by Leslie Gould
“Be honest with me, Lan. Who paid you for the children? Who decided not to pay you for Binh?”
Lan shook her head and looked at Older Brother. “No one paid me for my children.”
He raised his eyebrows at her in a mocking expression. “It was because Binh is older, wasn’t it? Because they only want babies.”
She laughed, quietly at first and then louder. She thought of the couple in the picture, the husband and wife who wanted Binh, too. The old man selling baskets across the street stared at her. Abruptly she stopped laughing. “Look at me. Do I look like anyone has paid me any money? Did you ask Mother how much rice we have in the house? Did you ask her how long it’s been since she’s had medicine?” She brushed at her shirt and pants. “Do you see the holes in my clothes?”
He glanced off in the distance and then focused back on Lan. He bowed slightly and said with determination, “We’ll talk more, soon.”
Blowing rain continued through the night. Lightning flashed and thunder clapped all around the shack, and thick air filled the tiny home. Mother coughed in her hammock. Binh began to wheeze and cry out in his sleep. Lan pulled him to her, sat up, and lifted him onto her lap. The wheezing continued. She dragged him out from under the mosquito net and stood with him in her arms.
“Mama,” he called out. He clung to her. She swayed back and forth and clucked her tongue to soothe him. She walked to the door and eased it open. The rain had stopped. She stepped into the yard and gazed up at the sky, where the stars twinkled behind thin clouds.
Binh, with his eyes still closed, began to cluck his tongue too. Lan held him tightly. The dawn would soon arrive. The loudspeaker crackled to life with patriotic music.
Chapter 27
Jeff and Gen sat in the Dragonfish Café, a Pan-Asian restaurant in downtown Portland, on Mothers Day Eve.
“How are your noodles?” Jeff asked Gen.
“Good.” She put her fork down and sipped her tea.
Three weeks ago she’d looked forward to Mother’s Day for the first time in all these years. Tonight she dreaded it, worse than ever before. No mother to give a gift to, no baby to make her a mom.
She took another bite of her dinner and thought about Maggie’s daily e-mails that usually started with “I talked to Vietnam today.” The image of Maggie standing with a cutout S-shaped map of Vietnam held to her ear popped into Gen’s head each time.
This morning’s e-mail said again that there were political problems between government officials in Vietnam concerning adoption. She assured them it had nothing to do with their case. However, the couple from Ohio had backed out because of the problems. Robyn and Sean still waited for a referral, so Gen and Jeff would be the only adoptive parents traveling from their group, which was uncommon with Mercy for Children. Maggie added that Mai was healthy, waiting for them in the orphanage.
Gen twirled noodles around her fork. “Maggie said if we can’t travel next week, she will travel to Vung Tau and see if she can talk to someone at the Justice Department.”
Jeff nodded. “I read the e-mail.”
“Do you think it’s worse than Maggie is letting on?” So far she had believed Maggie, believed that twists and turns were to be expected in international adoptions.
“I don’t know.” Jeff took a bite of his red curry.
She put down her fork. “Maggie’s daughter is expecting a baby at the end of June. At least that’s what Robyn told me.”
“End of June?” he asked.
She nodded.
“You didn’t tell me that. I wish it were the middle of June. She would have more motivation to get us back home in time for harvest.”
“It’s a travesty.” Gen sat up straight. “Mai shouldn’t have to be in the orphanage this long. Not when she has parents who will take care of her.”
Jeff nodded.
“What if it doesn’t work out?”
“It will work out.” He raised his cup of tea. “Happy Mothers Day”
Monday after school Gen stopped by the grocery store. They needed milk and bread. If I stock up on everything, well travel this week. She imagined the produce turning into slime, the milk curdling, the bread molding. She smiled as she chose three cucumbers, red-leaf lettuce, on-the-vine tomatoes, a big bunch of bananas, grapes, and three lemons. She picked out whole-wheat bread, bagels, cream cheese, and salsa, and put hamburger, chicken, and steaks into the cart.
