Beauty Rising

by Mark W. Sasse

  “I’m sorry,” I trembled, my voice shaken, weak and raspy. “She is dead.”

  Long’s face became stern and mournful. He glanced at Pastor Nong and dreaded being the messenger. His head fell toward the floor, and without looking at all at the expectant pastor, he mumbled some soft subtle words – easily spoken to help dampen the blow. But soft words can usher a blow of brute force. Pastor Nong, raised his hands to the sky, then fell to the floor, face tucked in the bamboo, and wept. I sat stunned, and my stomach felt upset. I breathed heavily looking at the love of a father being poured out from the very depths of his being. After a minute, Pastor Nong lifted his head and whispered something to Long.

  “He wants to know what happened to her.”

  What could I say? I looked at Long.

  “She told me about the day that Pastor Nong was arrested. And she told me how she went to the authorities and asked about you, but they informed her that her parents were dead. After that, she ran away and never came back.”

  Long relayed everything, and Pastor Nong got very animated.

  “Pastor Nong said that his wife did die in prison, but that he was released about one year ago and then came to pastor this small church in the village. He wants to know everything that happened to her.”

  We spent the next two hours translating the story of My Phuong’s last four years. I was careful not to say anything about the ordeals that My Phuong endured in Thai Nguyen. I told them that she went to school and won a scholarship to come to America. They seemed to believe it. But when it came to her death, I couldn’t tell them the truth. I couldn’t bear to tell them the absolute truth. So I told them that we had married which was true. I had the marriage certificate and a wedding band to prove it. But I told them that shortly after our wedding that she was involved in a terrible traffic accident and lost her life.

  Pastor Nong had been holding both of my hands during the whole story.

  “I have something for you,” I said directly to Pastor Nong.

  I removed my hands from Pastor Nong’s gentle clasp, reached into my shoulder bag and pulled out the large Rubbermaid container with duct tape all around it. I pulled off the tape and then opened it up. In one of life’s more uncouth moments, I turned around to try and shield what I was doing and then pulled dad’s Ziploc off the top and placed it in a handkerchief and slipped it quickly back into my bag. I just kind of smiled at them without any explanation. I put the lid back on and turned around and handed it to Pastor Nong.

  “These are My Phuong’s ashes. I thought you would want them.”

  Pastor Nong held the container in his hand and just looked at it for a few moments. Finally, he placed them on the floor and came over and hugged me many, many times. Long kept saying “thank you, thank you” over and over again.

  “He says you will stay. You must stay for as long as you like. You are part of our family. Will you stay?”

  “Okay,” I said. “I can stay for a night.”

  “Yes, you will stay.”

  That evening, the whole village showed up at the church for prayer meeting. They all had heard the fantastic story about the strange American who had married Pastor Nong’s long lost daughter. They also planned a memorial service to bury My Phuong. They sang many hymns and Long did his best to translate what he could. After the singing, Pastor Nong stood up and gave an impassioned talk about God’s plans. He told all about how My Phuong had finally come home and that now she is in a better place. I hoped he was right. She deserved to be someplace better, but the whole service left me feeling sad. I just missed her.

  After the service, we walked up through the hills for about ten minutes and came upon a small graveyard of stone crosses. They dug a hole and then Pastor Nong gave another thirty minute talk about the afterlife. When he finished, he asked me to come forward which I did with much uneasiness.

  “He said that he wants his son to put the ashes in the hole.”

  I looked at him blankly.

  “You. He considers you his son.”

  With a heavy heart and tears in my eyes, I took the Rubbermaid container from Pastor Nong, praying beyond all hope that I wouldn’t do anything clumsy with it. I opened it up, leaned over and perfectly dumped the ashes in the hole.

  “Goodbye my sweet My Phuong,” I whispered.

  After they finished the burial and placed another cross in the ground, we walked back to the village where they gave me a feast and treated me like royalty. I felt very undeserving. Pastor Nong seemed so happy to have closure in his life, and I only wondered what closure might feel like. Around eleven at night after we had exhausted all food and talk, I lay down on a mat on the bamboo floor of Pastor Nong’s house and finally nodded off.

  Right around daybreak, I decided it was time to try and get it right, one last time. I took the handkerchief which held dad’s last remains and went off over the hill looking for an appropriate spot. I walked and walked thinking about the first time I had tried to find a final resting place for dad. After about thirty minutes of wandering back and forth, I came upon a large rock jutting out of the ground. Just below the rock was a banana tree grove which immediately grabbed my attention. I ran down through the grove and within seconds I saw a large lake just one hundred or so meters away.

