I met in that office had pushed my application aside once he saw my uncle's name on the land deed. Our case was too complicated and timeconsuming for them to handle, despite the expensive cigarettes and lotus teas that I brought on each visit as “gifts.”
The relationship between my aunt and my mother had reached a new level of friction. Arguments broke out almost every day, with my mother screaming, pleading, and threatening. In desperation, she even offered to give the house to her sister and brother-in-law in exchange for their signatures on the release form. Nevertheless, both my aunt and her husband were so worried about the possible inheritance tax that they turned away from my mother's woeful tears. As far as my uncle was concerned, once my family abandoned the house, it would routinely become his, since the land was in his name. Any action on his part might attract the government's attention, which he feared could pose a potential danger to his family.
“STOP RUNNING AROUND
, you are making me dizzy,” my mother shouted to BeTi as they walked through the garden. The loud clanging of her pots and the heavy aroma of fried fish cakes preceded them, pulling me to my feet. My mother sauntered into the kitchen, cursing loudly at no one in particular. The heavy load of her baskets pulled at both ends of the bamboo rod, which dug painfully into her shoulder. She dropped her burden to the floor, squatted down right beside it, and fanned herself with her conical hat. Sweat soaked in large blotches across her blouse, accenting her armpits. BeTi stood at the entrance, holding a half-empty salad bowl. As usual, my sister seemed lost in her own trance.
I sat down next to my mother. “Was business bad today?” I asked her.
“Awful,” she retorted. “The whole block was filled with soup mongers competing with one another. I couldn't even give the food away if I tried.”
I showed her Jimmy's telegram. She glanced at it, and her eyes quickly filled with delight. She grabbed my arms and hugged me tightly, screaming like a happy child. Then, we both leaped onto our feet as she waved the paper above her head triumphantly. BeTi joined us, even though she was unsure about the reason for our outburst.
“Mother,” I said when we stopped to catch our breath, “I have to leave tonight. There is a midnight train leaving for Saigon I want to catch. Jimmy will be here early tomorrow.”
She nodded okay.
“I will need some money for the ticket. And you have to handle the real estate problem on your own. Without that piece of paper, you know we cannot leave this place.”
Just as fast as it came, the cheerfulness vanished from her face. She returned the telegram to me, silently picked up her hat, and stepped outside.
“Where are you going?” I asked her.
Without looking back, she said over her shoulder, “I am going to get you some cash before you leave.”
“How are you going to do that, Mom?”
“I don't know. It doesn't concern you. Go spend some time with your grandfather.”
IN HIS ROOM
, my grandfather sat on his newspaper bed. A basket of my grandmother's belongings lay by his side. Quietly, he went through her clothes, unfolding each of her traditional dresses and arranging them in layers in front of him. His eyes were closed, and his arthritic fingers ran along the seams of the faded fabrics. Once in a while, he lifted one up and pressed it against his face, inhaling deeply as if he wanted to absorb what little was left of my grandmother's scent in his lungs. His lips moved faintly. In the stillness of the late afternoon, his voice whispered through the room like a soft breeze, chanting affectionate words to his deceased wife. This peculiar behavior had become my grandfather's ritual ever since my grandmother's death. Sometimes, the overwhelming feeling that she was still in the room with him would frighten my brother and me.
“Hi, Grandpa,” I called out, hoping that my voice would chase the eeriness away.
He looked up. Waves of the afternoon heat slipped through the openings in the wall, washing through his room, through his hair, and into the cement floor, as pungent as the steam off my mother's soup. The hot wind lured me closer to him. Upon seeing me, my grandfather's lips curled into a smile, and he patted the ground next to him.
“Come here,” he said. “Come sit next to Grandpa.”
I moved away from the entrance and sat down beside him.
“Grandpa, I am leaving for Saigon tonight,” I began.
“I know, child,” he said, nodding. “I heard you and your mother.”
His attention shifted back to the array of clothing. Broodingly, his eyes softened as his fingers ran across a simple black velvet dress with large silver buttons and traditional high collar. Something had discolored the fabric, leaving a blotchy stain from its shoulders all the way down to the front of the skirt. On the elbows, the inside lining peeked through the torn fabric.
“Do you know that this was her favorite dress?” my grandfather murmured tenderly. “She wore it for every occasion. Shopping, dinner at Le Colonial Restaurant, my captain inauguration ceremony, our son's funeral, she was always in this dress.”
“What caused the stain, Grandpa?” I asked him.
My grandfather chuckled, “The stain was from me. Good heavens, she was so mad at me that day when it happened.”
“How could you make such a big stain, and from what?”
His chuckle turned into a healthy laugh as memory flooded his face. “Oh, it happened many years ago. And I don't think she would approve of me telling you this.”
“Sir, you can't do this to me,” I begged. “I am leaving soon. Give me something to remember about you and Grandma, please.”
“Well, you are absolutely right,” he said, smiling. “We don't have much time left together. Let's have some fun on her account. Okay, I'll tell you the story. It began one night. That evening was beautiful with a full moon, and we had just come back from dinner. I don't know if you are aware that your grandmother could become quite a dragon lady when she was jealous. And jealousy makes people do silly things —”
“Where was I?” I interrupted.
