Beyond the Blue

by Leslie Gould

Lan squatted in the yard next to the charcoal stove. She had sold fruit all day and made enough money to buy medicine for Mother and fried rice and fish for dinner. Mother had gone down the street for an iced coffee, which meant she still had money from Older Brother. Hang, exhausted after her first day back at school, slept in the shack. Lan was tired too. The trip to Ho Chi Minh City had left her weary. She fingered the cross around her neck; perhaps she would ask Hang to read Chinh’s Bible to her.

  Tomorrow, if she had any extra money, she would ask the pharmacist for medicine for her stomach. Perhaps she would even go to the doctor, and if her tooth kept hurting, she would go to the dentist and have it pulled. Soon she would be eating only rice and soup like Mother. Where had her life gone?

  She stood to fill the kettle with water but stopped when she saw movement in the shadows toward the road. Perhaps a neighbor child had come to play with Hang or even with Binh. She hated telling the neighbors he was gone.

  “Hello,” she said.

  There was no answer.

  “Who’s there?” A neighbor’s bike had been stolen two weeks before. Was a burglar hiding in the shadows?

  A figure moved away from her, toward the road; it looked like Older Brother.

  “Quan?” she called out. Why was he lurking near her house?

  The figure stopped. “Yes,” he said, “it’s me.”

  “What are you doing?” Lan took a step toward the road.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where’s your car?” she asked.

  “I walked from the main road. I thought that seeing you might help me make up my mind.” He moved toward her.

  “About?”

  “Binh.” He stopped in front of her.

  “I thought you had already made up your mind.” She was tired of his games.

  “I had, but now I’m not sure.” His hands hung at his side.

  Lan turned back toward the stove. What had made him uncertain when he had been so sure? She lifted the kettle from the stove and took a step toward the spigot.

  Older Brother took the kettle from her. “How is your hand?” he asked, holding the kettle under the water.

  “Better.”

  He placed the kettle on the stove. “I leave tomorrow for Hanoi.”

  Lan nodded. She had wondered when he would go.

  “The investigation won’t be complete until next week. I would need to come back down to get Binh.”

  “And?”

  He was silent.

  “What is it?” For a second she felt compassion toward her brother. She remembered their father whipping him all those years ago and how she used to cry for both of her brothers when they were disciplined. They had learned not to shed a tear.

  “I watched the American man with Binh. Binh seemed secure and happy with him. Yesterday when Mr. Taylor left, Binh cried and cried.” Older Brother stroked his clean-shaven chin.

  Tell me more, she wanted to say, to beg.

  Older Brother continued. “I stood in the square and watched. It appeared that he hated to go, hated to leave his wife and the children. Then Sister came and helped Mrs. Taylor.”

  Lan ducked her head and lit the stove with the quick strike of a match. She could imagine it—the steps up to the hotel, the statue of Ho Chi Minh on the plaza, Older Sister taking Binh.

  “I thought I wanted to be Binh’s father,” he said, “but now I’m not sure.”

  “Why don’t you find a wife?” Lan extinguished the match with the flick of her wrist. “Write to the woman in France. Maybe she will come home and have your children.”

  “But you don’t want me to be a father to your child,” Quan said.

  Lan bowed her head. No. I know what is best for my son.

  Mother came from the street into the yard, carrying a plastic cup.

  “Quan,” she said, squinting in the darkness, “you’re here!” Older Brother stood and hugged her. “Do you have another trip planned for us?” Mother asked.

  He shook his head. “I leave for Hanoi tomorrow. I just came to say good-bye.”

  “But you’ll be back to get Binh? Will they bring him here or to the orphanage?” Mother glanced from Older Brother to Lan and back again.

  “I’m going to stop the investigation. I’ll call tomorrow and talk with the U.S. INS officer. He’s in Vung Tau now. I know he talked with the orphanage director today. I’ll ask that he stop the U.S. investigation, too.”

  “No,” Mother said. “Don’t do that. You should have Binh.”

  “No,” he answered. “I’ve decided I shouldn’t. I’ve decided that Lan is right.”

