by CW Ullman
She squeezed his hand and walked toward the shop. The LAPD officers opened the doors for My Ling and the group. Once inside the surf shop, time stood still. There were about seventy people in the store who looked back at the police and My Ling standing inside the surf shop’s doors. Chief Biwer, whose eyes were still red-rimmed, pointed to the back where he saw Russell Armstrong seated at a large table made from a telephone wire spool. The police, lead by Chief Biwer, slowly moved toward the table.
My Ling, with Hao and her daughter in tow, followed Biwer and the LAPD to within ten feet of the table. It was her first glimpse of Armstrong in seventeen years. He saw the LAPD presence and hung his head in defeat. It brought tears to her eyes to see someone so broken. She became anxious and forgot the whole speech she had prepared. Her heart sped up as seventeen years of experiences passed in her mind had he not put her back in the water. A little girl held by a woman told Armstrong to put his hands out. My Ling wanted to stop his emotional descent, so she pushed through the police up to the table where all she could get out was to ask his name.
“Are you Russell William Armstrong?” she whispered as her eyes brimmed with tears.
He did not answer her and she saw herself fetch his identification medals out of her blouse pocket. She attempted to put them in his hand, but instead they slipped from her nervous fingers and appeared to float into his cupped palms.
Then she heard herself say, “I am My Ling.”
Her brief wonder if he would remember her name was answered when his head turned up to look at her with the saddest, tear-filled eyes she had ever seen. His trembling mouth tried to form a smile when a black man gently touched her and said, “I was there…we were there;” causing a gasp to erupt from the nearby people that sent a startled ripple throughout the room.
Armstrong’s reaction caused My Ling’s knees to buckle as Armstrong stood and sweetly touched her face repeating, “It’s you. It’s you. It’s you.”
A crying man at the table took her hand and held it to his cheek. Other men at the table stared at her as though they were looking at a deity. The silence forced her to explain how they all came to be there and she imagined he heard none of it because he was so overwhelmed at the sight of her.
She introduced Hao and then her daughter. My Ling had not realized how much her daughter looked like her at eleven, but it became obvious once she brought My Ling out from behind her and Armstrong and the men at the table were floored by little My Ling’s resemblance to her mother seventeen years ago on the Enterprise. Armstrong slowly stepped around the table, knelt in front of little My Ling, and apologized.
Trieu had been keeping a lid on her emotions when she suddenly broke out in sobs realizing Armstrong was the man she had seen beaten in the alley by Little Tam Qui, and that the men around the table were the ones who rescued him.
My Ling said, “Had I not gone back, I would not have been able to save my family. It was because of you. I need to thank you.”
Armstrong rose and My Ling saw him transform from the saddest person to the happiest. He embraced her and she felt like she was being hugged by her father, which made her knees even weaker.
“I know you said thank you, but will you please accept my apology,’” he whispered.
That request, weighted with such feeling, collapsed her into him as she held on tighter. My Ling and Armstrong rested in each other’s arms, bound by a horrendous event that animated the cascading nightmares that became their lives. Finally, together they were forced to accept each other’s unwanted gifts. Neither felt worthy: her gift was to accept his apology, his gift was to accept her gratitude. But the ultimate absolution forced upon them both was freedom. Connected to each other’s hearts, she spoke for them.
“I know what you have been going through, because I have been going through it, too,” My Ling revealed. This moment overwhelmed her to the point of dizziness.
She asked, “May I sit?”
A man stood up and gave My Ling his seat.
“I have quite a story to tell you, how I got from the ocean to here. Do you have time?”
Armstrong said, “All the time in the world.”
An older gentleman in the crowd asked if he could write down her story to which My Ling agreed. She introduced everyone in her group, including Dexter Smith and Kathy Wiley who were both a mess of tears. Before My Ling continued, Dexter recognized Tobie Armstrong and her mother. He went to up to Darla.
“I just wanted you to know, Ms. Luemveld’s case concerning your family has been closed,” Dexter said.
