When in Vanuatu

by Nicki Chen

  Nothing like the prospect of sweet, rich food to raise the spirits, Diana thought.

  10

  “Mummy. Mum-my!”

  “Now what?” Abby groaned, pushing her chair back and giving Diana and Jay a wry sideways glance. “I told you you’d be sorry you invited us into your home.”

  “Mummy, Mummy, Mummy!” The twins’ high-pitched cries bounced off the shiny apartment walls like sirens on a narrow city street.

  “Si-mon, Jer-e-my.” Abby sang their names, ending each on a high note as she strode down the hall toward the bathroom. “You were supposed to be brushing your teeth. They’d better be sparkling by the time I get there.”

  Diana exchanged glances with Jay, who returned her smile and then quickly took a drink of water as though he were afraid to acknowledge the sweetness of the little bedtime drama.

  “Sorry,” Saudur said, sliding his fork across his plate to capture a few stray grains of rice.

  Diana shrugged. “For what? It’s fun having you all here.”

  And it was—the everyday racket a family made, the homey way it filled the corners of the apartment. Earlier in the day she’d called Abby and invited her and Saudur and the boys to move in with them for a few days so they could escape the unsettled situation in Makati, but at first Abby had been determined to tough it out. “You worry too much,” she’d told Diana. “Turn off the friggin’ telly and relax.” It wasn’t until Jay got home and talked to Saudur that Abby gave in and packed their bags.

  “You and Jay are great hosts,” Saudur said, “but you’re not used to the kind of hubbub four-year-old boys make. You couldn’t possibly be enjoying it.”

  “But I am. The sound of children is a huge relief after the quiet of the past few days with Jay away and only Clarita and the goldfish for company.”

  Jay patted her hand. “You know I came as soon as I could.”

  “I know.” Diana let her hand slip away from Jay’s so she could start clearing away the dirty dishes. The airport had been closed. She knew that. It had been impossible for Jay to fly back from Korea. It wasn’t his fault. But sometimes it seemed as though he was always away when she needed him. And the previous night had been one of those nights.

  “Saudur!”

  Diana turned to see Abby marching into the dining room with the twins in their matching Super Mario pajamas tripping along behind. “Did you tell them they could bring their swords?” She waved the short silvery swords for Saudur to see.

  “They’re just plastic, darling.”

  Jay rolled up his magazine and gave Saudur a conspiratorial wink. “Little men need their weapons,” he said, striking a fighting pose.

  “Men!” Abby rolled her eyes. Then she herded the boys into the living room where their sleeping bags were rolled out side by side on the carpet. “Okay, you two ruffians. Crawl into your sleep sacks. I’ll keep the swords, and Auntie Diana will read you a story.” She reached into her bag and pulled out Wynken, Blynken, and Nod. “I was going to save this for Christmas,” she said, handing it to Diana. “But, what the hell, it’s only three weeks away.”

  “En garde,” Simon shouted, pointing an imaginary sword at Jeremy.

  “En garde, you dirty pirate,” Jeremy replied, slashing the air and dancing around his brother.

  “Boys!” Abby pointed at their sleeping bags.

  “Last one in is a rotten egg,” Simon cried. He ran across the living room holding his nose and jumped on the sleeping bags. “Marco,” he whooped.

  “Polo.” Jeremy was right behind him.

  They were rolling around like a couple of puppies when Diana sat down on their sleeping bags. “Come and sit beside me,” she said, patting spots on either side of her. They scared her, these two rambunctious boys. They might ignore her. What would she do then? Every time she thought about the baby she and Jay would have, it was a girl, small and sweet and helpless. In her imaginings, she was holding her and rocking her, feeding and comforting her, changing her diapers and loving her. She’d never questioned whether she would be a good mother.

  Simon and Jeremy stopped rolling around and looked at her. She held up the book and smiled. And without further urging, they crawled over and snuggled up beside her.

  “Wynken, Blynken, and Nod,” she said, showing them the cover.

  “Wynken,” Jeremy giggled.

  “Blynken,” Simon sputtered.

  “And Nod,” they said together, laughing.

