The Unwanted

by Kien Nguyen

  As Jimmy and I neared the back door to our house, a thin whistle, coming from the foot of my uncle's house, stopped us in our tracks. A shadow by a column waved, beckoning me closer. I recognized the petite frame of my aunt's eldest daughter, Moonlight. My earlier experience with her brothers prompted me to walk away, but my curiosity overcame that impulse. I turned to my brother.

  “Go inside, Jimmy. I'll be right back,” I ordered him. Before he could protest, I pushed him through the back door and ran over to meet Moonlight. She sat on her buttocks, with her legs folded against her chest so that her chin could rest on her knees. The light from the window barely kept her thin body from blending into the surrounding blackness. She coughed slightly, using her hands to cover her mouth in a polite manner.

  I walked in front of her. “What do you want?” I asked as aggressively as I could.

  “Nothing,” she said. Her lips trembled as she spoke to me. “I have been watching you, Kien. I saw you bury your dog. You must feel terrible about what has happened. I want to apologize for my brothers. They were very mean to you earlier this afternoon, weren't they?”

  I didn't know how to answer her. She patted the ground beside her and said, “Sit down.”

  I did what I was told.

  “Do you know my name, Kien?” she asked.

  I nodded. “Anh Nguyet.”

  “Yes. But do you know how to say it in English?” she asked.

  I shook my head and she smiled. Her hand stroked my head.

  “Moonlight. Doesn't that sound pretty?”

  “Yes, very pretty,” I agreed.

  “I want you to call me Moonlight from now on, the way my friends used to back in college,” she said. Her hands returned to cover her lower face, muffling her mouth so that she spoke as though she had a mouth full of food. “I saw a boy with you earlier. Where is he?”

  “He went home,” I replied.

  “Did he tell you why he didn't steal any guava today?”

  I shook my head. “He said someone was watching him. He might have meant you, cousin.”

  “Moonlight,” she corrected me.

  “Moonlight,” I repeated.

  “Did he mention anything about his brothers to you?”

  I decided to be straight with her. “He said that someday his brothers will beat your brothers up, because everybody thinks your brothers are a bunch of bullies.”

  Moonlight laughed and again ruffled my hair. “No kidding, he said that to you? I doubt that would ever happen, though. We have been neighbors for many years, but I never saw those boys start a fight.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Because…Oh, forget it! You are too young to understand.” The grown-up emphasis in her voice dismissed me.

  “Try me. I understand lots of things,” I said proudly.

  “Oh, yeah? Maybe you can understand, but can you keep a secret?” she asked.

  I nodded and waited impatiently.

  “Be careful,” Moonlight warned me. “If you speak to anyone of what I am about to tell you, my brothers will come looking for you. And I promise you, you will be reunited with Lulu soon after.”

  “Moonlight, I won't tell anyone, I promise. Not even Jimmy,” I answered her.

  “All right then, here it goes,” she began. “This story involves that little boy's big brother and me. We have known each other for a long time. His name is Ty Tong.” Her head tilted to rest against her knees, and her arms wrapped themselves intimately around her ankles. She looked up to the clear sky and went on in a whisper. “We grew up together, Ty and I, and seven years ago, he began to court me. It's a secret. My family must not know about this, do you understand?”

  “Why not? They don't like for you to date him?” I asked her.

  “No, but it is a little more complicated than that,” she said. “Before the fall of Saigon, his family didn't want him to marry me because they were rich and we were poor. Ty Tong is also their first born, so they thought he should get for himself a strong and fertile wife. I am sick with tuberculosis, so that is another reason for his parents to be against the relationship. Now, after the Communists took away everything they had, it was my family's turn to look down on his family.” She stopped, losing herself in her thoughts.

  “Can anything be done?” I asked.

