by Kien Nguyen
Taking a deep breath, he continued, “Come on you two, don't look so gloomy. Are you still with her?” Pointing at my mother, he winked at Lam. “Now that she is no longer the mighty Madame Nguyen, the smoke-spitting, fire-puffing banker?”
Lam struggled for composure. However, Mr. Tran paid no more attention to him. Turning to my mother, he reached inside his backpack to pull out a stack of paper.
“As for you, Khuon, I took the liberty of withdrawing the deed to your house from the Department of Real Estate. And I want you to know it was not by any means an easy task—just like looking for a pin in an ocean bed. Anyhow, I found it, and there are a few places that I need you to sign and fingerprint, which we can do now. The rest of the legal nonsense I can take care of later. Come on over here by my side, so that I can show you.”
My mother walked closer to him. “I'll sign anything you want, but what about my family's proof of registration? I would like to have that before we leave here.”
He nodded. “Sure, I understand your worry—nobody is legal until I say so. But fear no more, I got all the papers right here. We'll go through everything by the end of this morning.”
He pulled out a thick blue folder. On the top page, the words were typed in bold black letters: “Proof of Existence, Community #4, Unit #125091, Head of Unit: Nguyen, Khuon T”
“This number, 125091,” he explained to my mother as his thick finger ran across the cover page, “is your family's number. We don't like to use the word family. It's too personal, too alienated from the whole. We refer to each family as a unit, like in biology—the single cells that make up the body. A word of advice: you should guard this paper with your life. For the time being, this is your identification. You'll have to carry it with you wherever you go, until our leaders come up with a better system. All of your names will be contained in here, so you need to stay together at all times. When you check into your new community, do not take anyone else in, or allow anyone to leave your unit. Every day after six p.m., curfew time, everybody will have to stay inside, because several nights a week, your house will be searched without any warning. That is the law. When it happens, the police will ask to see this paper and count heads. If they find anyone that doesn't belong, the head of the unit and the extra person will be taken away to death camp. Did you get all that? All right, now I need you to read your new address slowly to me.”
As my mother spelled out the new address to Mr. Tran, Loan and the rest of my family walked into the room, watching the scene in silence.
“How many people in your unit?” Mr. Tran asked my mother.
“Sir, am I counting my prenatal baby as one individual?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Don't be stupid. How many people are there in your unit, counting seniors, adults, and children? Forget your belly. You will register that baby at the hospital when it is time.”
“Six people. Two seniors, two female adults, and two male children,” my mother answered.
From the corner where he stood forgotten, Lam spoke up abruptly. “Seven, including one male adult. Don't forget me!”
Mr. Tran threw a threatening look at Lam, then barked at him, “Do I look like I am talking to you?”
Lam turned bright red, yet he said nothing.
Mr. Tran continued, “The head of this household didn't mention anything to me about any male adult. So I assume that you are taking the liberty of adding yourself into her unit. Is that true?”
Lam forced a smile. “Sir, you know I have been living here for more than half a decade. I am as much a part of this family as anyone else, except you, in this room.”
“Are you married to her?”
“No, but I am the father of that child in her womb.”
It was my mother's turn to blush when Mr. Tran turned to face her. “Listen, Khuon,” he said, “I can't argue with paid boy here, so I'll let it be up to you. What is it going to be? Six or seven?”
“There are six members in my unit,” my mother answered firmly.
She wanted to say something else, but Mr. Tran waved his callused finger to quiet her. His eyebrows remained knitted together in thought.
“Hold on a second,” he said. “This half-wit may have a point here. There are no males in this unit except for your old father, who may end up in a concentration camp for his past crimes. Even if the government spared him due to his disability, you would not have enough work force for this unit. If I add the gigolo to your group, it will increase your family's strength to almost double. A good idea, don't you think? Oh, well, even if you don't agree with me, someday soon you'll thank me.”
And that was his decision. Without giving my mother a chance to object, he jotted down in my family's file the seven names. Soon after my mother signed over the deed of her house, Mr. Tran handed her the folder. Putting the rest of his papers into his backpack, he shifted his attention to Loan. Like a farmer examining a young cow, he gave her a long look of contemplation. When he spoke, there was no hatred in his voice.
“Loan,” he said, “you are eighteen years old now, correct?”
“Yes, sir,” Loan answered.
“Good, good. Here is a pamphlet I want you to read. It is about a group called The Young Volunteers, a party of young people like you, and I recommend you take a look at it. You can read more about it and at some point if you decide to join, or even if you just want more information, look for your new community leader or me. Either one of us will be happy to assist you with any questions that you might have. The truth is, I've watched you grow up in this house, and I think you have turned into a very smart young lady. With the new change in this country, you can really go far, because it's time for poor folks like us to take charge of our destinies. Promise me that you will read the brochure and do something for yourself and for your country, instead of hanging around here with this sinking ship. There is no law that condemns you to die with these capitalists you once worked for. The days that these people could take advantage of you are over, you understand?”
And he stuffed the pamphlet in her hand. On the way past my mother, he whistled a fast, catchy tune and bobbed his shining head up and down to the music. In the next room, the policemen started to carry our belongings outside. Less than an hour later, we settled inside the truck and it drove away.
