Lotusland

by David Joiner

  "Since when have you been interested in real estate? For as long as I've known you, you've always embraced the life of the poor, struggling writer."

  "I need the money."

  "I know you do. But the way I see it, you have a few things working against you. One, you have no experience. Two, I've got nothing for you. And three — and you said this yourself when I started my company and tried to get you on board — you're not a businessman."

  "That was three years ago. I'm not the same person I was back then."

  The train passed a pile of burning garbage beside the tracks. As acrid smoke filled the air, Nathan began coughing and turned around. At the end of the corridor stood the pink-haired girl. She, too, was talking on the phone, and from her expression and the occasional wild gesture he could see she was upset. He waved to her, but she was engrossed in her conversation and didn't notice.

  "You okay?" Anthony said.

  "Yeah, just a little smoke I wasn't ready for. What were you saying?"

  "I asked you a question: how long do you plan on being in Vietnam? Are you still thinking of making a life for yourself here or are you entertaining thoughts of cutting out?"

  "I don't know. I'm not stuck here like you are."

  "Thanks a lot. That's a flattering way to put it."

  Nathan didn't apologize. In a recent e-mail, Anthony had admitted to being stuck, though it was true, perhaps, that it was for good rather than bad.

  "I'd say I've become one hell of a success here, if I do say so myself. But you're right. I am stuck. Sometimes, on one of my good days, I think things have turned out pretty good in a place where nothing's ever all that good."

  The pink-haired girl, who Nathan had been watching, finally looked up and saw him. But when again he waved to her, she hurried off in the direction of her room.

  "Anyway, we can talk about this more in person. Text me when you're settled in."

  After hanging up, Nathan returned to his room and sat on his bunk. In a little more than an hour he would arrive in Hanoi and have to begin working on his article. Despite its importance to him, all he could think about was how to convince Anthony to hire him.

  There was a furious push for the vestibule when they pulled into Hanoi Station. It was a terrifically ugly place.

  Nathan forced his way into the corridor. As he passed the pink-haired girl's room he looked inside. He froze at the sight of her. She stood at the window, a suitcase by her side, pulling her hair with both hands and silently crying. When she noticed him she spun around, blotting her eyes with a handkerchief.

  He'd presumed too much. The only thing he'd wanted was a private moment with her. She obviously had in mind a private moment, too, only it had nothing to do with him.

  "Chào anh," she said, turning around.

  "Chào em," he answered. "You keep disappearing on me."

  "I do?"

  "I thought you missed the train."

  "Is that why you took so long getting back?" His look of surprise must have begged explanation. "I saw you from the window."

  "I was buying bread."

  "I heard what you asked the vendor."

  He looked away as his mind rewound both moments. "I wanted to see you again, but your door was closed."

  "You're too polite."

  "What do you mean?"

  "If there's something you want, why don't you go after it?"

  He could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Sometimes it's hard to see a situation clearly."

  A security guard stopped in the door to hurry them along. Nathan followed her down the corridor to the vestibule. From the top step she peered into the throng of people.

  "I have to go," she said.

  Before he could ask if someone was meeting her, she reached into her bag and handed him a business card.

  "Visit me sometime. I'll be back in Saigon in a few days." She pointed at the card she'd given him.

  The next thing he knew she was moving toward the station lobby, leaving him behind. He glanced at her card.

  Nguyen Van Le

  Owner

  Bac-Nam Gallery

  A phone number appeared in the lower left corner, an address in the lower right.

  Le, he thought. Her name is Le.

  Two

  Nathan stepped onto the third-floor balcony of Anthony's house and gazed out over West Lake. A cool breeze rippled the water's surface, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep warm. At the bottom of his pocket, his fingers brushed Le's business card.

  When he'd told Anthony about her, Anthony warned him to be careful. "I'm not talking about your so-called arrangement, either — that's just good luck. What I mean is that in Vietnam you're conspicuous simply by being a Westerner. But with a pink-haired local at your side, expect trouble."

  Nathan was thankful he hadn't kept her card in his wallet, for he'd been pick-pocketed that morning on a bus ride back from Friendship Village, an Agent Orange care facility and training centre on the outskirts of Hanoi. In the crowded aisle where he'd stood, bodies collided as the driver made his way haltingly through the dusty, congested streets. Looking back, Nathan couldn't recall when a hand might have slipped into his pocket. He hadn't even noticed his wallet was missing until he'd returned to his mini-hotel, worked on his article, and ventured out again for lunch. At a street stall, after ordering a bowl of bún chả, he'd reached into his back pocket, and then all his pockets, and came up empty-handed.

  The timing couldn't have been worse. He'd owed the hotel for two nights and was waiting to buy a return ticket to Saigon until he knew what class of seating he could afford. He'd gone a day without food before — three weeks ago was the last time — but he wouldn't arrive back home, even on an express train, for one and a half more days.

  So he'd called Anthony. "My wallet was stolen," he told him. Anthony had immediately replied: "Don't worry. There's five hundred bucks in my desk with your name on it." The amount was several times more than Nathan had planned to ask for, but Anthony insisted that he borrow it all.

