The Cascading, Book II: Fellow Girl

by CW Ullman

  The Montagnards who populated this area were well aware of the legend of Colonel Cin and Tiger Girl. For the first few months, the special attention she garnered was welcomed, but it was going to little My Ling’s head and her mother did not approve. Little My Ling was fawned over, receiving gifts and entreated to come into their houses to bless newborns. They wanted to give her cash offerings for her dispensations. When My Ling found out, she stopped the “spiritual healing” little My Ling was imparting. My Ling had seen a preacher from Tulsa, Oklahoma, on television and called little My Ling by his name.

  “Hey, Oral Roberts, enough,” she scolded.

  “They want to give me money, what am I supposed to do?” answered the daughter, feigning ignorance.

  “You say, you are flattered but you cannot accept their money,” My Ling insisted.

  My Ling had been staying in touch with the people she had met in California. While looking for an address, she came across Hao Ngo’s note. She had forgotten to thank him for his kindness, so wrote him a short a note.

  It had been a year since Hao had seen My Ling and he imagined she had moved on in life. He was convinced she would have no interest in him and had given up hope of ever hearing from her. When he received her letter it was as though the heavens had parted and Moses delivered the Ten Commandments.

  He` nervously reasoned that if he wanted more correspondence from My Ling, he had to write the perfect reply. He did not want to appear forward, but he was interested in her. Could she ever care for someone like him? Could he eever measure up to her stature? He paced, obsessing over his response. He wanted to be confident, not shy; strong, but not domineering; experienced with an air of style; or should he be respectful and sober?

  He had to sit down and collect himself or he was going to have a heart attack.

  He held a pen over a blank sheet of paper for two hours and ran through every possible opening sentence and every possible misinterpretation and realized he had a severe case of writer’s block. He laughed at his schoolboy anxiety, took a deep breath, and wrote:

  “Dear My Ling,

  It was great hearing from you. I hope you and your family are doing well. Things here in Orange County are fine. We are getting prepared for the Veterans’ Parade that we have every year on Memorial Day. It is a big celebration where the veterans drive in military vehicles. We think the Governor of California will be attending. It would be wonderful if you and your family could come. I know many of the people you met a year ago would love to see you.

  Your friend,

  Hao Ngo

  He held onto the note for three days and wondered if the phrase “love to see you” was too strong. Maybe he should write “like to see you” or “would be happy to see you?” After agonizing over ever word, he finally sealed the envelope and mailed it. It came back three days later because he forgot to affix a stamp. He sent it again with a stamp and met the mailman every day for three weeks hoping for a reply. It finally came.

  Dear Hao,

  It was great to hear from you. I’m glad things are going well. It has taken us awhile to adjust to life here in South Carolina. I must tell you that we all talk about our visit to Little Saigon and how wonderful everyone was to us. Going to the Veterans’ Parade sounds like it would be fun, but we aren’t prepared financially yet to make such an expensive trip, but may someday in the future. Please say hello to everyone in Orange.

  Yours,

  My Ling Nyguen

  She left her phone number this time and Hao hoped it meant she would like to hear from him again. Then he thought it probably meant nothing, because maybe she always gave her number when she wrote the second time to an individual. Or maybe he just needed to calm down and relax, he thought. One thing he did know, he would pay for her and her family to come out for the parade and put them up anywhere they wanted, including Disneyland.

  Hao then agonized over the next two days whether he should call or write with his trip proposal; he decided to write. When My Ling received the letter, she sat down alone with Trieu and asked her opinion.

  Trieu mulled Hao’s possible designs, “Is this because you’re Tiger Girl or because he likes you? All I do know is, if you tell the kids someone is offering to fly us out to Disneyland you better be prepared to say yes; because if you say no they’ll lock you in a closet and go without you.”

  My Ling laughed and offered, “If this is about Tiger Girl, I don’t need to fly three thousand miles to be fawned over. If he likes me, then I feel I’m taking advantage, because I hardly remember him.”

