Once Upon a Mulberry Field

by C. L. Hoang

  Generally speaking, the weather in Sài-Gòn is at its most pleasant around Christmastime, cooler and dryer than any other time of the year. Such was the case when Dean and I arrived at Mme Yvonne’s that Sunday afternoon, feeling a bit odd without our regular companion, Dick.

  The place looked positively festive. Blinking stars and angels hung from low branches around the garden, and tinsel garlands sparkled among string lights over the green shrubbery. The holiday music playing over outdoor speakers was more playful than traditional: “Little Miss Dynamite” Brenda Lee, with Bobby Helms (of “Jingle Bell Rock” fame), and the Beach Boys, among others. The radiant hostesses all wore their best attire, and many had draped a colorful sweater across their shoulders, more for a touch of seasonal fashion than necessity.

  With all her girls busy, Mme Yvonne herself greeted us with open arms as we strolled in. “Welcome back, mes amis,” she exclaimed, giving us big hugs. “I’m so glad to wish you joyeux Noël in person. What did you do with my other mousquetaire?”

  “We think he might be out of town,” I said as she led us to the last open table in the garden. “I take it you haven’t heard from Dick either?”

  “Not since the last time all three of you came by. Now, what can I bring you to drink, dears? I’ll let the girls know you’re here, as soon as they become free.”

  She took our drink orders then scurried away. Dean and I settled back and checked out the scene. The place was buzzing with pre-holiday excitement, more lively than at any time before. With just over a week until Christmas, it was obvious nobody cared to stay holed up alone in his hotel room ten thousand miles away from home. Even if Dick had let the ladies know to expect us, I doubted we’d have been allowed to monopolize their time for long.

  “Hello, Dean, Roger.” Vivienne appeared with a small tray. “Mme Yvonne asked me to bring you your drinks, but I cannot stay. It’s crazy here today. But Lee Anne and Elise will be free soon.” She looked impeccably groomed as always, though somewhat subdued.

  “Don’t worry about us,” I assured her. “We’ll be here awhile. You take care of business first, okay? We’ll catch up later.”

  She set our glasses down, started to turn away, then stopped. “Have you heard from Dick?”

  I shook my head, trying to disguise my fast-growing concern. Of all people, I was hoping Vivienne would be the one to shed light on Dick’s whereabouts, yet she seemed as much in the dark as the rest of us. I felt she was going to say something else, but she bit her lower lip and rushed off.

  Dean and I were finishing our first drinks when Lee Anne and Elise, all smiles and giggles, swooped down at our table. They seemed glad to finally be able to get off their feet. For both, this was their first holiday season working at Mme Yvonne’s, and as fun and exhilarating as it was, the two friends were clearly not used to the frenzied pace. Lee Anne caught me staring and smiled, her cheeks blushing the color of lotus. I was hoping to have a few minutes alone with her, but she could not stay long, having to hurry off to cover for Vivienne, who also looked in sore need of a break herself.

  “Are you holding up all right?” I asked Vivienne after she sat down. She nodded, forcing a smile. It must have been a rough day since I’d never seen Vivienne, heretofore the consummate hostess, so quiet. Thoughtful Elise went to fetch her an iced tea, then we left her to relax and enjoy her much-deserved break.

  On the grass, a few couples slow-danced to the soft music now being played. When Nat King Cole’s smoky baritone launched his beautiful “Christmas Song,” Dean surprised us all by pulling Elise up from her seat to join the dancers. I was impressed how sure-footed and graceful Mr. Rough-and-Tumble turned out to be as he swayed a delighted-looking Elise in his arms. What a handsome couple they made, I couldn’t help notice again as I watched them dance under the tinsel garlands.

  “You have few minutes, Roger?” Vivienne’s voice interrupted my reverie. “I like to know what you think about something. In private, if okay.” There was a note of urgency in her tone.

  “But of course, Vivienne. Where can we go to talk?”

