by Leslie Gould
Chapter 35
Gen held the bottle of Pedialyte. Bao stood between her and the caregiver. “Please tell Lien that I think this will help Mai. She may be getting dehydrated from the diarrhea.” The box of diapers Gen brought the day before were still unopened. “And using the diapers will help keep Mai’s bottom clean and lower the chances of infecting the other babies.”
Boa translated. Lien shook her head. Gen glanced down at Mai in the hammock and then at Lien. The orphanage worker nodded, and Gen pulled Mai into her arms.
“Gen, Jeff.” Maggie came through the door. “How would you like to take Mai with you today?”
“Are you joking?” Gen positioned Mai on her shoulder.
“No. The director said we can take her. The paperwork is supposed to be processed tomorrow.”
Jeff walked behind Gen and gently high-fived Mai’s flailing hand. The baby hiccuped.
“What a relief,” Gen said. “I can give her Pedialyte and put a diaper on her.”
“We should give the director the clothes and supplies you brought now,” Maggie said.
“Can you go get the bags?” Gen asked Jeff. “And the gift bag for the caregiver?” She had brought American cosmetics to show their appreciation.
Minutes later Jeff presented the clothes, school supplies, medical supplies, and soccer balls to the director. A crowd of children gathered, their hands behind their backs, and stared at the donations. If only the people back home who gave the clothes and supplies could see how much it meant to the kids in the orphanage.
Lien came out of the nursery and put out her hands to Mai. Gen passed her the baby, and Lien said a few words in Vietnamese and kissed the little ones forehead. “Cam on” Gen said. “Thank you for taking care of Mai.” Lien nodded and handed the baby back. Gen and Jeff hurried down the stairs with their daughter, trailed by the orphans who followed them out to the van. They would never forget these children.
Gen bumped Mai’s head against the doorframe of the van as she crawled in. “Oops,” she said, suddenly feeling inadequate. She had felt so competent in the orphanage nursery, showing off the Pedialyte and diapers. As they drove away, Gen quickly put a diaper on Mai. “I’m so glad we brought the things for the kids.”
“If they get them,” Maggie said.
“What?”
Maggie shook her head. “I’m tired. Sometimes we see the kids with the things that we bring to them. Sometimes we don’t. They might get one of the balls. The others will probably be sold. One might go to the director’s own children, along with a portion of the clothes and school supplies. You never know.”
Gen shook her head. Was nothing certain here? Not even good deeds? She patted Mai’s back—there were no car seats in Vietnam, no seat belts, no safety measures. The driver stopped at a store for formula and more diapers. Gen had left the big box at the orphanage, hoping Lien would decide to use them. After they left the store, Gen spotted a billboard in a field that read “Vietnam. A Destination for the New Millennium.” Underneath was a lean- to shack made of discarded boards and a blue tarp. Two boys and a little girl played in the dirt. Do they have enough to eat? Do they go to school? Are they healthy?
Gen hugged Mai and then kissed her baby’s head. She breathed deeply, taking in Mai’s musty smell. Gen ran her finger behind Mai’s ears and felt a crusty mess. The baby shampoo, soap, powder, and diaper rash ointment waited back at the hotel. Gen would wash every centimeter of her baby.
“We finally reached the birth mother,” Maggie said at dinner over the racket of Mai’s crying. Gen continued to pat her daughter’s back as she raised her eyebrows. She didn’t know that Maggie had been trying to reach her.
“You need to meet with her before we go back to Saigon.” Maggie took a sip of coffee.
Gen nodded and thought about the locket. She hadn’t forgotten about the meeting, not entirely.
“I’ll take Mai,” Jeff said, reaching for the baby as the waitress brought their food.
“No, you eat first.”
The waitress put Gen’s beef satay and rice in front of her, then clapped her hands at Mai and reached for the baby. Gen glanced at Maggie.
“It’s okay,” Maggie said. “The staff does this all the time.”
“How old?” the waitress asked in English as she bounced Mai.
“Four months,” Gen said.
“She’s so lucky,” the young woman said.
“No, we’re lucky,” Jeff said.
