by Leslie Gould
“Wait. Don’t phone him. I’ll call when I get to Saigon.” His voice grew stronger with each word. “Your mother would want me to. See you in two days—or is it three? I get so confused with these time changes.”
“Dad,” she said, holding a hand across her brow. “I’m afraid to have you come here. I’ll be okay with Binh and Mai. I can manage.”
“Nonsense,” Dad said firmly. “I want to come. Your mother would want me to. It’s settled.”
“Dad—”
“I’ve been on the phone long enough. I have no idea how much this will cost,” he said. “I’ll see you Friday, Vietnam time.”
“Dad!”
“Bye, Genni.” She heard the click of the phone and held the receiver away from her ear for a moment. Your mother would want me to. That was so unlike Dad to say that out loud.
“Why the sudden change in his attitude?” she asked Jeff, still holding the receiver in midair. It wasn’t a good idea for him to come to Vietnam; she was sure of it.
“I don’t think it’s sudden. I think it’s been coming ever since we decided to adopt from Vietnam.”
She put the phone in its cradle and then reached into her backpack to retrieve the carving of the girl. In all the commotion of the last week, she’d forgotten about the place-card holder. She sat on the bed and held it in her open hand, “Binh, look,” she said. He snatched the figurine and sat on the bed beside her, smiling as he examined the girl, her braids, her chipped nose, her faded clothes, and her doll.
Rain poured throughout the night. Gen could hear the water in the gutters, a raging river that ran off the hotel roof. She climbed out of bed at 4:45 and stepped onto the balcony. Scooter drivers hurried off to work in the stormy predawn light. She felt as if the rain came from inside her, mixed with her grief, doubts, and fears; it filled the skies and then flowed over, rushing, pounding, drumming—beating out a rhythm too sad to bear.
Lan kissed Binh good-bye on the lips. Gen remembered such a kiss. It had been from her mother twenty-six years ago. A woman wearing a conical hat pushed a rusty bike across the street. “God,” Gen said out loud, “I will stay here with Binh if you give me back my mother.” Gen frowned. Why was she trying to bargain with God? It was true; all these years a part of her felt her mother was alive in Vietnam, that she had chosen to stay, to live. That she had given up Gen and Dad and even Nhat for this country she loved. And now Gen understood why she loved it so much. Gen studied the woman below. Who knew? Maybe her mother was living incognito in Vietnam, had been all these years, and Gen would find her.
“Okay, God? Is it a deal?” She was losing her mind.
The old woman reached the other side, threw up her head to the rain, and smiled. Her hat bounced against her back, suspended by a ribbon. Her bike began to fall; the woman steadied it.
“She has nothing,” Gen said out loud, “and yet she seems content. I’ve had every opportunity, and I still can’t let go.”
The rain slowed as the day dawned. Had God decided to smile again, to laugh, to stop his warm tears? Steam rose from the pavement. Trust me with the details now so you’ll learn to trust me with your children throughout their lives.
She had no choice but to trust God; there was no one else to trust. I will trust you with my children, she prayed.
Through the mist, Gen saw the woman lean her bike against the wall and take something out of her pocket. She put it to her mouth and began to chew. Trust me about your mother. Gen wrapped her hands around the railing of the balcony. God could have intervened, could have saved her mother. He didn’t.
She tightened her grip. “I don’t know why you allowed it, but I will trust you about Mama. And I will trust you with Daddy. But help, help me to truly trust.” She grasped the rail tighter.
“I heard voices.” Jeff stood in the doorway. “Who are you talking to?”
“God.” Gen let go of the railing.
“Did he answer?”
“Yes,” Gen said.
“Come back to bed,” Jeff said, “before the children wake.”
The children. They were the two most beautiful words in the world.
“Would you pray first?” Gen asked. Neither one of them had any control over whether she would leave Vietnam with one child or two. I’ve wanted to trust humans when God has wanted me to trust him. And not because my trust will control the outcome, but by trusting I’ll be faithful by trusting I’ll be changed.
They stood on the balcony and held hands as Jeff whispered his prayer into the dawning day and the woman across the street ate her breakfast.