  “There’s office inside,” she replied. “I asked Mme Yvonne to use it during break. It’s quiet there, and nobody will bother. Are you free, now?”

  “I’m all yours.” We stood, and I followed her into the house.

  Vivienne led me through the lounge, down the hallway, and past the bathroom on the right to a closed door opposite it. On this second door hung a small plate marked Vǎn-phòng (Office). She knocked, listened, then opened it.

  We stepped into a small, cluttered room furnished with a large wooden desk, a metal file cabinet, and a pair of chairs. Behind the desk, a sliding glass door looked out onto a covered patio decorated with potted bamboo trees, hanging baskets of orchids, and a miniature mountain scene. A hidden Zen-like sanctuary.

  She pulled the floor-length curtain halfway shut to dim the natural light in the office. We sat, she behind the desk and I on the other side. Her face was half turned away, but I could still make out her shaded profile against the sunlit glass door. In this incongruous setting, with deliberate words that instantly captured my attention, Vivienne poured out her heart to me.

  “You will not understand everything I am going to tell you,” she started hesitantly. “But still I must tell story. So please be patient, and have open mind.

  “You and Dick were close friends when you were young, but did you really know how alone and different he felt, growing up? I think he did not talk to you about it. We Asians keep things close to heart, and it took him long time to even tell me. As young kid, Dick always smiled, even when his feelings were hurt. It was simple way to protect himself. He was clumsy, helpless, and big mean kids called him ‘Fat Sumo Boy’ and ‘Yellow Devil’ around school playground. Also, maybe you know, his family was sent to camp during last war. Bad memory followed them like ghost. So he always felt like outsider, he said, always worked very hard to get in, but no luck. It is why he came to Việt-Nam. New start, new chance.”

  Vivienne’s voice had grown soft and reflective, and I strained to catch her every word.

  “Him and Mme Yvonne became friends first time they met. She also had very tough life at young age, so she understood and treated him like brother. Both have been kind and helpful to me because they know I have troubles, too. I feel so lucky we are best friends. The three of us share same hope that life will be better for us. We think everyone deserves chance to be happy. But between us three, I am only one who hide my past, and it bothers Dick a lot.”

  She paused, as if to reflect on how best to proceed. I had an inkling that what was to follow might help unravel the mystery of Dick’s disappearance.

  With a deep exhale, Vivienne dropped her head and shoulders, as if shedding all pretense along with her erect posture. She shifted in her chair, turning farther away so I found myself staring at the back of her neck.

  “I am youngest of five children, with four big brothers,” she began anew, sounding drained and more gravelly than ever. “I came as big surprise to my parents, at late and not convenient stage in their lives. Some of their grandkids, my nieces and nephews, are older than me. But after first shock, they welcomed and loved me with all their hearts, especially my mother. She always wanted little girl, you see, even if Vietnamese culture favors boys.”

  Listening to Vivienne sharing about her life for the first time, I wondered what it had to do with Dick gone missing. But I dared not make a noise and break her train of thought.

  “As the baby and only child at home, I was very close to my mother. She took me with her everywhere. I was always excited to go do things with her. She was whole world to me: my mother, my teacher, my best friend, and I could not love her more. She taught me everything she knew about making happy home. My best memories of childhood were hours we spent together in kitchen or at sewing table. By high school, I already made clothes for myself and my nieces and ne
phews, to save money.

  “Things were tough for us, like for everyone in country. At least we had roof over our heads and enough food from one day to next. You can say I lived normal life for young girl growing up in Việt-Nam. With only one problem.”

  I sat still while Vivienne fidgeted with the front flap of her áo dài.

  Her hands finally folded in her lap, and her whole body seemed to tense up.

  “A girl—I am not,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “Not really.”

  I caught every word she said, but somehow the message didn’t register. My mind drew a blank, refusing to understand. I must have misheard, for sure. Or at least misinterpreted what I thought I’d heard. What on earth was she talking about?

