“Tell me yours first,” she said.
“A zookeeper,” I said. “Or a train conductor. I can check people’s tickets and compliment their coats. I’d like to fly an airplane too. Or hunt treasures. Did you know people make shadow puppets for a living? You shine light on the puppets behind a clear screen. I could do that. There are so many things I want to do. What about you?”
“I don’t know,” she said. Her eyes went dark. “I can’t picture anything. I’ll be a little girl forever.”
6
We got on the ferry, my soldier holding my hand so I would not lose my balance. My mother stood at the other end, leaning over the handrail. The wind and salty air had given her hair more texture, made it wavier. I thought she looked beautiful. She looked the way she’d looked in a photograph she’d taken with my father when they said goodbye on his ship before his month-long journey. Their smiles were lightly touched by sadness, but they still seemed happy. Perhaps, she could feel his touch in the wind. It lifted her hair and stroked her neck.
“Don’t ever leave me,” I said to my soldier.
He frowned at me without responding. My nose reddened and I could feel warmth rising from my cheeks into my eyes.
“I don’t want to lie to you, my little girl, we all must leave each other some day,” he said after a while.
“No!”
“As long as you remember me,” He pulled me to him and kissed the top of my head.
“I’m going to forget you.” I said. “I forget everything. Stupid equations, stupid grammar rules, stupid everything.”
“Don’t worry.” He held my chin and lifted my face. “It’s not so easy to forget. Not like you would think.”
“What were you like when you were a kid?” I asked.
“When I was your age? Oh, you know, I was the most popular boy in class.”
“Really?”
“No.” He chuckled, “I didn’t like rough games. I was—should I say—sensitive. It’s not good for a boy to be too soft.” He adjusted the gun on his belt. “I preferred to make things. I would make insects, animals out of leaves, like that ring I made you. It was too big.”
“Would we have been friends? Would you have liked me?” I asked.
“Yes, I would. I wish I were much younger or you were older. But then I wouldn’t have met you. So things are perfect as they are.” He detached my arms from around his waist and leaned on the railing.
We arrived at the island around noon. Women, young and old, were washing clothes, rinsing vegetables on the shore. Naked children ran back and forth between the ocean and sand. Their skin was dark and smooth. I mimicked them and took my shoes off. The islanders looked at us when we passed, but when I looked back, they turned their faces away and resumed emptying buckets of shrimps into shipping containers and rinsing fish blood and guts off the street with a hose. They talked, yelled, and laughed at each other as they worked. Two men on mopeds drove up and asked us where we needed to go.
“The national prison,” my soldier said.
“Seventy-five thousand dong. One hundred and fifty round trip,” one of the men said.
“Fifty for both mopeds,” my soldier said.
The man nodded and pointed his thumb behind him. My mother told me to get on. She got on behind me. My soldier rode with the other man.
The prison’s stone wall seemed to have absorbed all natural light. Though the wall was immersed in shadow, it felt warm on my hand. A beggar pushed a wooden stick figure in my palm when I crossed the entrance.
“Anything to help this old body. Please.” He fumbled with the hem of my mother’s dress. His whole body trembled.
I tried to give back the wooden man, but he waved it away.
“Wouldn’t you have better luck at the market? Somewhere with more people?” My mother said as she put a bill in his palm.
“Thank you.” He put the money inside his straw hat. “No dear, the market is not such a good place for an old cripple like me. People would walk over me. Don’t be offended dear, but visitors here are typically generous. I think it has to do with an exchange of karma. This place reminds them of it.”
“I see. How many karma points did I earn?” my mother said.
The old man cleared his throat. I thanked him for the figurine.
At the front desk sat a woman with a bun of silver hair. My soldier told her two names and she flipped open the large book on her table, the only other object there beside a telephone. She scanned the rows of names.
“How are you acquainted with the inmates? Are you family?” she asked, pushing her glasses to the top of her nose bridge. They slid back down to the tip of her nose.
“No.” My soldier took a piece of paper from his front pocket. “Here’s the permission slip.”
The woman eyed the three of us suspiciously. She licked her finger and turned the page. It seemed to pause midair for an eternity.
“Do you have identification?” she said.
My mother gave the woman more papers. Later when I asked my mother why she didn’t just give our birth certificates to begin with, she said we should never volunteer information unless asked. If we had given all our cards up front, they might ask for something else we didn’t have.
The woman looked back and forth between the documents and our faces. She frowned, sighed, scratched her arms, and sighed some more. I didn’t understand why she found us so irritating. I thought perhaps any company would be better than sitting here alone all day.
“A person like you should be out in the sunshine! This place is depressing,” my soldier said to the old woman. I was surprised at his cheerful tone.
The permanent frown on the woman’s forehead started to soften. She leaned back in her chair.
“It’s a job like any. I help out my daughter-in-law, pay for my grandkids’ tuition. It gives me a purpose.” She smiled. There were barely any teeth left in her mouth, mostly gums.
“We all need a purpose. It’s important what you’re doing. Children are our only hope,” my soldier said.
