by C. L. Hoang
A new wave of nostalgia washes over me. I distinctly remember how thrilled she was with these simple gifts, and what fun and spirited discussions we subsequently had about them. They no doubt provided her an escape from the brutal world she was living in, along with the comfort, however dubious, of knowing that war is a universal part of the human condition. I close my eyes and clutch the books to my chest, lost in the memory.
As the past gradually releases its hold, I set the books down on the table and pick up the sealed envelope. It feels pretty thick, with my name on the front in her now familiar handwriting in blue ballpoint. For a minute I sit staring at it, turning it in my hands, half eager and half nervous, almost afraid even, to find out what’s in it. Having disappeared from my life all these years, had she suddenly remembered an old friend in her final days? Or had some pointed reason prompted her to reach back into the past one last time?
My hands twitching with apprehension, I slip on my glasses, fumble inside the drawer for the letter opener, and in one swift, clumsy motion rip open the envelope and pull out a sheaf of neatly folded papers, what appears to be a long letter to me—from beyond the grave.
With every beat of my heart, the words tremble and dance in front of my eyes. I finally grip the pages with both hands to make out their contents.
Little Sài-Gòn, Tết (January 28) 1998,
Dear Roger,
As I was writing your name, my heart began to pound so hard I could barely breathe, and I almost quit. But I have procrastinated too long already, and time is running out. I must do this now, ready or not. So please bear with me over the next few pages. I just hope you can read my wobbly handwriting and follow my rambling thoughts.
First of all, how have you been, Roger? Has life been kind to you? Every time I think of you, I feel so much gratitude and affection when I recall all the things you did to help me and my family, and the patience and understanding you had always shown me from the first day we met. That’s not even mentioning the sacrifices you and your family had to make during your time of service in our homeland. For all your kindness and generosity, Roger, we can never thank you enough. You deserve only the best that life has to offer, and I hope that has been the case.
All kinds of questions will probably pop in your head when you receive this letter. I don’t know if I can answer all of them, but I will do my best. After all, I’m writing you on this First Day of Tết 1998 (Year of the Tiger), exactly thirty years after the bloody events of the Tết Offensive. That’s a lot of water under the bridge, as you would say. A lot of life to cover. But I feel I owe it to you to give it a try.
What happened after the last time we saw each other, you must have wondered. The same question but asked in a different way has kept me awake many long nights, back then and throughout the rest of my life: What indeed should be happening now?
Oh, Roger. I just wish we were having this conversation face-to-face. It might be easier for you to understand what I’ll have to say, if only you could read it in my eyes, too.
I sit back in the chair, arms dropped alongside my body, one hand still clutching Lee Anne’s letter. The words have really sprung to life, and they ring out in my ear as if spoken in her own sweet voice. Eyes closed, I can almost feel her presence, even her soft breath grazing my cheek, mingled with the sweet scent of jasmine from her hair, as she leans in closer and whispers in my ear. Having pondered it all these years, I’m now about to find out from Lee Anne herself the answer to the biggest mystery of my life.
I wait until the wild thumping in my chest eases before reading on.
But given the circumstances, the only thing I can do is to try to set all reservations aside and be as thorough and open with you as I possibly can. I want to make sure this letter covers everything you need to know. And that’s my final promise to you, Roger.
I’ve never shared this with anyone before, but even now, many years later, whenever I look back on the extraordinary events of that April day, 1968, I’m still overwhelmed with emotions: the initial shock and horror of my husband’s death, the pain, the anger, the great panic and despair. It’s still all here, locked up inside me, as fresh as if it was only yesterday. I was twenty-one, married three years, still full of hope for life and love despite the war. Then suddenly my world came crashing down around me. Overnight I became a young widow of war, brokenhearted and all alone except for two elderly parents who depended on me.
I was caught in my worst nightmare come true.
Then just when I felt I had no hope or strength left to carry on, there you were, right by my side. You reached out to rescue and comfort me. And like someone drowning, I clung on for dear life and wouldn’t let go.
What happened next . . . just happened.
Over the years, I’ve gone back and revisited that day in my mind time and again. It might surprise you to know this: even though I had, and still have, conflicted feelings about it because of our circumstances, not once did I wish that what actually took place between us never had. In my loneliest hour you had given me much needed comfort, and that human bond was what pulled me through, up and out of the dark hole I had fallen in. It gave me just enough clarity in those bleak moments to help me realize that somehow, some way, I must find the resolve to live on, if not for my own sake then at least for my parents’. And for that, Roger, I thank you with all my heart.
I hope you know how special you’ve always been to me, right from day one when I first met the kindhearted and handsome American doctor who reminded me of my childhood hero, Dr. Thomas Dooley of Operation Passage-to-Freedom in Hải-Phòng, 1954. I had no idea that my new job at Mme Yvonne’s would allow me a unique and wonderful opportunity to get to know you, even to play tour guide to you around Sài-Gòn on the weekends. We had such fun times exploring the capital together, didn’t we, Roger? The downtown district, the Municipal Zoo and Botanical Garden, the flower market on Nguyễn-Huệ Boulevard in the final weeks before Tết. Do you still remember?
