by Leslie Gould
Mother coughed.
“Why didn’t you buy medicine with the money?” Lan pushed the hammock again, this time gently.
“Look at Binh. He’s so happy. And it’s keeping him quiet so I can sleep.” Mother pulled the thin, faded red blanket over her head.
“Mama.” Binh took her hand, the Coca-Cola bottle tightly clutched in his other hand. “I feel better.”
“Good, Binh.” She felt his forehead.
“My ears don’t hurt. All better.” He smiled his impish grin.,
Lan bent down and picked up her son and held him tightly. “Oh, Binh, what are we going to do?”
“Let’s eat dinner.” He smiled and then laughed as if he’d told the best joke ever.
“I love you, little one.” Lan squeezed her son and then slid him down her torso to the floor. She remembered how she used to play with Hang. She would tickle her and chase her around the yard. They would play hide-and-seek in the shack after the sun had set, before bedtime. That was when she felt young and still hopeful that Chinh would send for her, hopeful that life would soon get better. “Let’s go find some morning glories to go with the rice,” Lan said to her son.
Binh shook his head. “No, no. I’ll drink Coca-Cola and eat the sweet orange rice.”
“No, no.” Irritation filled Lan’s voice. “You’ll eat what Mama tells you.”
Chapter 25
Gen sat at her desk and looked around her classroom, at the alphabet above the chalkboard, the bulletin board with I Love to Read in neon green letters, and the colorful flock of origami cranes suspended from the ceiling. The sweaty smell of the students hung in the air, and the janitors broom made a swishing noise over the linoleum in the hall.
She glanced back down at the last week of April in her lesson-plan book. Maggie had phoned early that morning to say they would fly out in two days and be gone for just over two weeks.
Although Gen would take off the rest of the year and half of next year, she planned to bring Mai in for the children to see the last week of school. She smiled as she thought of their excitement. The pain of losing Binh was starting to ease. Throughout the day, she thought of him with his mother. What four-year-old child would choose enough food and an education over his mother?
Tomorrow she planned to read a book about international adoption to her students and show them photos from Vietnam. She knew they’d especially like the photo of the little boy riding a water buffalo.
She heard a rapping on the window and peered through the glass. It was Jeff.
“Your cell phone was off,” he said as Gen swung open the outside door. He pulled her to him. He wore his brown corduroy jacket with the fuzzy collar. Gen smelled the orchard on his neck. “Maggie called.”
Maggie called. She hated those words. She studied Jeff’s face. He cleared his throat. “We can’t travel this week. It may be a few weeks.”
“What happened now?”
“The Vietnamese national paper ran a series of articles, and the last one was just published. The Vung Tau People’s Committee wants to suspend adoptions until they can do an investigation.”
Gen’s eyes filled with tears. Not another setback.
“Its going to be okay.” Jeff squeezed Gen’s shoulder.
“First Binh and now this.”
“Maggie said this sort of thing happens frequently. She said that adoptions in the whole country should be shut down and reorganized like China’s into a national program instead of each province having its own rules.”
“Not shut down! Not now.”
“Not now. But sometime.”
“How long does she think it will be?”
“Two weeks.” Jeff said. Mai will be in the orphanage for two more weeks. We’ll be without our baby. Shell be without her mama and daddy. “Maggie said that she would e-mail us a new photo of Mai tomorrow,” Jeff added.
Gen barely listened. Mai was already more than two months old. She would be over three months by the time they got there. God, why can’t we travel now? I don’t want our baby to grow up in an orphanage. I want her to grow up with us.
“We need to pray we’ll travel soon,” Jeff said. “We’ll be up against harvest if this goes on much longer.”