“I want to go to the airport with you,” Gen said, gently swinging Mai in her front pack and holding Binh’s hand as they stood on the bottom step of the hotel.
“It’s not a good idea,” Jeff said. “You would end up chasing Binh all over. What if you lost him?”
“It’s hard to think about your flying out alone.”
“Do you think your being at the airport will make any difference? It won’t make you worry any less, and then you’d just have Binh to worry about too.”
Gen knew he was right. “Give your dad a kiss. Tell him he’s in my prayers,” she said. “Give your mom a hug. Tell Jake hello and Janet, too, when she arrives.”
Jeff swung his travel bag into the trunk of the taxi. Binh lifted up his hands to his father. Jeff swung him up and hugged him. “Ba has to go bye-bye,” he said. “I’ll see you in a few days. You help Mama with our baby. Okay?”
Binh pushed out his lower lip.
“This could be ugly,” Jeff said over the boy’s head.
How much can one little guy take? Gen patted Binh’s leg.
Jeff, with Binh still in his arms, hugged Gen and Mai. Gen’s heart thrashed against her chest as if it had wings. It felt as if Mai and the front pack were keeping it from flying out, keeping it from going with Jeff. “You’re strong. You’ll be okay,” he said. “This will all work out.”
Jeff slipped Binh to the sidewalk and bent to hug him. Binh began to cry. Gen took his hand. Binh jerked it away. “No,” Jeff said, gently pulling Binh to Gen. “Take Mama’s hand.”
“You’d better go,” Gen said.
Binh began to scream. Gen lifted him into her arms, holding him on her hip. He began to kick Mai’s foot. “No,” Gen said.
Jeff’s taxi pulled away. A motorbike took its place. Binh wailed. Cammy climbed off the motorbike. “Can I help?” she asked. As Gen turned toward her, she caught sight of Mr. Tran across the street standing with his hands behind his back by the statue of Ho Chi Minh. Was he spying on them? Well, not spying. He certainly wasn’t concealed. Was it a trap? Here was Cammy, wanting to help. There was Mr. Tran. Gen glanced around for someone who could be from the INS.
Jeff, she wanted to scream. She wanted to run and flag down his taxi. It doesn’t matter that your father had a heart attack. It doesn’t matter that we might not make any money this year. Come back!
Binh began kicking again.
“Here, let me take him.” Cammy reached out; Binh fell into her arms.
“Is that Mr. Tran by the statue?” Gen shaded her eyes.
Cammy paused. “Ignore him.”
When they reached Gen’s room, she asked Cammy to come in. Cammy attempted to put Binh down, but he clung to her.
“Sit on the bed with him,” Gen said, pulling off the front pack and putting Mai in her crib for her morning nap. Binh continued to cry, soaking Cammy’s shirt. Gen sat beside them on the bed and patted Binh’s back. After several minutes he stopped crying, crawled off Cammy, grabbed the figurine of the girl off the bedside table, and clambered onto Gen’s lap, planting his head against her breast. He began to suck his thumb.
“Well,” Gen whispered. “He hasn’t done this before—sucked his thumb or wanted anything to do with me.”
“He’s wild, this one,” Cammy said.
“Where’s Lan?”
“She, Mother, and Hang returned to Vung Tau this morning by bus.”
Gen closed her eyes, imagining Lan traveling home. “How is she doing?” Gen whispered.
“She’s okay.”
“I feel so sad for her.” Gen made eye contact with Cammy for a brief moment.
“She feels happy that you will raise her children,” Cammy said.
“Why?”
“She likes you. She feels good about you. It was very nice of you to give her your mother’s necklace.”
“I could tell she liked it,” Gen said.
“She likes the cross.”
“Why?”
“She believed what the nuns said, more than I did or our brother, anyway.”
“The nuns?” Gen asked.
“In school.” Cammy paused and then continued, “She really wants you to have both Mai and Binh. She doesn’t want Binh to stay in Vietnam.”
“How can she feel that way?”
“She wants what’s best for him.”
“Wouldn’t that be to stay with her?” Gen said softly What was she saying? She didn’t want Binh to stay in Vietnam. She wanted Binh. Jeff wanted Binh.
