by May-lee Chai
A huge clap of thunder followed, then lightning flashed across the entire sky. I saw the stark outline of the palms, their spiky leaves pointed at the dark clouds in accusation. The metal skeletons of the dark streetlamps seemed as forlorn as dandelion stems with their white seeds blown clear away. Another quick flash and its rolling peal of thunder made me feel like the earth was opening up, ready to swallow us all.
Then I saw two figures standing before the window, their faces pressed to the glass, peering inside, the whites of their eyes catching the light.
I shrieked.
Everything was black again. The two figures were still standing at the front window, rattling the door, pounding on the glass, trying to break inside.
I dropped to the floor and scurried behind the counter so they couldn’t see me. I should call the police, I thought. Two holdups in a row was serious. I crept toward the phone on the wall, but then I couldn’t remember if I’d checked the back door, if I’d locked it after Anita had taken the trash to the dumpster. My heart leaped to my throat. It would take forever for the police to arrive. It would be too late if the gang members got inside.
I ran to the kitchen, which was completely black. I bumped against the counter, the stool, the metal fan. I tripped over a garbage can and jammed a finger against the wall. I patted my way with both hands toward the back door until I made sure it was locked, then felt my way up the wooden frame till I could find the deadbolt, and turned that, too. Then, carefully walking in baby steps, I made my way back to the front room so I could call the cops.
I was feeling for the phone on the wall when the lights hummed and spluttered. Flat white light flooded the front room as the lights in the parking lot burst back on like little fireworks sparking in the night sky. The freezer hummed back to life. Then the zombies at the front door burst inside.
I gasped.
It was Paul and a stranger. Was this part of the plan? Casing us out this morning. Now he was back for the actual robbery.
“I called the cops!” I shouted. “They’ll be here any minute!”
“You shoulda called the power company,” he said nonchalantly. He shut the door carefully behind him, ushering his friend to the booth. “Cops won’t do any good.”
“There’s no money. Anita took it with her.”
“I don’t need any money.” Paul looked at me strangely. “What’s wrong with you?” He brushed past me to grab paper towels from the roll behind the counter.
“Oh, little sister, did you think we were going to hold you up?” A deep, throaty voice spoke up from the booth, then laughed. “Bang, bang!”
I peered round Paul’s shoulder. The person in the booth had long bleached-blond hair pulled back in a tight, low ponytail. I realized it was the woman from this morning. Her makeup had run in the rain, and raccoonlike pools of black mascara puddled beneath her eyes. She dabbed at her face with the paper towels Paul handed her. “Thanks, babe.” Then she batted her eyes at him.
“How’d you get in? You didn’t break the door, did you?”
“My father gave me a key,” Paul said haughtily. “I just couldn’t see to get it in the lock at first.”
“Poor thing. She thought we were going to rob her.” Paul’s girlfriend laughed again. “We didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Why didn’t you call first? Why did you come and then disappear like that? What’s wrong with you?” I asked angrily. I didn’t think it was funny the way they’d treated me.
“Half his church group was here,” Paul growled. “What did you expect?”
“Of course they’re here! They’re so happy for him. They think it’s a miracle you’ve come back and he’s found you. This place is practically a shrine. If you’d stayed, everyone would’ve wanted to touch the hem of your jacket.” I hadn’t expected that to come out sounding as bitter as it did, but once I’d spoken, I couldn’t take the words back.
Paul inhaled sharply, then blew the air out over his teeth, slowly, as though I were testing his patience, as though I were the one inconveniencing him.
Then his friend sashayed over, took some napkins from the dispenser, and began patting Paul’s hair dry. “It’s okay, babe. You know what’s right.”
With most of her makeup gone and her hair pulled back from her face, I could get a better look at Paul’s girlfriend. In the unflattering fluorescent light, she looked tired, shadows under her eyes. Her skin was uneven, acne-pocked, and her jaw was sharp and determined as she wiped Paul’s face dry. Her hands were really large.
And then I got it.