  “So it’s settled?” Lan said. “Mr. and Mrs. Taylor will have Binh? Mrs. Taylor will be able to take him to America?”

  Quan clasped his hands behind his back. “That’s up to the United States government. If they deny the adoption, the Taylors can’t adopt Binh unless one of them lives with him in Vietnam for two years.”

  Why? Why did he intervene?. Lan turned toward the stove. Hot tears stabbed her eyes. She didn’t want Binh to grow up in the orphanage, but if the Taylors couldn’t adopt him, and she took him back home, they would be in the same bad spot—not enough food, not enough money for medicine, no way to keep him safe unless Hang quit school.

  “Good-bye,” Older Brother said.

  Lan nodded but did not turn toward him.

  Mother followed him out to the road. A few minutes later she returned. “You’re foolish,” she said. “He was our hope. If he had Binh, we would stay connected to him. Now he’ll have no reason to keep helping us.”

  “Who knows?” Lan said. Nothing seemed certain.

  Mother took a long drink of her coffee, sucking it through her straw.

  Lan longed for a cup of hot tea, for a long night’s sleep. Notre Père, please take care of Binh. Please allow the Taylors to adopt my son.

  “Tran Thuy Lan,” a voice with a heavy American accent called out. She turned her head, balancing her baskets on her back, stopping at the entrance of the market. The midday sun beat down on her. A white man wearing a business shirt and black pants stood staling at her. “Tran Thuy Lan?” he asked. Sweat beaded on his face around his hairline, dripping into his short blond hair.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  “United States INS. I’m Mr. Davis.” He held out a piece of identification that she couldn’t read. “May I ask you some questions?” His Vietnamese was good for an American.

  She nodded.

  “Is there a café nearby where we could sit?”

  “There’s a bakery a block away,” Lan said.

  He paid for two coffees and carried them to the table while Lan placed her yoke and baskets against the wall.

  “I’m investigating the adoption of your son, Binh.”

  Lan struggled to hide the fear that knotted her stomach and pushed against her chest.

  “I need honest answers from you. Not what you think I want to hear, but honest answers about what really happened,” Mr. Davis said.

  Lan nodded.

  “Are you acquainted with Cammy Johnson, also known as Tran Cam My?”

  Lan nodded. “Yes, she is my sister.”

  “Did she talk you into relinquishing your son for adoption?” Mr. Davis asked.

  “She advised me to give up Binh,” Lan answered.

  The officer took out a small notebook. “Why?”

  “She didn’t think I could take care of him, give him what he needed.”

  “Did she pay you to relinquish Binh?” Mr. Davis opened the notebook.

  “No.”

  “Did the Taylors pay you for Binh?”

  “No.” Her stomach hurt.

  “There’s been some speculation that the Taylors decided they didn’t want Binh at first, but when they actually saw him here in Vung Tau, they changed their minds. Is that how you see it?” asked Mr. Davis.

  “No. I’m the one who changed my mind. I took him to the orphanage and then took him back home. But then I realized I couldn�
�t keep him, couldn’t give him enough food, an education—all the things he needs. And once I met the Taylors, I saw they would be good parents. I wanted them to raise him.”

  Mr. Davis wrote in the notebook and then looked at Lan. “And no one paid you?”

  “No. I promise you that no one paid me.” She pulled the jade cross out from the neckline of her shirt. “I swear on this cross that no one paid me. Please let the Taylors raise my son.”

  The officer scribbled more notes and then asked, “Is there anything else you need to tell me?”

  Lan hesitated. If she didn’t tell him that Mr. Tran was her brother and he found out, would he think she had lied about Older Sister? If she did tell him, would it prolong the investigation?

  “Is there anything else you need to tell me?” he asked again.

  She nodded. Notre Père qui es aux cieux. Our Father who art in heaven, she prayed silently and then began to talk.

  Chapter 47

  Bao rode in the taxi with Gen and the children from the Vietnamese Consulate to the hotel.

