by John Shors
She thought about the words, then whispered to her father, asking him if she could take out her sketch pad and draw the inside of the temple. He nodded, sitting quietly on the floor, assuming the position of the worshippers in front of them. Mattie sat as well, putting her sketch pad on her lap and removing her colored pencils from their carrying case. Looking around, she wasn’t sure what should be the focus of her drawing. The far end of the building seemed to have an altar of sorts, upon which rested an immense, emerald-colored sphere.
Mattie decided to start with the sphere, her fingers gripping a green pencil and moving instinctively. She wanted to create something beautiful for her mother, who had heard her wish and made it come true. Georgia and Holly would join them in two days back in Ho Chi Minh City, and then the four of them would travel along the coast and into the mountains. Holly had already been to Vietnam twice and knew exactly where they should go together. She’d been as excited as Mattie when Georgia agreed to the trip. The girls had held hands and danced in a circle while Ian and Georgia talked about how and where they might meet.
Her wish being granted was only one of the reasons that Mattie’s hand re-created the scene before her. They had come to the temple because they hoped to open the remaining two canisters in a beautiful place. Mattie didn’t want to read her mother’s last words but needed to before Holly arrived. And whatever her mother said in those final words, Mattie planned to leave her a drawing, to show her how much she loved her.
Mattie sketched the temple with no sense of haste. She wanted her picture to be as good as she could make it. She liked how the worshippers had combined all the religions of the world, and felt that in such a place it might be easier for her mother to find her. “Can you see me, Mommy?” she whispered, drawing a dragon.
More than an hour passed before she was content with her drawing. She showed it to her father, who held it carefully, nodding, kissing her cheek. They stood up and walked along the edge of the room, coming to a side door, exiting into a garden crisscrossed with paved pathways. An arbitrary collection of trees, bushes, flowers, and grassy patches composed the garden. Mattie walked toward a shady spot and sat down on a cast-iron bench. She felt the canister’s bulk within her pocket but wasn’t ready to open it.
“Do you think she’ll say good-bye?” she asked, looking above.
Ian shook his head. “No, Roo. Your mum would never say good-bye. Don’t be afraid of that.”
She wished that her heartbeat would slow. “Daddy?”
“What, luv?”
“The people in there . . . would they say that she’s in heaven or reincarnated or something else?”
“I don’t know. But we can ask.”
“What do you believe?”
He motioned for her drawing, unrolling it, studying the movements her pencils had made. “I believe, Roo, that she’s in you, that in some ways, you’re her reincarnation. She helped you learn to draw, and you love to draw. She taught you how to swim, and you love the ocean. And she was kind and caring and beautiful inside, just like you.”
“You really think so?”
“I reckon she’ll always be in you.”
Mattie bit her bottom lip. “Should we open them?”
“If you want to.”
She didn’t move right away, but soon her hand reached toward her pocket. The canister opened; the paper unfurled.
My Angel,
This will be my second-to-last letter to you. Another one awaits you, to find and be opened by you on your sixteenth birthday. But for now, for this trip, these are my last words.
I hope you enjoy Vietnam. It’s a place that once knew only war and suffering but now is different. Now there is hope. And I think you’ll see this hope, and learn from it.
I know that you believed that your trip would end in Vietnam, but this isn’t the case. I would like you and your daddy to pick a new country, a place where he and I never traveled. I want the two of you to create your own memories, to walk through the wonders of a new city and to feel those wonders run from the bottoms of your feet to the tops of your heads. And I want you to tell me about those wonders, through your thoughts, your dreams, and your art.
Speaking of your art, will you do something for me, Mattie? Will you make an exhibit for your daddy and me? Of the places you’ve been? I want to see your first exhibit. I’ve wanted to for so long, but I’m not going to get the chance. At least not in this body. So please create an exhibit and know that I’ll watch from above.
I am so proud of you, Mattie. I could not love you any more than I already do. Please don’t be sad for me. I feel myself traveling somewhere beautiful. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m not afraid. I’ll be fine. And I’ll be with you when you graduate from high school, when you go to college, when you’re out on your own. If you decide to marry, to have a child, I’ll be with you then as well. Just like I’ll be beside you throughout all the highs and lows of your life.
During the past month, I’ve read a lot about the journey I’m about to take. Do you know what Albert Einstein said about that journey? He said, “Our death is not an end if we can live on through our children and the younger generation. For they are us, our bodies are only wilted leaves on the tree of life.”
With all my heart, Mattie, I believe in his words. I’ll always be with you, my precious girl. Like the sun is with the sky. Like how green remains deep within the soil, all winter, and returns with the spring.