  “I don't know. The fact is, his father held a very high rank in the Republican military. Everyone thinks they have bad résumés, like you people. My dad doesn't want me to get involved with a guilty party like him. It is bad enough that the whole town knows we are related to your family. So, it is understandable that I am now forbidden to see him,” she said, rubbing her face against the silky fabric of her pants.

  “What is wrong with my family?” I asked her.

  “Nothing,” Moonlight replied immediately, then added, “except that you remind everyone of the past. The odd appearances of you and your brother, and the way your mother has made her money through her association with the foreigners. Everyone in your family is a capitalist.”

  “Your father, too, has fought in the Republican Army,” I argued.

  “True, but the government knows that he was just a low-rank enlistee, working in an office. He never killed anyone in battle. It's not the same. Compared to most people in this town, we belong to what is called the lowest working class in the south.”

  She looked at me through her eyelashes. “Listen, I don't make up these rules, so don't waste your time arguing with me. Besides, why should we fight? If the situation were reversed, you would treat us the same way. That's life, Kien. Let's be friends, because I want you to help me.”

  “Help you? How?”

  “You know Duy Tong. If you hang out with him, you can meet his brother easily. You can give Ty my messages, yes? If I could ask any of my brothers or sisters to help me, I wouldn't trouble myself to ask you. But I know they would refuse.”

  “What message?” I asked with a pang of nervousness.

  “Right at this moment, I am not sure. Maybe some notes, or some presents, that sort of things. I don't know yet, but when I do, will you deliver them for me?”

  She looked at me with hope in her eyes. There was also something else I detected on her face—a sense of helplessness. I found myself promising her what she needed to hear.

  “Good.” She reached out to hug me, and her long black hair fell over my face. “Thank you. You are my sweet little blue bird. I will do my best to keep my nasty brothers away from you and Jimmy.”

  I watched her disappear behind the heavy doors before I returned to my house. On the floor, next to a lantern was a small portion of food my grandmother had left for me. My mother had locked herself in her room; however, she was not asleep. I could hear her sniffing from behind the shut door as though she had a bad cold. Jimmy lay on his bed staring at me. I climbed under my covers, ignoring the dinner on the floor. Before long, I was asleep.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  That summer of 1975 brought more rain than the land could absorb. Swampy water accumulated all over the city, creating fertile breeding conditions for insects that spread diseases at a rapid rate. Malaria, dysentery, and tuberculosis were rife. In an attempt to contain the problem, the Communist government assembled a health-care system in which everybody was trained to take care of himself or herself. Three times a week, a group of nurses would set up a table outside the community center to dispense a dose of quinine for everyone as a safeguard against malaria. Fortunately, my village had yet to be touched by any of the plagues.

  August strolled by sluggishly as the town adjusted to its reconstruction. One day my aunt's husband came rushing into our house. For his past errors, he had spent a week at a concentration camp. Luckily, the government exempted my grandfather from the same hardship because of his disability. The day my uncle was released, he came to warn my mother of the news he had learned in the camp.

  All over the city, the Communists had adopted a new strategy to break down capitalism, starting with the rich communit
ies up in Chinatown and spreading to the outlying villages. It was a simple plan. Each day, the community leaders would pick out a target area at random. They ransacked every house in that sector, paying special attention to the once rich and famous. The object was mainly to find hidden treasure or evidence that linked the people to their sinful past. As the government agents probed through the owner's belongings, members of the household were pushed into a corner. Anything with monetary value would either be confiscated or destroyed immediately. If they found proof of the owner's involvement with an unacceptable past, depending on the degree of guilt, the person would either be taken away to a death camp or held for trial. Even the children did not escape the military's search, since many cunning parents had learned to hide their treasure in or on their offspring.

  With my cousins' aid, my mother went through her belongings and separated the memorabilia that was related to her past life, particularly items linked to my father or Jimmy's father. She put them all in a shoebox, together with half of her jewelry. The other half of the jewelry still remained hidden inside my trousers. As night fell, my mother went out alone to the front lawn and buried the box.