Gen opened the back door to the house. She slid her backpack over her shoulder and down to the floor as she headed into the office. She had to see if the photo had come by e-mail. Gen clicked on AOL; there was an e-mail from Maggie. With a double click, words filled the screen. Gen ignored the message and opened the attachment. Her heart swelled. There was her sweet baby. She’d grown so much. Her brown eyes were wide open, her eyebrows raised, her full lips parted slightly as if contemplating a smile. Her little nose barely existed. Gen’s hand went to her own large nose. She chuckled. Oh, baby. If nothing else, you’ll know you were adopted because of that sweet little nose. Mai lay on an orange woven mat, and she wore a white T-shirt. There were a few red marks on her chin.
Gen hit Print and closed the attachment. The message popped back up on the screen.
Dear Gen and Jeff,
I talked to Vietnam today. I have more information about what’s going on. A series of articles in which the author seems to have distorted the information has caused concern among Vietnamese and American officials. There’s talk of a moratorium on adoptions by August. This will not affect you in any way. However, we are not having families travel at this time. We plan to have you travel in two weeks. I was assured by my contact in Vietnam that all of Mai’s paperwork is complete. Call me or e-mail me back if you have any questions. I’ll let you know as soon as I know anything more definite. Keep your chins up.
Maggie
“The Vietnamese adoption chat rooms are buzzing about the articles,” Robyn said over the phone. “I’ll forward them to you.” Gen was sure Robyn spent hours each day on the Internet, finding out everything she could about Vietnam and adoptions.
Gen read the articles to Jeff before they went to sleep. The writer talked of foreigners “hunting” babies and offering money to mothers before their babies were born. He said that foreigners adopted Vietnamese children as tax breaks and because they were lonely. He wrote that babies were put in feeding centers to fatten them up before foreigners would take them. He spoke of avoiding “the separation of blood relations.” He also claimed that a Vietnamese official said that twenty percent of the adopted children don’t integrate into a foreign living situation. “No one cares about how these children live abroad,” he wrote.
A rebuttal by a U.S. official in Vietnam followed. He wrote that the Vietnamese official clarified that he had said, “Eighty percent of adoptions go smoothly” not that “twenty percent of children don’t integrate,” but the U.S. official admitted that baby buying did exist in Vietnam.
“What have we gotten into?” Gen dropped the stack of papers to the floor on her side of the bed.
Jeff shook his head.
“What do we do?”
“Trust God that he will work this out,” he said.
In the night Gen woke with the image of Mai floating in her head, the near smile, the shock of dark hair, the tiny nose. I want to trust you, Lord, Gen prayed. Show me how to trust.
Gen didn’t realize she wasn’t singing until the song was over and Jeff closed the hymnbook. The congregation sat.
“What’s on your heart today?” the pastor boomed from the pulpit. Gen glanced up, startled. Was he talking to her? She smiled, realizing that it was the introduction to his sermon.
He read the scripture: “ ‘You have been given fullness in Christ, who is the head over every power and authority.’ Colossians 2:10.” Over every power and authority? Even officials in foreign countries?
Her mind wandered again to the articles and the investigation, Mai in the orphanage, Binh and his mother. She thought of her own mother and her love for the people of Vietnam, of Kim and the nameless girl in Vietnam she’d prayed for all those years ago. The girl would be in her thirties now.
A half hou
r later she realized the pastor was reading prayer requests. That meant the service was almost over. “We have time for sharing,” the pastor said.
Jeff stood. “I’d like to ask you to pray for our daughter, Mai, who is in an orphanage in Vietnam. Gen and I are adopting her. We thought we would be there today, but our travel has been delayed. Please pray that God would keep our baby safe, that we would travel soon, and that God would use us during our time in Vietnam.”
Jeff sat down. Gen took his hand. Several people prayed.
“What can we do to help, besides pray?” The man sitting behind Gen put his hand on her shoulder after the last song ended. His daughter was in their Sunday school class.
“We’d like to do something,” his wife said. “Do you need anything for the baby?”
“No, we have what we need,” Gen answered.
“How about for the other children in the orphanage?” the woman asked. “The church members could donate things for you to take over.”
