The Unwanted

by Kien Nguyen

  All along the freeway, people flowed like water down a stream. The crying of lost children looking for their parents, the screams of people being robbed, the songs blaring from the radio, the gunshots, the wailing of the wounded victims all blended into an incoherent symphony of grief. And like the humidity evaporating in the air, this collective keening lifted higher and higher, mixing with the noxious tear gas in a dark cloud of suffering.

  Inside the car, my brother and I were too afraid to make a sound. Lam no longer looked relaxed. His long hair fell over his forehead, which was slick with sweat. His fingers, which held to the wheel tightly, were white at the knuckles. His head shook uncontrollably with each breath he took, and his eyes were opened wide, exaggerating the whiteness of his eyeballs.

  Lam let out a loud, frustrated scream, as he pounded the horn in a fury. He turned to face my mother. “We have to get the fuck out of the car,” he spat. “This is not going to work just sitting here. You take the children and move.”

  My mother's lips tightened into a straight line. She grasped my arm, and I felt her fingernails dig deeply into my flesh.

  “Are you insane?” she replied. “Look at these people! I am not leaving this car.”

  Lam leaned within an inch of my mother's face. I could see his jugular veins, engorged with blood like two swollen earthworms, as they stared at each other. At last Lam broke the silence.

  “Then give me my damned ticket and my passport. I am sick of listening to you, wretched woman. I am leaving with or without you.”

  My mother did not respond.

  “Now!” he cried.

  The scream startled my mother. She shook her head as if to clear it, then reached for her purse.

  Lam's eyes followed her hands. “Give me your ticket and passport as well,” he blurted. “I am taking Loan with me.”

  “Why her?” my mother asked.

  Lam focused on something invisible on the floor. “She is having my baby.”

  Loan let out a small cry. My mother ignored her. After exhaling a deep breath, she gazed at Lam calmly.

  “So am I. How do you explain this to me? Can't you see that I am also pregnant with your child?” she asked.

  “So what? You don't need me. You never did,” he said bitterly. “Trust me, you will do just fine.”

  He yanked the purse out of my mother's hand, searching intensely until he found what he was looking for. In addition to the papers, he grabbed a thick bundle of cash. Waving them teasingly in front of my mother, Lam said, “You just consider this payment for my devoted services.”

  Behind my mother, Loan finally spoke up. “I am not leaving with you, Lam. I am staying here with the mistress.”

  He turned to look at her as if she were deranged. Then, his lips pulled back in a distorted smile. “Fine, you stupid servant. Stay. Be my guest.”

  He picked out my mother's passport and ticket and threw them together with her purse back in her lap. Keeping the money and his own passport, Lam rammed them into the front pocket of his pants. Then, the smile returned to his face. He sank back in his seat, adjusting his clothing, before opening the door to let himself out. Oddly, he turned back one last time to look at us.

  “Have a nice life, all of you,” was all he said before he disappeared into the crowd.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  April 28, 1975

  After Lam left, my mother sat still for several hours. Her facial expression did not change. Loan held us in her arms as we clustered together on the floor of the van. I watched night fall over the city, while the fire, the explosions, and the screaming went on. As I sat on the steel floor with my hands firmly pressed against my ears, everything seemed to fade away. My surroundings were no longer real to me; it was as if I were inside a silent movie, with a black-and-white background. The soundless, colorless, odorless calmness stayed with me until my mother announced that it was time for us to head back home.

  The evening seemed to sedate the nervous city. As we ventured along the dark street, the throbbing frenzy subsided. Most of the streetlights had been broken earlier; and many of them were off due to the lack of electricity. All around us dark shadows were moving through the night. We could not tell if they were looking through the corpses to identify and gather up their departed relatives or if, like hungry wolves, they were simply hunting for treasure. Once in a while, a ray of light splashed across the sky, followed by the rumbling thunder of a bomb, or a grenade, or a rifle, sending a wave of vibration out to the surrounding area.