Russell Armstrong did not hear much of My Ling’s story. He had been in a stupor for the last seventeen years plagued by a reoccurring loop of that day on the Enterprise when he rescued an eleven-year-old girl from the sea, then strapped her into a life vest, and forced her back into the ocean. Since that night, a veil had dropped down on his life and he only had glimpses of what was going on around him. His mind had been locked in darkness, except for a small frozen image of her eyes.
Armstrong just had to watch My Ling. He had to look upon her and be reminded that she was now alive; right here in front of him. Periodically he would hold her hand as she unfolded the story of her life in harrowing detail. The seventy people, there to welcome home thirteen-year-old Bryce Palmer, who had been shot in South Central Los Angeles the first night of the Rodney King riots, did not leave because they were riveted by the story this Vietnamese woman was telling.
However, it was a Sunday night, and, Cindy, Bryce’s mother reminded her son, just released from the hospital, that he needed his rest so he could attend his first day of school the next morning. Bryce’s father, Charlie Palmer, the owner of the surf shop where Armstrong lived, wanted to point out to My Ling the name of the shop.
“Rusty started making surfboards about fifteen years ago and as homage to you, he put your eyes on every board. The name of this shop is Girl’s Eyes Surf and Stuff. Here, look,” Charlie said, as he pulled a surfboard off a wooden rack and showed her the eyes motif.
Everyone in My Ling’s group was stunned by the accuracy.
“I remember how you looked at me wrapped in the blanket after we pulled you onboard,” Armstrong said. “That memory was the only thing I held onto; your look of gratitude. The rest of the time I was in a fog.”
“Mr. Armstrong -.”
“Please call me Rusty. My friends all call me Rusty.”
“Rusty, I know because I heard your daughter speak of your problems,” My Ling said. She hugged him again and with each embrace his torpor was pushed further away.
Charlie Palmer introduced her to the men who were on the Enterprise that night: Curtis Johnson, the black man who touched her face when she said her name; Gaston LaRoche, a French immigrant who came to America as a boy and now owned a restaurant in Manhattan Beach (“I want you to bring your entire family for dinner one night. It’s on me.”); Ronnie Yamaguchi, a Japanese-American who was caught in the Rodney King riots with his cocaine addicted brother-in-law; and Carlos Sanchez, the Los Angeles County Sheriff who Trieu recognized in the alley with Little Tam Qui.
“When you get a chance, we’d love to have you come to our sessions at Dockweiler Beach where we go to unwind,” Charlie invited.
“They call themselves Knights of the Fire Ring and solve all the world’s problems at Dockweiler,” kidded Charlie’s father, Chris Palmer, retired Navy and now a chiropractor.
Charlie’s mother, Colleen, invited My Ling and her family to return soon and have dinner at her home, so My Ling could continue with the rest of her story. My Ling had only gotten to the point where she was put in a cage with a dog.
“She has a lot more to tell you. She used to have a pet tiger named Elvis,” exclaimed Little My Ling.
Ronnie, the group jokester, kidded, “…And she talks to animals.”
“I don’t really talk to them, but I did make a band of monkeys attack an army of Khmer Rouge,” My Ling rejoined, surprising all.
My Ling and her group
exchanged phone numbers with Rusty’s group, promising to stay in contact. They spent the better part of thirty minutes hugging each other saying goodbye. On the way back to CPS My Ling turned to Kathy Wiley.
“They’re going to help me with Lotus Blossom.”
No one in the car doubted her.
CHAPTER XII
Rusty called My Ling the next morning to see how she was doing. She was fine and asked how he was doing. He was great. He called her three more times that morning. Charlie Palmer watched Rusty break out of the selfimmurement of the last seventeen years.
Rusty surprised Charlie by suggesting something, “Let’s go surf.” They usually surfed at Charlie’s urging, never Rusty’s.
They changed into board shorts, grabbed surfboards, and headed down to the jetty in Redondo Beach near the Charthouse. Rusty caught virtually every wave and exuded more excitement than Charlie had ever witnessed.
“You’re going to wear that board out, partner,” Charlie kidded.