He leaned back against the wall. “You were just a little tyke, two or three years old. Your mother had just finished renovating the mansion for us. That night, I wanted to go out for some fresh air on the beach, to walk off the heavy dinner. Somehow, your Grandma didn't believe me. She decided to sneak out, spying on me a distance of about a hundred yards away. I knew she was there all along, but I pretended not to. On the sand, I waddled like a penguin, trying to embarrass her, but she kept on following me. Finally, I stopped, stretched, and said loud enough so that she could hear me, ‘Oh, good heavens, where can a man go when he needs to relieve himself?’ I could hear her plunging into a pine bush. I waited a while, then turned around, and walked over to the bush. I saw that black head of hers and I unzipped my pants and urinated, aiming straight at her hair. She didn't move once, not even a muscle, but I could hear her cursing me under her breath. So I whistled, finished, shook myself, and muttered as I walked away, ‘That was a number one. I think I might have to do a number two very soon.’ Still no word, she sat so still, waiting for me to get out of her sight —”
I burst out laughing.
My grandfather patted me on my shoulder. His eyes wrinkled thoughtfully. “Yes, that's good. Go ahead and laugh, child. You don't laugh enough for someone your age. I hope that may change soon.”
And then he continued. “When your Grandma finally got home, your mother and I sat in the living room. We tried to act normal, but that lasted only a second once we saw her all wet and mad as hell. I fell off the chair from laughing so hard, and your mother got the hiccoughs for the rest of the evening. The dress was completely ruined. My urine was so strong that it ate through the velvet like acid. And because of that, your grandmother didn't talk to me for a whole week.”
I commented, “That is a side of you I've never seen before, Grandpa.”
My grandfather reached out to hug me. “I know, Kien. I am sorry we have grown so far apart. I am sorry you have never had a happy, jolly grandfather like you should have. And I am sorry I've kept you and your brother here in this godforsaken land where you don't belong. So many things have gone wrong, I don't even know where or when it all began. I just hope that it isn't too late for you, your brother, and your sister to have normal and happy lives, wherever you are going. Just remember, life is short. You have to enjoy every moment before it passes you by. Forgive me for all of my foolish decisions. I was behaving like a selfish and stubborn old bastard. Forgive your mother for taking your childhood away from you. What she did, she did the best way that she knew how. About your aunt and her family”—he sighed—“I don't know if you can forgive them for what they have done, but at least try to free yourself from them. Don't let this anger ruin your life any more than it already has. If you want to ever achieve happiness, don't dwell on the past. Instead, start living. What is the point of obsessing over something that has already happened, and that you cannot change? Live! And be merry. Remember Grandpa's advice when you have your own family someday.”
I said over his shoulder, “Oh, Grandpa, are you going to be okay after we leave Vietnam?”
He nodded. “I am going to be fine. Don't worry about me. I have your grandmother's memory here to keep me company.”
I hugged him for the last time. He kissed both of my cheeks. So many years had passed, yet my grandfather's breath still smelled like Jolly Rancher candy. I suddenly felt small in his arms, like the day I turned eight.
N
ight fell over the city. The shade of leaves, the chirping of birds, and the loud motorcycles down the street all faded away with the dying sun. On the surrounding rice paddies, crickets and frogs blended their songs into an eerie, melancholy chant. The path to Kim's house was long and convoluted. Without a streetlight to show the way, I could not even see my own shadow as I made my way blindly down the pitted road.
The early summer heat was still intense, making the soil under my feet feel like the inside of an oven. Oily sweat trickled down my forehead, stinging my eyes. With little difficulty, I found her house standing across from a shallow stream of water. Cool mist from the brook evaporated like a natural humidifier, and I gratefully inhaled the fresh air it released. From a distance, every room in her house gleamed with fluorescent light, while the outside porch sank into the darkness. The closest neighbor was at least a hundred yards away, separated from her family's property by a desolate rice field.
It didn't take me long to find out where Kim was. Through a tangle of overgrown vines and thorn bushes that bordered her backyard, I saw her next to the well. She was wet from head to toe. The dim light from the kitchen bathed her body in a bronze glow. Her clothes clung to her like a second skin. With each bucket of water she poured over herself, I smelled the familiar fragrance of fresh lemongrass as it marinated weakly into the night. The kitchen door was open, and I could see her mother's tall silhouette hovering over a stove.
Carefully I climbed over the scratchy fence, making as little sound as possible and praying that my presence would not startle her. Then hidden in the dark, behind a thick rack of bamboo, I whispered her name, letting the wind carry that single syllable to her ear.
After my fifth try, Kim stopped bathing and peered into the dark garden in my direction. Her arms coiled over her chest in an attempt to cover herself as she walked closer to me.
“Who's there?” she said loudly.
I emerged from the shrubbery.
Her mother called out, “Is there something wrong, Kim?”
“Don't be afraid,” I said to Kim. “It's me, Kien.”
Under the pale light, I could see Kim holding her breath from nervousness. Several seconds passed, then she said to her mother, “It's nothing, mother. I just saw a squirrel.” Then she whispered to me, “Kien, I didn't know you were coming to see me tonight.”
“I need to speak to you.”
“Give me a few minutes to get dressed, please. I'll meet you outside by the stream.”
I shook my head. “I can't. I am leaving tonight for Saigon, then to America. I came to say good-bye.”
She took a few steps further, and I reached out, pulling her toward me. We withdrew further into the rice field, away from her mother. Her wet body curved into my feverish embrace. No matter how many times I had held her in my arms, I could not get over how soft her body was. My heart beat wildly in my chest, threatening to burst. The thought of seeing her one last time gave me new courage to do what I had not dared every time we met. I grabbed her breasts. Kim let out a small cry, but she did not resist. I covered her mouth with kisses, keeping her body still as my flesh came alive with an overwhelming desire to make love to her.