She gazed out across the Columbia as she drove toward home. To the east, The Dalles Dam spread across the river between two bends; the gray water flowed effortlessly toward the Pacific.
Cherry harvest would start the week after school ended. The cherries were coming on. Every day they listened to the weather report and watched the clouds, anticipating rain. As Jeff explained it all those years ago, the water on the inside of the cherry and the water on the outside try to get together. Too much rain would cause the cherries to split. They hired a helicopter pilot to blow the water off the trees when it stormed.
Jeff had been working from sunup to sundown to get everything done—spraying, repairing ladders, fixing sprinklers, getting the cabins ready for the workers, and mowing between the rows of trees. The plan was to get as much done as possible before they left, and then Don would keep things going while they were gone. If they traveled soon, they would be back for harvest. Gen wouldn’t drive the truck this summer. Sharon had half-jokingly volunteered to watch Mai so Gen could. Gen politely declined.
Gen pulled into the driveway, grabbed her backpack and the two gallons of milk from the back, and headed into the house. She left the rest of the groceries while she turned on the computer. She opened up AOL and clicked on the message from Maggie.
I talked with Vietnam today. I cannot confirm a date for you to travel. A newly assigned official to the Justice Department is conducting an independent investigation in Vung Tau. We must wait for the police report to be completed before the Justice Department will schedule a Giving and Receiving Ceremony. I’ll get back to you as soon as I know anything.
Gen quickly wrote back: “But the police report was already completed!” And hit Send. She hurried out to the car and carried the rest of the groceries into the kitchen and then checked her e-mail again.
Maggie’s reply was waiting when she returned.
It was completed. The official ordered that it be redone. It appears to be a formality. There’s no indication anything is wrong with Mai’s case. I’m going to fly out tomorrow and be in Vung Tau by Thursday. I have an appointment to meet with the official. Then I’ll go to the orphanage and take photos of Mai and e-mail them to you. Try not to worry.
Gen logged off the Internet. Try not to worry. She put the groceries away and then changed into jeans and a T-shirt, slipped on her work boots and gloves, and headed up the hill through the trees to help Jeff.
Chapter 28
The early morning sun hurried the day as Lan walked quickly to the market, feeling stronger than she had in a year. Binh had slept well the night before. Hang would go to school today. Mother was up to watching Binh; she was happier, she walked with a little bounce, she didn’t sleep as long in the afternoons, and she had extra money in her pocket, most likely from Older Brother.
Lan turned one block before the Justice Department and headed west. On the edge of the market, a car pulled to a stop behind her. She quickened her steps.
“Sister!” She turned. Older Brother climbed out of the car and hurried toward her. “I have a favor to ask.” He took her elbow, turning her toward him. “I want to see your daughter.”
“She’s at the orphanage.” He knew that.
He shook his head. “I don’t want to see her in the orphanage. I want to see her at your home.”
“Why?”
“Shouldn’t I be able to see my own niece before she goes to America?”
“The orphanage director won’t let me take her.” She pulled away from him, releasing her arm from his hand.
“Of course she will. I’ve alr
eady sent a request saying that your mother is old and very sick and wants to see her grandbaby one more time. I wrote that you have no intention of keeping the baby.”
Lan stared at him. He had no idea what he was asking.
“I’ll send a driver for you tomorrow, Saturday, first thing in the morning. I’ll come to your house at noon to see the little girl. I’ll pay for lunch for all of us.”
Lan walked slowly to the fruit stand. All of us. What if he did invite all of them to live with him? What if he paid for Hang and Binh to go to school? What if tomorrow he said they would all live as a family—Older Brother, Mother, Lan, the children, even Mai?
The dream simmered all day, like a pot of broth ready for the noodles. She thought of the couple in the photo. There are other Vietnam babies. There are lots at the orphanage. They will get a baby, a different baby.