Be happy, Mattie. Let me see you dance and sing and smile. A mother and her daughter have a special connection, a bond that can never be broken. It may be tested. It may be pulled. But that bond will endure. Forever.
I love you, my delightful, wonderful child. Now go and laugh. Go and be free.
Mommy
Mattie let the paper coil back up. Then she read the letter two more times, tracing the final words with her forefinger. Finally she placed the note back into the canister. “She said what you did, Daddy.”
“What do you mean, luv?”
“She said that she’s in me.”
He took her hand within his own. “Of course she is.”
“Are you going to read your note?”
Nodding, he removed his canister. He looked to the temple, to the sky, to his daughter’s face.
My Love,
Thank you for going on this trip, something I asked you to do, something that must not have been easy, but I hope was beautiful. I debated sending you on such a journey but, in the end, felt that I had no choice. You had to walk where we planned on setting our feet, where we once traveled. You had to live.
In my note to Mattie, I asked that you both go someplace new, after Vietnam. Will you do that? I want you to experience a country where we never traveled, where you and Mattie can create memories for the two of you to share. That’s how I would like you to end your trip, before returning to America. Go somewhere wonderful and behold that wonder together.
This is one of my last notes to you. There will be one more, which will find you in the future. But for now, my pen will be put to rest. I’m so tired. I’m about to leave this body, which has served me so well. As I said to Mattie, I’m set to start my own journey. And though that journey may take me in a different direction from you, I’ll see you and Mattie again. Love does that. It creates bridges. And I’ll follow those bridges to you. I’ll follow them to you, and I’ll support whatever choices you have made, whatever destinations you have arrived at.
I’m going to put my pen down now, my love. I’m going to rest. But I’ll leave you with one last poem. At least for now.
Two as One
Here he comes
Across the room.
His voice so strange
His hand outstretched.
Can love live at first sight?
I’ve only known one kind of love.
A love that he nurtured within me,
That was given light and water,
That was never taken for granted.
A l
ove that grew,
Slowly at first,
Like the warmth of dawn.
He didn’t capture me with his eyes or smile or strength,
But with that same warmth,
Which seemed to take flight,
As if the sun gave out wings.
My home became his,
His secrets mine.
We journeyed together,
Two as one.
Up and down mountains
Of stone and thought.
We created a life together.
Shared her triumphs and joys,
Witnessed beauty through her eyes,
Which saw what angels see—
Miracles that too often go unnoticed,
Flowering weeds in a bed of roses.
The years slipped by,
Too short and fast.
We argued.
Paid bills.
And fell into monotonous patterns.
But our cores remained merged,
Tethered to each other.
Love can be damaged, wasted, torn.
But ours was unbroken—
A sun not yet set,
A poem not yet read.
Even now,
As the lids of my eyes, my life, go heavy,
I feel one with you—
The father of our child.
The fabric of me.
You gave me so many gifts,
And for those I am grateful.
My fate is no longer bitter.
It is just that—my fate.
Mourn me no more, Ian.
Move on.
Ahead.
Into new places.
And if you hear footsteps
Or see shadows,
Know that I am still with you.
Throughout this life and every life thereafter.
I am yours as I always was,
As I always will be.
I love you,
Kate
Ian carefully rolled up the note and put it away, brushing away his tears. He didn’t want to think about these being the last words that he would read from Kate for years. He longed to believe that he would hear her footsteps and see her shadow, but his faith in such things had been weakened, not strengthened, by her death.
He stood up, offering Mattie his hand. She took it and he led her away from the garden, from the temple where all religions were treated as one. In the distance he saw their driver leaning against his battered jeep. Ian started to walk toward it but noticed the man at the corner, holding his caged dove.
“Do you want to free it, luv?” Ian asked.
Mattie nodded. “Mommy would like that.”
“Then let’s make her happy.”
They joined the man, and Ian handed him five dollars. The local smiled, revealing several missing teeth. “When you set bird free,” he said, “you show your kindness to world. And then good luck, it come to you; it make you live longer; it make you happier.”
The dove cooed, ruffling its wings, as if it knew that it was about to take flight.
Ian turned to Mattie. “Why don’t you free her, Roo?”
She watched the bird, wanting to share the good luck with her father, wanting the world to know that he was kind. “Can we do it together?” she asked the man. “If we do it together, will we both get good luck?”
“Yes, I think so. A bird has two wings. So two people can release it.”
“Will it fly high? To someone above?”
