Night of Many Dreams

by Gail Tsukiyama

Two weeks after they moved into the new house in November, a telegram came from Joan saying that Ba Ba had cancer. Emma felt a chill spread throughout her body. Oh, Ba ba, I’ve been waiting all these years for you to come, she thought. She managed to put through a long distance call to Mah-mee, whose voice sounded small and distant.

  “Do you need me to fly home?” she asked, wanting Mah-mee to tell her what to do. Her mind raced. Should she take Emily? Could they afford the trip?

  “No, no, there’s no reason. Ba ba is comfortable. You have your own family to care for, and we can’t know how long…” Mah-mee’s voice drifted across the ocean.

  Emma gripped the receiver, studied the beads of winter rain running down the kitchen window. “Will you tell Ba ba we send our love,” she said, sounding more like an American greeting card than she wanted.

  “Of course…” Mah-mee’s voice answered, then faded into the static void.

  For the next few days, Emma could hardly eat and felt a heaviness pressing against her heart. All the old superstitions from her childhood returned. Mah-mee had always said that bad news came in threes. Every time the phone rang or the mail arrived, Emma was sure it was from someone who had bad news to deliver.

  As the months crept by, Emma forgot all about her fears and superstitions. Life in their new house took on a comfortable permanence. Jack was working hard, and she and Emily settled into a routine in their new neighborhood. A walk to the park every day, followed by Emily’s nap, while Emma cooked, cleaned, wrote letters to Hong Kong, and took out her sketch pad more and more to fill her spare moments. She had finished a series of charcoal drawings of Emily and was just beginning a sketch of Jack when the phone rang. She wiped her hands quickly before answering it.

  “Hello?”

  There was a loud click on the other end, and the unmistakable, low, sultry voice of Joan saying, “Thank you, operator.” Then she said, “Moi-moi?”

  “Joan, is that you?” Emma asked, feeling a warm stab of joy in hearing her sister’s voice.

  “Yes, it’s me,” Joan answered, the hollow static of distance flowing between them. “Emma, I have bad news,” she quickly said.

  “Ba ba?” Emma said, knowing, always knowing, the call would come. The words slipped from her tongue before she had time to hold on to them, to taste the words fully one last time before letting them go. Emma covered the mouthpiece, held her breath, then let it out slowly as she listened.

  “He died in his sleep. By the time Auntie Go checked on him, he was already gone.” A sudden, crackling white noise cut into Joan’s words. “…bury him…here in Hong Kong…day after tomorrow…Emma?…Are you there?”

  Emma held the receiver tighter. “Yes, yes, I’m still here. How’s Mah-mee?”

  “As well as can be. She’s strong. They both are.”

  Emma knew Joan meant Auntie Go when she said “they.” Emma suddenly wanted to see them all so badly she began to cry, the warm, salty tears stinging her eyes. Instead, she cleared her throat and said, “Will you give them my love? I miss you all. I wish I could be there.”

  “I wish you could be too. How’re Jack and Emily?”

  “They both can’t wait to see my famous sister, I can’t wait to see my famous sister.”

  Joan laughed. “One way or another, I don’t expect another year to go by without our doing so.”

  The static grew stronger, reminding them of the distance, the years that had grown between them.

  “Are you happy?” Emma blurted out. The words seemed so simple.

  Joan’s slow response traveled through the crackling static. “I’m not only happy, I’m hopeful.”

  That night Jack wrapped his arms around Emma in the chilly San Francisco night. He pressed her close to his body, kissed her on the forehead, his minty breath grazing her ear. “It’s all right to cry,” he whispered. Emma gave him a quick squeeze back, then waited until she heard the measured breathing of his sleep before her tears came.

  Since her marriage, Emma had been receiving invitations to a weekly coffee circle, which Jack persuaded her to attend. “You might even have fun,” he had said. “I’m sure Mrs. O’Leary will watch the baby.”

  Emma went once in a while because Jack wanted her to, though she never felt comfortable having coffee and cake with the wives of other career officers from the Presidio army base. Their smiles were too tight and they spoke too fast. The gossip and small talk reminded her of Mah-mee’s mah-jongg groups.

