Beauty Rising

by Mark W. Sasse

  “I sometimes wish Martin would just have a beer so he would relax a little bit and not be so uptight about everything. Don’t you find Martin to be a little uptight sometimes?”

  “I think Martin is very sweet,” she looked at me and made me blush.

  “Yes, of course, he’s sweet,” my mother said with a hint of sarcasm.

  My Mom served us each a heaping spoonful of the casserole and passed around the bread and butter. She was a good cook when she took the time. She kept encouraging My Phuong to drink her beer and eat more of the casserole, but My Phuong remained very measured on both accounts.

  “So, Martin says that you were a friend of a friend in Vietnam, is that true?”

  My Phuong looked over at me as if to acknowledge the slight fudging I was doing to the truth.

  “Yes, that’s right. I came to visit a relative in America, and when I had a chance to come east, I thought I would look up Martin,” she lied.

  “And you just decided to stay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Mom, do you have to ask so many questions?”

  “Martin, you said I should try to get to know her. Well, I’m trying.”

  “It’s okay,” replied My Phuong. “I found that Lyndora is a nice place.”

  “Ha. That’s a bunch of baloney. No one ever stays in this crummy place. Except Martin, of course.”

  “Mom!”

  “Now don’t misunderstand me. If someone likes Lyndora and wants to stay, that’s fine with me. It’s just not very ordinary.”

  “The people are nice. And now that I have a job. . .”

  “Yes, you are at the China Buffet, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, you must fit in real well there. I mean, you have the same language, don’t you?”

  “No, I speak Vietnamese, and they speak Chinese.”

  “I know that, but they are basically the same, right? It’s all that choppy back and forth sounds. I can’t make heads nor tails out of it. You can at least understand each other, right?”

  “No. They are completely different. When my boss speaks Chinese, I can’t understand anything.”

  “Is that right? Huh. Drink your beer.”

  “The food is very good,” My Phuong replies.

  “Oh, no, I’m sure you don’t like it very well.”

  “No, I do, really.”

  “Yes, Mom. I like the bread.”

  She rolled her eyes at me.

  “So where is it that you are staying?”

  We were finally hitting dangerous waters.

  “She’s just rented an apartment not far from here,” I quickly butted in.

  “It’s at the Methodist church. I rent an apartment from Reverend Fox.”

  “Reverend Fox?” she replied with a disgusted look on her face. She glared at me, and I could nearly feel the venom from her fangs.

  “Yes, the one above his garage.”

  “Martin.”

  “Mom.”

  She stood up and went to the sink standing there for a moment.

  “I’m okay. I just need a drink.”

  She poured herself a glass of bourbon, and then turned back around.

  “Martin, get your guest another beer.”

  “No, ma’am. That’s enough.”

  My Mom took another sip and then took a deep breath as if to compose herself.

  “Well, I personally have never cared much for that Reverend Fox.”

  “He’s been very nice to me.”

  “Perhaps he has. I just don’t think he’s the most sincere man in the world.”

  “Mom, can we just not do this?”

  “Do what, Martin?”

  My Phuong just looked straight ahead most likely wondering what was going on. I had purposely not told Mom about My Phuong’s apartment because I knew it would bring up too many unnecessary memories. I also hadn’t felt the need to tell My Phuong about my Mom’s old fling with Reverend Fox. Mom finished her bourbon and poured herself another. We all sat quietly just eating for a few minutes. We finally got onto the topic of TV, and My Phuong relayed to my Mom her favorite shows none of which were favorites of my Mom.

  When we had finished off the casserole, Mom brought over a chocolate cake that had been sitting on the counter.

  “Martin, can you go in the other room and get the cake plates out of the hutch?”

  “Sure.”

  I got up and went into the adjacent room and started looking through the cabinet for the right plates. As I did so, I heard a buzz of whispering coming from the kitchen. I turned around to see my Mom with two hands leaning on the table standing over My Phuong. Her face looked stern, and she quickly said many things to her like a teacher scolding a student. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I knew it wasn’t good. Suddenly, My Phuong jerked her head sharply towards my Mom, stood up and let into her also in a stern, harsh tone. They stood face to face baring their teeth like two dogs on leashes wanting a chance to go at one another. My Mom said something forcefully in reply, and My Phuong emphatically jerked her head and banged the table with her fist. My Mom raised her right hand and slapped her across the face.

  “Mom!” I yelled and rushed into the room.

  “Get out of my house.”

  My Phuong turned around and ran through the living room and out of the house.

  “Mom! Why? Why?”

  “Martin, I won’t have the likes of her in this house. Don’t be so stupid. Are you blind? Can’t you see what kind of person she is?”

  “Mom!”

  “Martin, listen to me. She’s nothing but a prostitute. She’s just using you. She’ll never love you. You need to just wake up and stop living in a fantasy world.”

  My whole body ached in hatred and anger. I glared at her as tears welled up in my eyes.

  “How could you?”

  “Martin, you know how the Vietnam War destroyed my life. Destroyed my marriage. I cannot sit back and watch you be suckered into her deceit and lies. She doesn’t love you. She’ll never love you.”

