The Unwanted

by Kien Nguyen

  Just as my mother was about to resign herself to a marathon wait, a voice called from behind the door, sending a chill down her spine. It was a voice she knew only too well, as it belonged to her gardener.

  “Comrade Sau,” he said, “was that Madame Khuon? Tell her to come in. I have been waiting for her.”

  Inside, my mother's gardener, Mr. Tran, sat back in his chair, with both of his bare feet resting on the desk. The soles of his feet were deformed with calluses and caked with filth. His toenails, infected by fungus from years of working in mud, were ten hard masses of tissue. Not long ago his job consisted of planting and maintaining the many exotic species of flowers in front of our house. Although he had performed his duties skillfully, no one in the family remembered ever speaking with him, except for my mother, and her sole discourse took the form of command.

  In most ways, the new Mr. Tran was the same gardener my mother knew. She recognized his rotten front teeth, with the upper incisors erupting downward into his lower jaw, giving his face the look of a sly rabbit. But she could see two big changes in his appearance. The first was the constant, undefeated smile on his face. The second was that he wore no longer a torn shirt but a neatly pressed black uniform.

  “Haven't seen you in a long time, Madame Khuon,” he said to her as she came in. “How are your plants? Still blooming?”

  “Oh—Mr. Tran —” My mother stammered to find words. “I didn't…I wasn't informed…You can't imagine how shocked I am to see you here. I am so sorry.”

  He waved a hand in front of his face. “No need to apologize for your ignorance, madam. Just to be here and witness that look on your face is blissful enough for me. How is your garden? How are your plants?” he repeated the question, watching my mother's expression with a keen intensity.

  “I have no plants left. Some were stolen. Some were killed. But it is for the best, since I have no use of them anymore. But please, sir, don't address me as madam. I am now just an ordinary woman, while you are the town superior. When you tease me like that, you have no idea how uncomfortable it makes me.”

  “Actually, I do have a very good idea how it makes you feel; however, I am not here to tease you, lady. Do you know why I am asking you about your garden?”

  “No, sir. I am afraid that I don't, Mr. Tran. I know that it was a beautiful garden, thanks to your talent and hard work. No doubt it has always been a masterpiece, and a joy for many people.”

  “Hah! It wasn't a joy for me! I worked like a slave for your rich and arrogant guests all of those years. I don't care how beautiful it was. All I remember was that the cursed place cost me my sweat and blood, you pretentious mosquito. I asked because I want you to know that it was me who destroyed every damnable tree in that garden of yours.” His voice rose with indignation. “Have you any idea how much I despised you and the job that you made me do? I loathed your parties, and your decadent lifestyle, and your arrogant behavior. Day after day, the sight of you in front of the mirror, painting your nails.” He spat on the floor. “I just regret that you weren't there to see me and my men destroy your house. It was a lot of fun. Now, before I lose my train of thought, what is it that you want me to do for you today, Lady Khuon?”

  My mother sank back into her chair and tried to compose herself. Despite her efforts, her voice quivered. “I had no idea that I offended you so much. I really thought you liked working there. I didn't mean to behave unjustly to anyone. I am so sorry.”

  “Shut up. Save your crocodile tears for someone else. Just tell me why are you here.”

  “I came to enter my family into the community.”

  He got up, picked up a notebook and a pen from his desk, and threw them into my mother's lap. “Very well, then. Take this notebook to the classroom next door and have a seat. Think long and hard before you write anything, because once you start, I will expect you to be thorough. Put down on that paper the longest and most detailed resume that you ever filled out in your life. I want everything I know and witnessed all the years in that house jotted down by those pretentious fingers. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  It took my mother more than two hours to fill out a ten-page report about her life. When she was satisfied with the content, she got up to return to Mr. Tran's office. Outside, two more people had joined the previous seven who were waiting to meet with him. The policewoman had stepped away from her desk and my mother knocked at his door. He beckoned for her to enter. Once inside, my mother gave him her resume.