It was so sad and ironic, though, that with you I got to do the little things Vĩnh and I could only dream of doing but never had a chance to, even as a young married couple. Between the war and family responsibilities, we never seemed to find the time to catch a breather, just the two of us alone. That was my biggest regret after he was gone. Even so, it would dawn on me years later that those innocent fun times you and I shared were the only occasions I got to escape reality and be a young woman again—temporarily without a care in the world, free to enjoy some of life’s simple pleasures. I guess that’s just one more reason why those happy memories with you have always held a special place in my heart.
Although it makes me blush to admit this even now, I would be lying if I told you the “what if” question had never crossed my mind. Having had to live from day to day most of my life, I’d learned not to give in to fanciful thoughts. And yet sometimes after a nice afternoon spent with you, I would catch myself wondering, in the lonely hours of night, what would have happened if we had met under different circumstances, you and I. But such idle thought, the moment it snuck up on me, would fill me with shame and guilt, and I’d try to block it from my mind immediately.
The fact remained that our situations were what they were and could not be changed. My fate had been linked to Vĩnh’s, and he had been nothing less than a caring and devoted husband who risked his life to protect our families and me. You, on the other hand, belonged with Debbie to whom you were engaged to be married on your return home. The truth could not have been more black and white. And all along I’d convinced myself that as responsible adults, we both understood our obligations and our boundaries.
So imagine my horror when I awoke in Dick’s studio that Sunday afternoon, next to you, and it struck me what had just happened, and the chain of events leading up to it. In a second I realized the impossible bind I had put us in. All because of one moment of weakness, of all days on the same day my husband died. I p
anicked, and in tears I fled without waking you, because I couldn’t face anyone right then, least of all you.
Oh Roger, it never occurred to me as I rushed out the door that it might be the last time we’d see each other. I’d never imagined that we would part ways so abruptly. But it did turn out to be farewell for us. Forever. It would become clear to me months later that on the same day I lost my husband, I lost you too, dear Roger.
Her handwriting betrays the turmoil she must have been going through while reliving those painful memories, as it starts to wobble more and even veer off a straight line. Gently, I run my fingers over the scribbled words as if wishing to steady her trembling hand and guide it.
It appears at this point Lee Anne took a break from the long letter, perhaps adjourning for the day and giving herself time to regroup. When she picked up again, it was with a new pen with darker ink. Her handwriting looked stronger and more stable as she moved forward with her story.
The next few weeks were just a blur to me. I struggled to make arrangements for Vĩnh’s funeral while trying to stay strong for my parents. His death had hit them like a rocket because they’d been very close to him. My father, who was recovering from his stroke a year earlier, suffered a setback. But thank heavens for Mme Yvonne and the girls. They pulled together and helped us out in every big and small way, or I don’t know how we could have made it through that time. After the funeral, I fell sick and couldn’t seem to get better. Mme Yvonne became concerned and she finally insisted on taking me herself to see my doctor.
I can’t think of a better way to do this than to break the news to you straight, Roger, as the doctor did with me during that visit.
After giving me a thorough exam and inquiring about my recent health history, he told me in a calm, reassuring voice that the unpleasant symptoms I’d been experiencing lately were nothing serious to worry about.
“Congratulations,” he said with a kind smile and a twinkle in his eyes, apparently unaware of Vĩnh’s death. “This morning sickness shall pass. You’re going to be a mother.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
I bolt upright in the chair.
Adjusting my eyeglasses, I reread the last paragraph word by word to remove any ambiguity or possible misinterpretation. Still, my astounded mind can’t seem to grasp the full meaning of it, skipping and skirting around the edges like a frightened bird.
Breath held in suspense, I gather my wits and dive back into Lee Anne’s letter.
You can imagine how dumbfounded I was. The doctor became alarmed and fetched Mme Yvonne from the waiting room to come in and help me. One look at me and she knew I couldn’t go straight home in my condition, so we went back to her place instead. I remember crying in the back of the taxi the entire trip. I was heartsick and scared, feeling more lost and lonely than ever. What would normally be joyful news to a young married woman just felt like the end of the world to me.
How could I have not known, given all the symptoms? But then again, between the funeral and trying to adjust to new life circumstances, I must have blocked out everything and prayed for the best. I guess deep down I’d been terrified of the obvious implication. The last time Vĩnh had come home had been before Tết, in January. So if I was only now having bouts of morning sickness, then the baby I was carrying inside me would have had to be yours, Roger, from what happened in Dick’s apartment on that day in April.
I freeze, unable to even utter a sound, as if the back of my chair had suddenly turned into a block of ice. My head swims—that dreamlike state one experiences when hiking in the rarified air on mountaintops.
Struggling for breath, I stare out the window. It must be sunset because the natural light on the patio is fading fast, yielding to another balmy evening. The outdoors looks tranquil and idyllic, as always this time of day. But under that familiar veneer, nothing feels remotely the same as it did just a while ago. The stunning revelation has wreaked a profound change, and my private world, until now well defined and compartmentalized, suddenly comes unhinged.
