by David Joiner
"But it's only eight-thirty."
"They go to bed early, unfortunately."
"They also wake up before five," Anthony said, "to commence their routine of slamming doors and calling to each other from all over the house."
"I'm sure we don't have the energy you two have," Huong said.
The bill came and Anthony paid, adding a generous tip. Nathan hung back as they left, following Huong and Hoa. Anthony walked at the head of the group, phoning his driver to pick them up.
When they got to the sidewalk, Nathan stepped into the street to flag a taxi. When one pulled up, he climbed in back and told the driver to wait for Hoa.
"Where you go?" the driver asked, pressing the meter on his dashboard. Nathan snapped at him to reset it and wait until he started driving.
"When my friend gets in," Nathan said, "take us to the Fine Arts University."
Out his window he saw the Land Rover pull up. Anthony opened the back door for Huong. She waved at Nathan, but Hoa entered the taxi then and blocked his view of her.
Hoa began powdering her nose as the taxi did a U-turn.
"Where are we going?" she said when they drove past the Sofitel Plaza.
"I have someplace in mind."
"But the event's back there."
"Meeting businesspeople after work is like meeting businesspeople to do more work. I don't want to network when I don't have to."
"But I'm expected to go."
Nathan had no intention of attending a get-together with her associates and competing for media exposure. "I can drop you off if you'd like."
She frowned. "I can go somewhere else first, I guess. Just as long as I've got time to show up before it ends."
"There'll be time."
As the taxi wended through traffic Nathan noticed the gap between their legs. It had grown larger after he told her he had a plan of his own.
She didn't protect her cell phone from view, and he watched her type in Vietnamese: Do you know where's he taking me? He's cute, but too serious.
Assuming she was communicating with Huong, he took out his own cell phone and composed a message to her as well: Do you know why she's so uptight? She's beautiful, but one-dimensional.
The taxi was pulling up to the Fine Arts University when he received Huong's reply: Be open to possibilities.
Hoa grabbed his arm and walked with him through the university gate. He wondered if Huong had sent her the same message.
As they reached the entrance she hesitated. From her expression he guessed that she hadn't counted on visiting an exhibition of nineteenth-century German drawings. She peered around as if hoping to find someone she knew, someone she could talk to rather than waste her time on these old sketches of the German countryside. When she realized she knew no one, she followed him to a signboard that elaborated on the artist's life.
Nathan spotted Le among a group of young, arty-looking people along a wall of the exhibition. Rather than take part in their conversation, she was studying a drawing of two girls cycling down a country road. She picked at the buttons of the white shirt she wore, which was too broad in the shoulders and fell halfway down the thighs of her pants; a plain, unflattering outfit that seemed to emphasize the simplicity she now sought.
It took her a moment to see him. She beamed and made as if to come greet him, but stopped mid-stride when she saw he'd brought someone. She stared at them, frozen like a statue.
Hoa took his arm and pulled him to the first drawing. Nathan immediately realized his mistake.
Seventeen
By the time Nathan had finished seeing the exhibition it was after 9:30. Although he hadn't intended to stay long, more than an hour had come and gone. Hoa was sitting on a chair, amusing herself with her phone's ring-tones.
He went to the doorway and looked out. Night had settled among the courtyard's flowering trees, statues on plinths, and French-style buildings. At first he thought the courtyard was empty but a movement at the base of a tree caught his attention. Le sat with her back against the trunk, picking fallen leaves.
He was about to approach her when Hoa came up and pressed against him.
"That girl outside is watching you," she said.
"I hadn't noticed."
He felt the firmness of her breasts on his arm, and to his side he saw the vee-shaped space, the silken shadow, of her cleavage. Strangely, this didn't excite him. He wanted to be with Le, to be with her as he'd been with her in Saigon, but without the falseness of an arrangement. The old resentments, however, refused to die.
"Sorry you didn't like the exhibition," he said. "We can go if you want."
He waited for her to step outside, but she seemed to be thinking of something.
"You're not like most men I meet."
Nathan smiled inwardly. "What are most men you meet like?"
She paused before answering. "They try harder to impress me."
Nathan was silent. He didn't want to tell her that what he wanted had nothing to do with her.
"Anyway," she said, "I think it's fascinating that you and Huong once dated for half a year. It must be strange for you to see her married to your best friend."
"Maybe at first it was. Now, I just want them both to be happy."
"You don't think they're happy?"
He shrugged. "I'm sure you know better than I do."
Hooking his arm with hers she said: "Anthony used to call me all the time."
"What, to talk?"
"Well, I guess it started with talking. It was back when I was trying to get established. I knew he had connections."
He looked at her, but then quickly looked away when he realized he didn't want to know what their talking might have led to. "I guess most things start with talking."
"Sort of like what we're doing," she said and laughed awkwardly.
"I wouldn't know. I have no idea what you and Anthony used to talk about."
"Come to think of it," she said, letting go of his arm, "neither do I."