  When Anthony had swung by Nathan's hotel, their first meeting together in three years began with Anthony saying: "It looks like you lost more than your wallet. When did you become such a skinny little shit?" Handing him the money, he'd added: "I should give you more just to buy some meat for your bones. And don't worry about the amount. There are weeks when I spend more than that just on drinks."

  A breeze picked up off of West Lake and blew Nathan's hair over his eyes. As he brushed it away, voices inside Anthony's house grew loud enough to overhear.

  "They're your children, too. Tell them yourself."

  "I can't."

  "You could if you tried."

  "I do try. Now tell them what I said."

  "No," came the shrill reply.

  Wary of drawing attention to himself, Nathan twisted his neck to look inside.

  Anthony and Huong were arguing from across opposite sides of the high-ceilinged sunroom, separated by a new set of furniture. Anthony was pointing at their children, Anh and Hao, who were grabbing Huong's legs and sniffling. The children's features were a shade between those of their mother and father. Their dark blonde hair and hazel eyes made them look more Western than Vietnamese, but at four and three they were too young to suspect they were anything but the latter. As far as Nathan could tell, they barely knew English. They had English names, too, but never responded to them, no matter how often Anthony encouraged them to. Huong pried their hands from her legs and sent them away with the nanny, who hovered in the doorway, quietly observing.

  Five minutes ago, Anh and Hao had charged outside shouting Nathan's name. When Anthony nudged them back inside they fell, scraping their hands and knees.

  Nathan turned back to the lake, trying to push away pangs of envy. Seeing Huong again had brought back old feelings he thought he'd gotten
over; and seeing Anthony so careless with the life he'd built with her made him resentful.

  Anthony returned to the balcony with a bottle of Bénédictine. He poured an inch into his coffee and stirred it. "French monks came up with this drink five centuries ago," he said. "Life must have been much simpler back then, don't you think?"

  "I don't think life's ever been simple."

  Anthony slid the bottle across the table. "Help yourself."

  "No, thanks. I prefer to get through my day sober."

  Anthony leaned back and pushed his hands through his hair. He appeared about to say something but instead turned to the lake.

  Nathan fixed his attention on the changes that had etched themselves in Anthony's person. Physically speaking, the last few years hadn't been kind. Middle age had crept up, silvering his blond hair, adding several inches to his waist, and wrinkling his forehead and the corners of his eyes. Over six feet tall, he still carried himself well; not gracefully, but with enough natural authority that few would dare to cross or contradict him.

  A profound tiredness seemed to lurk behind his eyes, and the shadowy rings beneath them accentuated this. In the short time they'd spent together Nathan thought he could count on one hand the number of times Anthony had smiled or laughed.

  A door slammed inside the house, followed by sounds of the children's crying.

  "If we had a dog," Anthony remarked dryly, "it would rank higher in this family than me."

  "I'm sure they blame me for what happened, not you. After all, I'm the stranger here."

  Anthony added a half-inch of Bénédictine to his cup. "They think you're great because you speak Vietnamese. That puts you above me in their eyes."

  It was true they seemed mesmerized by Nathan's ability to speak Vietnamese. According to Anthony, they'd never met a foreigner fluent in Vietnamese before.

  "Yeah, but you're their father."

  "If they knew English, maybe it'd be different. My complete lack of Vietnamese gives Huong more authority over them."

  Anthony tried to steer them back to the conversation they were having before the incident with his children, but Nathan wouldn't let him. "When are you going to learn Vietnamese?" he asked.

  Anthony closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "Why waste my energy? It's only a matter of time before my kids pick up English. In a few more years I won't need to."

  Nathan stared blankly at him. "A few more years is a long time from now."

  "Of course, how can anyone predict language development at their ages?" Anthony raised his cup to his lips, then lowered it to add: "Who's even to say how smart they are? I have to take Huong's word for it because I can't understand anything that comes out of their mouths."

  Nathan didn't know what to make of this. In Saigon there were plenty of bilingual children, and not just in bicultural families. The Vietnamese placed a primacy on language learning, which made them some of the most successful polyglots in Southeast Asia.

  "Why don't you teach them?"

  "Huong wouldn't like it."

  Notwithstanding the notion of fairness, Nathan supposed there was no point asking why Huong didn't take on the responsibility. He couldn't tell if Anthony wanted to open up about this or if he simply found the whole subject distasteful. Nathan was going to ask why he didn't hire a teacher when Anthony's cell phone rang and he stepped inside to take the call.

  Anthony wasn't the only foreigner he knew who couldn't communicate with his children. At least Huong's English was good, though it didn't seem like they spoke much anymore. When Nathan thought about it he could recall several foreigners who'd married Vietnamese women with whom all they shared linguistically were a handful of words.

  Nathan tried not to use his Vietnamese around Anthony, who bristled at the sound of it — the rising and falling, the glottal stops, the broken tones — not unless the situation demanded it. In Anthony's own words, the Vietnamese language was like cold, hard rice. "No amount of money," he liked to say, "could persuade me to eat a stale grain of it." More recently he started calling it an acquired aversion.