  For a long, awkward moment, neither of us stirred. Then Vivienne sat up straight in her chair, her face still angled away from me. She cleared her throat, as if waiting for my reaction. Hearing none, she ventured ahead, her voice uncertain, full of weariness.

  “It is my dirty secret, Roger. The reason I try very hard to hide my past,” she said. “Yes. I am female, but only in mind and heart, because I was born in male’s body. Very cruel joke from nature. I do not wish it even on worst enemy.”

  She stopped, allowing her words to sink in. As my mind grappled feverishly with the blunt revelation, pieces of the puzzle, for the first time, started to fall into place: her deeper voice and taller stature; her meticulous makeup; her dazzling but none too revealing attire. What other clues had I overlooked? I wondered in disbelief.

  “Until now, nobody knew except my family,” Vivienne went on, as if reading my mind. “Of course my mother already knew since I was little, just watching me play. I was not rough and noisy like my older brothers at same age. Very shy, she remembers, and spoke softly and always tried to please. She remembers I liked to play house with my nieces, not kick soccer ball with boys. And I loved to put on all her things—her clothes, her makeup, her rings.

  “But you know, it did not upset my parents as you maybe think, for one special reason. Before I was born, people envied my parents for having four sons, my brothers. It is considered rare blessing, very lucky. They call it Tứ Quý, or ‘the precious four.’ On other hand, a group of five boys—like my brothers and me—is called Ngũ Quỷ, or ‘the five devils.’ People believe odd number breaks harmony and brings bad luck to family. So, to take jinx away, my parents let me do what was natural to me. My mother even dressed me like a girl when I was little. It was happiest times of my life, when I was allowed to be my mother’s daughter. But they lasted just few years, until school age. Then I was forced to change, to be like other boys.”

  Vivienne leaned back against her chair and lapsed into silence, apparently caught up in the past. For my part, I had hardly taken a breath or formulated a coherent thought while listening to her, so stunned was I by this turn of events. It all seemed like a strange dream that kept evolving.

  “School was rough experience for me,” she finally continued, her raspy monotone an echo from some faraway place. “People say they want to be different, or special. But they really mean to be like everybody, only better. Believe me. Different is no good. I was treated bad all those years because I was different. I was ‘girlie’ boy. Kids made fun, gave me very hard time because how I looked and talked, how I walked and carried my books. Everything I did, they laughed, like funny joke. Do you know how cruel some children are? Sometimes I still wake up from same nightmares, things that happened to me in schoolyard. But all of us find ways to live our lives, deal with private problems. And I learned to live with mine. Because there were bigger worries every day. Like food, and place to stay. And most of all, war.”

  Vivienne let out a deep sigh, head bowed and shoulders bent under an invisible weight.

  “War,” she repeated. “It changed everything. Before last year in high school, I faced big, scary trouble. I was one of oldest boys in class, by two years. So I would be drafted into military after school finished. Now, one thing you must know: I can never be a soldier. Not even lousy one. I get sick in stomach when I see blood. Few special times when my mother prepared live chicken or fresh fish for cooking, I ran and hid far away from kitchen. So everyone in my family asked same question: How can I be trained to defend myself by shooting at enemy soldier? My answer: he will kill me first.”

  It began to dawn on me, the burden of Vivienne’s secret. The nagging pain and loneliness. The terror of life-threatening ramifications. How had she managed to hang on when there was no future in sight? My heart aching with empathy, I inched forward in my seat, but she kept going, her voice tense, her breathing strenuous.

  “As time got near, I panicked and decided I must do only thing possible. I must take new identity, someone that cannot be drafted. So the summer before my last year in high school, my mother helped me to change how I looked. Everything: hair, clothes, makeup. Now I looked like what I should be: young woman. To keep secret, I dropped out of school that year and went to stay with my aunt and uncle. They have no children and live on other side of town. Timing was good because more and more refugees of war arrived in city every day. Police did not know everybody coming and going in neighborhoods.