  Next door, Duy's family was not as fortunate. The Communists ripped his home apart. They left with his father handcuffed in the back of a military truck. Duy's mother ran after her husband, wailing like a wounded animal as the vehicle drove off along the dusty road spitting a dark fume of smoke at her face.

  My cousin Moonlight came up behind me as I was standing next to my grandmother on the front lawn, watching the chaos next door.

  “Listen, Kien,” she whispered in my ear, pointing at Ty Tong. “Please, will you give him this note for me?” She stuffed a small piece of paper into my hand.

  “Now? During all this?” I asked, unsure whether I had understood her correctly.

  “Yes, now,” she repeated. Before her parents could notice anything, Moonlight straightened up and stepped away from me.

  I walked next door, searching for Ty among his family. He stood tall next to his mother, with his arm wrapped around her waist to keep her from fainting. Mrs. Tong cried on her son's shoulder, ignoring the bystanders' curious stares. Duy's brother appeared proud and mature, considering the devastation of the situation. He did not notice me as I crept closer to him. Duy, on the other hand, stopped crying to look at me with surprise.

  “Sorry, Duy,” I muttered to him.

  Duy did not answer me. I stood among his distraught brothers, feeling out of place as they gathered themselves up to go back inside their house. When Ty went past me, I nudged Moonlight's note into his hand. Before he had a chance to walk away from me, I said in his ear, “This is from Moonlight.”

  He thanked me and I ran back home. In the front yard, Moonlight smiled and winked at me.

  After waiting for the Communists a few weeks, my mother realized that since the loss of her mansion, the new government no longer considered us a serious threat. Relieved, she went to retrieve her hidden possessions from the ground. To her dismay, the entire box had disappeared. After five hours of turning the lawn upside down, she concluded that the box must have drifted to sea due to the water current below the ground. Such occurrences were common when people buried things too deep in the soil.

  In the last few months of my mother's pregnancy, the stress was heavy for all of us. With nobody in my family working, she was forced to live off her jewelry. Her term also did not go as smoothly as she had hoped. More than twice in the last month, she experienced complications. The last bout of bleeding came with severe cramping, which led her to believe that the baby was coming prematurely. In her panic, she rushed to the hospital, where the incident proved to be a false alarm. She particularly regretted the waste of money, which she could ill afford.

  At about this time, the town leader summoned Lam for fifteen days of community service, which would entail hard labor in a jungle fifty kilometers from town. Lam refused to go. To keep us from getting into trouble, my mother hired one of my cousins to replace him. The whole matter might have passed without anyone's notice. However, that unlucky day, the town leader accidentally discovered the crafty substitution when he was looking to nominate Lam as the group's guide. He found my cousin Le instead of Lam.

  Even though Lam survived the incident with no significant trouble, the conflict between my family and Mr. Qui Ba, the town leader, took a new turn. To the commander, my mother's ability to hire a stand-in raised the possibility that my family was still withholding some fortune from the government. The situation pushed my mother and Lam further apart, so that now they hardly spoke a word to each other. Someone in town observed to her that they no longer appeared to be a couple at all.

  With every new day, my mother grew more restless and disturbed. The incessant rain and the tension of her advancing pregnancy erased any tolerance she had for petty irritations.

  One evening at dinnertime, we sat together on the floor eating some salty fish with rice, prepared by my grandmother. Since Loan left, my grandmother had taken over the household chores of cooking, cleaning, and doing the laundry. If her arthritis had allowed, my grandmother could have been a good cook. But mostly, like that night, we were stuck with white rice and dried fish for dinner.

  Lam spoke up to my mother, who sat on the opposite side of him and was eating calmly. “Look at me,” he said.

  My mother continued to eat her food as if nothing happened. Jimmy, on the other hand, jumped up with fear, looking at both of them. I held on to my brother's hands, knowing that he was on the verge of tears.