I sat back in my seat and stared out the window to take one last look at the place. Through the broken wall and the fallen vines, the house stood empty and ruined under the bright sun. In my mind the snapshots of memory paraded as in a dream. I saw myself running from room to room, laughing as Loan chased after me, her freshly washed hair floating beside us like clouds, smelling like a sea breeze. I relived my mother's endless parties, where people danced by the pool under beautiful lights, and perfumes mixed in the air. My mother's ghost still seemed to be sitting in front of the mirror powdering her hands, with her river of hair cascading down her shoulders.
While these thoughts distracted me, next to me in the truck, my mother held her stomach in her arms, and followed her own thoughts. Were her emotions similar to mine? On the other side of her, Jimmy showed no sign of understanding what was going on. He smiled at everyone, showing his two missing front teeth and watching the streets with thoughtless fascination.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The truck bumped along for half an hour. When it stopped, Jimmy and I saw our new home for the first time. My aunt's house faced the dusty street from across a large garden. Built twenty years before, it had a red tile roof and white columns, an odd mix of Asian and European architecture. The windows were trimmed with green shutters, opening outward, on which the paint was so old that it had cracked into thousands of tiny creases, showing the decayed wood within. Only a story high, the house contained six small rooms with white paint and faded red molding on every wall.
The house had been built to shelter a few members of my aunt's family. But as the family grew, it had become too crowded. My uncle asked my mother for help, so that he could build another flat behind the main
house. Because of the eternal guilt my mother felt toward her sister for being so poor, she put up the money.
The new bungalow, situated between the kitchen and the bathroom, provided three extra rooms. The two older girls, Moonlight and Snow, lived next to the kitchen, and the three oldest boys, Le, Than, and Nghia, were settled in the two other rooms.
On the left side of my aunt's house stood my new home. At first glance, it seemed impossibly small and primitive. It struck me that the entire place could fit in my mother's old garage and still leave plenty of room for a car. This house, too, was painted white, but it was newer than the others in the compound. At first sight, it looked like a gigantic matchbox, rectangular, covered with a corrugated tin roof, and without columns. Behind it, on the other side of the well, was my aunt's kitchen.
My aunt, her husband, and all of their children ran out to greet us at the gates. Everybody smiled and exchanged greetings as they helped my grandparents carry their belongings inside. Not much furniture had escaped damage at the Nguyen mansion, but my grandparents and my mother had packed as much as they could salvage. Among our reclaimed possessions, the last valuable piece was an ebony altar for my deceased uncle, hand-carved and weighing over one hundred kilograms.
When he was alive, my young uncle was the gem of the whole family, the only son of my grandparents' fourteen children who lived past his eighteenth birthday. He had entered the Vietnamese navy the day he turned nineteen. At twenty-one, he drowned while swimming one morning at the base. The report of his death devastated my grandfather. Coincidentally, I was born across town on that very same day. My grandfather, torn between the bad news and the good news, had taken my birth as an omen, believing that his young son's spirit had returned via my mother's womb. I then became his favorite grandchild.
The altar was given a prominent spot in the new house's living room, which was now being turned into my grandparents' bedroom, with their bed in one corner near the window, and a sewing machine a few feet away. The next room contained three beds for Loan, Jimmy, and me. Next to my bed was an armoire, set against the wall and locked at all times. My mother kept the key. Our bedroom also contained a chest of drawers for clothes. The last room on the back of the house, about ninety square feet, had just enough room to hold a bed for my mother and Lam and her small makeup desk.
While we were moving in, my aunt sat on top of a cardboard box, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. Her legs in her black nylon pants swung restlessly as she watched my mother making Jimmy's bed from across the room. Some of her children sat beside her. Their dirty faces stared curiously at us.
Clearing her throat, she asked my mother, “Is that all of the stuff they allowed you to take with you? Did you lose the rest?”
My mother nodded, and my aunt responded with a heavy sigh.
“Everything?” she repeated her question. Again, my mother nodded.
“Unbelievable,” my aunt continued. “Oh, well, it is too bad, you could have asked me to hold some things for you before you ran off unannounced like your pants were on fire. But since you didn't, I hope you don't mind that I took some things from the house while you were away. Look at it this way, if I didn't, someone else would have. And why can't that be me, your own sister? I don't know what you are thinking, but I don't plan to give any of it back to you.”
“What things did you take?” my mother asked her.
“Just stuff.” She shrugged. “Mostly for the kids. I don't remember exactly every single thing. Why?”
“Did you find any of my jewelry?”
“Of course not,” my aunt snapped. “I didn't even know if you hid any in the house. Don't accuse me of stealing your precious jewels, unless you want me to start a war right here, right now.”
“I am not accusing you. I am asking you politely.”
“Well, don't even ask me politely. I didn't take your wealth to my house. If anything, I am now taking in your ill luck by living next door to you.”
My mother did not say anything more. The silence grew into an uncomfortable tension until my aunt spoke. “More important, what are you going to do now?”
“I don't know. Just start from scratch, I guess.”