  “Mom, I’m done. I’m done with you, and this house, and this past you’ve been holding onto for forty years. I will not live in it anymore. I will not be part of it, and you have shown me tonight that you want no part of my life. So stay out of it. Forever.”

  I turned and ran out of the house. I had to find My Phuong.

  “Martin,” my mom called after me.

  I would not respond.

  I ran down Home Avenue and turned onto Main, then down two more blocks and onto Reverend Fox’s front yard when I saw My Phuong sitting at the picnic table beside the wooden steps to her apartment. I stopped and caught my breath and then approached the table and sat down beside her.

  “My Phuong, I’m so sorry.”

  “No, Martin. It’s okay.”

  “No, really. I’m so sorry. I will never forgive my mother. She had no right to treat you like that.”

  “It’s okay, really.”

  She looked over at me. Her face looked tired and heavy.

  “My poor sweet My Phuong.”

  She smiled at me.

  “You are the sweet one.”

  “What did my mom say to you?”

  “It’s not important.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Martin, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  I stopped pressing her, but I had trouble controlling the anger inside.

  “I just can’t believe that she slapped you. I’m so sorry.”

  “Martin, really. I’m not angry. You did warn me.”

  “But I had no idea she would go this far. I want you to know that I’m through with my mother. I’m moving out, and I’m not going to have anything to do with her.”

  “No Martin. You can’t do that. She’s your mother. She’ll always be your mother. You still must love her.”

  “But I can’t forgive her fo
r what she did.”

  “You may not forgive her, but you still must remember that she’s your mother. What she did to me is not important, okay?”

  She looked at me and then put both her hands on my cheeks.

  “Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said. But there was more I needed to say. And I had to say it now. “But My Phuong, I want you to know this. You’ve changed my life. No, that’s not true. You’ve given me life. I love you.”

  I turned away. I felt so embarrassed, and I didn’t know how to act.

  “You are sweet,” she said and came over and kissed me. Then she smiled in a devious sort of manner. “Come with me.”

  She took my hand and led me up the steps and into the small living room where I often sat to play games or watch TV.

  “What do you want to do?” I asked.

  “Martin, come on,” she said as she pointed towards the bedroom.

  I stopped and took my hands out of hers and just fidgeted nervously for a few moments as she came back close to me and put her arms around me, or at least tried to.

  “Martin, it’s okay. It’s been a long time for me. It’s okay. I want to do this.”

  She had no idea what long time really meant, for I hadn’t been with a girl since senior high school when I was dating Sharon Camp. She was chubby like me and we got physical one night and almost nearly did it. That was my experience. I felt coldness running down my spine.

  “What is it? Don’t you find me attractive?” she said playfully.

  “Your attractiveness makes me want to die.”

  “It’s okay. Come die in my arms,” and she lifted her head up towards mine and kissed me.

  I felt sick. It was too much for me.

  “Excuse me,” I said and ran towards her bathroom. I shut the door behind me and threw up into her toilet. I sat there for a minute thinking about how pathetic I was. The girl of my dreams was giving herself to me, and I could only puke. Dad wouldn’t have puked. He knew what to do when the girl smiled at him under the banana tree. He knew how to make his move and give the girl what she wanted. I sat there for ten minutes afraid to show my face to My Phuong. I finally emerged as an ashamed puppy with its tail between its legs. My Phuong sat on the couch with an expression of disbelief on her face.

  “My Phuong. I’m so sorry.”

  “Martin Kinney, you are a mystery. There is no doubt about that.”

  “I’m so sorry. It’s just. I don’t know. I don’t know what my problem is. I just thought of Reverend Fox down there, and how he would disapprove. I don’t know. I just don’t want to take advantage of you. I just don’t want you to think that my attraction is only physical. I-”

  She came over to me and put her finger over my lips.

  “Martin, I’m yours. Whenever you are ready to have me, I’m yours. I’ll wait.”

  Without thinking, it just came out of my mouth.

  “Will you marry me?”

  I felt a massive lump in my throat, and my heart pounded frantically. My Phuong took a step back blocking out the corner lamp behind her casting a shadow on her face. I couldn’t really tell what expression looked back at me. I carelessly plopped down on the couch.

  “I’m sorry, I-,” I started, trying to correct or temper my absurd question. And then she stepped towards me and sat down beside me. She looked so small next to me. And then she broke the silence with the most terrifying of words.

  “Yes, Martin. I will.”

  I stood up, smiled at my bride to be, and ran back into the bathroom.

  Preparations

  Nothing my mother said or did would ever matter again. She could no longer hurt us. I would have a new life with My Phuong.

  I fell asleep on My Phuong’s couch that night, and she placed a blanket over me and then went and slept in her own bed. Early in the morning she was in the kitchen making me breakfast. I paused to wonder if I really had a fiancée; I believed I did.

  She came over to me with an exuberant walk, more like hopping than anything else.

  “How is my future husband this morning?”

  “I’m in love. And I can’t believe it is true.”

  “Well, it is. And I think we should get married soon. What about you?”