  She read to them about three pajama-clad children sailing off in a wooden shoe and a talking moon and fish swimming through the sky. And they listened, sober faced. But every time she read, “Wynken, Blynken, and Nod,” they dissolved into a fit of giggles.

  By the end, they were snickering quietly and yawning.

  “Time to sleep,” Diana said, helping them into their sleeping bags. When she leaned over to kiss their soft cheeks, their eyes were already closing.

  “How do they do that?” she asked Abby.

  “You mean go from full speed ahead to sound asleep?” Abby shrugged. “It happens every night.”

  “Come and join us,” Jay said. “We saved you some fruit salad.”

  “Thanks.” She sat down and dished up chunks of mango, papaya, and banana. While the others talked about the coup, Diana ate the soft, sweet fruit and remembered the pleasure of feeling the twins’ little bodies next to hers.

  11

  Usually, as part of the whirlwind routine of Jay’s homecomings from his missions, he unpacked his suitcase right away. A quick kiss and hug, and then, while he tossed dirty clothes in the hamper and hung his suit and clean shirts in the closet, an explosion of talk—the people he met, the stories he heard, the exotic sights he saw, the business he conducted. Jay’s business trips were adventures. Whether they lasted one week or three, he returned from them so wound up that all Diana could do was step aside and watch and listen.

  Today had been different. He dropped his suitcase at the apartment door and ran to her, lifting her up and kissing her. No dirty clothes. No stories about Korea. After that he turned his attention to getting Abby and Saudur out of Makati. “You asked them to come?” he asked, incredulous. “No, no, no. In a case like this, you don’t invite them to move in with us. You insist. It’s like paying the bill in a restaurant. You don’t offer, you grab the bill and corral the waiter with your money ready to go. I’ll talk to Saudur. He’ll see the logic of it.”

  And Saudur did. Within the hour, Diana opened their apartment door to find Abby, Saudur, and the twins standing in the hallway in a puddle of suitcases, sleeping bags, and favorite pillows. “You may regret this,” Abby said. But even she’d begun to worry about staying in Makati. Just before Jay called, she’d found a cross inside a circle scrawled on their gate. It was the symbol used by the rebels to identify American families who would later be used as hostages. “I ask you,” Abby said, tossing her red curls, “do we look like Yanks? Do we sound like Yanks?”

  Maybe not, but one way or another, Diana was glad to have them there, out of harm’s way.

  She closed the bedroom door behind her. It had been a hectic day, but now, with the twins sound asleep in the living room and Abby and Saudur in the guest bathroom preparing for bed, she’d finally have some time alone with Jay. “Well,” she said, tilting the blinds for privacy. “Here we are.”

  He nodded. Then he turned his attention to the as-yet-unopened suitcase and swung it up on the bed. “I have something for you.”

  She’d almost forgotten about the gifts. They were another step in his normal whirlwind homecoming routine. No matter how hectic Jay’s trips were, he always found time to buy something for her, and it was always something nice. Returning from past trips, he’d presented her with Swiss chocolate from Hong Kong, silk fabric and jade earrings from China, batik tablecloths and shadow puppets from Indonesia, lacquerware bowls from Vietnam, and even a carpet from Pakistan.

  With this mission shortened from nine days to six, she was surprised he’d found time
to shop. “You shouldn’t have,” she said.

  He threw back the top of the suitcase and removed his toiletries bag, exposing a large lacquer box between his folded shirts and a stack of D-TAP files.

  “Oh, my!” she said as he lifted out a burgundy-colored box decorated with mother of pearl storks. “It’s beautiful.” She ran her fingers over the storks’ outstretched wings and the red full moon behind them.

  “Open it,” he said. “It’s a jewelry box.”

  Inside, was a mirror and red velvet lining, spaces for rings and earrings on the top shelf, for necklaces and bracelets below. “It’s exquisite, honey. Thank you.”

  “Wind it up. It’s also a music box.”

  She reached underneath and turned the winding key. The tune was sweet, but nothing she recognized. She looked over at Jay for help.