Gen looked at Jeff. She thought of Robyn and Sean’s first referral who would grow up in the orphanage. “I think that’s a great idea,” Gen said. “We’ll ask our adoption contact, just to make sure.”
“Sure,” Maggie responded. “Clothes, shoes, art supplies, soccer balls. Medical supplies. Money. Any of that would be appreciated.” By the end of the week there were boxes at their church, her father’s church in Portland, and the school. Gen stood in the hall outside her classroom. The children and teachers had brought coloring books, crayons, sandals, shorts, pajamas, T-shirts, and Matchbox cars. It was Friday afternoon. She was anxious to get home and see if Maggie had left an e-mail or a voice mail.
Her cell phone began to ring. Maybe it was Maggie saying they would travel by the end of the week. It was Jeff. “Maggie called. It’s gotten worse. The Justice Department of Vung Tau has called for a police investigation. All adoptions are on hold until it’s finished.”
Chapter 26
Lan carried her baskets along the sidewalk, swinging her yoke to fit through the crowd. It was near sunset, and she had bean curd and a squash to go with rice for dinner. She turned at the Justice Department and headed east; across the street a small black car pulled to a stop. A man climbed out and faced her for a second. Jet black hair. Square face. Around forty-five. Older Brother?
He turned toward the driver. Lan froze, willing the man to turn toward her again. He did. He wore a light green shirt, black trousers, and polished shoes. The man closed the car door and headed toward the outside stairwell of the Justice Department. Lan watched his dark head bob up a few steps and then disappear.
She crossed the street and waited by a street barber on the sidewalk; she toyed with the idea of climbing the stairs to the Justice Department but decided against it. Maybe it isn’t Older Brother. The day darkened. Mother and the children would be hungry, impatient for their dinner. She stood and lifted her yoke onto her shoulders. It wasn’t Older Brother. She couldn’t trust her eyes—or her memory. Footsteps started down the stairs; a man’s head appeared in the shadows and then his face.
“Quan?” she said.
The man stopped and tilted his head.
Lan pushed her hat back from her face.
“Little Sister?” he said.
“Yes, I’m Lan.” Her heart raced as she said it.
“How are you?” he said.
She bowed, swinging the baskets, forcing the yoke onto the base of her neck. There was a long silence. “Are you down from Hanoi on business?” Lan stood straight again.
“I’ve been working here,” he said. “For a few weeks. I’ve been transferred to the Justice Department of Vung Tau.” He clasped his hands behind his back.
“Have you been well?” Lan tipped her head to the side and peered at Older Brother from under the brim of her hat.
“Yes, yes. And you? Did you recover from the land-mine incident?”
“Yes. Thank you for your help all those years ago.” How long ago had it been? Twenty years?
“How is Mother? Is she still alive?”
Lan nodded. “She is sick but living.”
“Good, good,” Quan said. “Have her call on me here sometime.”
Lan watched him go. Her face burned. Sweat trickled from the base of her skull, under her braid, down her back. The state is more important than family, play, religion, and traditions. Lan remembered those words from school all those years. More important than family. She would not tell Mother that she had seen Quan. It would only make her hope that he would help.
“You had a male visitor,” the neighbor said the next evening when Lan returned home.
She raised her eyebrows. Not Cuong. “Where is Mother?” she asked.
“She took the little one and left with the man.”
Lan quickly put her baskets in the shack and headed down the road, her knees shaking as she walked. Where is Binh? Where is Mother? She heard Hang and a friend laughing.
“Daughter,” she called out. “Where is Binh? Where is your grandmother?”
Hang shook her head. “They were gone when I got back from school.” Lan headed back toward her home. A black car came toward her. Older Brother. She shielded her eyes against the setting sun. The car stopped, and the door opened. Binh ran toward her, and Lan scooped him up. His breath smelled of fish sauce. Mother slowly crawled out of the backseat.
“Where have you been?” Lan demanded.
“With me,” Quan said as he unfolded his body from the car. “Why didn’t you tell Mother you saw me last night?”