“I know. Isn’t this great?” responded Rusty with all the enthusiasm of a teenager.
“What’s it feel like?” Charlie wondered.
“Like I just won the lottery. She’s alive, Charlie. I mean holy cow, she’s alive! The life vest worked.” Rusty sat up on his board and began to cry , “I had given up on her. I thought all this time that I had killed her.”
“I thought she was dead. We all did,” Charlie added. “She’s one tough lady.”
“I want to see her again. I have to see her. You want to go down there tonight?” Rusty insisted more than inquired.
“Let me check with Cindy and you with Darla. Do you want to ask any of the other guys?”
“Yeah, why not? I know they want to see her, too,” Rusty enthused. He stopped to take in the moment. “She’s alive…Man!
“I haven’t told anybody this before, but when Derrick,” referring to the captain of the Enterprise in 1975, “gave me the direct order to put her back in the ocean I was going to jump ship with the life jacket. I’d been on big waves in Hawaii, Cortes Bank – without a jacket, wiped out, and still lived through it. I figured I could survive the ocean better than My Ling
“But, while I hoped I might survive, I had serious doubts. At that point, I felt something snap in me, like a bone breaking or something, because I knew I was going to put her in.
“I was burning; I mean literally - felt like I was on fire; my skin, stomach, brain was torched.”
“Really?”
“I’m not sure if it was guilt…disgust. My body, all at the same time was at war: fighting, surrendering, rallying…killing…lying. When I held her at the rail, I fought puking, she would not let go of my neck, I could smell her…panic; and I thought again just jump with her. When I decided not to, I felt that snap inside again and this time I almost blacked out.
“When my dog tag chain snapped, I was…I don’t know, I guess dead, but still breathing; like somebody on life-support. My body was functioning, but I wasn’t there – I didn’t want to be there.
“I forced her overboard and I forced myself into a black out.”
Charlie offered, “You don’t have to talk about it.”
“No, it’s okay. I need to tell somebody, and you’ve been there the whole time, pulling my ass out of the fire…more than once.
“Life became…going through the motions. I was gonna kill myself, but things got in the way – you, then Darla, then Tobie. When that gangbanger put the gun to my head, I was ready to die. I felt relaxed…hoping he would pull the trigger; that someone was gonna end it for me.
“….thanks for being there; for all the times you bailed me out. Had you guys not shown up, I would never have seen My Ling.
“Charlie, I want to do something. I want to get involved in that orphanage in Cambodia. I want to help her. You asked me once before if you could sell pressed boards with the logo. You can do it, now. I don’t want make surfboards anymore. I want to help her.”
Charlie was surprised, yet relieved. The surf shop had a year and a half of back orders because Rusty hand made all the boards. If he could press the boards, which is an assembly line process, he could catch up on the back log and turn a profit.
“How do you want to get involved in the orphanage? Charlie asked.
“I’m going to ask her and do whatever she wants.”
Rusty called My Ling when he got back to the shop and asked if he could come down to see her. She gave Rusty directions to the Corona Del Mar house.
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Rusty, Charlie, Curtis, and Ronnie had dinner with My Ling and her family at one of Hao’s pho soup shops. Afterward, they went back to her house and had tea while My Ling told more of her story.
“Is there anything I can do for you? I mean anything?” Rusty offered.
“I know it’s hard to understand right now, but returning me to the sea turned out to be a blessing,” she answered.
Charlie asked her, “Didn’t you mention something about an orphanage you were part of? What about that?”
She and Hao looked at each other silently acknowledging her comment from the night before. She said the orphanage needed much, especially money.
“My Rotary club can help,” Charlie added.
“Do you need anybody to go there?” Rusty asked.
“I have some ideas. Let me contact Tuyen and then I’ll call you. Okay?” My Ling responded.
Her conversation with Tuyen that night revealed many problems at the orphanage. She needed to build more dorms for the girls and they required a dependable supply of food. The pimps would often come back for the girls and Tuyen needed money to buy the girls from the sex slavers.
