Last Airlift

by Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch

  “No,” said the man. “Those are stars. They are beautiful to look at and they will not harm you.”

  Stars. Tuyet remembered the bits of foil her teacher would stick onto her schoolwork when she did well. Those were called stars, too. She looked back up at the sparkling points of light. Stars were real? The sight of so many of them in the sky made her feel proud. It was as if the sky was telling her that she had done a good job, helping all those babies through their long journey together.

  Tuyet knew that she could walk down the steps from the airplane on her own. But she was so tired that she didn’t protest when the care worker picked her up and carried her down.

  Suddenly, a bright flash startled her.

  And another.

  Tuyet whimpered in fear. She buried her face in the care worker’s neck.

  “It’s okay,” said the man. “Those aren’t guns. They are just cameras. These people are taking your picture for the newspapers.”

  Tuyet knew about flash cameras. Once, a soldier had brought a flash camera to the orphanage. Tuyet had thought it was a new kind of weapon and she had stayed well hidden. Shortly before she was evacuated, a nun had taken her picture. But that camera was small and Tuyet trusted the nun.

  Tuyet poked her head up and squinted, trying to get a good view of the cameras in the dark. The care worker was right. The cameras were much bigger than any she had seen before. But they were definitely not weapons.

  Once everyone was off the airplane, they were all loaded onto a bus. Tuyet and Linh sat beside each other.

  Tuyet said, “What is going to happen to us now?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Linh, gripping one of Tuyet’s hands in her own. “But remember to say no if someone asks you something in English. It’s the only way to stay safe.”

  Tuyet looked out the window as the bus pulled away from the airport. The crowds of people were still there, flashing away with their cameras. Tuyet didn’t want to look at those people. She gazed up into the night sky, willing the stars to calm her and fill her with courage.

  4-4 — Tuyet arrives in Toronto

  The bus jolted forward and Tuyet was reminded of the earlier van ride that had taken her away from everything familiar. Where would this bus take her? Once the rest of the children in the van had all been adopted, would the adults send her back to Saigon? Or would she go to work in an orphanage in this strange city? Would Linh work with her, or would her friend be adopted?

  As the bus maneuvered through the quiet streets of nighttime Toronto, Tuyet was struck by how different the city looked from Saigon. There were no people running through the streets with their suitcases, no soldiers with guns, no fires in the distance, no smoke. Just fresh, cold air and tall buildings that sparkled with multicolored lights. Some of the lights outlined pictures and others spelled out words. Some of the letters were the same as in the Vietnamese alphabet. Tuyet tried to sound the words out, but nothing made sense.

  It wasn’t long before the bus stopped. A pale brick building loomed out of the darkness.

  “Maybe this is where we’re going to live now,” said Tuyet.

  Linh didn’t answer. Her eyes were wide with fear. They got off the bus. Linh gripped one of Tuyet’s hands in her own, and the two girls slowly walked forward with the rest of the tired group.

  5-1 — A care worker looks after a baby at Surrey Place

  Chapter Five

  Surry Place

  The children were lined up by numbers once again. A man looked at the information on Tuyet’s wrist band and wrote something onto a form. Next, someone with a camera took her picture, but this time it didn’t flash. Tuyet watched with curiosity as a piece of paper came out of the camera. The man held it up to her and smiled. It was a picture of a sad-looking girl.

  “That’s you,” said Linh.

  Tuyet blinked in surprise. She had never seen a picture of herself before, and there were no mirrors in the orphanage. Did she really wear her sadness on her face for all to see?

  Tuyet watched the man glue the picture onto the information form.

  Next, she was taken to a room with rows of iron beds. Children, some of them crying, occupied the beds. More adults stood by, dressed in white.

  5-2 — Medical staff examine a baby at Surrey Place

  A man sat Tuyet on a bed, listened to her chest, and looked inside her mouth with a flashlight and a stick. He held her hair up and looked into her ears. Then he used a little hammer to tap her good knee. He looked at her weak knee and foot, but he was so gentle, it didn’t hurt at all. He wrote something on her information sheet.