Mother smiled across the table at Lan. A waitress stood behind her. Lan listened as Older Brother ordered for all of them, pots of seafood and vegetables. Lan had walked by the restaurant many times, but she had never dreamed of eating in it. Older Brother ordered tea for the grownups and watermelon drinks for the children.
“How is school?” Older Brother asked Hang.
“Good, Uncle,” she said. Lan knew her daughter was pleased to have suddenly acquired an uncle, a real uncle.
“How about you?” Older Brother asked Binh. “When do you start school?”
Binh tapped his chopsticks on the table, beating out a rhythm.
Lan took the sticks from her son. “Answer the question, Binh.” Why was Older Brother so distant last night and now so friendly?
“Next year!” Binh exclaimed. Lan felt her stomach tighten. How could she afford to send him?
“Good,” Quan said.
He wants something. Older Brother is after something What could it he? The waitress brought a stack of bowls and spoons and a warmer full of rice. The boiling pots of seafood, simmering with vegetables, followed.
“Eat,” Mother whispered to Lan. “Eat all you can.” Eat to make up for the last twenty-five years? It would take the rest of her life.
Two days later Lan worked the fruit stall at the market. Her eyes grew heavy as she sat in the shade of the canopy that covered the stall. Business was light. Most people were home napping.
“Mother said I would find you here.” Lan’s eyes crept open. Older Brother stood in front of her, holding a large brown envelope in his hand. “I came across your name in the files at the Justice Department. Could I ask you some questions?”
He knows he can ask me whatever he wants. Lan sat up straight and slipped her feet back into her flip-flops. She nodded, preparing herself to give him safe answers, answers that wouldn’t bring harm to her or Mother or her children.
“I was surprised to see that you relinquished a child for adoption.”
Lan nodded again.
“Why?”
“I can’t raise another child. I wouldn’t be able to give her enough to eat. To send her to school.” I spend most of my money on medicine for Mother, with no help from anyone, especially not you.
“You’ve had three children now without the benefit of marriage?” He posed it as a question.
“I was married,” Lan said.
Older Brother raised his eyebrows. “What happened?
”
“He—” Lan paused. A fly flew under the brim of her hat. She brushed it away.
“Go on.”
“Disappeared,” she said.
“When?”
“Years ago.” So many years ago. She was old now, so far from being the twenty-year-old girl in love with her husband.
“Before the last two children?”
Lan nodded. An older boy ran by the fruit stand, kicking a rock.
“Who asked you to give up your baby?”
“No one.” Lan took a deep breath. Dare she tell him she gave up Binh, too, only to take him back? “I took her to the orphanage.”
“How much money did they pay you?” Older Brother tucked the brown envelope under his arm and clasped his hands behind his back.
Lan felt confused. “For the baby?”
He nodded.
“Nothing.” Why is he asking these questions?
“Then why did you take Binh back? Did they refuse to give you money for him? Since Americans want babies, not four-year-old little boys.” The intensity of Older Brother’s voice startled Lan.
“No. No, that wasn’t it at all.” Of course he knew shed originally given up Binh, too. He’d seen the paperwork. “I took Binh back because he was so homesick. Because he begged me to take him home.”
“Have you been able to feed him since you brought him home from the orphanage?” Quan asked.
“Barely.” She glanced up at Older Brother and then down at the ground. After dinner the other night she had been thinking about him nonstop. Perhaps he would help them now. Pay for Hang’s schooling. Bring a big bag of rice to the shack now and then. Buy medicine for Mother, maybe even take Mother to his home. Maybe he would take all of them.
“So you really didn’t need to take him to the orphanage after all?” Older Brother stood tall and towered over Lan.
She didn’t answer. He had no idea what it was like to worry every day if there would be enough money to buy food, to count the days since they’d had more to eat with their rice than morning glory, sweet potato leaves, and smelly fish. Sweat trickled down her back. She shifted in the plastic chair.