  My mother's silence enraged Lam even more, and he yelled louder, “Why don't you look at me?” He slammed his fist to the floor. “I am not going to take this abuse any longer.” Again, my mother's only response was an exaggerated detachment.

  “Don't toy with me, dirty whore.” In his vehemence, the insult came out as a hoarse cry. He threw his half-eaten bowl of rice at my mother and marched outside to light a cigarette. Specks of rice spilled onto my mother's long hair and on her face, but she made no attempt to brush them off. Next to me, Jimmy began to cry.

  Sometime that night, Lam crept into my bed. Lying asleep on my stomach, I was not fully aware of his presence until my body was crushed by his weight. His hands covered my mouth, preventing me from making a sound. I woke up groggily, not understanding what was happening.

  His voice whispered next to my ear, “Scream, and I will break your neck.”

  At first, I was sure I was having a bad dream, and I struggled to wake up. Lam brought me back to reality by tightening his grip on my face. I struggled for air, but I was not strong enough to break away from his grasp, and I felt myself suffocating. Surely, I was going to die.

  “Please,” I screamed in my head. I felt my brain swell like a balloon that was ready to explode. I wondered if Lulu had felt a terror of this sort before she died. Weakened, I stopped fighting. As soon as I ceased to move, Lam released his fingers to allow some air to rush back into my lungs. Eagerly, I sucked in life, choking on my own phlegm.

  “Listen to me and listen good, little muck,” he said in a hushed tone. “Someday when you grow up, if you ever have to blame this on anyone, blame it on your mother. She started this war first, the moment she destroyed my unborn child.” His voice was nearby, but it sounded far away. Nevertheless, I understood what he said, as it seeped into my soul like ink.

  Outside, the night had deepened, with the moon beaming through the window. Its light drenched everything in the room, including the thick, clawlike fingers around my neck. Lam peeled the bottom of my pajama off, taking off his own clothes with one hand, while continuing to hold me with the other. I was scared and humiliated yet did not understand what Lam was about to do. In my confusion and panic, I felt paralyzed. Suddenly, a deep pain soared through my body in waves, while Lam grunted and rocked on top of me. I wanted to scream but could not. My will to cry was gone and all that was left in me was an emptiness that grew bigger and colder with every minute.


  Before he climbed off my body, Lam waved his fist in my face. “Keep this between you and me, boy, and maybe I will be more gentle next time. And if you are stupid enough to tell your mother about this, I will go after your brother next.”

  He did not need to warn me about keeping my mouth shut. The shame and isolation I felt were not feelings I wanted to share with anyone. I lay with my head buried in the pillows, listening to his footsteps as he left, and trying hard to block out the humiliation that was eroding my soul.

  Long after he left, I remained naked and motionless on my bed. My mind was empty. I retreated into a white cocoon, just like death, cold and vacant, and at that moment it was the only comfort I could find.

  THE NEXT DAY I stayed in bed late with the sheet over my head. When it was time for breakfast, my mother came in to look for me. She found me shaking silently under the bedspread. Worried, she pulled the covers off to examine me. I stared past her face into the space beyond the ceiling.

  Grasping me in one of her hands, she slapped me with the other and screamed, “Kien, get up.” When I remained unresponsive, her panic increased. “What is going on? Talk to me. What is happening to you? Oh, God, where is the blood coming from?”

  Her hysteria pulled me back into the room, where everybody was staring at me with curiosity. Sprawled across his bed, Lam watched me. His dark look jerked me out of my stupor.

  “I'm—I'm fine, Mommy,” I stammered. “I am just a little tired.”

  “Where does this blood come from? Where are you bleeding, Kien?” she asked, touching the dried stain on my bedspread.

  “He is fine,” Lam interrupted. “Just leave him alone.” His eyes never left my face as he spoke to her. “Early this morning, his nose bled a little bit. I helped him take care of it already. Right, Kien?”