On the way home, she walked by the Justice Department. Maybe she would see Older Brother. Maybe a glimpse of his face would reveal his intentions. A motorcycle pulled into the garage on the first floor of the building. In the shadows, Lan saw a woman climb off and then a Vietnamese man. As they walked out of the garage onto the sidewalk before turning up the stairs, Lan saw it was the man who worked for the adoption agency and a white woman with long gray hair.
Lan held Mai tightly to her as the motorbike driver sped through the streets. She had expected Older Brother to send a car. Instead he had sent a scooter. Lan breathed deeply, taking in the smell of exhaust, the hot asphalt, the sewage, all mixed with the sweet scent of her baby.
“That’ll be ten thousand dong,” the driver said as he pulled in front of the shack. Binh came running out, followed by Hang and then Mother.
Lan climbed off the scooter confused. “My brother arranged this. Didn’t he pay you?” Hang snatched Mai from Lan’s arms.
The driver shook his head.
“There must be a mistake.”
“No mistake. Just money. Ten thousand dong.”
Mother shrugged, pulled the money from her pouch, and handed it to the driver.
“Have you forgiven Older Brother?” Lan ran her hand down her braid.
“What for?” Mother said. “Not paying the driver?”
Lan shook her head. What for? For standing by while the Viet Cong shot Father. For kicking them off the land. For ignoring them all these years.
“I’m an old woman; it was so long ago. He’s still my son, my only son.”
Could Lan forgive him? Perhaps if he helped them, if he had even a glimmer of hope to give her.
Older Brother arrived an hour late. He brought rice, two catfish, bamboo shoots, a yellow watermelon, and sugar cane drinks in plastic bags with straws for the children. “I thought it would be better to eat here,” he said. “Easier with the baby.” He held Mai awkwardly while Lan cooked the rice and fried the catfish. The baby began to fuss; he held her straight in front of him and assessed her from head to toe. “What do they feed her in the orphanage?”
Lan took out the baby bottle the worker had given her and the plastic bag of powdered mix. Binh pulled the straw from his mouth and grabbed at the bottle. “No, no,” Lan said. “It’s for the baby.”
Mai let out a wail. Older Brother handed her back to Lan.
“Sit, sit,” Mother said to Quan. First he filled a bowl of food and then sat beside her. “Tell me about your house,” she said.
“House?” He laughed. “Apartment. A small apartment meant for one. It’s smaller than your shack … but nicer.”
“We don’t mind being crowded,” Mother said.
“What do you mean?” he said.
“In your apartment.” Mother smiled, showing the gaps in her teeth.
“Oh, no,” he said. “I have too much work to do, and I may not be here long. Besides, my first obligation is to the Republic of Vietnam.”
Lan waited for him to say more. He stood and walked to the stove and spooned more fish and rice into his bowl. The light went out of Mother’s eyes.
Lan worked the nipple of the bottle into Mai’s mouth and stared into the baby’s inky eyes. I was as big a fool as Mother. She wanted to curl up with the baby and sleep; she wanted to forget Older Brother and his laughter, Mother and her disappointment.
When Older Brother stood to leave, Lan asked if he could give her a ride to the orphanage to take the baby back. “I have a meeting in fifteen minutes. The driver will come for you.”
“We don’t have money to pay the driver,” Mother said.
Older Brother dug into his pocket and pulled out five thousand dong and handed it to Lan. “I have more questions for you, Little Sister,” he said. “I will find you in the market this week.”
After he left, Lan sent Hang to ask Truc for a ride to the orphanage. She’d heard her motorbike fifteen minutes before. She must have stopped by her house to pick up more souvenirs to sell. Lan mixed the white powder in the bottle with water from the spigot; the baby quickly drained the milk again. Lan filled the bottle with just water and this time added a little bit of sugar for the ride back to the orphanage.
“Why aren’t you working today?” Truc asked Lan.
“I will as soon as I get the baby back to the orphanage.” Lan thought of all the tourists on the beach. Mai felt heavy in her arms. Yesterday Lan dreamed of keeping all her children, all of them living together with Older Brother. Now she was back to dreaming of a better life for her daughter.