Lee Anne pregnant? With our child? The notion is so staggering it’s impossible to wrap my head around it, even as I repeat it to myself over and over in a silent mantra. Meanwhile a new, indescribable sensation—a confounding mix of excitement and sheer terror, of drunken elation and gut-wrenching sorrow—has found its way into my heart, stirring and lifting it, and setting it racing like a wild horse. I rest my weary eyes to let it all sink in while I try to compose myself. Failing to achieve that, and burning to get all the details, I suspend my disbelief and press on with the letter.
With nowhere to turn, I panicked and confided my situation to Mme Yvonne, as ashamed as I felt to burden her with such a personal matter. But that woman has a true heart of gold. Once again, she came through for me with total support and none of the judgment. Her immediate reaction was to offer to contact you on my behalf and let you know. But even though I was still shaken and had not been able to work out any answers, I felt certain I didn’t want to do that. This was all my fault, and I wasn’t about to let it turn Debbie’s and your world upside down. She was engaged to you and was counting the days until you came home from the war. I knew what that felt like, and I couldn’t allow myself to do anything to keep you from her.
Oh Roger, how I wished we’d met under different circumstances! But as things stood, in all good conscience I had to decline Mme Yvonne’s offer. I made her promise to respect my wishes and not breathe a word to you. It broke my heart to have to make that decision, which was unfair to all of us but, as I believe until this day, the only possible one. And so we had suddenly reached the end of our road, you and me. It was farewell without saying good-bye. Because it would be so easy to change my mind, I knew I must avoid seeing you again.
Mme Yvonne asked me to promise in return I wouldn’t resort to any desperate measures. She didn’t need to worry. As helpless as I was feeling then, I sensed with every fiber in my body that I wanted this baby. It didn’t matter that I had absolutely no idea how I was going to break the news to my parents or carry the baby to term without bringing shame on the family, or how later I would manage to raise it on my own while caring for two elderly parents at the same time. No. I had no ready solutions. Only problems, each more daunting than the last. But my instincts told me I was going to love this baby with all my heart and cherish it more than life itself. For in the end, it was all I had left.
In the following weeks, while I remained lost in an aimless daze, poor Mme Yvonne found herself in full panic mode as she approached her moving date to America. She was scrambling to leave me with some kind of arrangements and suggested that I postpone telling my parents until she could finalize all the loose ends.
A few days before she left Việt-Nam, we got together at her place on Nguyễn-Du Street for the last time. It was just the two of us under the trellis of red bougainvillea where we all used to gather, in a previous lifetime it seemed. We dared not reminisce about the old days for fear neither of us could stop crying. Our hearts were crushed.
“Roger stopped by last week. He insisted I accept this for you,” she said and produced the Rolex watch you had left with her. “He wished to do more to help you and your parents. I had to lie to him that you had moved away, as you’d asked me to do. Oh, poor darling. Have you any idea how hard it was? I just fell to pieces inside.”
We cried and held each other, but we both knew it couldn’t have been any other way. Thank you, Roger, for having thought of me. It meant more to me than you could ever guess, especially in those times of hardship and loneliness. And although money would always be a struggle for us, I would hang on to your watch as an heirloom for our baby.”
“Our baby.” The words jolt me to my core with their simple truth.
I hadn’t a clue that afternoon when I scurried away from Mme Yvonne’s villa that I was unwittingly turning my back on my unborn child. Had I pressed her just a little harder, perhaps she would
have broken down and divulged what she knew. But as fate would have it, I gave up too soon and as a consequence walked away from my baby. One blind, hapless decision and father and child ended up separated from each other all these years, perfect strangers in isolated worlds, with my old watch the only physical link between us.
Overcome by a crushing sense of loss and wastefulness, my heart aching with sadness and bitter regret, I bury my face in my hands and surrender to the emotions.
It’s a while before I pick the letter back up and read on.
Mme Yvonne went over the arrangements she’d made for me. It turned out she had contacted our friend Elise, and together they had worked out a plan to come to my rescue.
You might recall Elise had flown home to her family in Huế after learning her father had been killed during Tết. Now, through Mme Yvonne, she invited me to come and stay with her and her family, at least until the baby was born.
“You wouldn’t be imposing on them in the least. Elise asked me to be sure and tell you that,” said Mme Yvonne. “You two were best friends. She wants to do whatever she can to see you through these tough times. Think about it, Liên. This way, nobody around here would need to know about your condition.”
Torn with guilt and doubt, I broke down in tears.
“What about my parents, Yvonne? I can’t just run away and abandon them. They really need someone to look after them, after all that just happened.”
She took my hands in hers. “Here’s what I’m proposing, chérie,” she said. “Remember the help I have, a widowed mother and her young daughter, refugees of war from the Central Highlands? I was going to have to let them go when Bill and I leave, but they have no place to go back to. Now, instead, we can send them to stay with your parents and take care of them while you’re gone away to Huế. I think it will work out for everyone.”