The waitress smiled and clucked her tongue. Mai stopped crying. The waitress walked around the dining room with her, clucking and bouncing. Gen began to eat. A minute later Mai was completely quiet; soon she was asleep in the waitress’s arms.
Gen put down her fork. “Okay, I admit it. I’m no good as a Vietnamese mom.”
Jeff laughed and wiggled his chopsticks. “Well if you’re no good, then I’m a dismal failure.”
Maggie smiled. “It’s like magic, that clucking. You’ll both have to take lessons. Back to the birth mom. We’ve been trying since Monday to contact Mai’s birth family. Bao talked to the grandmother a few times, but she wasn’t any help. Bao went over again today, and finally the birth mom was there.”
“Where has she been?”
“The hospital. Mai’s sister had an appendectomy.”
“Sister?!”
“Yes, she has an older sister.”
“She has a sister older than Binh?” Jeff asked.
Maggie nodded.
“How old?”
“I don’t know, exactly,” Maggie answered. “Maybe around ten.”
“Does she have any other siblings?” Gen asked. Suddenly Gen saw the birth mom as older—late twenties, maybe even thirty.
“I don’t think so.”
“Is the older sister all right?” Jeff placed his chopsticks across his plate.
Maggie nodded. “Bao seemed to think so. He also said that the mom, Lan, had a nasty burn on her hand and that she was limping.”
Gen stared at Maggie, at a loss for words. After a moment she said, “Do you think she needs some help? Could Bao take her some money?”
“Of course not. That could be construed as paying for Mai,” Maggie said as Jeff put his arm around Gen. “Anyway,” Maggie continued, “we have set up a time to see her—tomorrow morning at eleven.”
“Will we take Mai?” Gen turned her head. The waitress stood with the baby at the kitchen door.
“No. We’ll have one of the hotel maids stay with her.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. We’ve done this before when we’ve gotten the child before the visit with the birth mom.”
The waitress brought Mai back to the table. With one hand she pulled out a chair and then pushed another toward it, seat to seat. She deftly laid Mai down on her stomach. Gen stared at her daughter; she wanted to pick her up. “She’s probably grieving.” Maggie patted the baby’s leg.
Gen knew what Maggie was talking about. Babies grieved for the women who cared for them in the orphanage, just as they grieved for their mothers after they were taken to the orphanage. But Gen didn’t want to talk about it. She felt helpless. What could they do but get through it?
“What do you hear from your daughter? The one who is due any day?” Gen pulled a piece of beef off the skewer.
“How did you know my daughter is pregnant?” Maggie cocked her head to the side.
“Robyn told me.”
Maggie laughed. “I haven’t heard from Jennifer in several days. She’s due in two weeks. I did hear from Robyn today, though. In fact I hear from Robyn nearly every day.”
Gen smiled. “What’s the status on their referral?”
“I sent it to her yesterday. It’s a baby boy from the Ho Chi Minh City orphanage. He’s been abandoned. There shouldn’t be any complications. He’s healthy and just three weeks old. They’ll travel next month.”
Gen and Jeff sat at the back table of the small bakery with Maggie. The suitcase and backpack for Binh reste
d against Gen’s chair. “Bao said this is close to her house, within walking distance,” Maggie explained.
Bao waited at the door. Gen felt unsettled. She hated leaving Mai; she wished they’d brought her with them. She felt powerless in all this. And she dreaded the thought of meeting the birth mom. Bao had picked up the completed documents from the Justice Department that morning and brought them to the hotel. Lan’s birth date was listed as 1967. She was only a year younger than Gen. It made Gen feel even sadder. She wasn’t a teenager with a future still ahead of her. Mai’s birth mom was a grown woman, thirty-four years old and desperate.
She read the list of questions on the notepad in front of her for Bao to translate. What do you do for a living? What do you want us to tell Mai? How was Mai’s birth? Are there any family illnesses we should know about? What do you want to know about us? Maggie had said not to ask anything about Mai’s birth father, explaining that such a question would embarrass the mother.
Gen heard the door creak. Bao directed a tiny woman wearing a pale blue blouse and pants and a single braid down her back to their table. She held a conical hat in one hand. Jeff craned his neck. “Binh is out on the sidewalk,” he whispered, “with a girl.”