  Without bothering to read it, he tore it in half. Then he shook his head, pointing a finger at my mother while sucking at his teeth. “Not good enough. Do it again.”

  “You didn't read it,” my mother protested.

  “Not good enough. Do it again,” he repeated.

  It took my mother three such episodes to realize the game he was playing with her. Sitting alone in the classroom, she wrote down her life story, page after page, over and over again. Each time the paper ran out, Mr. Tran would throw her a new stack from behind his desk.

  After tearing up my mother's report for the eighth time, Mr. Tran realized that she was no longer intimidated. “You don't learn, do you?” he said.

  “I don't understand what exactly you want me to do, sir,” she said quietly. “I have been here all day writing, without anything to eat, and I am pregnant. My children are waiting for me at home. If you don't like what you see, please let me go home to take care of them and I will get out of your sight.”

  “Wouldn't that be convenient for you, Khuon? Is that what you want me to do? Or do you want me to reserve a space for you and your family in the reeducation camp, where you can learn more readily?”

  “No, sir. I beg you for your mercy. All I want is to be registered in this town. I want my family to be legalized. I can't help the way I have behaved in the past. But whatever wrongdoings you think I did back then, I committed no sin against the government. I held no position in the old bureaucracy, nor did I ever fight against the Communists in any battle. I am not your enemy.”

  “Sit down,” he ordered. Looking at her as if she were an insect, he snarled, “You are a capitalist, and therefore, you are my enemy.”

  “I was a capitalist,” my mother argued. “But now I have lost all my money, I am a poor, penniless woman, just like everyone else. And I am not afraid to get a clean start.”

  “What about your Nguyen mansion? Do you still have it?”

  My mother did not answer.

  He sat back into his leather chair, smiling. “Still consider yourself a poor, penniless woman, Khuon?”

  “What do you want me to do?” my mother moaned in defeat.

  “I want you to see that as long as you have assets, you and the Vietnamese government are enemies. We are trying to build a country in which everyone will share everything.” He leaned close to my mother's face, and she could smell the acidic decay in his breath. “You are standing in our way to the future, Khuon. We have to knock people like you down, so that we can move ahead.”

  “You want to confiscate the house, is that it?” my mother asked.

  “As I understand, Khuon, that house isn't the only property you own. Is it so wrong for us to take away one of your many fortunes if it is the only way to redeem yourself in the eyes of the government?”

  Mr. Tran was right. Her mansion was not the only house my mother had owned. Years ago, before she could build her own house, she and my grandparents used to live in a small house on my aunt's property. The house had three rooms. In the front, facing the street, was a three-hundred-square-foot living room. Behind it was another three-hundred-square-foot room, my grandparents' bedchamber. A little storage space in the back had been turned into my mother's bedroom. Since my grandparents had moved into the Nguyen mansion, they brought with them every piece of furniture, leaving that place almost vacant. On the same lot was my aunt's house, where she lived with her husband and fourteen children. Both houses shared a bathroom, kitchen, and well.

  On p
aper, my mother owned that house. The adjacent dwelling was in my aunt's husband's name. The entire complex was located five kilometers away from my old home, surrounded by rice fields and countryside. The idea of returning to live there among the farm animals and her relatives was an overwhelming blow to my mother. She could not help but protest, “That house was built for my parents. I just hold the paper for them.”

  “Your house, their house, you all are family to each other. What is the difference? We need that big house of yours for our permanent office,” he said.

  “Why don't you take the small house instead?”

  Mr. Tran got up, kicking the chair behind him. “Look at me, you filthy, arrogant ex-Republican traitor. I am trying to make your life easier, but you are making mine more difficult. You don't want to give up that house? Good. Let's see how long you can survive in jail, away from your children. Comrade Sau, get in here, please.”

  The policewoman appeared at the door with her hands on her hips and a frown on her face. “Yes, Comrade Tran?” she asked.