A small group of people left the exhibit, forcing Nathan and Hoa to step to the side. They were Vietnamese, and they turned and stared at the two of them as they passed.
Looking at her watch, Hoa noted that it was getting late. "Let's go?"
He didn't reply. Her event would be in full swing now, and it was clear without her saying that she had it on her mind. He hesitated before pulling out his cell phone. "I'll call you a taxi."
She didn't protest. They walked down the steps and passed the tree where Le now sat looking toward the street.
He waited with Hoa on the sidewalk. When the taxi rolled up, the driver popped open the back door and yellow light spilled from the cab to their feet.
"Are you staying here?"
"For a bit," he said.
Her hopeful expression disappeared as she looked from him to the waiting cab. "It's okay. I'll tell Huong and Anthony I had a good time anyway."
Nathan estimated what the ride would cost, added half to the total, and attempted to pay it in advance. But the driver, unused to dealing in Vietnamese with a white face, kept trying to pull Hoa into the transaction. She wouldn't join in.
The taxi pulled away, and he waited for Hoa to turn around. Her head never moved, never turned, and then with distance, and then with the bright red of the taxi's brake lights, he could no longer see her. He was aware of himself standing alone, but he didn't want to move until he was confident he could speak with Le.
She'd moved from the tree to the statue of a national hero he didn't recognize. The taxi would have been visible from here, and if the wind had been right she'd have heard their conversation.
"Who was she?" Her voice was small and neutral.
"A friend of my boss. But no one I'm interested in."
She smiled like she didn't believe him. "That was a strange way to acce
pt my invitation. Some artists I know were here. They saw you and asked if you were the foreigner I'd invited. I had to pretend I didn't know you."
Nathan leaned against the statue. As far as he was concerned, she had no right to be jealous over who he was with. Still, he was hardly unhappy to discover she had these feelings. Even more than the fact that other women found him attractive, he was pleased that she had noticed. But the feeling left as quickly as it had come. He knew it did him no good. "Maybe it was just my way of being with you," he said. "You saw I sent her away."
She looked at him a long time before replying. "Your friend Andrew e-mailed me this morning. From the embassy."
The abrupt mention of Andrew stopped him cold. "What did he want?"
"He asked me about Quan. He said I'd have to provide a statement if they decide to deport him. I told him that I'd be happiest if they found something to put him in jail for."
Nathan didn't want to talk about Quan, but she seemed intent on letting him know about his situation. Or was it her situation she wished to tell him about? "Is that all Andrew wanted?"
"He told me you were in Hanoi. I replied that I didn't know."
"Good idea."
She smiled and looked down at the lawn, where the shadows of people inside the exhibition hall moved back and forth. "I'm glad you're here, Nathan. I'm not sure I realized it until I saw you with that woman." She stopped herself from saying more. He encouraged her, though, and she grabbed his hand. "Is there any reason for you to want me back in your life?"
Feeling his pulse race he said: "Let's walk."
They meandered down the sidewalk, passing people huddled beside buildings, eating and talking. The farther they went, the more comfortable he felt. The giddiness he felt around her was little different than what he'd felt around her in the beginning. Despite the upheaval she'd put him through, being with her felt right.
They crossed the street in front of the Soviet Friendship Palace and soon found themselves at Quan Su Pagoda. A small fire burned in the stone altars on each side of the entrance, their flames reflecting off the pagoda and the tall trees before it. With every lull in traffic, Nathan could hear the remains of spirit offerings crackling in the fire.
"Have you been here before?" Le said.
"No."
"It's been years since I have. When Quan's mother died, I came here with his family to have a send-off ceremony for her soul. I was only a teenager then, but I remember everything. It was spring, raining off and on all day, and I cried because I felt as if I'd lost my own mother. She was nice to me, so generous, and always encouraged me in my painting. She was a good influence on Quan, too, and when she died I was left to watch his life unravel slowly. His father was rarely around, and his older brothers and sisters were too busy with their own lives to pay any attention to him. At that point, I was probably the closest thing to his mother that he had.
"I think that I risked so much to be with him out of respect for his mother. She wanted us to be together. I'm sure she wanted us to marry. And even though he went to America, I'm sure she would have wanted me to join him if I could. But now, if she were alive, I think she'd see that I'm better off without him. What happened between us would have made her sad, but she'd be even sadder about what kind of person Quan has become."
Nathan was satisfied hearing this. But just the sound of Quan's name set him on edge and reminded him yet again of what he'd been through with Le.
"What if he returns?"
"To Hanoi? He won't. This place holds nothing but bad memories for him. He'd end up in Saigon before here. And he'd go to Canada or Australia before that. If he never comes back to Hanoi, I wouldn't be surprised."
"Do you still love him?"
She shook her head and smiled sadly. "His father obviously entertains some distant hope for us, but our fates are decided. I've changed my life. I'm changing it every day. All I want now is to be a painter. Growing up that was all I ever wanted, but somewhere along the way I got pulled in the wrong direction."