“Exactly, exactly. My son is about your age, maybe a little older. He has been here for seven years.” Her nose wrinkled. Yellow pus seeped from the corners of her eyes. “He stole from his job. Sold the fish, scallops, shrimp, everything else, at the market. He was so desperate to give us a better life.”
“I’m sorry,” my soldier said.
“It’s alright. I try to see him every other day. I work here after all. There are some benefits. The guards know me.”
“You’re a good mother. Your son is lucky to have you. So are his wife and kids.”
She swatted the air with her hand. “Every mother would do the same. You go on up now. I’ll call and tell the guards. Visiting time is limited to thirty minutes, but you take as long as you need.”
When we got upstairs, we sat on a bench across from a man in black and white striped pajamas. He had high cheekbones and bluish grey skin, but he did not seem weak or tired. His shoulders were angular and when he moved, the muscles of his arms flexed. His lips were a deep plum color and when he licked them, they became even darker. I did not like the way he smelled but when he smiled at me, I couldn’t help but smile back. I wanted him to like me.
“Isn’t it my favorite person!” he said to Mother. “Is this your daughter? She’s beautiful, just like you.”
“Listen to me,” my mother squeezed my hand. “This is a very bad man.”
“I’m not as bad as all that. I’m only human after all.” He winked at me.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“He’s ruined thousands of lives. He’s the reason our country cannot move forward. There are many more like him. He’s part of the reason why you cannot go home,” My mother said.
I nodded.
“Your mama thinks she’s Mother Theresa.” The prisoner laughed. “I lived
within the system. I’m not better than it. Sure, I’m corrupt, but at least I’m willing to admit it. Besides, you’re essentially committing treason,” he added, addressing Mother. “Using military resources to teach your daughter a lesson? Take her somewhere fun. Take her to the beach,” he said to Mother, then spat on the floor. I felt a drop on my thigh.
The visiting room smelled damp. Cracks spidered from all four corners of the ceiling. A plastic bucket on the floor collected rain, which dripped from the roof through the ceiling. I imagined the naked children on the beach. They were different from the little girl and I, different from all the children at the camp. They played with the waves, the sun and sand, instead of each other. They had fun together, but didn’t need each other.
I listened to the drips of rain as they hit the bucket while my mother and the prisoner talked. I wondered if he found the sounds of falling water comforting or annoying like the tick-tock of a clock. I knew that it was my chance to ask questions of an enemy of Mother’s, perhaps my only chance. Mother was too arrested by the man’s presence to punish me. I opened my lips and closed them several times. I wanted to hear him talk more about Mother, to look at his laughing eyes as he mocked her. I’m a good person, my mother had often said. Your mother’s a good person, was what I’d been told repeatedly. A part of me doubted her goodness, thinking only of the blows I’d gotten from her. In front of me was a bad man. What did he think of her?
“Your people are burning car tires at Ban Gioc plant,” my mother said. “How creative. Isn’t it enough to deprive people of any hope for electricity? You have to poison their air with rubber too.” She clasped her hand even tighter around my wrist. My fingers were cold and losing sensation, but I did not dare move.
“Don’t make me out to be such pure evil, Mother Theresa. I had nothing to do with that.” He combed his long hair back with his fingers. I saw that his nails were long and pointy, like they had been filed. They were milky yellow. “I’m a businessman. We’re not so different. Why would I tell anyone to burn car tires? It’s not making me any money. Not that it means anything to me. They could be burning corpses for all I care. That would at least be useful. What does the boss say? Why the desperation?” he said.
“For the papers. People were starting to wonder. The turbines were replaced two years ago. You got Mitsubishi the contract. You know it’s been ten years,” my mother said.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. They want to know why the factory isn’t running, is that it? Car tires. Lots of smoke.” He opened his mouth to laugh but little sound came out. I saw dull black molars inside an even darker cave of his mouth.
“Don’t you people have any conscience at all?” she shouted. “There are three villages in the surrounding area. You’ve done enough harm already with that worthless equipment.”
“It wasn’t my idea.”
“Save it.” My mother placed a newspaper on the table. She pointed at the date, April 15, 1998. “This was printed one week after the Prime Minister’s son came here. Who else would he want to see?”
“That boy is always getting into trouble. He needed some friendly advice.” He flicked something from his pinky nail. “I’d do anything to be young again. But please, has your opinion of me sunk so low? I don’t work with children. The boy is bored. That’s what happens when you have unlimited resources,” he winked at me.
My mother crossed and uncrossed her legs.
“I’ll put in a word about the tires for old time’s sake.” He stood up. “I’ll keep this meeting between us. You have some nerve coming here,” he said, looking from my mother to me. “And please take your girl out. Do something fun. She’s paler than a ghost. You’ve already lost a husband. You don’t want to lose your daughter too.”
Before my mother could reply, he bent down and said in my ear, “Ask your mother which she would chose: her country or you. She’s not doing any of this for you. She does it because power is exhilarating. My old man used to sing the song of sacrifice too.” He straightened his back and shook my hand, then he put his arms behind him. One of the guards, who did not look much older than my soldier, around twenty-five years old, came and cuffed the prisoner. After he was behind the closed door, he said loudly so we could all hear, “It’s healthy to know the truth. I’m getting more and more fond of it myself.”