  “It’s a hot spot,” one of the officers’ wives had said just yesterday afternoon.

  “We need to go over to Vietnam and show them who’s boss,” another wife said, swinging her arm and almost hitting the woman sitting next to her.

  Emma listened as another voice changed the subject. “Say, did you hear Bill Harvey’s wife left him?”

  Emma tried to look interested, drank the bitter coffee, and smiled as the voices revolved around her. Though the women were nice to her, Emma felt uncomfortable among them. She remained quiet the rest of the afternoon. She wanted to hear more of what they thought about Vietnam, but knew no one would speak the truth and risk jeopardizing her husband’s career. Still, Emma’s head buzzed with what she’d heard just the other day on the radio. Dozens of GIs had been killed over in Vietnam, and as tensions mounted, so did her fear for Jack’s safety.

  At first Emma thought she had heard wrong when Jack telephoned home from the Presidio to tell her he was being sent south. “The army wants me trained in the latest radar-detection equipment. Then I’ll be returning to the Presidio to teach all the newest techniques. For now, it means not being shipped overseas.” His voice sounded light and happy.

  “Los Angeles?” she asked, cradling the heavy, black receiver in her hand. It still smelled faintly of Jack’s cologne, which she imagined floating in waves over the thin wires and through the multitude of tiny holes of the receiver to her.

  Jack laughed, sweet and low. “No, honey. I’m being sent to the Deep South—Augusta, Georgia. It shouldn’t be for more than three months.”

  “When?”

  Jack drew in a quick breath; let it out again. “The beginning of February.”

  “Au-gus-ta,” Emma repeated. In less than three weeks. Her thoughts raced. Jack would be on the other side of the United States, far away from San Francisco, from her and Emily. “Can we go with you?”

  He paused. “It wouldn’t make sense for such a short time. I can stay on the base, and you and Emily won’t have to be uprooted. Anyway, I’ll be in class all day. There won’t be anything for you to do there….” He rambled on. Emma knew it was something he had prepared to tell her.

  “The beginning of next month?”

  “I’ll know for sure in a few days. We’ll talk more about it when I get home tonight. How’s Emily?”

  Emma lightened. “She’s fine. She’s taking a nap.”

  Jack covered the phone and mumbled something to someone else. “Gotta go, honey. Give the baby a kiss for me. I’ll see you at dinner.” With a quick click the receiver went dead.

  Emma leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. “Augusta, Georgia!” she said aloud, wanting to scream at the thought of Jack’s being so far away. Still, Emma was grateful he wasn’t going to Vietnam.

  That night, Emma had difficulty falling asleep. She hated the fact that the army could disrupt her life. As she lay in bed, the warmth of Jack’s body beside her, Emma tried to swallow her fears, then remembered the time Emily had had a fever that rose to 105.

  Emma still shivered every time she thought of what could have happened if Jack hadn’t acted so quickly. Emily had cried throughout the night with a fever. Emma sat up with her next to the crib, dozing off and on. Sometime in the middle of the night, Emma woke up in the dark, frightened by the eerie quiet. She listened, her heart racing when she couldn’t hear Emily’s breathing. She reached down to touch Emily’s forehead, knowing when her fingers stroked her skin that she was too hot.

  “Jack, wake up.” Emma shook
him, not caring if he had to be at the base early the next day. She knew so little about babies, and until then, she had thanked God that Emily was healthy. “Jack, the baby’s burning up!”

  Jack stirred. “She’ll be all right. All babies have fevers. Helps them grow. You better get some rest,” he said, turning back to sleep.

  Emma shook him harder, frantic. “Oh, God, Jack, Jack, she’s too hot!” She ran back to the crib, picked up Emily, feeling the heat of her small body spread through her.

  Before Emma knew what was happening, Jack was beside her, lifting the baby from her arms and screaming for Emma to fill the tub with cold water. “Now!” he yelled.

  An hour later, Emily’s plunge into cold water had brought down her temperature enough that when the doctor arrived, he’d said, “You did the right thing. Fever’s broken. She’ll be fine in a few days.”

  As the room filled with a soft gray light, Emma watched her sleeping baby. She watched her husband change out of his wet pajamas into his uniform. Emma couldn’t imagine what she’d do if Jack wasn’t there.