Paul’s friend wasn’t a woman.
“Oh,” I said, then shut my mouth.
I turned away once then turned back toward them. Suddenly, Paul’s hesitancy to introduce his friend to the church crowd made more sense.
I wondered if Uncle knew, but as soon as I asked myself the question, I knew that he didn’t. My heart beat faster. I felt afraid.
“I’m Arun,” the friend said, extending his hand to me to shake.
I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and shook Arun’s hand. “Nea.”
“My cousin,” Paul said.
“You look so familiar,” Arun said, “but I don’t remember anyone named Nea.”
“It’s my American name.”
“She’s Sourdi’s younger sister,” Paul said.
“Sourdi! I remember her! Such a pretty little girl. She used to play at your house all the time, before it became too dangerous, moving around in the city. I remember her. Where is she now?”
“Married. Three kids. Lives in Iowa.”
“Wonderful!” said Arun. “I’m so happy.”
“Paul told us how you two survived.”
“We were very lucky. Very, very lucky. I always thank Buddha we survived. And my big brother.” Arun squeezed Paul’s arm.
I wasn’t sure if Arun wanted me to consider him a man or a woman. His mannerisms were feminine, his voice softer than a man’s. But without his makeup and with his hair slicked back, in his blue jeans and jacket, he looked distinctly male. I wondered if this was part of the plan, a way of introducing Arun to Uncle, or if it was merely an accident of the storm. I wondered if it was bad of me to even wonder.
“I’m so pleased Paul has found his father again. The family reunited. It’s like a dream come true,” Arun said. “And then to meet a cousin!”
“Did you find any of your family?” I asked.
Arun shook his head. “No. I heard what happened, though, from other survivors. My mother died under Pol Pot. In one of the work camps. My father never even made it to a camp. He was killed en route. What could he do? He wore glasses. He had light skin. He looked like an intellectual. How could he hide from those brutal tyrants?”
“I’m sorry.”
Arun paced in the small space between the booth and the counter, patting at his hair with one of the napkins. “They’re in a better place. They’re in Heaven. Or they’ve been reincarnated. Maybe they’re darling little babies right now while we’re standing here talking about them.”
Thunder rattled the glass again, but it wasn’t as loud as before. The storm was finally moving on.
“Would you like something to drink? A soda? A bottle of water?” I rummaged in the refrigerated case. “I already emptied the tea and coffee pots, but we have bottled ice tea.”
“Thank you for your thoughtfulness, but I’m fine.” Arun sat in the booth. Arun had excellent manners, spoke in a formal Khmer, the grammar impeccable. Watching Arun sit gracefully, legs crossed, I decided I’d think of her as a woman. It seemed to fit. At least for now. She put her arms across the tabletop and lay her head down, her long hair fanning out around her so that I couldn’t see her face, couldn’t read her expression.
“Is Arun okay?” I whispered to Paul.
“Yeah, Arun’s just tired. We had a long drive today.” Paul grabbed a bottle of Coke out of the refrigerator case and opened it on the edge of the counter, popping the top off quickly. It spun on the floor like
a top. He didn’t bother to pick it up.
Still the rich man’s son, acting like he expected servants to pick up after him. I tried not to let my irritation show.
“So when’s my father coming back?” He downed a big gulp of the Coke and then belched.
“Disgusting,” I said.
He smiled. “Sorry. I haven’t eaten yet today.”
“You were in earlier. You should have bought a donut or something.”
“I didn’t want to cut in line.” Paul winked.
“You should be more considerate. Uncle’s been waiting for you all weekend.”
“I had to find Arun.”
“How come you didn’t know where Arun was?”
“We had a fight—”
“It’s okay, babe,” Arun said from the booth. Then she said in carefully enunciated English, “ ‘Let bygone be bygone.’ ”
“I don’t even know what that means,” Paul said. His voice tacked toward anger, as though they were on the verge of picking up where the last fight ended. My body tightened, the air in the room growing tense.
