by Aimee Phan
“We missed the whole show?” Phung asked, carrying Cam in his arms.
“Of course you have,” Ngoan said. “You’ve been gone for hours.”
Disappointment was etched upon Phung’s sun-worn face. The eldest child, Phung had inherited his father’s height and sharp bone structure; upon appearance, he seemed formidable, even fierce. But once he spoke in that gentle, wavering voice, his true nature surfaced, as soft and pliable as Hoa. Hung saw his complicity as a weakness, an inability to stand up for himself, but nevertheless, he exploited it. Phung obeyed his father’s every request: agreeing to an arranged marriage, joining the army, reporting early to the reeducation camps before anyone realized what they really were.
After two years in the prison camp with his brother Sanh, Hoa hoped Phung would return home furious, disavowing his father’s terrible advice and finally emerge his own person. Sanh had, screaming at Hung about his two lost years and missing his first child’s birth. This insolence had finally earned his father’s reluctant respect. But not Phung. He returned even more lost than before, looking to anyone, even Hoa, to tell him what to do, how to make things better. Of all her sons, she mourned the most for Phung because like her, he could never be more than a ghost, absorbing other people’s thoughts and decisions as his own.
“What happened?” Trinh asked.
“Our application was accepted,” Hung said, smiling faintly, like he’d expected this news all along. “A Catholic charity in Paris has agreed to sponsor us. We leave in a month.”
The children cheered. Forgetting their bickering, the women embraced. Xuan clung to his mother’s waist. While Hung explained the details of their departure, Hoa tried to listen, thankful of course, but unable to tear her eyes from Sanh and Tuyet, his hand over her belly, their silent conversation, the word that she believed swirled under their tongues: America.
* * *
“I need you to be honest with me,” Hoa said.
“It’s nothing,” Sanh said. “We only talked a few times. We’re going to France.”
Hoa exhaled, leaning heavily into her son’s arm as they walked back to her shanty. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Sanh said, his natural, friendly face so reassuring. Her youngest son smiled the most in their family, his ability to put people at ease his greatest strength. “I only wanted to know about other options. Now that’s not necessary.”
Hoa believed her son and gladly put all the nonsense about America out of her thoughts. She had so much else to think about. The Truongs were scheduled to depart Pulau Bidong in four weeks. Since immigration decreed only one suitcase per person, Hoa traded away most of her belongings accumulated at camp—the kerosene stove, sleeping mats, cooking utensils—in exchange for more durable clothes and shoes.
The night before their departure, Hung still insisted on the entire family eating dinner together at the mess hall. This was a Truong rule that had never been broken, despite their two-year stay at Pulau Bidong. It wasn’t their mother-of-pearl rosewood table in their Nha Trang home or their smaller teak kitchen table in Saigon, but Hung still sat at the center, flanked by his sons and grandsons, while the females filled in the remaining seats. Horrified by the casual cafeteria-style of serving meals, Hung denounced the manners of the mess-hall workers as barbaric when compared to his devoted servants in Vietnam. Hoa had to collect her husband’s meal. Though the food cooled quickly, no one could eat until everyone was seated and Hung led the family through prayer.
While the other refugees at the surrounding tables hollered their conversations, swallowed their food, and rushed out the door to watch a soccer game on the community television or to gossip on the beach, the Truongs observed slow consumption and appropriate conversation. Hoa realized it had to look strange to others—further perpetuating camp rumors that the Truongs were too arrogant for their own good.
These suggestions and accusations never deterred Hung. Since they lived in different sections of the island, he argued that dinnertime presented the only few hours the whole family could stay together. With thousands of refugees on the island, hundreds arriving and leaving at any given time, dinner alleviated any insecurity they had about each other’s well-being. A full table meant everyone was still safe and well. Hoa knew Hung felt a supreme satisfaction in maintaining this family tradition, up until their last meal on the island.