"It's hard for me to understand." He saw her confusion, and he couldn't figure out right away what he wanted to say. "I feel like there were a thousand things you didn't tell me back in Saigon. That you could have but chose not to."
"I'll tell you whatever you want to know," she said in a voice he had to lean toward her to hear.
"Your background's still a big mystery to me. You made me think that you only had an uncle, and the stories you told me were convincing. The more I learn about you, the more I feel like you're a stranger to me."
As if ashamed to hear this, Le lowered her eyes to the ash-scattered ground.
He grabbed her hand. Reddish-black lacquer streaked the inside of her slender fingers like dirty wounds.
An old frustration hit him. "Why didn't you trust me with the truth? I was always good to you." He wouldn't be surprised if his words angered her. But the tone she responded in was kind.
"I have no good answer for you, Nathan. I've asked myself this a million times — or you have, in the conversations I often imagined us having — but I've never been able to answer it. And don't think that I'm a stranger to you. You probably know me better than anyone. Tell me what you want to know. I'll answer anything."
He hesitated, trying to sort through all the questions he had. And then his mind drained of thought. He felt like there was a direct channel from his head to his heart, and what had filled the former quickly emptied into the latter. Now his heart felt heavy and his mind seemed to float like an upturned fish inside his head.
"Will you try to leave again?" he said.
"No. Except for things with you, I'm happy where I am."
"Except for things with me . . .," he said. "Or with us?"
"You. Us. In my mind, there's no you without us. Is that wrong of me? Tell me if it is."
A breeze rustled the leaves overhead and blew more ash from the altars onto the ground. Unable to answer her, he watched the grey dust scatter in all directions.
"Do you still love me?" she said.
No, he wanted to say. I've stopped loving you. But forming the words and speaking them convincingly were different. "I don't know. I remember loving you — but now . . ."
"Because I — "
"No, stop," he said. "I don't think we should talk about this right now. It's enough just to talk. And to be here. But not about that."
They stood in the temple courtyard, wrapped in silence.
Spotting a package of discarded incense on the ground, Le bent down and picked it up. She shook out the few sticks inside and, after lighting them in the altar's flame, planted them in a porcelain urn. Smoke wisped upward, perfuming the muggy air.
Nathan watched her close her eyes, her lips trembling in mute prayer. She clapped her hands together, raised and lowered them three times, then opened her eyes again.
They wandered back to the sidewalk.
Le offered him a ride home, but he declined, explaining that he had to retrieve his motorbike from work. His office, on the opposite side of West Lake from where she lived, was too far for her to take him. They stood waiting for a taxi to drive by.
"I'd like to watch you work sometime," he said.
"I'm afraid it won't be exciting."
"All the same, I'd like to watch."
She considered this for a moment. "I'll let you come, but on two conditions."
He couldn't imagine what conditions she'd place on his visiting. He guessed that her conditions would be more like favors, but then felt bad for doubting her. "What are they?"
"Write an article about it. And try to get it published in America." When she saw he didn't understand, she said: "You're a writer, not a businessman. It's obvious you're only doing it because you owe people money. A publication will earn you extra cash, and you'll be using your writing skills, doing something you believe in."
"
It's been a long time since anyone imposed conditions on me."
She smiled. "I start painting at five-thirty."
"That's early. But I'll be there."
"If you bring that girl from tonight I'll lock the gate and not let you in."
"No girl. I promise."
A taxi appeared.
As he got inside, she called out to him. "In the prayer I just made, I apologized to Quan's mother and said that I was done with him forever." When Nathan didn't respond she added: "You and I aren't the same people we were in Saigon, but I'm not a stranger to you, Nathan. Even if you think I am, that's no reason for us to avoid each other, is it?"
Her words surprised him. Hearing her say this made him wonder if they were both hovering at the threshold of an old, proven, deeply felt mistake.
"It probably is," he said. "But that won't stop me coming over."
She stood at the gate as the taxi drove away. The light from the altar fire danced behind her, illuminating her face. Her large eyes were as alluring to him as ever.
Light slanted from the shuttered windows of Anthony's office. Guessing that a janitor was working, or that Anthony had forgotten to turn off the light, he didn't bother checking on it. He started his motorbike and shifted into gear.
He hadn't gone far when he decided to pass by Anthony's house to see if he was up. In a mood to talk, he hoped they could sort out their differences.
He flipped off his headlight and coasted to a stop behind a tree on the edge of Anthony's yard. The croaking of frogs was deafening and, in the thick branches above him, fireflies flashed.
Huong stood on a short stepladder, tying a string of red lanterns to the balcony eaves. Her white pajamas fluttered in the breeze, appearing to pull at her from one side.
Whenever she finished tying one lantern she moved the stepladder forward, climbed it again, and tied the next. When the lanterns hung from one end of the balcony to the other, in a curving line like an eerie red grin, she went inside and got a string of white lights. These she wrapped around the balcony railing. The mid-autumn festival was a week away and many people were decorating their houses.