Gen sat up straight and craned her neck; all she could see was the display of french bread in front of the window.
Maggie stood. Gen and Jeff did too. The birth mother came to just above Gen’s shoulder. Maggie bowed. Relief swept over Gen. Yes, bow. She knew to bow; she’d learned that in the adoption classes. But she suddenly wanted to shake the birth mother’s hand or, worse, hug her. As she lifted her head, Gen saw the birth mom’s right hand, covered with blisters. Gen glanced down at the scar on her own hand where she had burned herself in grade school. Then she looked up into the birth mom’s face, into the frightened image of Binh from the photo, into Mai’s full lips.
“This is Tran Thuy Lan,” Bao said, “Mai’s birth mother.”
Gen bowed again. Bao said something in Vietnamese and then, “Jeff and Gen Taylor.” Gen bowed a third time. How badly did Lan’s hand hurt?
Maggie sat in the chair at the end of the table. Bao and Lan sat in the chairs across from Jeff and Gen. “Ask if she wants some coffee and a roll,” Maggie said to Bao. He translated. Lan peered at Gen with a questioning look and then answered Bao. “She will if we do too,” Bao translated. Maggie stood and headed to the counter.
Sweat beaded around Lan’s brow. The silk of her blouse was frayed across both shoulders. Her dark eyes watered a little as she stared at Gen. Gen smiled. Lan smiled back. Gen felt self-conscious. Suddenly Gen was aware of the jade cross around her neck. Why hadn’t she tucked it into her shirt? Would Lan be uncomfortable with Christians raising her baby? Lan smiled again. Gen remembered the locket and the gold chain. She pulled the box from her pocket and handed it across the table. “Bao, would you tell Lan this is for her. I left the photo of Binh in the locket because I thought she would like it. I didn’t know at the time that she had a child older than Binh.”
Lan opened the box, then the locket, and nodded. “Cam on.” She put it in her lap.
“You’re welcome,” Gen said.
Maggie and the counter girl brought five cups of coffee. A waitress followed with a plate of cream puffs and éclairs. “How is her daughter?” Jeff asked Bao. “The one who had the appendectomy.”
Bao translated. Lan bowed her head as he spoke and nodded to Jeff and Gen, then spoke to Bao. “She is much better, she says. She thanks you for asking,” Bao said slowly.
“How is Binh?” Jeff wrapped his hands around his coffee cup.
“He is fine too,” Bao translated.
Gen remembered the things they brought for Binh and lifted the child’s suitcase and backpack and handed them to Lan. “These are for Binh. Clothes, books, and some toys.” She wished they’d known sooner about the older daughter.
Lan quickly took the small suitcase and backpack from Gen. She put the suitcase on the floor behind her but kept the backpack in her lap and unzipped it. She pulled out the books, the notebook, the box of twenty-four crayons, and the toy set of the family and the car and put each item on the table. Next came the toothbrush and toothpaste, then the one set of clothes Gen had packed all those months ago. Lan unfolded the shorts, the Old Navy T-shirt, and the red underwear. She smiled at Gen. Next she pulled out the box of animal crackers and the Ziploc bag filled with pouches of fruit snacks. Lan bowed her head slightly, then carefully returned all the items to the backpack.
Flustered, Gen read her list of questions again while Bao and Lan spoke. “She says thank you for the things for Binh,” Bao translated.
Lan took a sip of her coffee. Gen picked up a cream puff, hoping Lan would take one too. Lan took another sip of coffee. Gen put the pastry down on a napkin.
“Ask her what she would like us to tell Mai,” Gen blurted out. Her head began to hurt. She hoped the caffeine from the coffee would help. It was strong and bitter. She wanted to add sugar and cream but didn’t see any on the table.
Bao ended up asking all of Gen’s questions and translating the answers back into English. He said that Lan wanted them to tell Mai that she loved her very much and that she wanted a better life for her than she would have in Vietnam.
“Lan would like you to tell Mai that she cannot provide for her,” Bao translated. “Tell her that her mother wouldn’t be able to send her to school or be sure she would have enough to eat.” Bao translated that Lan sold snacks and souvenirs for a living, that she wanted Mai to know that her sister, brother, and grandmother also loved her very much, and that she had an uncle and an aunt.