“We first fly to Manila,” Hung informed them over the rattling of chopsticks and passing plates. “We spend three weeks there for medical evaluations and language and culture seminars before flying to Paris.” He smiled generously in Trinh’s direction. “Yen will meet us at the airport with our sponsors. Sanh, I’ll need your assistance tonight going over our papers.”
“I can help you,” Sanh said, “but there has been a change in our plans.”
“What change?” Hung said, looking concerned. “The delegate said everything had been settled.”
“My family is not going.”
Hoa slowly looked up, her eyes turning to her husband’s.
“What are you talking about?” Hung asked. “Of course you are. I have the papers right here.”
“Did something happen with immigration?” Phung asked. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“My family will not go to France,” Sanh said, his gaze focused squarely on his dinner plate. “I’m sorry for the change in plans, but it won’t affect your departure, I promise.”
“When did you decide this?” Phung asked. “Why?”
While the men interrogated Sanh, Hoa glowered at Tuyet, who, like her husband, appeared incapable of maintaining eye contact with anyone at the table. Instead, Tuyet continued to feed Lum dinner.
“What are you going to do?” Hung asked. “Stay here? You want to raise your child a Muslim?”
“We’re not staying here,” Sanh said. “We’re going to America.”
“So it’s true,” Hoa said to Tuyet. “This is what you wanted all along.”
“Quiet,” Hung said. “Tell me, Sanh.”
“I don’t wish to raise our children in France,” Sanh said. “I think we will be better off in America.”
“Better,” Hung spat. “Without your family?”
“I don’t expect you to agree with my decision,” Sanh said. “But it is final. Once we’re in America, we’re going to help Tuyet’s family to come over.”
“So this is the Vos’ decision.”
Tuyet slammed her chopsticks onto the table as Lum cried out in protest. “Do not talk about my family, especially after the way you have treated them.”
“How I treated them? I don’t even know them, child.”
“You mean they don’t matter?” Tuyet asked. “Not as much as your own family? You could have bought more seats on the boat if you’d wanted to, I know it.”
“Tuyet,” Sanh said, trying to place a hand on his wife’s arm, but she pushed it off.
“We have fulfilled our duties to you,” Tuyet said. “Now it is time to help my family.”
Hoa stared at her daughter-in-law in shock. No one had ever spoken out against Hung in this manner, especially in public. But Hung simply smirked at Sanh’s impudent wife, regarding her as seriously as a mosquito around his ankle.
“Congratulations, Hoa. I foolishly believed your youngest son actually grew some sense after his prison time, but he is still as brainless as his mother.”
“Don’t insult Mother,” Sanh said with a sigh. “This has nothing to do with her.”
“Of course,” Hung said. “It has nothing to do with the Truongs. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”
“Please,” Sanh said. “I don’t want to part on bad terms.”
“Families don’t part,” Hung said. “You’re the one doing this. And I hope you understand the consequences of your wife’s decision. You are going to America with a wife and two children, with no help from the rest of your family. You must live with this choice.”
Hung offered his youngest son another long, proud stare, one last op
portunity to change his mind, to plead forgiveness for a reckless decision, to pledge to never go against the family again. When Sanh did not reply, Hung looked down at his shrimp and vegetable stew. The family resumed eating in near silence, except for a few murmurs from Xuan and Cam, and a small laugh from Lum. Sanh avoided eye contact with his mother, working hard to swallow each bite of food he pushed through his lips.
Sanh stood once he and Tuyet had finished their dinners. “Excuse us, Father,” he said. “We have a lot of work to do before leaving tomorrow. I can help you later tonight with the papers.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Hung said. “You have so much to do. We’ll be fine without you.”
Hoa silently watched as Sanh and Tuyet lifted their trays, walked to the counter, and dropped off their dirty plates. Sanh carried Lum on his back and Tuyet looped her arm through her husband’s. They passed through the cafeteria doors.
* * *
Hung didn’t say anything when Hoa made up an excuse to leave their shanty that evening. He knew where she was going, but only casually nodded as he and Phung sorted through the papers by flashlight.
“Come back before the lights turn off,” Hung reminded her.