  Striking a dramatic pose, feet wide, chest high, one arm reaching out, he sang along with the tinkling melody in a haunting tenor. “Arirang, arirang. . . .”

  “Wow!” she said when he finished. “Is that the way they do karaoke in Korea?”

  He laughed and nodded.

  “What do the words mean?”

  “It’s an ancient song,” he said as he lifted a stack of shirts out of the suitcase. “Something about a woman getting left behind when her lover crosses over Arirang Pass.”

  Diana waited for the sweet, sad tune to play itself out. Then she closed the lid and set the box on their shared chest of drawers. “Why don’t you take the first shower,” she said. She took the D-TAP files from him and set them next to the jewelry box. “I’ll unpack for you. Go on. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Okay.”

  He spent a long time in the bathroom, and when he came out, he was all steamy and fresh, his black hair combed back like a hero from an old-time movie.

  “My turn,” she said, giving him a quick kiss. “I’ll be right out.”

  No flossing, no shampoo, no moisturizer. Just a fast brushing of her teeth and a lukewarm shower. She couldn’t have been in the bathroom more than four or five minutes. She frowned. So why was Jay lying on top of the bedspread with his eyes closed?

  “No, you don’t,” she whispered. He couldn’t just fall asleep when tonight might be the last chance they’d get in the month of December. After tonight, 1989 would be gone. In another nine months and fifteen days, she would be thirty-five years old. She dropped her towel and climbed up beside him. “Honey?” She put her lips close to his ear. “Are you awake?”

  “Mmm.”

  “I missed you,” she said, caressing him. “Did you miss me?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Really?”

  “Missed you,” he mumbled.

  She tried everything, but she couldn’t get him to open his eyes. It didn’t matter. He was awake enough to lift his head off the pillow and kiss her. Conscious enough to squeeze her buttock. Sufficiently awake to make love to her.

  Afterward he rose up on one elbow, a perturbed look on his face. “Why did you ask if I missed you?” He smiled and shook his head. “If I didn’t miss you, my love, then why the hell would I have fought so hard to get out of Seoul on the first plane headed to Manila? Getting and keeping a seat was no easy task. Every time I turned around, another reporter or photographer was trying to bump me. The airport was chock-full of them, reporters from the AP, UPI, New York Times, Washington Post, CNN, BBC, The Guardian, Globe, and Mail, USA Today . . . and every one of them desperate to get to Manila before the story cooled. If I told you how much a reporter from the LA Times offered me to give up my seat, well, then you’d appreciate how eager I was to get home to you.”

  She cuddled up next to him. She loved this man, baby or no baby.

  Then she closed her eyes and sent off a silent prayer that this evening would bear fruit.

  “Auntie Diana! Auntie Diana!”

  How, she wondered, could the voices outside her door be so loud while still retaining the quality of a whisper?

  “Auntie Diana, come quick.” Little knuckles skittered against the bedroom door.

  As though they didn’t know how to knock properly, she thought, yawning and stretching herself awake. Wasn’t it too early to get up? “Okay, boys,” she said in a stage whisper. “I’ll be right there.” She slid out of bed and grabbed her robe, looking back at Jay who was making a soft sleepy sound halfway between a snore and a purr.

  Opening the door, she saw two small dark figures in a dark hallway. The sun wouldn’t be up for a while yet. “What’s wrong?”

  Simon grabbed her hand. “Quick! Come and look.” He dragged her down the hall and into the dining room with Jeremy galloping along behind.

  “Auntie Diana.” Jeremy tugged on her robe and looked up at her with tears in his dark brown eyes. “Your fish stopped swimming.”

  Oh great! She groaned. She should have disposed of her poor sick fish before the twins arrived. She knew it was going to die . . . her beautiful gold and white goldfish.

  “See,” Simon said, pointing at the bloated fish floating sideways on the surface of the water. The twins’ creamy brown faces looked ghostly in the aquarium’s blue light.

  Jeremy whimpered. “He’s sick, isn’t he?”

  “He’s dead,” Simon said. “I told you he was dead. Isn’t he, Auntie Diana.”

  They looked up at her for an answer. And she nodded. What else could she do? “Yes,” she said. “It looks like the fish is dead. I’m so sorry, boys.”