  “Thank you.” Gen wriggled out of the backseat, holding Mai with one arm and dragging the backpack with the other. The sights and sounds of Vietnam that had enticed her when they first arrived exhausted her today. The rush of the traffic and the constant honking had her on edge. She feared losing Binh in the crowds swarming the square. Even the colors seemed too bright, too bold.

  “Come on, Binh,” she said. He sat against the far door, staring out the window. Was he looking for Jeff?

  Bao said something in Vietnamese. Binh quickly scurried out of the car and took Gen’s hand. She hurried up the stairs and through the open door with the children. Bao followed. Standing in the middle of the lobby, looking up at the chandelier was Dad. He made it. Dad was in Vietnam. Relief swept through her as she rushed toward him.

  His eyes fell on her. “There you are!” he said, striding toward her, his arms outstretched. “With the children!” He gave her a long hug, kissed Mai’s forehead, and then dropped to one knee in front of Binh.

  “This is my father,” Gen said to Bao. “Would you tell Binh?”

  Bao spoke in Vietnamese. Binh smiled, quickly touched his grandfather’s white hair, laughed, and then hugged him.

  “Wow,” Gen said, glancing from her father and Binh to Bao. “That was unexpected.”

  “I’ve got to go,” Bao said. “I’ll call you if I hear anything about Binh’s case.”

  “Thank you,” Gen said.

  “Let’s see if I can pick you up.” Her dad stood and lifted Binh. “Light as a feather.”

  “Be careful, Dad.”

  He gave her a little scowl.

  “You must be tired,” Gen said.

  “Stop treating me like an old man.”

  “You are an old man.” She laughed, relieved that he had arrived. “Where’s your luggage?”

  “On that rack.” He pointed toward the counter.

  They headed up to the room. At least it had two queen beds, and they wouldn’t have to move.

  “What’s the game plan?” Gen’s father quickly surveyed the room and then walked to the window with Binh still in his arms. No comments about Saigon or Tan Son Nhut Airport. None of that.

  “Game plan?”

  “As far as the adoptions.”

  “Mai’s is almost done. I’ll get her Vietnamese passport this afternoon and then go to the U.S. Consulate tomorrow morning. She passed her physical with flying colors.” She lowered the baby into the crib.

  “Any word on Binh’s investigation?” Her father pointed out a truck on the street below to the boy Binh nodded.

  “No. But listen to this. It turns out that Mr. Tran, the government official, is the children’s uncle.”

  Her father put Binh down in the rocking chair. “Does that matter?” he asked.

  Gen nodded. “He wants to adopt Binh.”

  Her father shook his head. “What will happen?”

  “We don’t know.” She sat down on her bed with Mai.

  “Then we wait,” he said matter-of-factly

  “You can have that bed,” Gen said, pointing to the queen closest to the bathroom. “They’re going to bring in a rollaway for Binh, but he’ll probably try to sleep with you.” He had been sleeping in the same bed as Gen, on Jeff’s side. “Do you want to have lunch or try to get some sleep?”

  “I want to call Tam, the pastor I told you about.”

  “Why do you want to see him?” Gen asked.

  “Aren’t you interested in finding out about the church here?”

  She was, or would be if she weren’t overwhelmed with taking care of the children and hoping they would be able to leave for home. “Sure.”

  “I used to help support missionaries here in Vietnam. Remember?”

  “Twenty-six years ago.”

  “If I can help support the church here again, I’d like to.”

  Binh crawled up on his grandfather’s bed with a stack of books and began arranging them.

  “But I thought Vietnam made you sad,” Gen said.

  “It did make me sad,” he smiled slightly. “It will probably always make me sad. But I’m not as sad now as I was all those years ago. Your adopting from here, the possibility of talking with someone who is active in the church here—all that makes me happy. It would make your mother happy.” He paused for a moment and then continued. “I felt like my heart had been gutted after your mother died. I felt that way for years. I don’t feel that way anymore.”

  Binh began sliding his books off the bed, one by one, like objects off a cliff.