  Emma was always afraid Jack might be sent overseas; when they were first married, she once asked him to leave the military.

  “You don’t have to stay in the army,” she pleaded. “You’re thirty-two and you have a family now. You’ve also been to Korea. You’ve served your country.”

  Jack smiled, his fingers touching her cheek lightly. “I have a career to think about.”

  Emma knew there was no use begging. The army had been Jack’s life since he graduated from high school. He would no more disobey the army than abandon his family. But in a strange way, that was exactly what he was doing.

  Jack left for Augusta, Georgia, early in the morning, on the third day of February 1965. The sky was still a dark, dusty gray, as if the day hadn’t developed yet. Amidst the crowds of families and departing soldiers at Travis Air Force Base, Jack dropped his green duffel bag on the black asphalt. In his other arm he carried Emily.

  “You take care of them while I’m gone,” he said, giving Wilson a hug.

  “Don’t even think otherwise,” Wilson said.

  “And you, my sweetheart,” Jack said, hugging Emily, “you take care of Mommy.” He kissed Emily on the cheek, then blew in the palm of her hand, which always made her laugh, and handed her to Wilson.

  “Say ‘Bye-bye, Daddy,’” Emma heard Wilson telling Emily.

  “Bye-bye, Daddy,” Emily repeated. Her plump hand rose up into a fist, her fingers opening and closing, opening and closing.

  Emma had promised herself she wouldn’t cry, but the tears came anyway. Jack folded his arms around her and said, “You are my life. I’ll be back before you know it.” Then he kissed her, wiped the tears from her eyes.

  “It won’t be forever,” Jack said softly.

  Emma shook her head. “No, it won’t,” she said, taking Emily into her arms and hugging her close in the desperate cold. The top of Emily’s head brushed against Emma’s chin, smelling sweetly of baby shampoo.

  Even as Emma watched Jack climb the stairs to the plane, she wanted to cry out, “Don’t go, you can still turn back,” but instead bit her lip until she tasted blood.

  After Jack left for the South, Emma began to tell Emily stories about Hong Kong. It made her feel less lonely, as if her family weren’t so far away after all.

  “Pao pao, Auntie Go, Auntie Joan, and Foon live on an island called Hong Kong. That’s where Mommy comes from,” Emma said, the pungent smell of incense and salted fish coming back to her. “Way across the Pacific Ocean. One day, Mommy and Daddy are going to take you there to meet them.”

  “Pao pao…Auntie Go…Pao pao…” Emily said, repeating the sounds as if she were singing a song.

  When Jack’s first letter arrived, Emma read parts of it to Emily, even when she knew her daughter couldn’t possibly understand. Just reading Jack’s words aloud was like filling the room with his voice.

  Honey—

  I guess I’m fortunate. The weather here is much cooler than I expected. A couple of guys have told me I’m lucky to be in Augusta during the winter instead of summer. You can’t breathe it’s so hot and humid. Small favors. It’s different here. I still can’t get used to the WHITES ONLY or COLORED ONLY signs in the windows of diners, Laundromats, even above drinking fountains. “Where does that leave me?” I keep asking myself. For the first time in my life, I realize how the lighter color of my skin still places me in a category above others. Luckily, I spend most of my time on base, which is like a world in itself. You’re right, I don’t know how I ever survived in such cramped quarters!

  The classes are interesting. There are some good old boys here, and some not so good, like everywhere. I went out with a couple of the guys for a quick dinner in town the other night. I half expected someone to block my path into the diner, like Governor Wallace blocking integration at the University of Alabama. A few heads turned, but that was it. Best meat loaf I’ve ever eaten!

  I miss you more than words can say. Kisses for Emily. Love and more to you.

  Jack

  The beginning of March brought unusually cold winds that whistled through the house and whipped their faces raw. In the month since Jack left, Wilson and Mrs. O’Leary had come by several times a week, often for dinner or tea.

  “My youngest boy, Sean, wants to enlist,” Mrs. O’Leary had said the day before, sitting in Emma’s warm kitchen. “He doesn’t use the brain the good Lord gave him!”

