by Leslie Gould
She fell into step with Jeff. “What were you feeling when we were in Mr. Trans office?”
“That we needed to get through it. That it was a formality.”
Gen concentrated on each step. “I felt totally helpless.” She increased her speed.
Jeff took two extra long steps and caught up with her. “Did you think he had decided to deny the adoption?”
“No. Well, maybe. I was aware that if he decided not to let us sign, I had no idea what to do next. And all those accusations about us paying for Mai and not wanting to pay for Binh made me wonder how we could prove to him that we hadn’t paid. What would make him believe us if he had already made up his mind?”
“It’s okay, though,” Jeff said. “We signed the papers. He’s approving the adoption.”
“Do you think it was a test? That he wanted to know how sincere we were?” Gen lifted her head. The nearly hundred-foot-high statue of Jesus loomed above them. His eyes, set back in his rectangular face, gazed down at them.
“I don’t know,” Jeff said. “He seemed like a nice enough man, like he was just doing his job.”
“Why does God let these things happen? Why can’t it be easy?” Gen tripped on the next stair, catching herself before she fell.
Jeff put out his hand to steady her. “He wants us to trust him. This is how we learn. We’re going to have to trust him with Mai for the rest of our lives. We had better start trusting now.”
They kept walking. Sweat soaked through Jeff’s T-shirt. His hair curled tightly around his baseball hat. Gen fell behind him a few steps. She had trusted God to take care of her mother, and look what had happened.
At the feet of Jesus was a garden of containers filled with roses. Red lettering covered several of the white pots. “Look,” Gen said. “Portland, Oregon, USA.” Vietnamese words preceded the Portland inscription. “Do you think they were donated by people back home?”
“Maybe from the Vietnamese church close to your dad’s,” Jeff answered. “Maybe they send money to take care of the gardens.”
They walked around to the back of the hollow statue and started up the narrow stairs. “You’ll never fit,” a woman said to Jeff in perfect English. She laughed as they passed her on the stairwell. They popped back into the daylight through the small opening on top of one arm. Before them spread all of Vung Tau—the tall buildings, the red rooftops, the shacks, the ocean and inlets, the hilltops to the east, the rice fields, the shrimp ponds.
Sadness hung heavy as Gen took in the panoramic view; this was where Mai had been born. Someday it would be as foreign to her as it was to Gen. Had Mom ever come to Vung Tau? Perhaps for a vacation? Maybe with her friend Kim? Maybe not. She ached for her mother, longed to know her stories, longed for her advice.
“Let’s go over to the other arm and see what the view is like from there.” Jeff caught her hand. They crawled back into the stairwell and made their way through the narrow opening to the other side. A woman gazed out at the South China Sea. Beside her, on the enclosed shelf, a little boy slept.
Chapter 34
I think Hang has the flu,” Lan said to Older Sister. “She’s vomited four times today.” Lan handed her oldest child a cup of water. Mother stirred in the hammock in the corner.
Hang sat up. “It hurts worse,” she said to her mother. “My stomach really hurts.”
Older Sister stepped back. “It’s probably a bug. She’ll be better soon. I swear, half the time I’m sick as a dog by the time I leave Vietnam. I’m always picking up something here.”
Lan headed back to the yard and knelt by the stove to stir the chicken broth. Hang hadn’t had anything to eat all day, only a little water. Binh picked up a small limb that had fallen into the yard from the neighbor’s catalpa tree. “Put the stick down,” Lan said, taking the lid off the pot.
“I’d better go,” Older Sister said. “I’ll stop by tomorrow morning before I head to Saigon. I may be there a week or two. If I can, I’ll come back before I leave for the U.S.”
Lan hugged Cam My. “Let Mother sleep. I’ll tell her you’ll be by tomorrow.”
Older Sister turned and headed toward the road.
“Mama!” Hang called out. Lan turned and hurried to her.
“It hurts here.” She pointed to her abdomen. Lan felt her forehead. It was hot, very hot, as hot as any of her children had ever been.
“Hush,” she said. “Try to rest.” She stroked her daughters hair, guiding it away from her sweaty forehead.