  “I remember him and I knew he liked you when we first met. He is going to continue to like you whether you go or stay here. By the way, once you get to know him, who knows, you might end up liking him,” Trieu offered.

  My Ling consider it all and the one stumbling block was Cin. She felt being with another man was unfaithful to his memory; however, she wanted to have another child. Only one person could advise her. She picked up the phone and called.

  “Tiger Girl, Tiger Girl! How is our American cousin,” Thanh joked, delighted to hear My Ling’s voice.

  In the last letter from Tuyen, My Ling learned that the Lotus Blossom now had a telephone. She had to talk with Thanh, the person closest to knowing Cin’s thinking.

  She caught him up on the news from America and he told her how the orphanage was doing and that Tuyen was still driving him crazy.

  “And, guess what,” he teased. “Tuyen is pregnant. And if I find the father, I’m going to shoot him,” he roared with faux indignation.

  Finally, she got around to her dilemma and there was a long pause on his end of the line.

  Thanh’s tone turned somber, “That’s a tough one, My Ling.” She was so used to Thanh calling her Tiger Girl, that whenever he called her ‘My Ling’ she always choked up. He continued, “I know Cin will always be in your heart, no matter what happens. You gave him the most precious gift of his life, little My Ling. He told me once that Tiger Cub had taken away his anger, which he thought was impossible. Don’t ask me what he would want, ‘cause I don’t know. But I do know he would want you to be happy. After you two locked eyes when you were in Pok’s cage with Elvis, he was never with another woman. The years you two were separated, I got so tired of him talking about you, I told him we were going back to the orphanage or I was going to shoot him. He always asked me the same thing, “Do you think I’ll make her happy?”

  She was crying softly into the phone. She missed Cin so much and wanted him here. She wanted once more to see him bury his face into little My Ling’s stomach; hear his growl, and her uncontrollable laughter. After she composed herself, she thanked Thanh and said goodbye.

  That night she dreamed of Cin with Elvis in the meadow. Cin was holding little My Ling who was two months old. My Ling asked Cin and Elvis, “You two aren’t coming back, are you?” The cat and the man both shook their heads.

  Three days later, My Ling wrote Hao Ngo a letter saying it would be a treat for her and the family to be his guests for the Memorial Day weekend festivities. She asked him not to tell the Vietnamese community in advance that she was coming, as she wanted to avoid the attention her presence generated.

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  Hao picked them up at the airport and drove them to the Disneyland Hotel. His respect for everyone moved My Ling. He pointed out the sights in Orange County, always tried to open doors for them, and carry their luggage. My Ling became hesitant to ask or comment on anything, because if she mentioned something, he tried to get it for her. When they were near a nursery, she mentioned that the roses were especially brilliant and the following morning fifteen dozen roses were delivered to their rooms.

  Trieu kiddingly said, “You should have said gold bullion was brilliant.”

  Even though Hao had told no one My Ling was coming, she still drew much attention when she was recognized with Trieu and the girls wile seated along the parade route. There were high school bands, two-ton military trucks, jeeps, and soldiers. When Saigon fe
ll in 1975, Hao had been twenty-four and now in 1988, at thirty-seven, he was one of the youngest veterans in the parade.

  For the conclusion of the weekend, Hao took My Ling’s family to dinner at Five Crowns in Corona Del Mar. After dessert they walked down to the beach. My Ling watched the family run through the surf, kicking water at one another. Hao wanted to talk to her, but could not begin. My Ling sensing his shyness broke the ice.

  “How are your businesses doing?” she asked.

  He was surprised by her question and answered, “The upholstery soup is good.”

  She could not resist, “How do you upholster soup?”

  He realized his mistake and before he could correct it, My Ling chuckled and did something so unexpected, he momentarily stopped breathing: she put her arm inside of his. He tried to speak but was held silent by their closeness

  She eased him through the ordeal, “Do you upholster cars or furniture?”