Cammy shook her head. “I don’t see any way that Lan can keep Binh. And you and your husband are so gentle with him. He needs a father.” Cammy stood and walked to the window. “Our brothers were beaten when they were young. It’s how boys are raised here. She worried Binh would be beaten if she took a man into her home, if he … were raised by someone else, here.”
“Does she feel she can provide for Hang?” Gen peered down at Binh. His eyes closed, fluttered open, and then closed again.
“She loves all her children.” Cammy paused. “It’s different here. So hard for Americans to understand. It’s a patriarchal society. It’s all about who your father is. Hang is her oldest and the daughter of her husband—”
“Husband? No one said anything about a husband.”
“He’s gone. Long gone. Before Hang was born, even. But Lan loved him. And she always intended to keep Hang. When Binh was born, she would have taken him to the orphanage if he’d been a girl. But then, this last year, off and on, she realized she couldn’t provide for Binh. And of course not for Mai.” Cammy took a deep breath.
They were silent for a moment, Gen gently stroked Binh’s back. “Why don’t the Vietnamese people hate Americans? Everyone has been so kind to us. No one seems to have held a grudge.” There were so many questions Gen wanted to ask Cammy.
Cammy folded her hands. “The American war was just one of many wars over many centuries for my people—that’s one reason. The Chinese. The Japanese. The French. The Cambodians. Another is that the population here is so young that most of the people were born after the war. And the Vietnamese are pragmatic. For the most part, they don’t carry grudges. They’re opportunistic; they want to move on; they want to make money. Americans can help.”
Binh stirred. Maggie had said not to ask about Mai and Binh’s birth dad. She wouldn’t. She would go to the next topic that consumed her thoughts. “Why is Mr. Tran investigating Binh’s adoption?”
“Do you mind if I smoke?” Cammy stood and began digging in her leather purse.
Gen considered it for a moment. She didn’t want the children to breathe the cigarette smoke, but she wanted Cammy to keep talking. “Go ahead.”
Cammy lit up and inhaled and then blew it out slowly. She inhaled a second time. “Mr. Tran wants to adopt Binh.”
Gen felt as if she were falling. Her heart, that a moment ago wanted to fly after Jeff, turned to lead. “What?”
Cammy nodded. “He got it in his head that he wants a son; he wants Binh.”
“Why?” Gen could hardly get the word out. “Why Binh?” She’d never imagined this, not even in her worst fit of worry.
Cammy inhaled again. “I shouldn’t be talking to you.” She took the ashtray off the bedside table and put it on the yellow bedspread and sat down beside it. “Oh, well. It probably doesn’t matter now. I’m toast. Binh’s adoption is too.”
Gen’s head pounded. “Why?”
“Mr. Tran is Binh’s uncle.”
“Binh’s uncle?” She couldn’t comprehend the two words together.
“He’s my brother. Lan’s brother. He’s told the INS that I’m Lan’s sister, and that’s why they’re investigating. He’s already drawn up the paperwork to adopt Binh.”
Gen gasped and tightened her hold on the little boy in her arms. God! Why? Cammy reached out her hand and touched Gen’s back.
“But he has the same last name as Lan. Why doesn’t she go by her husband’s name?”
“Vietnamese women keep their family name,” Cammy explained.
Gen stared at her baby asleep in the crib. “Does he want Mai, too?”
“No. Just Binh.”
“There are such things as failed adoptions,” Maggie said. They stood in the lobby. Gen held Mai in her arms. Binh stood with his nose pressed against the tropical fishtank and breathed against the glass.
Maggie sighed. “Does he want Mai, too?”
“No,” Gen answered.
“What a spot we’re in.” Maggie glanced at Binh. “I don’t think the children should be separated. I hope the Vietnamese government will agree. Otherwise, it does look better that Binh go to a Vietnamese family.”
“Mr. Tran is not a family.”
“Gen,” Maggie said and reached out to touch her arm.
Gen sighed. “What are my options? If the INS says no, can I stay here for two years like Bryce is doing?”
Maggie shook her head. “If Mr. Tran wants the boy, I don’t see that there’s anything you can do. Our INS won’t help you.”
“So it would be me against him?”