The phone rang, the loud br-r-ring startling me.
It was Anita. “Don’t panic, honey. It’s going to be okay.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t want you to get upset now. We don’t want that. That’s why I waited to call you—”
“Waited to tell me what? What’s going on?”
“Your uncle’s going to be fine. I’ve been talking to the doctors—”
“Anita, what happened?!” I tried to keep my voice calm and level, but her coyness was maddening. I was squeezing the receiver so hard that I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had broken in two.
“Your uncle’s had a small heart attack.”
“Oh, my god.”
Paul and Arun were staring at me now.
“It’s okay, it’s—”
“It’s not okay if he’s had a heart attack! Which hospital? Where are you?”
I took down the name and address, then hung up. I turned to Paul. “Your car’s here, right? You’ve got to drive us to Sacred Heart. Right now. Uncle’s had a heart attack.”
Paul was calmer than I would have expected. “It’s going to be okay. The critical part is getting to the hospital in time.”
I didn’t ask him how he knew that, how he was suddenly an expert. All I could think of was Uncle working around the clock, popping his Sudafed, drinking all that caffeine, chewing the Nicorette. I should have seen this coming. I should have guessed this would come to a bad end. If he died, Ma would never forgive me. She’d think I caused it. She’d think I stressed him out.
And maybe she would be right. I was the one who thought the donut shop needed more business. Maybe I was stupid. Maybe I was wrong. Why did I have to come and confront him, make him remember the past, make him remember me?
My guilty thoughts circled round and round like a ring of smoke, all my good intentions like so many ashes. I couldn’t concentrate on what Arun was saying in the car. Something about her father being a doctor. She remembered something something something. I watched the raindrops slide down the windshield and listened to the squeak of the wipers, while my heart went boomboomboom in my chest.
If Uncle died, it would be all my fault.
In the hospital, I had to spell his name three times and then give his American name before the woman at the registration computer finally found him in Intensive Care. They said we couldn’t all go up, and I said that we were his children. The nurse looked us over, squinting. At first I was afraid she’d say we didn’t look like siblings, or, worse, that she’d make us offer proof, but in the end she just nodded, buzzed us through the security door, and told us that the elevator was down the hall and to the left.
We wandered through a maze of white hallways under flickering fluorescent lights, past white walls the color of mourning, of death, of ghosts. All I could think was that I’d waited too long. I’d come all this way to see my father, to ask him why he hadn’t wanted me as a daughter anymore, and I’d foolishly wasted all this time. I should have said to him straight up, first thing off the bus, I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you at first, can you tell me what you remember about our family?
As we stepped out of the elevator, I saw Anita talking to a nurse at the far end of the hall. She looked wan and tired, but she wasn’t crying, and she wasn’t distraught. I took that as a good sign. I figured she’d look worse if Uncle wasn’t going to make it.
“Anita!” I called. She turned and, seeing us, smiled in her friendly, easy, hippie way, but her eyes remained tense—only the corners of her lips turned up.
“Your uncle’s resting,” she told me. “They’ve got him on tranquilizers, blood thinner, and something to reduce the fever. He’s going to be okay. He’s tough. It’s called unstable angina. A mild heart attack. Not much damage to the heart.”
“Can we see him?”
The nurse looked at us. “Only immediate family.”
“Oh, they’re immediate family all right,” Anita said, and the nurse let us follow her into his room.
“Don’t talk very much. He’s very tired,” the nurse warned.
Holding my breath, I walked past the ugly white curtain hanging around his bed. I steeled myself, but I heard Paul inhale sharply beside me.
Uncle looked tiny and very weak lying on the flat white bed, the guardrails up to keep him in place, plastic tubes attached to his nostrils, IVs in both arms.
“Father!” Paul flung himself on his knees beside Uncle’s bed and burst into tears.
Great, I thought. “Don’t stress him out,” I hissed.
But Uncle smiled and nodded, patting Paul on the back of his head with the hand that wasn’t attached to the oxygen monitor.