  “Dad, I made it.”

  I ran back up through the low lying banana branches and stood below the large rock imagining the beautiful girl, sitting on the rock smiling at my dad, but the only girl I could see on that rock was My Phuong. I saw her long black hair, her piercing black eyes and her clear, clean complexion. I saw the white edges of her ao dai shift in the wind. She waved at me and smiled, and I walked towards her just staring into her eyes. I stood at the base of the rock where my dad had his girl, and I now had mine. I opened up the Ziploc and dumped the ashes. A gust of wind whipped through the trees and the ashes spread evenly along the ground like a dusting of snow.

  “I did it Dad, I did it,” I said as I sat down with my back against that rock. “I love you both.”

  I leaned my head back and cried. It was, I guess, a cry of relief more than anything. A cry of cleansing. I had nothing more to contemplate, nothing more to wrestle with, nothing more to do. The past evaporated before my eyes, and I sat as an empty vessel waiting for the sea to take me where it would. Before I knew it, I had nodded off in exhaustion.

  About two hours later, a small boy and girl stood over me excitedly poking my arms trying to wake me. They talked furiously and pointed back up over the hill. They tugged on my arm, and I willingly followed. Within minutes we were back in the village, and it seemed like everyone in the whole valley stood gossiping away about the AWOL red-headed giant. They smiled and cheered when I came down the hill, and some of them even started clapping. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what all the fuss was about. Long greeted me as I entered into the circle surrounded by my adoring fans.

  “So happy to see you, Mr. Martin.”

  “What is going on here? I don’t understand.”

  “Everyone is so happy to see you. Pastor Nong sent word to neighboring villages telling them about the miracle of Martin. The new son of Pastor Nong who brought word about his precious daughter. Everyone wanted to come and see you for themselves.”

  I stood overwhelmed and embarrassed. If my face could have gotten redder, it would have. A sweet old woman came up and placed a bouquet of Phuong flowers into my hand.

  “This is for you she said,” Long translated. “This is My Phuong’s grandmother. She says now you her grandson.”

  Another group of people approached me.

  “This is My Phuong’s uncle and aunt. They wanted to thank you.”

  And another group approached.

  I had done nothing to deserve their praise and adoration. I had only followed my heart. Actually, I followed my selfish desires, and I followed my love for My Phuong. Perhaps I had done this all for me. I didn’t deserve this treatment, but I wanted it with all my
heart.

  “When you were missing this morning, everyone thinks you left and aren’t coming back. Everyone very afraid and sad. But now it is like a homecoming,” Long said with a huge smile on his face.

  Pastor Nong needled his way through the crowd towards me and tried to get everyone to settle down so he could say something.

  “Martin,” Long translated for me. “You are always welcome here in our village. This is your home, and we are your family. Even if you have to leave us, I know you will come back. Our village is poor, and our school is not so good. Our children cannot compete for better jobs and better lives like those who live in the cities. We need teachers here. Our children need to learn English. Martin, would you stay with us, live with us, and teach our children English?”

  Me a teacher? I barely graduated from high school.

  “But tell them that I’m not a teacher. I don’t know how to teach.”

  I laughed at their suggestion as Long translated back to them. I didn’t know the first thing about teaching English.

  “They said it is no problem. You are native speaker. If native speaker speak, children learn.”

  “But how can I stay? I only have a tourist visa, and I . . .”

  The absurdity of their offer kept running through my head.

  “Pastor Nong says that God provided a way. Since he released from prison, and since his wife die in prison, he has good contact, good contact that help. No worry. You want to stay, you stay.”

  I stood there looking at their eager faces not knowing if I truly believed what the next chapter of my life would be.

  “But Pastor Nong says if you have to go, it’s okay. But you are always welcome here.”

  And then I realized what I wanted to do.

  “But I have no place to go. I have no one to be with, except you.”

  Long translated it back to the jubilant faces.

  “So you will stay?”

  “I would be honored to stay.”

  He translated my decision, and then I heard from varying voices both young and old a single phrase repeated over and over again.

  “What are they saying?” I asked.

  “May God bless you! May God bless you! May God bless you!”

  Over and over the phrase reverberated across the village.

  A small girl jumped up into my arms and put her head on my shoulder. My Phuong’s grandmother took me by the hand and started walking me to Pastor Nong’s longhouse. The crowd pressed in on me from every side, but I paid no attention to my wallet, which was still sitting in the back right pocket of my jeans. I had found my way home.