  Jeremy started crying, a closed-mouth wind-up of a cry that threatened to explode. Quickly she knelt down and hugged him. She hoped this wasn’t their first dead animal.

  “Simon,” she said, quickly pulling a plan together, “would you go to the kitchen and ask Clarita for two paper towels. We’re going to have a funeral for the fish and bury him in the planter on the balcony.”

  Jeremy stopped crying. “Can I bury him?”

  “Here’s what you can do, sweetie. When Simon gets back, you can scoop up the fish with this net.”

  Jeremy took the net from her and stood at attention, the net across his chest like a little soldier with his sword.

  Remembering animal funerals from her childhood, Diana presided over the solemn ceremony. Jeremy netted the dead fish and dumped it on Simon’s paper towels. Then Diana invited Clarita to join them, and they all processed around the dining table and out onto the balcony singing “We Shall Overcome,” which was probably as suitable as any other marching song. Clarita found a trowel, and Diana dug the hole. Then the boys wrapped “Goldie” in one of the paper towels and interred him in his planter grave under the pink bougainvillea bush.

  “God bless our little fish,” Diana prayed.

  “Amen,” the boys shouted. Then, having satisfied the ceremonial demands of death, they ran off to wake their parents.

  Another fish down, Diana thought as she shoveled dirt into the hole and patted it down. If only she knew why “Goldie” died. She studied the three remaining fish. They seemed all right. For now. “Some source of relaxation you are,” she whispered, shaking her head at the fish.

  12

  Two days later, although most of Metro Manila had already returned to normal, Makati was still a war zone. Rebels roamed its office buildings and residential neighborhoods. They looted and slept and posed for the TV cameras. When they were bored, they shot rats and cats and fat orange-green papayas. Their leaders had been captured or were in hiding, so they chose new ones to negotiate with the government.

  “The Philippine army is useless.” Abby swished her hand across the swimming pool and flicked water in the air for emphasis. “A bunch of ineffective twonks.”

  Diana opened her mouth to defend them. To be fair, you had to admit that the army had stopped the coup, and now they were negotiating for the rebels to surrender. So why sacrifice government troops when the rebels had snipers atop the Makati high rises and hundreds of potential hostages? Negotiation was a reasonable course of action. But then, she thought, slowly kicking her feet
in the cool water, Abby wasn’t in a reasonable mood. For the past two days, Abby and Saudur had been fighting. Out of courtesy, they’d kept their arguments behind the guest room’s closed door. But with six people in one small apartment, it was obvious what was going on.

  Diana gathered her long, wet hair together at the nape of her neck and twisted it, enjoying the coolness of the water as it dripped on her hot shoulders. They’d been at Seafront all afternoon, sitting in the shade when they could, slathering on sunscreen when they were out in the sun, and still her shoulders and back felt crisp. “How about one more swim?” It was almost dinnertime. The earlier crowd had dwindled to one old man swimming laps and two boys jumping off the diving board, pretending not to hear their mom shouting for them to get out.

  Abby looked down at her freckled knees and sighed. “No, you go ahead. I don’t feel like swimming.”

  Diana shrugged. “I’m fine here just kickin’ my feet in the water with you.” She reached over and patted Abby’s knee. It was a small gesture of sympathy, but that was all it took to set her off.

  “It’s not fair,” Abby said, snuffling and wiping her eyes. “Why should I always be the one to give in?” She threw her hands up and glared at Diana. “It’s because I’m a woman. I fucking hate being a woman.”

  Diana’s instinctive urge was to stand up for her gender. She liked being female. But she knew exactly what Abby meant. It was that power differential, the belief among both men and women that women were somehow inferior. She’d seen it back in Seattle with her colleagues and clients. But she’d never experienced the full extent of that power differential until they moved to Manila, where she and all the other expat wives struggled to find some relevance and a modicum of power.

  Abby jabbed her chin in the air and continued. “I have to give in because Saudur’s the one making the money. But why am I not earning money? Because I sacrificed my career for his. That’s why not. And why did I do that? Because I’m a woman.”