  “Yes, I don’t want to delay,” I said. “I don’t need a big wedding.”

  “Simple. Let’s keep it simple.”

  “Would it be all right with you if we got married here, in Reverend Fox’s church?”

  “I think my father would have liked that.”

  “Let’s go talk to Reverend Fox.”

  “After breakfast,” she said and kissed me on the cheek.

  And so after twenty minutes, we stood at Reverend Fox’s cinderblock front steps and waited for him to answer.

  “Good morning Martin, My Phuong.”

  “Reverend, we are sorry to disturb you so early, but could we talk to you about something? It’s important,” I asked.

  “Of course, come on in.”

  My Phuong and I sat back down beside each other in the love seat while the Reverend went to his regular rocker.

  “Reverend, I have asked My Phuong to marry me, and she has said ‘yes’.”

  “Well, that’s wonderful. Congratulations! I’m so pleased to hear this,” he said standing up and walking over to shake my hand. “And can I hug the bride to be?”

  My Phuong stood up and hugged Reverend Fox. He then went back and sat down in his chair.

  “Reverend Fox,” My Phuong started. “As you know, my father was a pastor. And I know that he would have wanted me to be married in a church. I know that I haven’t followed all the wishes my father would have had for my life, but I know that he would want this. Would you honor us by marrying us?”

  “It would be my privilege and honor to conduct the wedding ceremony for you. Have you set a date?”

  “This month.”

  “This month? Wow. Isn’t that a little fast?”

  “Yes, it is,” I acknowledged. “But we don’t want to wait. We’ve been waiting our whole lives. It just feels right.”

  “Are you both sure?”

  “Yes, Reverend,” added My Phuong. “This is what we want.”

  We chatted for a while and decided to get married two weeks from Saturday. Reverend Fox then suggested that since the time was short, he could ask some of the deaconesses at church to plan a simple wedding reception that could take place in the church’s basement fellowship hall. We readily agreed with his idea.

  “Why don’t you two spend some time over the next few days to determine what your ceremony should be like? Then we can meet next Tuesday and plan everything out. Okay?”

  “That sounds great, Reverend. Thank you so much.”

  “My pleasure. Martin, what about your mother? Does she know yet?”

  “No.”

  “How do you think she is going to take it?”

  “Reverend, she will be as angry as usual. We had a dinner together last evening, and it was terrible. I’m moving out of the house. I can’t stay there anymore.”

  “I am sorry Martin. I will pray for the situation. Now where will you live until the wedding?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.”

  The Reverend leaned forward and had an intense look on his face making the wrinkles around his eyes very prominent.

  “Martin, I hate to be so forward about things,” the Reverend continued. “But I do want it to be clear that you can’t stay in the apartment with My Phuong – at least not until you are married.”

  “No, no. Reverend. Of course not.”

  My Phuong let out a small laugh. I suppose she was thinking of me throwing up in the bathroom.

  “It’s just that we have to keep the specter of propriety. You understand how we couldn’t have inappropriate things going on in the church’s apartment.”

  Very little chance of that happening.

  “Of course Reverend. B
ut, might I ask. After we are married, would it be all right for me to move into the apartment for a while until we find someplace else?”

  “Yes, you may both stay as long as you like. We’ll work out a rent schedule for you.”

  Over the next couple of days, we planned out the details of the wedding. The guest list consisted exclusively of my side of the family which meant it would be a very small wedding. There were a couple of guys from work, a few neighbors and a few bowling buddies. We estimated about twenty people would come. I debated on whether I should inform my mother. I didn’t want to. I had been avoiding her since the dinner by dropping by the house during my lunch break, getting clothes and necessities and bringing them over to my friend’s house where I’d been staying. My Phuong insisted that I needed to tell her. She said that my mother had to be invited no matter what she had done.

  “But how could you accept her presence after what she did to you,” I asked her.

  “It is nothing. Mother-in-laws are meant to be protective of their sons. It is the way of the world. I as the new daughter-in-law have to learn to endure and one day perhaps she will accept me. This is the way of Vietnam. I can bear it.”

  I had a lot of trouble understanding her logic, but I agreed that I would notify my Mom.

  The other issue I had secretly been working on was to find an engagement ring and wedding bands. For several days after work I had been hitting the jewelry stores in Butler and up at the mall until I finally decided on a simple half-carat diamond with white gold. I had planned on just giving it to her the day of our wedding since she didn’t have that custom in Vietnam and certainly wasn’t expecting one. But after sleeping with it under my pillow for three nights, I couldn’t bear it any longer. On day ten of our engagement, which was the midway point to our wedding, I took her back to Alameda Park where we had our first walk and talk and sat her down in one of the swings. I kneeled down in front of her, and she had this curious look on her face.

  “My Phuong, I’m sorry I didn’t do this properly the first time. But now I have something for you. This ring is a symbol of my love for you, and it is a promise that I will do everything to be the kind of husband that you deserve. So this is for you. Will you still marry me?”

  Her face lit up with joy. She took the jewelry box in her hand and opened it, placing the delicate finger tips of her right hand on the diamond.