I waited for Mother to give me a sign, to let me know whether I would be punished for not moving away from the prisoner when he tried to whisper to me. After all, only secrets are whispered, and I didn’t pull myself away. I hoped she would slap me so I could cry freely. For a moment, I thought she might when she stood up and stepped away from the bench. She raised her hand, but only to wipe sweat from her brow. I mimicked her and was surprised to find my own temples were damp.
“Have I put your lives at risk? We shouldn’t have come—” my soldier said. He’d been standing against the wall behind us all this time.
“He owes me,” Mother said. Color was returning to her face. Now that she’d let go of my wrist, I wished she would again hold it.
“There’s still someone I need to talk to,” she said, looking at the exit. “I’m tired.” She took a lipstick from her bag and applied it without a mirror. Magenta.
“We won’t be able to come here again for a while,” my soldier said, nodding at the guard.
We again took our seats on the bench. After eighty-nine raindrops had collected in the bucket, the guard came back with another man in the same black and white striped pajamas. His face was pockmarked, and he didn’t smile when he saw us.
“What are you doing here?” he said.
“This is Minh, a good friend of mine. He’s a journalist,” Mother said to me.
The man didn’t look at me. He wouldn’t sit down on the bench opposite us. His body was half turned toward the young guard, his eyes full of reproach as if the guard had plucked him from his comfortable nest for no good reason.
“Don’t be so grumpy, ” my mother said.
He shrugged his massive shoulders, disproportionate to the rest of his lean body. He sat down.
“Call me Monkey,” he said, addressing me for the first time. He was young, nineteen or twenty. His nose bridge was flat and the nostrils flared out. I thought he looked more like a hippo than a monkey.
“Monkey?” I said. “Why?”
My mother laughed a shrill and girlish laugh, one I’d never heard before. She suddenly appeared younger than she was.
“Because he’s willing to climb broken branches to get the best fruit. He’s one of the bravest writers I’ve ever known,” Mother said.
My head hurt, trying first to picture the man climbing a tree for a fruit, and then trying to understand the meaning of the picture.
“Banana trees aren’t very tall. You also can’t climb their branches,” I said. They laughed. I reddened.
“I just talked to our Prime Minister’s right-hand man. He seems relaxed. I’m guessing he won’t be here for much longer,” Mother said.
“Wish I could say the same,” Monkey said.
“I’m working on getting you out of here. Be patient.”
“Did you submit my case?”
“Everything in its own time.”
“I published that article because you promised they wouldn’t go after me. You assured my safety. I’m going to fucking rot in here.” He clenched his teeth.
“You’re a journalist. I was only asking you to do your job.”
“There was plenty of other work. I didn’t need that story.”
“Don’t worry. After you get out, you can go back to pollution and student protests.” Mother’s eyes twinkled. She knew she’d won the argument.
“If I get out.” Monkey’s head lowered. He was fingering and pulling on a nail poking out of the wooden table.
“You’ll be fine. I just wanted to see you, to let you know we haven’t forgotten you. How are you?
”
He raised his head. His eyes bulged from his forehead. I’d never seen an adult cry before. I was tapping my foot in excitement.
“I’m dirty all the time,” he said. “I can smell my liver, my guts. They stink.”
“Minh is dreadfully afraid of germs,” Mother said to me. “I’ll see what we can do for you. A few mini bottles of shampoos to keep up your personal hygiene? Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“Sure . . . ”
Mother stood up and pulled on my arms.
“Bye, Monkey,” I said as we moved to leave.
It wouldn’t be for many years until I understood the lesson Mother wanted me to learn from meeting her friends. Whether or not you were bad or good, you could end up in the same place. Equality is not possible in a one-party government. Unlike what the old beggar believed, nobody was keeping track of karma.
I could see her mood shifting so that by the time we reached the metal gate, she’d lost her birdy voice and her stride was no longer melodic but leaden. When the beggar again pulled on the hem of her dress, she kicked his hand away. For the first time, I noticed the cleanliness of her shoes. Even the heels seemed resistant to dirt. She was angry because she’d told a lie, one she believed was necessary. Monkey would never be free.
Once I breathed the outside air, I realized why I hadn’t been afraid inside the prison. Its walls had the same wet and mildewy smell as our house at the camp. Its presence was so full that your lungs grew large with just a shallow breath. Molds are tiny fungi, silent and industrious, working to crumble entire structures no matter how sturdy or looming they may be.
Mother said it was an infinite injustice for a talent like Minh to be kept caged. She spoke passionately about how communism encouraged only mimicry, copies, and how courage wasn’t tolerated. Minh was a brave man. I couldn’t help but remember that he hadn’t been blaming communism for his circumstances; he was blaming my mother. Still I wasn’t sorry for him. I liked the bad man better. Minh was an unpleasant person, and it seemed to me, preventing him from being himself was a kind of justice.
If I Had Two Lives Page 5