“Gen, there is no you’ in this. I’m sorry. I’m shocked that Mr. Tran is Lan’s brother. And Cammy’s.” Maggie bent down and said something to Binh in Vietnamese and then, in English, “Good-bye, little one.” Binh smiled and then went back to pressing his nose against the fishtank. “Be thankful for Mai, for the child you have. Don’t forget her four o’clock doctor’s appointment today. Then you’ll get her passport tomorrow. After you visit the consulate, you can fly out with her Friday afternoon.”
Gen felt the hair on the back of her neck rise. “I can’t leave Binh.” The words flew out of her mouth. Was she growing claws? Had hair just covered her body? She didn’t mean to do the mama-bear thing.
“I hope you don’t have to,” Maggie said. “But it doesn’t look good. I wish I didn’t have to go; I wish I could stay with you. I feel so torn, but I’ve been here too long already. I have to get back; I’m risking not getting there in time as it is. Bao will take care of you. Ask him what he’s heard from Vung Tau when you see him this afternoon.” Maggie bent down and picked up her carry-on luggage.
Binh ran around to the other side of the fishtank. Gen followed him with her eyes.
“I really am sorry, Gen. I had no idea any of this was in the works. I wouldn’t have pursued Binh’s adoption if I’d known. Honestly,” Maggie said. “I’ll touch base with you every day. Call me if there’s an emergency.”
Gen wanted to laugh—or cry. Emergency? It was the longest emergency of her life.
She poured hot water into a cup of instant soup and set it on the table. Binh watched her. “Nong,” Gen said. “Hot.”
“Hot,” Binh said solemnly.
Gen handed him his crayons and notebook, then picked up the phone. Sharon would be at the hospital. Jeff was in the air. Her father was probably in Los Angeles waiting for his flight.
She could hardly breathe, knowing that Mr. Tran was Binh’s uncle and not being able to talk with Jeff about it. Aunt Marie. She would call Aunt Marie.
Her aunt answered the phone.
“Genevieve, is that you?” she cried out.
“Yes.”
“I’ve been so worried. I wanted to come. I didn’t want your father to, but he insisted.” Aunt Marie’s words tumbled into Gen’s ear.
“Listen, Aunt Marie. I need your help. Would you call your church and ask them t
o pray? And then call our church in The Dalles and ask them to pray too? There are problems with Binh’s paperwork. Big problems. Ask people to pray that I will trust God. Ask them to pray for what’s best for Binh.”
“Oh, honey, I have been praying for you and for the children. And now for Marshall, too. Everyone I know is praying. I’ll call your church right now.”
Gen felt shaky as she hung up the phone and sat down in the rocking chair. Binh had drawn a page full of yellow suns.
“Good work,” she said to him. A week ago he had never held a crayon. Now he was a pro. “Come here,” Gen said. Binh walked toward her, and she lifted him onto her lap. “Let’s write your name. B-I-N-H. Binh.”
He took the red crayon and copied the B. Pleased with himself, he climbed off Gen’s lap and peered into Mai’s crib. “Night, night,” he said. “Binh’s baby, night, night.”
Gen nodded. “Do you want your soup?” She pointed toward the table.
Binh shook his head and then took Mai’s half-full bottle from the corner of the crib and walked over to Gen’s lap. “Baby,” he said, pointing at himself. Gen pulled him onto her lap and cradled his head. She took the bottle from him and positioned it in his mouth. He closed his eyes and began to suck.
Baby. My babies. She felt the words in her breast and then deep inside, next to that place that hurt for Lan. Binh was with her, at least for now. God I trust you with him.
Every night she had sung to Mai at bedtime but not to Binh. He’d only let Jeff put him to bed. Jeff sang him Beatles’ songs, usually “Yellow Submarine,” which was a hoot considering the yellow comforter, yellow drapes, and gold carpet in the room. She would try another song; she began quietly. “I’ve got a home in glory land that outshines the sun, I’ve got a home in glory land that outshines the sun, I’ve got a home in glory land that outshines the sun, look away beyond the blue.” And then louder, “Do Lord, oh do, Lord, oh do remember me. Do Lord, oh do, Lord, oh do remember me. Do Lord, oh do, Lord, oh do remember me, look away beyond the blue.”
Chapter 46