Finally free of her husband’s scrutiny, Hoa allowed her composed face to collapse, to give in to the grief that had clumped up in her stomach since dinner. Even when she closed her eyes and shook her head, she could not eradicate the image of victorious Tuyet from her mind. Hoa had never wanted to strike another person so violently in her life. She’d been deceived, they all had. Hoa realized she could trace the subterfuge back to when Tuyet first entered their lives.
After Yen and Trinh’s surprise elopement, Hoa naïvely thought she’d seen the last impulsive marriage in her family. Their youngest son Sanh had been so shy around girls. Though he’d refused his parents’ suggestion of an arranged marriage when he was a teenager, the older he grew, still single, not even a girlfriend, the less strenuously he objected to their mentioning the topic.
That is, until one afternoon, when Hoa returned from her morning trip to the market. Sanh stood in the kitchen, wearing his light gray suit and a polished pair of loafers. While her older sons retained Hung’s tall, lean figure, Sanh’s stocky body and chubby cheeks clearly came from Hoa. Yet he always took pride in his appearance, his hair neatly combed, a handkerchief in his pocket to blot the sweat from his face.
“Why aren’t you at work?” she asked, dropping her baskets onto the kitchen table.
“I’m taking lunch at home,” he said.
Hoa stared at him suspiciously as he helped her unpack the fruits and vegetables from her baskets. “Your father went through a lot of trouble arranging that job for you.”
“I need to talk to you,” Sanh said.
Hoa felt her breath drain out. She pulled out a chair and slowly sank. “Is something wrong with Yen?” They hadn’t received a letter from him in weeks.
Sanh shook his head. He sat next to her, placing a clump of bananas on the table.
She pressed her hand into his. “Phung? Has he been injured?”
“No, Mother,” he said, impatiently pulling his hand back. “It’s me.”
“What is it?”
“I met a girl. I want to marry her.”
Hoa sat back in her chair, relieved. “Is that all? Then why do you look so grave?”
“We want to get married next week.”
“Please don’t tell me she’s pregnant.”
“She isn’t pregnant, but we need to get married soon. I want her to come live with us.”
“This is hardly a good time for a wedding, Sanh. You need a proper engagement, at least six months. We need to meet her family.”
“Mother, I need your support, especially when I tell Father about this. We can’t wait months, we can’t even wait weeks.”
“I don’t understand.” First Yen, now Sanh. What had she done to deserve this?
“She’s a good girl, Mother. You’re going to love her. She’s from a respected family. Her father was a doctor in the army. But her mother isn’t fair to her. I don’t want her living there any longer. Tuyet needs to live with us.”
“Tuyet,” Hoa repeated.
She did seem like a good girl. The day after the wedding, Tuyet immediately made herself useful, demonstrating she was not beneath any household chore. She sat to tea every afternoon with Hoa, learned to cook the proper family dishes, prepared the tobacco for Hung and his visiting friends. She cared for her nephew and niece, and befriended Trinh, who was relieved to have a new sister-in-law. Even Hung had to admit that perhaps Sanh’s bold decision had turned out to be correct.
“My new family is so kind to me,” Tuyet would say, with a different, personalized smile for every family member who looked at her. “I thank the Lord that he brought me to you.”
But now, Tuyet’s face displayed no such smile when Hoa arrived at their shanty in Zone B. She did not offer tea or a seat. Instead, she avoided Hoa’s eyes as she slipped past her mother-in-law, carrying Lum away.
* * *
“We weren’t lying,” Sanh said. “We had every intention of coming to France with you. But Tuyet’s mother is sick and she needs to leave Vietnam. And we have a better chance of getting her out if we’re in America.”
“You could have told us,” Hoa said, “before all the plans were made. Then we could have tried to stay together.”
“You know Father would never go to America.”
“Families aren’t supposed to live in different countries.”
“Well, we weren’t supposed to leave Tuyet’s family behind. If they were with us now, we wouldn’t have to separate.”