  Next, he held her arm firmly and pressed a metal contraption on it. Bang. Tuyet jumped.

  “All done,” said the man in Vietnamese.

  Tuyet looked down at the place on her arm where the metal contraption had been, and saw a circle of little pinpricks. It didn’t hurt.

  A man who was Vietnamese came to the room and took her by the hand. Tuyet had been so focused on what was happening to her that she had lost track of Linh. Now she looked frantically around the room.

  “Do you know where Linh is?” she asked the man.

  “Probably upstairs,” the man answered. “Once you’re finished with the medical examination, I’ll take you up to join her.”

  The rest of her examination didn’t take long. The man took Tuyet out of the room and into the hallway, where he stopped in front of two metal doors.

  “This is an elevator,” he said. “Quicker than stairs.”

  The doors opened and they both stepped inside a small room. The doors closed. Tuyet could feel panic rise in her stomach, but the man was calm and the door opened quickly again. They stepped out into a big room, where metal beds and bassinettes were arranged in rows.

  Linh sat on one bed, and she held a stuffed bear on her lap. “Tuyet!” she called. “Take this bed beside me.”

  On the bed next to Linh sat a colorful stuffed doll with a plaid skirt and button eyes.

  “Is that for me?” asked Tuyet.

  “Yes,” the man answered and smiled down at her. “Each child gets a toy.”

  5-3 — Toddler with new bear, Surrey Place

  Tuyet reached for the doll. Then she remembered. Where was the doll she’d been given on the flight? It had felt so good to have something of her own. How could she have left it behind? Tuyet hugged the new doll to her chest. This one she would not forget.

  Tuyet pulled herself up onto the bed beside Linh. The man brought each girl a glass of juice and a cookie. As Tuyet sat there, nibbling on the cookie and feeling the warmth of her friend by her side, she felt happy.

  “This is not bad,” she said with a grin.

  “I am pretty sure we won’t be staying here,” said Linh. “I think we will be given to families.”

  Tuyet had heard about children getting new families. At the orphanage in Saigon, some of children were taken away. The nuns said they had gone to new families. But none of the children ever came back to tell the others what happened next. Did the new families feed them? Did they make them do chores? Tuyet didn’t know. She looked around the room and took a deep breath. It could be worse. This place was clean and bright, and there were no sounds of war.

  Tuyet thought about that woman and boy who visited her in the orphanage. Were they her family? She thought of the special boy at the orphanage. Was he her family, too?

  She clutched her new doll and thought of the other doll and the rosary she had lost. Were families as replaceable as dolls and rosaries? Linh was now Tuyet’s only friend. Tuyet felt tears welling up inside her. Would Linh be lost to her now, as well?

  “Will you promise to stay with me always?” Tuyet asked Linh.

  “It is not up to us,” said Linh. “But I will try.”

&nbs
p; “If they try to take you away from me, you can just say no,” said Tuyet.

  Linh smiled. “Good idea.”

  With that, Linh finished the last of her juice and cookie. She curled up on the cot and, hugging her new stuffed bear, closed her eyes.

  Tuyet walked over to her own bed and sat down. Linh was already deep in an exhausted slumber. Even Linh did not need Tuyet. She felt so alone.

  The women in white carried more babies into the room. Tuyet longed to help. In the airplanes, it had felt so good to prove that she was useful.

  The babies looked clean and well fed. But as soon as the women put them into their own bassinettes, the babies began to scream.

  Tuyet felt like screaming, too. The babies must be exhausted. Why were they crying?

  As she stared at the babies, Tuyet suddenly realized the problem. When the babies were put to bed at the orphanage, they were always close enough to touch. Here, the babies were separated from each other. They weren’t used to being alone.