“It really hurts,” she said. It wasn’t like Hang to exaggerate.
Lan felt her daughter’s belly. “Here?” she asked. Hang nodded, unresponsive as Lan pushed inward. When she stopped pushing and removed her hand, Hang let out a cry.
Lan stood. “Mother, could you wake up?”
Binh poked his head in the door, waving the stick.
“Put the stick down, Binh.” Lan turned back toward the hammock. “Mother! I need your help.”
“What is it?”
“Hang is sick. Her stomach hurts. She’s running a fever.”
Mother rolled over and slowly eased her legs off the hammock. She shuffled over to the mat and squatted down on the other side of Hang. “Might be what one of the Nguyen girls had. Do you remember? Back at our old place. Appendicitis. They said if her father hadn’t gotten her to the hospital she would have died.”
Lan felt Hang’s forehead again.
“You’d better take her to the hospital. Just in case,” Mother said, crouching by the altar.
“I’ll see if Truc is home, if I can borrow her scooter.” Why hadn’t she asked Older Sister to wait? Binh swung at the empty water bucket in the yard and missed. Lan bent, intending to take the boiling pot of broth off the flame. When Binh swung at the water bucket again, the stick flew from his hand and hit the pot, knocking it off the stove. The broth flooded onto Lan’s right hand and splashed onto her legs and then her foot as she fell backward.
“Binh!” she yelled, using her left hand to push herself to her knees, away from the steaming soup that covered the powdery dirt. “Binh! Why did you do that?” Her rage grew as the pain seared through her. Her legs felt warm, but they didn’t burn like her hand and foot. She rose to her feet and staggered to the spigot. She turned the handle and thrust her hand under the cold water.
“I’m sorry,” Binh whimpered, standing beside her.
“Go get Grandmother!” Lan yelled. “Go!” First Hang, now this!
“Spread your hand out.” Mother hurried through the doorway. “Don’t let your fingers stick together.”
“Go get some ice,” Lan begged her Mother. “Please hurry. Take Binh with you.” The skin on her fingers and hand looked like melted plastic. She put her foot under the faucet. Nausea swept over her. She felt faint. She thrust her hand back under the water.
“Mama!” It was Hang.
“Just a minute,” she called out. “I’ll get you to the hospital as soon as I can.” The ice would help or at least make the pain tolerable. Her foot hurt, but she could stand it. It was her hand that made the world spin.
“Mama.”
She turned toward the doorway. Hang half stood, bent over like an old woman. She staggered out into the yard. Lan heard a scooter. She turned off the spigot and hurried to the road. “Truc,” she called out, waving her good hand at her friend. “Can you take us to the hospital?”
Truc stopped and gasped at the sight of Lan’s hand. “What happened?”
“Not me. It’s Hang. I think she has appendicitis.”
“Come on,” Truc said.
“Hang,” Lan called. The world started to spin again. Lan sat down. “I need ice.”
“Come on!” Truc called out to Hang, who sat against the shack. “Let’s get you to the hospital. We’ll get ice down at the corner.”
Lan sat with her hand in the bag of melting ice; the water dripped on her leg. Hang lay on two chairs. The doctor walked into the room. “Where’s the girl with the possible appendicit
is?”
“Over here,” Lan said.
“Follow me.”
Lan helped Hang off the chairs with her left hand. The doctor walked ahead of them. They made their way into a small room with a metal table. The doctor felt Hang’s stomach and then pressed. Hang gasped as the doctor let go. “A classic sign,” he said. “I’ll order a blood test and let the surgeon know.”
He turned to Lan. “Let me see your hand.” She pulled it from the bag of ice. The doctor examined each finger and turned it over. “You have second degree burns. Don’t pop the blisters when they form, or they will become infected. Keep it clean.”
“Thank you.” Lan bowed her head. “I can’t pay until morning. My sister will come then.” She hoped Older Sister would come to the hospital. Surely Mother would send her to help in the morning. She thought of Mother coming back with the ice and finding them gone. At least Mother had taken Binh with her. Now she regretted being so angry with him. Still, if he hadn’t disobeyed her, she wouldn’t be injured.