  From the side of the house came a sound like ripping cardboard. Huong's father stood behind a window, leaning over a blooming flowerbox: twisting his thin face he hawked and spat, then watched his sputum plummet like a sparrow's egg into the garden.

  To Anthony's dismay Huong's parents had moved into their house several weeks before. Huong had pushed hard for him to accept this arrangement, explaining that it was her duty to support them now that they were old. He'd acquiesced after she went two weeks without speaking to him.

  When Anthony returned he asked Nathan how they'd gotten on the topic of his family. "Weren't we talking about something more interesting?"

  "I was begging for a job."

  Anthony frowned. "That's right. You were trying to convince me that your lack of business acumen wouldn't be a problem."

  "You recruited me once before," Nathan reminded him.

  "Yes, but back then we were small and I thought it would be fun having you around. I'm not saying it wouldn't still be fun, but three years have gone by. There's more at stake now."

  "Two years before that," Nathan said, "we were both English teachers in Saigon. You made a leap, and now I want to do the same."

  "Things have changed, Nate. I need someone experienced."

  "You know I'm a quick study. And I could take the pressure off you."

  "No one can take the pressure off me. If it's not work, then it's my life outside of work." He glanced toward the living room before taking a long sip from his glass.

  Nathan saw that this was becoming a lost cause. "I guess I've said what I needed to. I just wanted a chance to see where I stood."

  Anthony watched him as if he expected Nathan not to give up this quickly. "And your writing career? What happens with that?"

  "I told you before: I need the money."

  "And I need your money. At least the five thousand dollars you owe me. Sorry, five thousand five hundred dollars."

  Nathan laughed incredulously. "You actually need that money? You seem to be doing pretty well."

  Anthony glared at him, letting the arrogance of the statement sink in. "I don't just give away my money, you know. I did you a favor. No — I've done you favors."

  "Sorry," Nathan said, feeling ashamed of himself. "It's just weird seeing how you live now. We were both struggling to get by only three years ago. I feel like a tortoise that's been lapped by a hare a million times."

  Anthony lifted his glass at him, as if Nathan had meant this as a compliment.

  "Okay then. Just for kicks . . ."

  Nathan waited for Anthony to finish his sentence, but he only sat there, looking off towards the lake. "Just for kicks, what?"

  "Just for kicks," Anthony said. "Sell me a house."

  Nathan laughed. "Sell you a house?"

  "Sell me on a house. The idea of a house."

  Nathan laughed again, but this time over the blankness of his mind.

  "Sell me on my house. Right now. I'm a buyer who feels skeptical about this place. Convince me that it's perfect."

  "Sell you your own house?"

  "That's right. I haven't got all afternoon."

  Nathan took a deep breath, and his mind focused, almost against his will. "First of all, the location is unbeatable. West Lake's the most desirable place in Hanoi, especially for foreigners."

  "You wouldn't say that to a Vietnamese person, would you?"

  The interruption derailed Nathan, who felt like a fraud anyway, and he resumed at a different point. "You can see that the design is unique, the Grecian columns in front would impress anyone."

  "They're Tuscan columns, but go on."

  "– and of course the size is ideal for a large family. And you've got the Sheraton across the water, lots of privacy, a big yard . . ."


  "You're just ticking things off."

  "– and a beautiful view."

  "Plenty of houses on West Lake have views. That's hardly a reason to shell out a million dollars."

  Nathan cleared his throat, flustered and angry. But he continued. "The bottom line is, whatever price you're willing to pay I can get it for you cheaper."

  "How?"

  "Just leave it to me. If you want it badly enough, I'll make it happen."

  Anthony held up his hand for Nathan to stop. "Okay, okay. I get the picture. At least you showed you can think on your feet, which is better than most."

  They sat together in prolonged silence. Finally, Anthony added: "Of course, Huong would love it if you moved to Hanoi."

  Nathan was about to ask if Anthony would ask his friends in Hanoi about other opportunities, but his comment took him aback and erased the thought. "Huong's changed a lot since I last saw her."

  "She looks better than she did in Saigon, doesn't she? She's not the same person she was back then — not as vivacious or open-minded, not as hungry to please. As soon as we got married and came here she decided she wanted to take charge of me. I used to think her sudden change defied explanation. But I don't anymore. She was like that the whole time but never showed it. Even with you she kept that part of herself hidden."

  An awkward moment passed in which Nathan tried, but failed, to keep from thinking of his past with Huong. They'd dated for six months, shortly after Nathan first arrived in Saigon. Anthony had spotted her on a beach in Vung Tau, but she'd immediately taken to Nathan when the two of them approached. Nathan stopped seeing her when his mother got sick and he flew home, the first of three long trips, to visit her in the hospital. When he returned for good to Saigon he was surprised to find that Huong had taken up with Anthony. "I asked her to help me open a real estate company," Anthony had said, "and the next thing I knew she was all over me. If you'd been here I would've asked for your okay. But I didn't think you were coming back. Anyway, you told me she wasn't what you were looking for." Huong was the last serious relationship Nathan had had, although since then several women, both local and foreign, had filled up a lonely month or season.