Gen shot a look at Maggie at the mention of an aunt. Maggie took another sip of coffee. Gen touched the cream puff on the napkin and then drew her hand away. She couldn’t take a bite.
Bao continued. “Lan said that Mai’s birth was easy and that she doesn’t know of any family illnesses.”
No one spoke for a moment. Gen glanced from Jeff to Bao. “Please ask Lan what she would like to know about us.”
Lan wanted to know what Jeff did for a living. Jeff responded that he grew cherries. Lan seemed puzzled as she listened to Bao. “Tell her that we own the land,” Jeff added. Lan smiled and nodded as Bao translated.
“Please tell her that I’m a teacher, but I will take time off from work to be with Mai,” Gen said.
Lan smiled again as Bao spoke in Vietnamese.
“Ask if we can take a photo of her with Gen and Jeff,” Maggie said to Bao.
Bao spoke in Vietnamese. Lan nodded and put the jewelry box on the table. They all stood and moved toward the back wall. Gen felt as if she were floating in a bad dream. How could Lan stand it? How could she bear to give up her child? As much as Gen had wanted Binh, she was relieved that he would stay with Lan. It seemed fair. If she had to give up her baby, at least she could keep her only son.
“Everyone smile,” Maggie said as she pointed the camera.
Gen’s hand brushed against Lan’s good hand. Gen felt fingers wrap around her palm. Tears filled her eyes. She squeezed Lan’s hand. Lan began to cry.
“Smile one more time,” Maggie said. Bao translated. Lan attempted a smile through her tears. “One more picture,” Maggie said as she clicked the camera again.
Gen took a deep breath. Lan let go of her hand and sat back down at the table, lifting Binh’s backpack onto her lap.
The bakery door opened, and a customer walked in. A horn honked outside, then a car skidded, followed by the sound of a crash. “Binh!” a voice shouted. “Binh!”
Lan said something in Vietnamese, jumped to her feet, and grabbed the locket box. The backpack fell to the floor, and she stumbled over the suitcase behind her chair. Bao headed to the door.
Jeff took four giant steps and slipped through the door before Bao. Lan and Gen rushed after the men. The girl pointed across the street at Binh and yelled. The driver of a small Toyota shouted at the boy. The child began to run. The car’s front tires rested on the s
idewalk. A metal cart lay on its side in the middle of the pavement. Baskets and an assortment of vegetables rolled in the street. A man pulled on the cart, trying to right it. Jeff raced across the street, followed by Lan. Binh hurried around the corner and disappeared from sight. Jeff and Lan rushed after him. Bao and Maggie helped the man right his cart. The girl, with one hand held against her stomach, bent to pick up the vegetables.
Gen stooped to help her. “Chao em,” she said.
The girl dipped her head. Her long hair hung loosely over her shoulders.
“My name is Gen.” She pointed to herself with an eggplant.
“My name is Hang,” the girl answered, one syllable at a time in English. “How are you?” She gathered bamboo shoots off the pavement.
“Fine, thank you,” Gen answered, smiled, and turned her head. Jeff walked around the corner, looking like a giant carrying Binh in his arms. Lan walked beside them, her eyes on her son. Was she scolding him? It seemed that way. Traffic began to inch around the stopped car. The owner of the cart waved his hand at the driver, yelled something, and pointed at the dent in his cart. The driver shook his head and pointed at Binh. The boy rode solemnly in Jeff’s arms, ignoring his mother, ignoring the men yelling at each other.
Jeff stopped in front of the group. “Now what?” he said to Maggie.
“Someone has to pay for the damage,” Maggie said.
“The man who owns the cart wants the driver to pay,” Bao explained. “The driver says it was Binh’s fault, that his family should pay.”
“Was it Binh’s fault?” Jeff frowned.
“It seems he ran out into the street in front of the driver,” Bao said. “The car swerved and went up on the sidewalk and knocked the cart over.”
“How much does he want?”
Bao asked the man and then turned again to Jeff. “He says it will cost eight hundred thousand dong for a new cart.”