  It was not very far from the van to our home, but it took us a good two hours to get through the congested streets. Cars and trucks were mounted on top of one another in heaps of wasted steel, blocking one road after another. In the house, my grandparents were still hiding in the basement. They saw us right away through the tiny oval window and hurried up the stairs to let us in. In just a few hours, my grandparents had somehow managed to age ten years—strength seemed to have abandoned them entirely.

  “Where is Lam?” was the first question they asked.

  My mother shrugged. “I'm not sure. We had a fight in the van, and he ran off. He was heading to the airport.”

  “Bastard!” my grandfather muttered.

  “What are you going to do now?” my grandmother asked.

  “I don't know.” My mother shook her head. “I think we just have to stay here and see.”

  My grandfather looked at my mother. He spoke, choosing his words carefully, as he did not want my brother and me to panic. “We have been listening to the radio. Saigon is going to give up. The military is about to collapse. The other side is gaining so much power; it seems that nothing and no one can stop them now. Whatever you decide to do, you better do it now. You have only until tomorrow, and the general has advised that everyone stay put since it could get very ugly in the next couple of days.”

  “After you left, Mrs. Dang phoned,” my grandmother said. The string of beads was still moving slowly between her fingers. “She asked for you. You might want to give her a call.”

  My mother nodded. “Okay, I'll do it right now.” She picked up the phone and listened for a few seconds, then slammed it down in frustration.

  “The damned phone is dead!” she exclaimed angrily. Turning to my grandmother, she asked, “Did she say anything to you, Mother?”

  “Yes, she said something about waiting for a helicopter. She also asked for my passport, but I said you took them all. Then she just hung up. It was at least four or five hours ago.”

  My mother peeked out across the deserted street. She bit her lower lip thoughtfully. Her hand lay on top of her belly, caressing the silky fabric of her dress as we all watched her and waited. After a long time, she came to a conclusion. Pushing us toward my grandparents, she spoke carefully to them.

  “Mother, Father, watch the children for me. I am walking over to the Dangs' house. I will be back in a while.”

  “Please don't!” my grandmother cried.

  “You can't go. It is too dangerous outside. You can't leave the kids here with us,” my grandfather added.

  From a corner, with her face hidden in the shaded wall, Loan spoke up. Her voice was low, as usual, but clear.

  “Madam Khuon, I am still your servant. Whatever you need to do, please use me. With your permission, I would like to go to the Dangs' house instead of you. I can take whatever news you wish to your friends.”

  My mother looked up at Loan. A flash of astonishment brushed across her face, as if she saw the maid standing there for the first time. She walked over to Loan. Her hand reached out to caress Loan's face, but only the tips of her nails touched the girl's skin. Nevertheless, Loan recoiled from my mother's hand. She looked frightened.

  “Are you sure?” my mother asked.

  Loan nodded. “Yes, ma'am.”

  “Then go,” my mother said. “Go with my blessing, and hurry back.”

  The girl walked toward the door, but stopped. Slowly, she turned to face my mother again. With great difficulty
and awkwardness, she chewed on her nails and spoke at the same time. However, her words were clear and loud.

  “If I don't come back in half an hour, I might be in some sort of trouble. You then can stop waiting for me and start thinking of another plan. Madame Khuon, there is something I have been meaning to tell you but never found the right time. Please let me get it off my chest before I go. I want to apologize to you for what happened between me and Lam.” My mother shifted uncomfortably as Loan continued. “I didn't mean for you to find out that way, the night you came into my room, back when we were in Nhatrang. But I couldn't stop it. I never could refuse him. He was too strong, and he was very violent, and he threatened to kick me out on the street if I didn't comply. I never meant to hurt you, madam, not in my life, not as long as I lived under your roof, and I beg for forgiveness before I go.” She began to cry bitterly.