  “Take this counterrevolutionary to the correctional center. Keep her there until it's her turn to go in front of the People's Council. I wash my hands of her. Let the Court of the People judge her crimes exactly the way it did to every other criminal. Good night, Khuon. Have fun sleeping in the Hilton.”

  My mother clasped her hands in supplication. “Please, I didn't mean what I said. Don't put me in jail. Mr. Tran, please, we can talk about this.”

  The policewoman grabbed my mother's arm and swung her around. Mr. Tran walked around his desk to meet my mother faceto-face. Waving his arms, he hissed at her, “No more talk! It's time to knock you down, Khuon, because we are moving ahead.” He smiled and walked out the door, leaving my mother and the policewoman behind. Once outside, he said to the people in the waiting room, “It is five o'clock. The office is closing now. All of you come back tomorrow morning.”

  The policewoman did not have a pair of handcuffs. Instead, she used a rope to tie my mother's hands together. She dragged her captive down the street, ignoring the commotion she caused along the way. At the correctional center, after throwing my mother into a cell, the policewoman turned to assign her to the officer in charge. Lying alone on the cold pavement in the dark, my mother feared for her life as well as our lives at home. By morning, she felt totally defeated. But somewhere deep inside her womb, the baby was kicking.

  Mr. Tran came to see her in the morning with the same smile tattooed on his face. He looked at her from the other side of the bars and shrugged at her woe.

  “Let me go,” she begged him. “You can have the house. Let me sign the paper.”

  “I am not sure I want your house anymore, Khuon.” His teasing cut her like a knife.

  “Please, let me go. I have responsibilities to my elderly parents and to my young children. They have done nothing against you or the government, Mr. Tran. Think about them, think about the new life inside me, and spare us this time. If I die, they all will die with me.”

  He reached into the front pocket of his shirt for the keys. As he opened the cell door for her, he whispered in her ear, “It is very wise for you to come to this decision, Khuon. You got yourself a deal—the house for your life. You get out of this town, get away from me. Take your family and make a fresh start someplace else, where no one knows you and hates you the way we do here. Get out by tomorrow or face the consequences. You have twenty-four hours to get ready, understand?”

  He turned to the policemen and said to them in an authoritative manner, “Listen up, comrades. I let this woman go because she has shown genuine regret about her wayward, pre-Revolution life by giving up her only possession, her house, to the government. She is a positive example of how forgiving and perceptive our justice system is and always will be. We have successfully turned her from a bloodthirsty capitalist into a productive citizen, and an unselfish human being. We expect her to continue to evolve into a better and more prudent resident in this country. Congratulations to you, Khuon.”

  She ran away from them as fast as she could and didn't pause until she reached her house.

  THE NEXT DAY was my birthday, but it seemed just as ordinary as the day before, or the day after, since nothing would be done to make it any different. We had been back in Nhatrang for almost seventy-two hours. My family was too busy packing everything we owned to pay any attention to me. Only ten days had passed since the fall of Saigon, but I felt as though I had accelerated into adulthood with no brakes. We knew we had to vacate the house by May 12.

  Just when the furniture was finished being packed and the suitcases were secured and everyone was ready to leave, the front door bell rang.

  “The police are here. Kien, open the door to let them in,” my grandfather ordered matter-of-factly.

  I rushed to the entrance and pulled off the plastic parchment covering the big hole where the door used to be. Standing in front of me was not a team of policemen, but rather an unkempt, tired-looking man. His hair had been shaved off, and his scalp shone under the sun. He had a beard, which covered the lower half of his face. The man looked at me and smiled.

  “Hey, Kien, remember me?” he asked. I recognized his voice the moment he spoke. “It's me, Lam, silly boy. Where is your mother?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Can I come in?” Lam asked, standing at the doorway. I stepped back. He walked in, turning around with curiosity to examine the disheveled garden behind him and the debris that littered the living room. A look of disbelief showed on his face.