  “But still I must be careful. Very tough penalties for avoiding draft, to punish cowards like me. If police caught me, they sent me to frontline as Lao-công Chiến-trường—battlefield labor. Same as death sentence. So I stayed home most of day and took English classes at night school near my aunt’s house. I wanted to learn English really good, because everything changed fast with Americans arriving. If I am lucky and find work with them, maybe it is start of new life for me. Americans are strangers, my secret will be safe. At least I hoped.”

  Vivienne paused, her shoulders dropping and rising with ragged breaths. It was a moment before she resumed, in a calmer but tired voice.

  “A year later, I saw ad in newspaper to be hostess at private club just opened. It was how I met Mme Yvonne. Did she guess my real identity? She never asked, but she hired me. I became first employee, two years ago in August. I cannot explain how thankful I am that she gave me a chance.”

  The sunlight through the half-curtained glass door had turned a deeper hue, as it was getting late in the afternoon. Vivienne sat perfectly still, a statue of despondency. She must be exhausted from the whole ordeal, and I wondered if I shouldn’t respect her silence. At the same time, I had the impression she was expecting some comment from me, though I hardly knew where to begin, so jumbled were my thoughts and my emotions.

  “Did you share your story with Dick?” I asked. It seemed a superfluous question, to buy myself some time. This no doubt had to be the cause of Dick’s vanishing act.

  A long minute passed before she answered. “I did not have chance. Everything happened so fast. He was gone before I knew.”

  My jaw dropped. “You mean—he has no idea? What happened, then?”

  Vivienne slowly turned toward me. Her face looked pained and jaded, dried tracks of tears messing up her otherwise impeccable makeup. There was something absurd and tragic about it.

  “Last time all of you were here, Dick came to me when I was alone in the lounge,” she said. “He took my hand, pushed something in it, but said nothing. Then he stood back and watched me, like waiting for answer.”

  She had to pause, apparently fighting for control.

  “It was small box with diamond ring in it.” Vivienne sobbed, burying her face in her hands, overwhelmed.

  It was a good thing I was sitting, for my head took a spin at this latest revelation. Oh, Dick, I muttered under my breath, not believing what I’d just heard. My heart instinctively went out to him and Vivienne, even as my brain scrambled to make sense. Their situation had grown beyond complicated. I almost got up and rushed over to Vivienne to wrap my arm around her shoulders, then thought better of it, not certain how either of us would react under the circumstances.

  Her tears
finally subsided as I stayed glued like a dummy to my chair.

  “Dick gave me great honor by asking me,” Vivienne said, her voice still shaking. “It is most special gift anyone can give me—the real me, inside. But of course it is not possible.”

  My stomach was in such knots it felt almost painful. “What did you tell him?”

  “I was so shocked when he gave me the ring I must sit down,” she went on, as if not hearing me. “You know I really care for him, and I am very touched by his love. But it can never happen like he wants. How can I stop it now? I panicked, but no time to think. It was my fault because I did not tell him shameful truth. Then suddenly idea came from nowhere, and I said I could not accept offer because I was engaged to be married.”

  I gasped. “You said what?”

  Vivienne turned to me with imploring eyes. “I believed in my heart I did what was best for him. But the look on his face, it was so painful, I realized I made terrible mistake. But before I could explain, he turned his back and ran out.”

  I vaguely recalled how somber Dick’s mood had been that evening as he drove Dean and me to Tân-Sơn-Nhất Airport. We had simply attributed it to his recent workload. Later, when we got off at curbside, he’d shot me a curious glance as if about to say something, then apparently changed his mind and waved us off without a word. That was the last we’d seen of Dick.

  Vivienne lowered her gaze. Her voice grew more earnest, with a hint of despair.

  “I know I hurt him terrible, and he does not want to see me again. So I need to ask you big favor, Roger. Because you are his closest friend. If you see Dick alone, please explain for me. Tell him my story. Tell him I am ashamed of everything I did, and I am very sorry I hurt him. I understand he cannot forgive. But I will always care for him. It is truth.”