If this, if that. So many conditions conspiring to take her son away from her. How could she remind Sanh now that their loyalty was to the Truongs, and not to his wife’s family? He would think she was being selfish. But Hoa had honored this tradition, placing Hung’s parents above her own when she married. Why wouldn’t Tuyet?
Because of Tuyet’s pregnancy, their shelter was a slight improvement over the other shanties. They had a wooden roof, four walls, and a real mattress on the floor. Sanh motioned for Hoa to sit on the mattress. Despite the solid walls, they could still hear a group of older men outside, loudly chuckling over a game of cards.
“You know you could come with us,” Sanh said.
Hoa laughed.
“You can,” Sanh said. “It’s a new beginning for all of us. You have the choice, Mother.”
Hoa lowered her head, curling her hand into the thick folds of the mattress. She never considered it before, such an impossible, rash option, but the mere thought of it warmed her completely, dulling her anxieties. Perhaps America was not as bad as Hung declared. He’d always been one to react in the extreme. Look how severely he turned on Sanh, practically disowning him at the dinner table. In America, she would be the head of the family, the matriarch. How could she leave Sanh and Tuyet alone to raise the children? They were too young and naïve to live in a new country by themselves. She could offer advice, take care of the children. They needed her to do these things.
Perhaps this was the best decision. Hung could take care of the rest of the family in France. Hoa could have America.
“What am I saying?” Sanh shook his head. “Father would murder us both. He’s already on the verge of killing me. Never mind, it was a stupid idea.”
He moved off the bed, peering over their half-packed bags. Hoa stared at his back, unable to say anything.
Footsteps outside. Tuyet appeared at the front door carrying a sleeping Lum in her arms. This time she looked at Hoa, unable to help a small smile, her triumph so apparent. Sanh belonged only to her now.
Hoa stood. “I should leave now. It’s getting late.”
“You don’t need to go,” Tuyet said, walking in and carefully placing Lum onto the bed, where he curled into a snail.
“I have a lot to do,” Hoa said.
“Please.” Tuyet’s face relaxed into her dec
eptively demure frown. “I wanted to talk to you about Trinh.”
Hoa waved her hand. “Whatever Trinh needs, we’ll take care of.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“She is reuniting with her husband,” Hoa said. “You don’t need to worry about her anymore.” She turned to Sanh, her hand reaching inside her blouse pocket. “Your father has most of our assets,” Hoa said, slipping a small silk pouch into his fingers. “But I have several gold leaves of my own and these pearl earrings.”
“Mother,” he said, closing his eyes.
She pressed the gold into his palm, folding his fingers over it. “You have a baby coming. I want you to care for your family as best you can.”
“We’ll visit you,” Sanh said. “This is not good-bye. When we’re all settled. I promise.”
Hoa looked over at her youngest grandson, still deep in sleep. She walked over to him, leaning into his lightly perspiring neck, inhaling his child sour-sweet smell.
“Be good for your mother and father,” Hoa whispered into his hair, softly kissing him. Lum shifted to his other side, his cheek blooming red, sighing. “Remember you are a Truong. You are Vietnamese. Nothing will change this.”
* * *
The camp lights switched off as Hoa walked back to Zone A. She slowed her pace, though that meant her rubber sandals sunk deeper into the muddy trail. The moon was only a sliver, and she worried about tripping over some brushwood or a stray piece of trash. Damp, wrinkled laundry rustled softly from strung-up wires and tree branches along the shanty rows. Refugees lingered outside their shanties, mostly men, the embers of their cigarettes briefly illuminating their bored faces.
This time tomorrow, they’d be gone. They could try to forget all of the months enduring the purgatory conditions of the island: the cramped quarters; the barely edible food; the crude behavior of their fellow refugees.
They could try to rebuild a home. Hoa could prepare proper meals again. She wondered if she could remember her recipes, the ones their cook taught her after they moved to Saigon. Could she find the proper spices and vegetables in France? Where would they live? Would Yen’s home be comfortable for all of them? Wherever it was, Hoa could find her private space again. It didn’t have to be too large, she could even make do with another closet, just something that was entirely hers.