  “Dear God, what happened to this place?” he asked, but then the answer came to him. “They really wrecked the house, didn't they? Where is your —”

  He stopped in the middle of the sentence, as he caught a glimpse of my mother from across the room. A hint of shame washed his dirty face with crimson. He stammered, “Hi, there. How are you?”

  My mother stared at Lam through her narrowing lashes. Silently, she folded her arms in front of her chest and leaned back against the wall, unmoved by his discomfort.

  He scratched his head with embarrassment. “Thought you would never see me again, didn't you? Well, what can I say? I didn't get away. As a matter of fact, you probably will be very happy to learn about my mishaps, one right after another since that day I left all of you behind.” He chuckled. “Damn, what a horrible nightmare. Twice at the airport I almost got killed. But thank heaven I didn't. Sometimes I wonder how a bastard like me could get so lucky. Anyway, I came here today for a reason. I was just wondering to myself if you would find it in your heart to take me back. Maybe in some way, I was hoping that you would be needing me.”

  My mother's silence was deafening.

  Lam's voice trailed off dejectedly. “Or maybe not.”

  “Get out,” my mother said. Her voice was calm, but the hatred was clear in her face.

  “Look!” Lam pleaded. “I know you are mad, and I don't blame you. But please try not to brush me away without listening to me first. In the last month, I have been to Hell and back many times over. I don't think I can take much more, not from you or anyone else. But believe me, madam, when I tell you this: I've learned my lesson the hard way. And whatever wrongdoings I did to you, I've been paid back, plus interest. I was robbed. I was beaten. And those sons of the backward Commie whores jailed me for two weeks because I was sleeping in the park. Except for them I don't think anybody else cares whether I live or die. And to top it all off, I spent all of my money, and sold my identification and my passport. I haven't eaten in the last three days and I am very tired. Please let me stay here, at least just for a couple of days.”

  There was more silence from my mother, and Lam continued. “If you are really going to kick me out, at least feed me something and let me take a shower first. Please?”

  My mother did not have time to answer. From outside, we heard the loud noise of trucks, indicating the arrival of Mr. Tran and the policemen. Through the windows, we watched them park their vehicles carelessly on the sid
ewalk and hurry toward the house on the long and dirty path through the garden. As soon as he saw my mother standing inside, Mr. Tran smiled broadly. His hair was dripping wet and neatly combed to the back of his head like a duck tail, and he was carrying a black nylon backpack across his right shoulder—the Vietcong's style. He gestured for his men to keep up with him as he neared the house.

  My mother turned to Lam. “You want to stay here, Lam? Here is a news flash for you: I am no longer the person who could make such a decision. You will need to ask him first.”

  “Him? Who?” Lam looked confused.

  “See for yourself.” She shrugged.

  Lam eyed the newcomers with puzzlement.

  “What is going on?” he asked. “Why are the police at your house? What have you done to this place, Khuon?”

  My mother greeted Mr. Tran as soon as his feet touched the edge of the marble floor. “Good morning, Mr. Tran. You are right on time. We just finished packing everything. Do you remember Lam?” Turning to Lam, she continued, “And you, Lam, I don't think you need a proper introduction to Mr. Tran here, but there is something I think you deserve to know. As of today, Mr. Tran, our community leader, is the new owner of this house. So, if I were you, I would be careful in paying my respects to him.”

  Lam raised his eyebrows as if he wanted to ask more questions, but nothing came.

  Finally noticing Lam, Mr. Tran broke out laughing. He walked over to take a hold of Lam's right hand and shook it.

  “Oh, don't look so shocked,” he said. “I haven't changed that much. Or maybe I have, judging from the look on your face. But you, too, have changed. Good heavens, I almost didn't recognize you. Well, what can I say?” He shrugged, then turned serious. “You have good eyesight, you can see that I am still the same old gardener who watered your orchids and slept behind your kitchen door. The difference is that I am the new owner. Just like the old proverb said, the rivers have their own segments; men have their own moments. I guess now is my moment.”