  Tuyet stood up. She scanned the room to see if the man who spoke Vietnamese was still there, but he had left. She went up to one of the workers, a woman with yellow hair held in place with a pink elastic band.

  Tuyet tapped the woman’s arm. “The babies,” she said. “They want to be close to each other.”

  The woman stared back at Tuyet, her face blank. She didn’t understand Vietnamese.

  Tuyet went up to Linh and shook her shoulder. Linh sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  “The babies are upset,” said Tuyet. “They’re too far apart.”

  Linh gave a huge yawn and stood up. “I guess we’ll have to show them.”

  Tuyet smiled. She knew she could count on Linh to help her.

  The two girls pulled blankets off the beds and laid them out in the middle of the floor. Tuyet picked up one of the crying babies. A care worker walked over to take the baby away from her.

  Tuyet held up one hand. “No,” she said.

  Linh picked up another baby. They placed the babies on the blanket so close that they were touching. The babies stopped crying. Tuyet and Linh picked up two more babies and placed them on the blanket, so close to the others that they, too, were touching. Those babies stopped crying, as well.

  One of the workers smiled in understanding. “Come,” she said to the others. “Let’s get these babies together so they can get some sleep.”

  Once the babies and toddlers were asleep, the room seemed unnaturally quiet to Tuyet. All her life, she had been surrounded by noise.

  “Can I sleep beside you on your cot?” Tuyet asked Linh.

  “I would like that,” said Linh.

  In no time, the two exhausted girls were fast asleep.

  In the morning, the workers turned their efforts to Linh and Tuyet. Each had to give up her clothing. They had a shower in a white-tiled bathroom that smelled of antiseptic. After the shower, they came out, shivering, and were wrapped in towels. The workers gave them each a pair of pants, a sweater, socks, and a small white cotton item.

  “What is this?” Tuyet asked Linh, holding up the small bit of cotton.

  “Underwear,” said Linh. “You put it on underneath your pants.”

  The thought made Tuyet giggle. It seemed so unnecessary. At the orphanage, Tuyet had never worn such a thing, just the pajama-like top and drawstring bottoms. She shrugged and put on the underwear. She guessed she would have to get used to more strange Canadian customs.

  Tuyet’s pants and sweater fit well enough, but she couldn’t get the socks to stretch over her weak foot. Linh got shoes, but none fit Tuyet, so she left her feet bare.

  Over the next few days, everything settled into a routine. It reminded Tuyet of the orphanage. There were no lessons or chapel, and no one rapped Tuyet’s knuckles with bamboo, but eating and sleeping and washing and playing were done to a schedule.

  Was this what her life would be like from now on? Tuyet didn’t mind. She had the babies to help with. She had her friend Linh beside her. No helicopters flew overhead. And there was no war.

  But a few days later, just as she was getting used to the routine, everything changed. People came in—men and women who didn’t speak Vietnamese. Each couple took a baby away. Would all the babies be taken away? And once they were gone, where would she and Linh go? Would they be sent to another place filled with babies?

  Then, one morning, it was Linh’s turn.

  Tuyet watched in despair as a woman and man with kind smiles sat with Linh and talked to her with hand gestures. Linh grinned with joy. She did not use the word no. Linh glanced over at Tuyet and a look of concern clouded her face. She motioned to the man and woman that she would be back. Then she approached Tuyet.

  “They want to be my new family,” she said.

  “You promised you would say no,” said Tuyet. “I want you to stay here with me.”

  “You’ll be getting a family, too,” said Linh. “No won’t work.” She hugged Tuyet. “I will never forget you.”

  Tuyet didn’t hug Linh back. She pushed her away.

  “Have a good life,” she said, limping over to hug one of the babies before Linh could see the tears in her eyes.

  6-1 — Tuyet’s adoption order

  Chapter Six

  Tuyet’s Turn

  Tuyet sat at a table alone, clutching the doll she had been given on her first night at Surrey Place.