The nurse drew Hang’s blood. “Could I have more ice?” Lan held up the bag of water. The nurse returned twenty minutes later with a paper cup of ice. Lan poured the warm water down the drain in the corner of the room and dumped the ice into the bag. She held it against her hand; still, the heat seeped deeper and deeper into her fingers and hand until it felt as if it reached her bones.
Hang dozed on the table, moaning every couple of minutes. Lan kissed her forehead. My angel. Finally another doctor came into the room. “I’m the surgeon,” he said. “It is appendicitis and quite advanced, I’m afraid. We need to operate immediately.”
Lan stood at the open window. Car c’est à toi qu’appartiennent le règne, la puissance et la gloire, pour les siècles des siècles. For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory for ever and ever, she prayed into the dark night. Please don’t let her die. She couldn’t bear life without Hang.
The nuns had told her that God would never give her more than she could bear. She’d borne enough. Chinh had told her that God would never leave her. She hadn’t felt God for years.
Her hand throbbed, her toes and feet, too. She pulled up her left pant leg; red blotches covered her skin, matching the anguish inside her soul. The ice in the bag had melted again. She was thirsty. She drank the warm water, spilling some of it on her shirt, and then sat on the metal chair, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes. What would make life bearable? To have Hang be well. To have Binh behave. To have Older Sister stay in Vietnam. To not have to worry about money What would make her happy? To keep Mai. To have Quan act like a brother. To have Chinh come back and take care of her. She squeezed her eyes tight. What would Chinh think of her? She took a deep breath. What did it matter what he might think? He’d left her to fend for herself. She’d done the best she could, shameful as it was.
Why was she thinking about Chinh, anyway? Older Sister was right. He was dead. All these years he’d been dead. He would never come back. It was her dream in times of trouble, extreme trouble. Be strong, Lan, she said to herself. Take care of Mother and your children. Do what you have to do. Her stomach hurt as if a sore oozed deep inside. She hadn’t eaten in nearly a day.
What would bring her peace? She walked to the window. A sliver of the moon drifted among the stars.
Lan opened her eyes as the surgeon walked toward her. “She’s out of the operating room. We caught it just in time, before it ruptured, but it was septic. The lining of her abdomen is infected, and she needs to be on antibiotics.”
Relief flooded Lan. “May I see her?”
The surgeon nodded. Lan followed him down the hall to the recovery room. Hang lay on a gurney with her eyes closed.
A nurse sat down, her gaze falling on Lan’s hand. “You’d better watch out,” she said. “You may get an infection in here.”
Lan hid her hand behind her back. “How is Hang?”
“She’ll be fine. It will take her two or three weeks to get back to normal, but she will. Twelve is a good age to have an appendix out.”
Hang opened her eyes and then closed them again. Lan reached out and stroked her daughter’s forehead, then ran her fingers through Hang’s tangled hair. Her heart hurt. Her love for Hang filled the room, pushed against the cracked walls, pounded against the door. Notre Père, merci. She felt a sliver of peace in her soul.
“Lan.” Older Sister rushed into the room. “How is she?”
Lan raised her head. She had pushed her chair against the end of the gurney and used it as a pillow. “The doctor and nurse both said she will be okay. They said it will take a couple of weeks but that she’ll soon be back to normal.” She needed to ask about the money. She glanced at Hang, who slept peacefully.
“Thank goodness,” Cam My said. She searched the room. “Where’s Binh?”
Lan sat up straight. “He’s with Mother.”
“Mother said he was with you.”
“I told Mother to take him with her to get ice.”
“She said he stayed with you and then went to the hospital when you took Hang.” Cam My ran her fingers through her hair, leaving her hand on top of her head.
“No!” Lan jumped to her feet. Her stomach lurched, and then the pain settled back into the usual spot. Her hand was red and swollen, topped by ugly masses of mangled, blistered skin. Pain shot through her foot and toes.
“Your hand is horrible,” Older Sister said.
“Never mind about my hand. Binh is supposed to be with Mother.”