“I am afraid that you may have to find a more suitable plan, sister.
You are not twenty-one anymore. Besides, no offense, but this time, your half-breed children will definitely hold you back.”
My mother stopped in the middle of making Jimmy's bed and turned around to look at my aunt. She lowered her voice. “Would you please modify your language if you are going to talk about my children? You let me do the worrying, since it is none of your concern. And please don't ever use that awful word again in front of the boys.”
“Why not?” my aunt insisted. “If you don't teach your kids the facts of life, someday somebody will. And when that happens, the words would not be this sweet to their ears.”
“What is a half-breed, Mommy?” Jimmy asked.
Before my mother could answer him, a cousin of mine spoke up. He was about seventeen years old. Sweating from the heat, his face was red and covered with acne.
“A half-breed is a bastard child, usually the result from when a woman has slept with a foreigner. Like you,” he said, facing Jimmy as if he were challenging my brother to a duel. His eyes were crossed. The two irises stared angrily at each other across the bridge of his nose.
“Enough!” my mother screamed. “How could you just sit there letting your children talk to us this way?”
My aunt shrugged once again. Her eyes hid behind a cloud of smoke. “I taught my children the freedom to speak their own mind. They aren't stupid, you know.” She frowned. “And look who should talk. You, their aunt, have always treated them like dirt. Frankly, I don't appreciate the tone of your voice. You can't talk to us like you still have money, sister. Times have changed.”
My mother resumed fixing the bed for my brother without saying another word.
“Listen, maybe you can stay mad at me since it is in your nature,” my aunt said, “but I can't be mad at you. You are, after all, my only sister. So, I welcome you to live here. I do want to be straight about one thing, though. You may think that you can choose to live your life whichever way you want. The truth is, it's not that easy anymore, not when we live side by side. What you do will reflect on my family by association. Ah, yes, something else you should consider. I'd like you to destroy anything that might link you to the past, because you never know what will come back to haunt you later. Of course, with something like these two big televisions here —” she pointed at my brother and me—“you can't hide them. But pictures and addresses can be very dangerous to keep around. The police come by at night and search the whole block. Think about it! I leave you alone to unpack. Let's go home, children.”
She got up to throw her still-burning cigarette out of the window, following it with a hefty spume of expectorates. Her children trailed after her as she left. Loan excused herself to the market to buy groceries, and my grandparents retired to their room. My mother lay down on Jimmy's bed as if exhausted.
Looking fresh and relaxed after a long bath, Lam walked in. His beard was shaven, and his skin was clean. Throwing his soiled clothes in a corner, and still wrapped in a wet towel, he sank to his hands and knees and crawled toward my mother, smiling. She sat up from the bed, looking tense.
“Please forgive me? I am begging you,” he said.
He reached out for her foot and pressed his lips against her skin. Like a wild cat, my mother jumped up and kicked Lam in his face. He fell backward and landed on his elbows. Slowly, Lam got up, adjusting his towel while my mother returned to her seat on my brother's bed. His hands folded into a fist as he spat some blood onto the floor.
“Stupid horse,” he said. “I would hit you so hard if you weren't big with child.”
My mother stood up and arched her back, pulling her blouse up to show her rounded abdomen. “Want to strike me?” she shrieked. “Go right ahead. Hit me right here. Help me get ri
d of your stinking mess.”
He pointed his finger at her. “I don't need you. But my name was in the registration, and so I am going to stay here whether you want me to or not. I suggest that you should wise up and learn to live with me, damned woman.” He walked outside, kicking a chair that blocked his path.
That night, after my mother locked herself in her bedroom, he crawled into Loan's bed. From where I lay in the dark, I could hear her quiet struggle, as she tried to push him away. After a period of heavy breathing, they exchanged words.
I heard Lam's voice rising with rage. “You did what? I can't believe it. Was that the old hen's idea?”
There was more silence, then he continued. However, his voice was much lower this time, full of regret. “How could you get rid of my baby?” he asked.
“Get off me.” Loan spoke in a whisper. “It was not the mistress's decision. It may have been her suggestion, but the choice was mine. I did it for me, so that I can be free from you.”
The sound of a slap exploded in the dark. Soon after, I heard Loan jump out of her bed, and her voice penetrated the night. “Hit me again, and I'll report you to the authorities. Follow me to my bed one more time, and I swear to the gods, I'll search for the most painful way to murder you.”
Her footsteps pounded toward my bed. I could feel the mosquito net above me being swept away, and soon her warm body slid next to me. Holding me in her trembling embrace, she cried softly in the dark. Back in her bed, Lam lay quiet through the rest of the night.
When I got up the next day, Loan had already left for the market alone. She did not return for dinner. My mother and Lam avoided one another like the plague. Staying in Loan's bed for most of the day, Lam snuggled under the sheet, reading a kung fu novel. My mother stayed inside her room to arrange her nail polish collection.
Jimmy and I ventured outside and saw our cousins playing in the dirt. At first, the boys pretended to ignore us, but it was not long before they ran over to touch us with the same astonishment that they would show to a pair of rare Christmas ornaments.