  She pulled off bits from a piece of bread and put them in her mouth. She did not feel hungry. She felt overwhelmingly sad, but Tuyet chewed on the bread anyway. After all, if she no longer had a job to do, they might stop feeding her.

  Linh had not been gone for more than an hour, but it felt like forever to Tuyet. The loneliness sat like a weight on her shoulders.

  One of the workers said something in English to Tuyet. She looked up.

  Standing beside the worker was a woman holding onto the hands of two girls. The older child had a face that looked similar to the woman’s and the younger one had a lovely golden complexion. A friendly-looking man stood beside them, grinning. In his arms, he carried a toddler who was surely Vietnamese. Confused, Tuyet looked back at the woman. Her eyes were brimming with tears. The girls looked as if they could barely contain their excitement.

  All at once, Tuyet understood. Each couple had chosen only one baby. And Linh was the only child chosen by the last couple. All of them had found families. But this couple already had three children. What they needed was a helper.

  And they had chosen Tuyet for the job.

  At first, her heart felt crushed with disappointment. Deep down, she had hoped to be treated like the other children, but when had that ever happened?

  Tuyet pasted on a brave smile, but she was still afraid. Did they know about her weak leg and foot? Maybe they wouldn’t even want her as a helper once they saw her foot. All her life, she had worked hard to prove herself useful. She would just have to prove herself once more. Better to get it over with right away.

  Tuyet put her bread down and pushed herself into a standing position. With her doll clutched in one hand, she limped to their side of the table and waited, her eyes cast down. She expected them to walk away.

  But they didn’t.

  Tuyet felt a pair of arms around her shoulders. The woman knelt beside her and held her tight. She said something in English, but the only word Tuyet could understand was Mom.

  Tuyet’s memory flashed to the woman who had visited her in the orphanage in Saigon. Had that been her mom—the woman who stopped visiting? Was that woman no longer Tuyet’s mom?

  Did this woman really want to be her mom? Tuyet was thrilled at the possibility. But what if this woman changed her mind, too? Tuyet became anxious to leave, now, before anyone had a chance to reconsider.

&nb
sp; The care workers didn’t want Tuyet to leave barefoot. It was cold for April, and it was raining. They found her a pair of white rubber boots that were so huge they reached past her knees. It was hard enough to walk barefoot, but in these boots, it was almost impossible. Mom put Tuyet’s doll into her purse and took one of Tuyet’s hands. The man held the toddler on his hip with one hand. Then he took Tuyet’s other hand, while the two young girls walked beside them.

  On their way out of Surrey Place, one of the workers wrote something on a piece of paper and gave it to Mom. Tuyet wondered what the paper said, but once they were outside, she didn’t give it another thought.

  She lifted her face to the sky. It wasn’t black anymore and there were no stars. Now the sky was full of billowy gray clouds, and big droplets of water splashed on her face. It was as if the sky were crying for all that Tuyet had lost. But the cool rain that splattered on her upturned face also felt soothing, as if it could wash away the past. With each step away from the building, Tuyet felt a little less anxious.

  The family hadn’t changed their mind yet.

  The man opened the back door of a car and the two girls climbed in. Mom opened the front passenger door and motioned for Tuyet to get in. It wasn’t an easy job in the big white boots. So the man lifted her up to the seat, pulled off her boots, and put them into the trunk. He didn’t seem to mind the look of her weak foot and leg at all. Tuyet slid over to the middle of the front seat. The man climbed into the driver’s seat and Mom sat on her other side, with the toddler on her lap. She took the doll out of her purse and gave it back to Tuyet, who held it close.

  As they drove away, the older girl leaned forward and said to Tuyet, “My name is Beth.”

  Tuyet turned around to get a better look at the two girls in the back. Both looked so happy and relaxed, like they belonged. Tuyet wondered what it would feel like to belong. She just couldn’t imagine it.

  6-2 — The Morris family. From left, Lara, John, Tuyet, Beth, Dorothy, Aaron