  “Don't worry, Loan.” My mother shook her head. “It is all forgotten. He is gone. It doesn't matter anymore. Just take care of yourself. We all are going to pray for you. We need you to come back to us.”

  “Yes, ma'am,” was all she said before disappearing into the darkness outside.

  AN HOUR LATER, Loan kept her promise to us. She returned with one of Mrs. Dang's servants. They were both out of breath from running through the streets. A touch of fear was still visible on their faces.

  As soon as they got inside the door, my mother asked, “What is going on? Did they leave? Did you find Monsieur or Madame Dang? Do you know where they are?”

  “I saw Mrs. Dang,” Loan said, panting. “She was still waiting at home. She has something for you.” She took a letter from inside her blouse and handed it to my mother, who grabbed it and read out loud.

  Dear Khuon,

  I don't know whether I should be happy or sad upon hearing the latest news about you and your family. When I phoned your house and talked to your mother this afternoon, I was under the impression that you were probably on your way to Thailand by now.

  Then Loan came in with the message that you had for me. Apparently, you have missed the last flights out of Saigon. I listened to the whole report about the event on the evening news. My heart was torn with mixed feelings. On the one hand, I was happy for myself, since it meant that I am no longer alone, and at least you are here sharing this hardship with me. But on the other hand, I am quite sad for your unfortunate situation. You have suffered a great deal in such a short time. Then again, so have we, darling. Let me tell you what has happened to me since our last meeting, two days ago.

  As you know, for some time my husband was trying to get our two sons and me the necessary passports to leave the country. Unfortunately, with respectful thanks to our postal system, my application was the only one that got lost in the mail. As awful as I am feeling right now, I can't possibly blame Dang, since he tried his best to pull any strings while he still could to get me out of this godforsaken place. Yesterday, after my children received their passports, an opportunity of a lifetime fell upon them. They were allowed to leave Saigon on the last U.S. helicopter with some U.S. diplomats, one of which was Dang's friend and confidant for several years. This American friend of his advised us that I shouldn't tag along on the trip, since I was the only one on board without the right papers. I could very well be the cause of troubles for all of them once we got to Bangkok customs. These were important ambassadors, and they took every precaution in avoiding risk for the sake of their own safety. So there I was, standing on the rooftop of the embassy building, watching my own family disappear into the sky, wondering to myself when I would be able to see them again. You, too, darling, are a mother—certainly you can understand how ill I have been feeling since yesterday after the incident.

  On a happier note, my husband and children got to Bangkok without any problem and are staying in some shelter, waiting for the next plane to California. Dang has been quite diligent in contacting me via phone, until recently when the entire system went down. He promised to get the same helicopter to come back and get

  me, soon, in the next few days. I know my Dang. He is a good and able man. I believe him when he says that he is coming for me, so I am waiting and I am not hopeless.

  I am writing to you with a proposal that you can't possibly refuse, as I understand more than anyone else does that you don't have much of a choice at this time. Actually, it was Dang's idea, and it is a quite simple exchange. I need an ID, and you need a way out. Together, we can help fulfill each other's task,. You can give me your mother's passport, and her ticket to America. Auntie told me over the phone this afternoon that she wasn't planning to go anywhere, so I assume that she won't need her papers anytime soon. When Dang returns with the helicopter, which he will, your family can be escorted with me to Bangkok. From there, I will continue to play the role of your relative until we get to California. Once we get there, you can choose to go your own way if you wish, or you can stay with us as long as you want. In either case, we promise to be the best company you and your children will ever have. Please understand we have to act fast because time is running out. I am sending over with this letter one of my strongest men to guide you back to my place. When you arrive here, we will immediately be heading toward the embassy tower. I have ways to get us all inside. Help me find my children. You are all the hope I have left.

  May the Buddha watch over us.