  Emma had never seen her so upset. “Maybe it’s more talk than action. You know how college kids are. One day they’re burning their draft cards, the next day they’re signing up.”

  At thirty-four, Emma felt old. Every day the nation became more polarized on the Vietnam War issue. From her experience, war didn’t solve anything. It only destroyed lives and separated loved ones. She poured Mrs. O’Leary another cup of tea, refilled the plate with butter cookies.

  Mrs. O’Leary shook her head. “He always was the difficult one. Always chasing dreams. Never finding them.” She sighed, reached out for another cookie.

  “I’m sure it will all work out,” Emma said, taking Mrs. O’Leary’s hand, a trace of cookie crumbs remaining. She wondered what Jack would say to someone who grieved at the fact her son wanted to join the army that he loved. Until now, it wasn’t something they had had to face.

  “It’s not like your Jack. A career officer.”

  Emma nodded.

  “That there should be such a thing as war,” Mrs. O’Leary said, reaching for another cookie.

  The next day, while Emily napped, Emma flipped on the radio to hear the endless commentaries on the escalating troop deployments to Vietnam, then clicked it off again. She sat down and began a letter to Jack. His last letter had hinted that his training might end earlier, which meant his returning in mid-April. Emma kept her fingers crossed that it might be true.

  After a lunch of hot soup and crackers, Emma put a heavy jacket on top of Emily’s two sweaters. A weak sunlight had emerged after days of cold gray. Behind their backyard was a large, open piece of land with rows and rows of pine trees. After months of staring out her kitchen window at the tall, majestic trees, Emma thought it might be nice to collect some of the pinecones to paint for ornaments. They could spend some time outside and also begin an art project in the afternoon.

  The knit mittens and hats Emma had bought at the base PX protected them from the icy wind. She held on to Emily’s hand and they ran across the yard. Emily giggled, her pink-mittened hand swinging up and down, her round, dark eyes peeking out from under the hat. Three-year-old Emily was growing taller every day.

  Hundreds of pinecones lay scattered on a soft bed of pine needles. Emma took a deep breath. The sharp scent reminded her of some tea Foon might have brewed.

  “Pinecones like this one, Emily,” Emma told her, holding out a spiny, oval-shaped cone for her daughter to drop into the brown bag Emma had brought along.

  “There!” Emily ran after one. “A
nd there!” she yelled, almost tripping as she picked one up in each hand.

  “Get one for Daddy,” Emma called out, watching her daughter run in small circles and pick up one pinecone after another.

  “One for Daddy,” Emily said, placing another one into the bag. Then, much to Emma’s surprise, Emily continued to rattle off names for each pinecone: “For Pao pao, Auntie Go, Auntie Joan, and Foon.” She laughed at the funny sounds that rolled off her tongue.

  With their shopping bag filled with pinecones, Emma took Emily’s hand and walked back to the house just as the wind began to swirl around them. All afternoon they painted the edges of the pinecones red, orange, yellow, and green, then tied them together with colorful ribbons and hung them all across the living room like lighted lanterns.

  By April the weather warmed, though the nights were chilly. When the phone rang, Emma jumped. She had just put Emily down to sleep and ran to grab the phone before it woke her.

  “Hi, honey, how’s everything?” Jack’s voice was an instant relief. He sounded as if he were in the next room.

  “I didn’t expect you to call tonight. Is everything all right?” Emma asked, an edge of fear in her voice.

  “Everything’s fine. Better than that. If I hitch a ride back to San Francisco with one of the guys driving back, I can be back a few days earlier.”

  Emma’s heart raced. “But it’s such a long drive.”

  “Give or take five days. It beats waiting around here until they fly me out. Besides, it’ll give me a chance to stay in some of the motels this buddy of mine has been telling me about. How’s the Tuck Yourself Inn sound? Or the U Drive Inn? Or my favorite of all, the Moby Dick Boatel, with portholes instead of windows?”

  Emma laughed. “Well, I’d hate for you to miss seeing the real America!”

  “I knew you would agree.” Static played a Morse code across the line. “One…of the…reasons…I…love…you. Can’t wait…see you…again. Ten days…and…counting.”