“My son, my son,” he said.
“Father, I’m here!” Paul cried.
“I know,” Uncle whispered.
Arun wiped tears from the corners of her eyes and squeezed my arm tightly. She said, “I remember Paul’s father. When I was a child, I was in awe of him. Everyone else looked up to him. I always thought of him as a giant. I thought he was six feet tall.”
Paul was sniffling. I saw a tissue box on a table at the far end of the room, next to the dispenser of latex gloves and the needle disposal box with the orange “HAZARDOUS” sign on it. I grabbed some tissues and handed them to Paul. Then Uncle grabbed hold of my hand. He held me tightly. I leaned closer to him, but I couldn’t make out what he was trying to say. His lips opened and shut, but no sound emerged.
The nurse came over. “You’d all better leave now. He needs his rest.”
“We’ll be back soon, James,” Anita kissed her fingers and touched them to Uncle’s cheek.
Arun helped Paul, who was still crying, stand up.
I patted Uncle’s hand with my free hand and he released his grip, not in a scary, final kind of way, but in a tired, I-need-to-rest way. He smacked his lips together again and I realized he was thirsty. There was a plastic pitcher of water on the stand by the bed. I swabbed his mouth out with a tiny sponge on a stick, and he seemed more content. His eyes were shut and he sank into his pillow.
The heart monitor beeped steadily, the green line marking his heart rate as strong.
I leaned over him. “It’s me. It’s Channary. I’m back,” I whispered in Khmer.
His eyelids fluttered briefly, but he didn’t answer.
I turned and left with the others.
CHAPTER 18
Tiger Girl
The hospital cafeteria was still halfheartedly decorated for Christmas. Red and green garlands were draped over the salad bar like an overgrowth of mold; an artificial tree listed in the corner, burdened with a few colored balls and a strand of broken lights; the strings of popcorn looked likely to attract rats. Construction-paper angels were taped to the walls. Children had written their wishes for gifts in their crooked halos. I read a few of the requests: Power Ranger, Princess Barbie, a gun.
We gathere
d up our molded plastic trays and let the cafeteria ladies slop mashed potatoes and grayish meat topped with murky vegetables onto our plates, then found a table amidst all the families huddled over their grim meals.
The general atmosphere could not have been more depressing, but I felt giddy, buoyant, as though I’d plunged off a cliff only to be miraculously saved from hitting bottom. Uncle had survived, and he looked better than I’d expected. He’d wanted to hold my hand. And he hadn’t seemed fazed to meet Arun. Of course, he was heavily medicated, but still. At this moment, things were looking up.
“Before he’s released, we should tell the doctors that Uncle works too hard. He isn’t getting any sleep. He won’t listen to us, but he might listen to them if they tell him to take it easy.” I wrote a checklist in my mind of things we should tell the doctors. Like all the uppers he took in a given day.
No one else seemed to share my sense of urgency. Paul was pushing the gloppy mashed potatoes around on his tray glumly, Arun picked at the dry turkey, Anita wasn’t eating at all.
“So, Anita, what was Uncle doing before the heart attack? Was he volunteering at the church again? Had he picked up anything heavy? Were there any signs?” Everyone was probably still in shock, but I knew if we didn’t tell the doctors these things, Uncle never would.
“Oh, I knew it was serious. He was just covered in sweat, couldn’t move, it wasn’t like him to complain.” Anita pressed her lips together and nodded. “Thank god I only live ten minutes from the hospital. Less than ten minutes. If the ambulance hadn’t come right away, I would have driven him myself.”
Paul leaned forward. “What exactly was my father doing with you?”
The sharpness to Paul’s tone made me look up from my tray. Anita was blushing a deep scarlet.
“Uncle’s a workaholic, Paul,” I said. “Don’t blame Anita. It’s not her fault. He was this way even in Nebraska.”
“I’m not blaming anybody,” Paul said through gritted teeth. “I just think I have a right to know what’s going on with my father.”