  “We work mostly on cars, classic cars, but I’m starting a furniture upholstery company to do…” He realized a furniture upholstery shop works on furniture.

  She finished the sentence for him, “…furniture. Where are the pho soup businesses?”

  “I have ten in Orange County and six in LA County. Turns out Americans like pho as much as we do.” He continued, “Some of the woman I know are getting their cosmetology degrees and say I should open nail salons. I just started one in Costa Mesa and if that works, I’ll look into opening others.”

  “How do you like it here?” My Ling asked.

  “Orange County or America?” He asked.

  She wondered about Orange County, but when offered America as well, she said, “Both?”

  “I hated America when I first got here. I was glad I survived the fall of Saigon, but Americans were not that receptive to us. I realized like a lot of Vietnamese, actually like a lot of immigrants, you can’t change their attitude. They’re never going to accept us – love us. So, when I figured that out, I joined other Vietnamese and bought shops and land. We built our own little area and while it’s not Saigon, it’ll do. There is no city as beautiful as Saigon. That’s what I miss the most.

  “You asked about Orange County. We’re changing it and this is what I’ve learned to love about America: if you work hard and persist you win in this country. The American dream isn’t about owning a house, the American dream is being rewarded for hard work. While Americans complain about everything, the Vietnamese keep their mouths shut, work long hours, pool resources, and buy shops and land. This is why I like this country better than Vietnam.”

  His explanation of making the best of a bad situation was admirable. She realized his awkwardness hid a steely determination to succeed and that made her want him.

  When he drove them back to the hotel, the others went upstairs to their rooms, but My Ling lingered behind to thank him for a great weekend. After exchanging pleasantries, My Ling leaned into him and held a long kiss on his cheek.

  She whispered in his ear, “Let’s stay in touch.”

  She turned and walked slowly away, feeling his eyes on her back. She stood at the elevator ignoring his gaze until the door opened, and then looked at him and waved goodbye. She could see he was in heaven and as she rode the elevator she joked to herself, “I’m Tiger Girl.”

  He drove them to LAX the following day and she hugged him goodbye. Once they all were seated on the plane, Trieu commented.

  “I’d say Mr. Ngo is smitten.”

  “I think I may be, too,” My Ling said staring out the window.

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  My Ling and Hao corresponded and had phone conversations for over a year. After one of the conversations, she approached Trieu.

  “How would you feel about living in California?”

  “If you’re kidding…”

  “Hao owns an apartment complex. He said we could live in one of the apartments. He would pay for college for Dao, Di.u; and My Ling and Tu could enroll in a private school. You and I could work in one of his businesses,” My Ling offered. She finished with, “And you and I can take piano and violin lessons again.”

  “Let me think about it. YES!”

  At dinner that night, the two sisters informed the others they would be moving to the West Coast in two months. The only dissenting vote was little My Ling who had grown accustomed to her exalted status. However, her opposition faded when My Ling reminded her of Disneyland.

  They had all developed relationships with the Montagnards in Greensboro, but the one thing My Ling did not like about North Carolina compared to California was the weather. After having lived in wet chilly, Southeast Asia from 1975 to 1985 mostly in the mountains, she realized she liked a dry climate on flat land. Walking on the broad beaches of the Pacific Ocean was something she wanted to do again.

  In the spring of 1990, Hao showed up at their house in Greensboro with a truck from the moving company he had started. After loading the truck, Hao and the six of them convoyed to California into a future none of them could have imagined.

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  Orange County, California, turned out to be better for Dao and Di.u who enrolled at Long Beach State. Di.u was able to continue in violin along with My Ling. Little My Ling began the second grade in a private Catholic school and was cautioned by her mother not to flaunt her status as Colonel Cin’s daughter. As a freshman in public school, Tu would have been targeted for membership by one of the local Asian gangs, but going to Mater Dei, a Catholic academy, let him avoid the gang draft.