“He’s not.” Older Sister clutched her black leather purse against her abdomen.
Lan took two steps and vomited into the plastic wastebasket by the door. She raised her head and then quickly lowered it. She vomited again. She wiped her mouth. This is more than I can bear. “I’ve got to go find him. Do you have money for a taxi?”
Older Sister dug in her purse. “Did anyone examine your hand?”
Lan nodded.
“I need to go to Saigon today.” Older Sister handed her a few bills. “I have to meet with the American INS tomorrow.”
Lan nodded. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She hurried out the door, realizing she hadn’t asked Sister to pay the doctor’s fee. The nurse would bring it up with Cam My. Surely she had the money.
Had Binh run off on purpose? Had she scared him with her anger? He must be hiding at Truc’s; that was surely where he had gone.
He hadn’t gone to Truc’s or to any of the other neighbors. Mother sat down in the yard as Lan leaned against the shack.
“Think like Binh,” Lan said. “Where would you go?”
“The orphanage,” Mother said.
“He would never go to the orphanage.”
“The Justice Department.” Mother’s eyes searched Lan’s face.
Lan shook her head.
“The market?”
“Maybe.” Yes, he’d gone there before on his own. She limped toward the street, calling over her shoulder, “Stay here in case he comes back.”
Where had he slept last night? Had he found anything to eat? She reached the fruit stall and called out to Mrs. Le, “Have you seen Binh?” Lan gasped for breath.
“I thought he was at the orphanage.”
Lan shook her head.
“Lan, you look horrible.”
“I need to find Binh.” She turned and headed toward the Justice Department. She would ask Older Brother for help. She would beg him. She should have asked Mrs. Le for a handful of grapes, for anything to eat. It was too late now, and she didn’t have the energy to turn back. She could feel the heat of the sun on her hand. The plastic of her flip-flop rubbed against the burns on her foot.
She turned the corner toward the Justice Building, glancing from one side of the street to the other, scanning the shops and doorways. A small figure caught her attention under the window of the bookstore. She quickened her step, forgetting her pain. It was Binh. She began to run.
He was asleep with his head resting on his folded hands. Dried tears st
reaked his dirty face. A red burn marked his leg. She hadn’t realized the soup had splattered his leg too. She bent down and scooped him. up. A businessman walked around them. Binh opened his eyes. “Mama?” he said and wrapped his arms around her neck. He smelled of urine; she pulled him to her.
“I paid the doctor,” Older Sister said.
Lan nodded. “Thank you.”
“I have to go.” She pressed a wad of currency into Lan’s hand. “Get something to eat. Buy Hang’s medicine. I’d give you more, but I’m almost out of money. I’ll be staying in downtown Saigon. The INS wants to keep tabs on me.”
Lan began to cry. What would she have done these last two weeks without Older Sister?
Cam My glanced at Binh, who sat in the chair staring at Hang, and then looked at Lan. “Come out in the hall a minute.”
Lan followed her out.
“Little Sister, please hear me. Consider taking Binh back to the orphanage before it’s too late. If he were six or seven, able to go to school, I’d say keep him with you. But he’s four and full of energy. Mother is no help to you, not the way she was when Hang was young. If Hang were sixteen or seventeen, I’d say keep Binh. Hang could work, and you could care for Binh. But Hang is twelve. Lan, you can’t keep this up. You can’t take care of Mother and Binh. Do it for Binh. Think of the life he can have in America. What will he have here?”
The hall began to spin. Lan reached out with her good hand, pressing it against the wall.
“And now you’re injured and sick. Did you know there was blood in your vomit this morning? The nurse pointed it out when she emptied the trash. You probably have a bleeding ulcer. Hang needs you, and you need to get her raised, not kill yourself trying to do everything. If I could help you, I would. You know that. But I’m in trouble.”
Lan slid down the wall to the linoleum floor.
“I’m sorry,” Older Sister said. Tears filled her eyes.
She’s right. This is more than I can handle. Cam My sat beside her and put her arm around Lan. After a minute she took a cigarette from her purse and lit it. Binh walked out of Hang’s room and climbed onto Lan’s lap.