  Sincerely yours,

  Mrs. Nguyen Dang

  After my mother read the entire letter aloud, she looked up at my grandparents and raised one of her eyebrows in the form of a question. No one spoke. Finally, my mother broke the uneasy silence. “So, Daddy, what do you think I should do?”

  “Like the woman said in the letter, you don't have much of a choice, daughter. Unless you want to keep the kids here, which I don't think you really want to do. So, if I were you, I would pull myself together and get over there immediately.” The bags under my grandfather's eyes seemed to sag lower and darker with each word he said.

  My grandmother agreed with him. “You have to give it another fighting chance, as much as you can, while you still can. Take my passport and go.”

  “What about Loan?” I asked. My own voice startled me as it bounced through the room like a Ping-Pong ball.

  “Loan will stay here to take care of us, isn't that right, Loan?” My grandfather spoke for her. His eyes stared right at her. The look expressed more than the words he said.

  “Yes, sir,” Loan replied. She looked neither disappointed nor sorrowful. Her eyes fixed on the floor and remained there long after we left.

  We said our good-byes dispiritedly and walked into the dark with Mrs. Dang's bodyguard. From across the street, the clock on Our Lady's Cathedral struck three times. Getting to Mrs. Dang's house was not a difficult task, as her place was located about two blocks away. It took less than five minutes and a few turns before we were at her doorstep.

  The Mrs. Dang who greeted us was not her usual vociferous self, but a subdued, hollowed-out incarnation. Her eyes were red and swollen. Her fingers fidgeted with a tiny, wrinkled piece of tissue, peeling it off now and again from the corners. Her hair was a bird's nest, sticking out stubbornly all over her scalp. There was a brownish stain of some sort across her breasts like a wicked hand, cynically groping her every time she moved.

  She grasped my mother's arm, thanking us profusely for coming over. We came inside and sat on the living room couch. Mrs. Dang bubbled with newfound excitement.

  “I knew you would come,” she said. “You are my last hope, darling. I was praying all night. When I found out that you left yesterday, I was falling apart. I didn't know what to do or where to turn. Then that maid of yours came over, and I saw a ray of hope. Thank God.”

  She sniffed noisily and wiped her nose carefully on a dirty tissue. As she lifted her head to look at my mother, her eyes, once again, filled with tears. “Khuon,” she wailed agonizingly, “my family, my children are gone.”

  “I know,” my mother said. “I am so sorry.”

 
; Mrs. Dang tried to compose herself. “I was there, I can't seem to forget it,” she said. “On the roof, with my children. The little one, Tuan, was still holding an ice-cream cone. Chocolate! He tried to jump onto my lap. His father and some men pulled him away from me. He knew, you know? He is only three, but he knew what was going on. He grabbed my blouse and screamed, ‘Mommy! Mommy!’ My heart broke with his cry. His hand, covered with chocolate, stained my clothes.” She looked down at the stain in the shape of a tiny hand above her breasts and smiled ruefully. “They took my children away. I fell on the ground. I cried and cried while that helicopter took my children away from me. I just wanted to die. Oh, Khuon. Why is all this happening? When is this nightmare going to end?”

  “It is almost over. You should take care of yourself. In a few days, you will be reunited with them,” my mother said.

  “We've got to go. I don't want to miss Dang when he returns.” She got up, hurriedly pacing across the room. “Are you ready? Anything you want to take with you, do it now. We are leaving soon, yes? Sorry to rush, but I can't wait any longer.” She clapped her hands at the servants and raised her voice angrily as they ran back and forth to gather her things together. “Let's go, let's go.”

  THE U.S. EMBASSY building lay directly across from the park. As we expected, we stumbled into a mob of angry people in front of the building. They were screaming in vain at the indifferent and fully equipped Vietnamese soldiers behind the iron gates. We held on to each other firmly as the waves of turmoil threatened to knock us off our feet and away from each other. Mrs. Dang yelled to her bodyguard, the same man who had been with us the last few hours. She handed him a yellow identification card with her picture on it.