Chapter 29
Gen woke at six Sunday morning. Jeff’s side of the bed was empty. He’d said the night before that he planned to get four hours of work in before church. Gen padded down the hall to the study and turned on the computer and then logged on to e-mail. Up popped a message from Maggie.
Dear Gen and Jeff,
Good news!
I met with the official at the Vung Tau Justice Department. He was very nice. He said the investigations are nearly complete and that I should have you travel. Tickets are being reserved for Thursday, May 24. Call the travel agency tomorrow.
That’s the good news. Don’t think I have bad news—because I don’t—but when I went to the orphanage Mai wasn’t there, so I don’t have a photo for you. The orphanage director told me that her family wanted to see her one last time. Mai’s birth mother came and took her for the day, on Saturday. The orphanage director assured me that Mai’s mother is destitute and has no intention of keeping the baby. Please do not worry.
I will meet you at Tan Son Nhut Airport in Ho Chi Minh City next Saturday. E-mail is hard to come by in Vung Tau, so you won’t hear from me again (unless Mai’s birth mom does change her mind).
Gen sat and stared at the computer screen. Then she gazed at the photos taped to the wall—the latest one of Mai with her dark hair sticking up and her half smile, the newborn photo with nearly closed eyes, the photo of Binh with his startled expression.
She wanted to beg God for Mai. She stood and focused on the baby girl. If I were her birth mother, I would do everything possible to keep her. She changed her mind about Binh. What’s to keep her from changing her mind about Mai?
Gen sank back down into her chair. Dear God, only you know what’s best for Mai. Please let it be us. She read the e-mail again, lingering on “Tan Son Nhut Airport” and “Unless Mai’s birth mom does change her mind.” What if Dad was right? What if only heartache came from Vietnam?
Gen’s head began to ache, a dull sensation between her eyes. She went into the kitchen for water, Advil, and then a Diet Coke. She opened the back door and gazed out at the orchard. A robin hurried along the freshly mowed grass between the trees, searching for food for her babies, babies that were hidden safely in a tree. Gen didn’t want to wait until Thursday to travel. She had waited long enough. She wanted to go now.
She closed the door and hurried up the stairs to Mai’s room. Their suitcases were on the bed, on Binh’s bed that he would never use. They had left it up for Mai, for when she was older.
Gen stepped to the closet and ran her fingers along the li
ttle dresses. Mai was more than three months old; she would be nearly four months by the time they brought her home. She would be smiling and laughing, grasping objects, but still small enough to fit in the front pack. Gen pulled several three-to-six-month-size dresses from the closet and then opened Mai’s suitcase and pulled out the newborn-size clothes. How big would her daughter be?
On the floor by the bed were the suitcase and the backpack for Binh and the two large duffel bags of clothes and school supplies for the orphanage. Gen grabbed the duffel bags and dragged them down the stairs. Then, two by two, she carried all their bags down, including the folder with copies of their papers.
When Jeff came in to shower for church, the suitcases were piled in the living room.
“We had an e-mail from Maggie,” Gen explained. “We travel on Thursday at the latest. I decided to get everything ready. Now I can help you prepare for harvest.”
“We travel on Thursday? Really?” He gave her a broad smile.
Gen nodded. She would wait until they were driving to church to tell him about the birth mom taking Mai for the day. Gen wanted to be sitting down when she told him.
Chapter 30
Lan hurried through the doorway of the shack. She made out a small shape in the hammock. Binh. Where was Mother? She heard footsteps in the yard and turned, ready to scold Mother for leaving Binh alone again.
“Tran Thuy Lan?” It was a man wearing a khaki uniform.
“Yes?” Lan answered, alarmed.
“Tran Van Quan commands that you and your son report to the Justice Department.” He turned abruptly and left.
What did Older Brother want now? She lifted Binh from the hammock. “Where’s Grandmother?” she whispered. Binh whimpered. Lan clucked her tongue. “There, there,” she said.