  Trieu, along with My Ling, helped Hao manage the soup shops and My Ling also took a job working in the County Office for Orange. She wanted to know more about government in America and thought working for local government would teach her much. She became a file clerk with the Orange County Probation Department where she did not learn so much about government as she did about street gangs. She became familiar with all the gangs: black, skinhead, Mexican, and Asian. She learned the member’s nicknames and read their rap sheets. She knew the cities in which they operated and how they made their money. The reports also informed her of the rivalries between gangs, which members were in prison, and which ones were about to be released.

  While working in the office, a broad shouldered man with neck tattoos and a nose shaped by many fights checked in for a routine parolee visit. He was Don Padre, the reputed leader of a Mexican gang in Santa Ana with ties to the Mexican Mafia. She listened in as he was questioned about his ties to gangs on the street and gangs in prison. He said he was not in gangs anymore, but My Ling could tell he was lying. He had brought his three-year-old daughter to the station and My Ling was asked to hold the girl while the police officers drug tested him. When he was done, My Ling handed the daughter to him and said, “She’s adorable.”

  He agreed and left. Their next meeting would be in far different circumstances.

  My Ling and Hao’s relationship had reached a problematic point for both of them. They both suffered at different times with survivor’s guilt. In Hao’s house was a room devoted to memories of his wife and children, which he visited less often since he met My Ling. His guilt about loving My Ling would envelope him even when he just glanced at the door to the room. One of his friends suggested Hao take down the shrine to his family and put the items in storage since he was so haunted by it. My Ling had a better suggestion.

  “Make the room your office and remove some of the items, but keep pictures of your wife and children. Cin’s brother, Thanh, once told me that Cin will always be in my heart and I believe your family should also be in your heart. You have to ask yourself does your family want you to mourn them or remember them,” My Ling counseled.

  “How do you deal with the loss?” Hao asked.

  “It comes in waves. Sometimes I really miss Cin and wish he were here, but I also wish my mother, father, and brother were here,” she answered. “When I’m blue, I imagine him telling me to snap out of it.” She suggested he think of what his deceased wife would say about his guilt.

&
nbsp; This is why Hao loved My Ling - for her sagacity and compassion. The best antidote for his grief was talking with her.

  Hao courted My Ling for another year. One evening, My Ling asked if they could go out to dinner. When they were finished dining, she told him she had a little surprise: a hotel room for the night.

  He had become more relaxed around her and used to her sense of humor, “Did you get yourself a room because you’re tired of helping little My Ling with her homework?”

  She had a weakness for a man with a sense of humor. She kissed him full on the mouth, causing him to swoon.

  They arrived at the room and she told him to sit on the bed while she went into the bathroom. She reappeared in a sheer negligee, illuminated by the soft light of candles. She walked to him, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him fully again, but longer. She undid his clothes and pulled Hao onto the bed with her. She lay on her back and brought him on top. She loved feeling his weight as she guided him into her. My Ling held him to her and with his full weight pressing down, My Ling was brought to shuddering, muscle-flexing climax. Her rolling delta squeezed and massaged him and when he released, he sobbed. She held his head to her shoulder and felt his stomach bounce into her as years of built up tension dissipated and for the first time in a decade he allowed himself to feel love.

  My Ling was warmed by his emotional and physical release and in that same moment became his lover and partner. Her eyes filled with tears and their minds were quieted as their bodies rested together; not uttering a sound, but feeling volumes of ineffable emotions.

  They married in the beginning of 1992 and moved to a bigger house near the ocean where My Ling could take daily strolls on the wave-lapped, wet sand.

  However, in Westminster, Trieu, Tu, Dao and Di.u faced a different reality.

  The Asian gangs in Orange County started when immigrant Vietnamese boys formed alliances for protection. They mimicked the Mexicans and the blacks who suffered as minorities until they banded together. Their power as a group was reinforced when they saw fear in their own people’s eyes, along with the earned respect from rival gangs. Every ethnic group that immigrated to America traveled the same path: they formed groups for defensive reasons that quickly turned abusive.