  “No, no,” Gen said. He stopped, picked up all the books, shoved them into his backpack, and then started jumping on the bed.

  A knock on the door interrupted them. It was the bellboy with the luggage. As Gen tipped him, Binh unzipped the largest bag.

  “No,” Gen said, turning from the door toward her son.

  “It’s okay,” Dad pulled up a chair close to Binh.

  The boy pulled out a plastic bag and dumped its contents onto the floor and quickly unwrapped a small wad of paper towels. Out fell the little boy on the water buffalo.

  “Dad!” Gen stood with her hands on her hips.

  Binh squealed, grabbed the little girl off the table, and rushed back to the pile on the floor. Frantically he unwrapped the others—the father holding a scythe, the mother with a baby strapped to her back, the grandmother with the basket of mangoes, the grandfather with the cane—and arranged them in a row on the bed.

  Gen crossed her arms.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” her father said. “I went to your house. I thought they needed to be reunited.” He began to laugh.

  “Was that before or after you slipped the little girl into my bag?”

  “After! The day before I left I finally found them above your kitchen sink,” he said and slapped his knee. “I wanted them to accompany me to Vietnam. I wanted my grandson to have them.”

  Binh lined up the figurines, nodded to his grandfather, pointed to the old man with the white hair and cane, and began to laugh. He threw back his head. Gen’s father began to laugh again too, this time at Binh.

  Gen chuckled at the two of them. They were tired. They were all tired. Except for Mai. She rolled over in the crib toward them, lifted her head, and cooed.

  Steep steps led to the narrow church wedged between two taller buildings that were far from the hotel in an area the taxi driver did not know. “Pastor Tam said that this congregation has doubled in size over the last two years.” Gen’s father had reached the pastor on the phone the day before. He took Binh’s hand as they started up the stairs.

  Gen shifted Mai to one arm and checked her watch as they walked through the open door. They were five minutes late. It was obviously a government-approved church. The pastor in Portland had told her father that the government approved a limited number of churches. Gen estimated that four hundred people sat in the auditorium.

  A young man and woman in th
e back row rose from their chairs and motioned to Gen and her dad, offering their chairs. Gen shook her head and smiled. The woman and man nodded in unison and made their way to the aisle. Gen and her father took the chairs, holding the children on their laps.

  Mai slept in Gen’s arms. Binh played with the figurine of the little boy on the water buffalo and sat surprisingly still. Gen gently nudged her dad when his eyes began to close. Several of the worshipers stared at them from time to time. During the singing, Gen recognized many of the melodies. Binh fell asleep for the last half hour of the service, sprawled across his grandfathers lap.

  As the notes of the last song ended, the pastor slipped down the side aisle to greet them. “Marshall Hauer?”

  “Yes.” Gen’s father stood, hoisted Binh high into his arms, and guided the boy’s head onto his shoulder.

  “I’m Pastor Tarn. I’m pleased that you came.”

  Gen gathered the diaper bag and spit rag. The young man and woman who had given up their chairs approached. The woman held out her arms for Mai and took her. Binh stirred, and the young man began to talk to him over his grandfather’s shoulder.

  “You adopt?” the woman asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Lucky girl and boy,” she said.

  “No, no,” Gen said. “I’m the lucky one.”

  “That your husband?” she asked.

  “No! My father. My husband had to return to the U.S.”

  “You, no babies?”

  Gen shook her head. “But it’s okay. Now I have these babies.” At least this baby. Hopefully I will have both these babies.

  The woman clucked at Mai. Gen tried to listen to her father and Pastor Tarn’s conversation. “In the country some people walk an entire day to get to church,” Tam explained.

  Her father said something, but she missed it. An older woman circled around them and then headed down to the front of the sanctuary. Gold and jade bracelets jangled on her thin wrists as she walked by.

  “Discouraged? No! The contrary. My people are resilient. Their faith is alive and strong. They trust God for everything—well, nearly everything. That is our prayer. To depend on him,” Pastor Tam said.

  Mai began to fuss and reached out her arms to Gen.

  “She likes you,” the young woman said.