My Ling gave the list of things needed to Rusty, who gave it to Charlie.
Charlie brought My Ling to one of his Monday morning Rotary meetings where she spoke of the orphanage, and the club responded with a donation of $10,000. He then called Mike Wellington, a friend from his old prep school, Cascia Hall, in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Mike owned a sheet metal factory and was involved in many charities. He especially supported the nuns at Monte Cassino, a Catholic grammar school also in Tulsa.
“Deputy Dog,” using Mike’s boyhood nickname when he was at Cascia Hall, “I have an orphanage that needs help,” Charlie stated.
Before Mike could speak, his wife Shari, also on the line said, “Where and how much?”
Charlie went on to explain that the orphanage needed long-term funding; that it was composed of girls that had either been abandoned by their parents or were sex slaves.
“How old are the girl prostitutes?” Mike asked.
“Some are as young as five,” Charlie related.
“Dear Lord,” Shari exclaimed.
Mike continued, “Tell ya what, Spud, I think we need to do an event here in Tulsa. We’ll do a silent auction and a live auction and then have your friend – what’s her name?” Mike asked.
“My Ling.”
“We’ll have My Ling tell the story of the orphanage. What do you think, hon?” Mike asked Shari.
“Charlie, you need to give us three to four months to put it together and then you and My Ling come to the event and let’s see if we can’t raise some money for y’all,” Shari added. “Mike, I think we need to put it on at the club?”
“I’ll let you two work it out. Please keep me posted,” Charlie finished.
“You give our love to Colleen and Chris and your wonderful family. We’ll stay in touch,” Shari finished.
Mike and Shari took only two months and booked the event into Southern Hills Country Club. They worked with Charlie and his Beach Rotary club for silent auction items that included trips to the West Coast, cruises, and items from legendary sports figures. They auctioned off trips to the orphanage where a couple could stay for a while and work; which turned out to be the item that raised the most money.
Three trips were sold and when the Oklahoma couples finally made the journey, they fell in love with the girls. They adopted the mission and decided to
put on annual fundraisers to support the Lotus Blossom.
During the live auction Delores Butterworth, a widow of an oil titan asked, “Are these girls being raised as Christians?”
From the stage an exasperated Mike blurted, “For God’s sake Delores, if Charles Manson had a Christian orphanage, you’d fund it,” eliciting a laugh from the audience.
The highlight of the night came when Charlie and Mike called the diminutive My Ling to the stage. She spoke movingly of her ordeal at the hands of the Thai pirates and in Pok’s compound. She told the Oklahomans that her experience was not unique and that similar tragedies befell girls in Southeast Asia not weekly, but hourly. When she showed photos of rescued six, seven, and eight-year-old girls, many in the audience were brought to tears. Dabbing at her eyes, Delores stood up from her chair and promised to match the total amount raised that evening. In one night the people from Tulsa were able to make the Lotus Blossom richer by over two million dollars.
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The next day Tuyen received an excited call from My Ling to relay the fundraising news. Tuyen breathed a sigh of relief and mentioned that she had to pay corrupt police officials in the local government so they would protect the orphanage instead of allowing the pimps to kidnap the girls. Tuyen related that when she and Thanh were away on rescue missions, pimps would sneak back to the orphanage, snatch some of the girls and sell them before Tuyen and Thanh returned.
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Rusty was furious when he heard this.
“I’m going there.”
“Wait. What? You’re going to Cambodia and do what?” Charlie asked at a Knights of the Fire Ring convocation.
“Beat the crap out of anybody who tries to grab one of the girls,” Rusty stated.
“If you’re going, Rambo, I’m going,” joined Ronnie.
“What? Are you guys nuts?” Charlie responded. “Ronnie, why are you going?”
“My daughter hates me and doesn’t want to spend anytime at my house, thanks to my lesbian ex-old lady who’s poisoned her mind. And I want to do something. I’m closing in on forty and I want to be part of something meaningful. Besides, if I have to spend one more day at A1 Carpets with Frank, I’m going to slit my wrist or his,” Ronnie stated.