The man glanced up, squinting from the sun’s glare. He then lowered his gaze to Mattie, appearing to study her. “Seven year ago, my father, he die. So, I go to river and let my favorite dove go free. I give him to my father. And that dove, he fly so high, like he want to meet my father. This make me happy. And this bird here, she strong. I think she do same thing.”
Mattie smiled faintly, watching the dove, thinking about her mother’s note. “Let’s hold the cage high, Daddy. So we can help her fly high.”
“Sure, luv. That’s a great idea. A real beaut.”
The man handed Mattie the cage, which she lifted until it was level with her eyes. The dove continued to coo.
“Can you open the door?” Mattie asked.
Ian put his fingers on the delicate bamboo. “Happily.”
“Good-bye, little bird,” Mattie said. “Fly high. Say hello to this man’s father and . . . and to my mommy.”
The cage’s door swung open. For a few seconds, the bird didn’t stir. But then it seemed to sense its looming freedom, leaping forward, spreading its wings. A feather fell as the dove took flight, rising above the street, a blur of white against a blue sky. Mattie reached for her father’s hand as the bird continued to climb. He squeezed her fingers as it soared higher, heading straight to the south, as if it knew the way home.
The dove disappeared.
As her father thanked the man, Mattie bent down and picked up the feather. She opened her sketch pad and carefully placed the feather between two pages. I’ll always keep you, she thought, closing the sketch pad and again taking her father’s hand.
TWO DAYS LATER, IAN AND MATTIE WAITED for Georgia and Holly outside Ho Chi Minh City’s airport. Though the airport was almost brand-new, and would have looked at home in any major city, nonpassengers were barred from entering it by a chain-link fence. Hundreds of locals were gathered behind this fence, awaiting the arrival of loved ones, friends, and business associates. People were orderly but tried to get as close as possible to the fence, stepping forward when spaces opened. Fortunately, Ian was taller than most everyone, and with Mattie sitting on his shoulders, they could stand in the back and still have a good view of passengers leaving the building.
As Ian waited, he wondered if he was crazy to be meeting Georgia. A part of him wanted to see her, but he also feared that the looming encounter would only further confuse Mattie. They planned to travel together for six days, and at that point, Mattie would be forced to again say good-bye. This time there wouldn’t be a hello shortly afterward. He and Mattie would journey to a new country, as Kate had asked. And then they would return to America. Whatever bonds had been forged between Mattie and her new companions would be severed. Whatever steps forward she’d taken would be undone. Mattie wanted a sibling, but Holly wasn’t her sister and never would be.
“Daddy?” she asked, leaning down from his shoulders.
“Yeah, Roo?”
“Is it . . . okay to be excited?”
“About Holly arriving?”
“Yes.”
He looked up at her. “Of course, luv. What do you mean?”
“I mean, we read Mommy’s last letter. And that made me sad. But now I’m excited.”
“I’m glad you’re excited,” he replied, squeezing her leg. “That’s a good thing.”
“Why?”
“Because I reckon that being excited is one of the best feelings in the world. Right up there with love and joy. And after you’ve been kicked in the teeth like we have, well, we deserve to be excited.”
“You are too?”
He smiled. “I am, my little question asker. We’re going to have a bloody good time.”
“Where are they? Shouldn’t they be here by now?”
“Easy on, luv. We’ll see them in a tick.”
“I hope so.”
Mattie drummed her fingers against Ian’s shoulders, and he watched the pink nails of her right hand rise and fall, wishing that she hadn’t discovered nail polish. He twisted to his left, looking away from the airport and into the darkening night. A nearby parking lot brimmed with battered taxis and motor scooters. Stainless-steel poles rose every fifty feet or so, topped by red flags with yellow stars. Though the sun had settled below the horizon, light still lingered, as if intent on illuminating whoever stepped from the airport.
Turning back toward the front of the airport, Ian studied the nearby locals. They were dressed more stylishly than he remembered from his earlier trip. Of course, a few conical bamboo hats perched atop the hea
ds of the elderly, who tended to wear pajama-like pants and shirts. And many of the middle-aged women were covered from head to toe in formfitting traditional Vietnamese dresses. But members of the younger generation wore collared, Hawaiian-style T-shirts, jeans, skirts, and blouses.
Ian thought about how, fifteen years earlier, most everyone in Ho Chi Minh City rode bicycles. Now everyone, it seemed, owned a scooter. The black and red contraptions darted around the city like millions of water bugs released into a series of small streams. So many other things had changed as well. He remembered Ho Chi Minh City as having no skyscrapers or modern buildings. And though the city still didn’t compare to Hong Kong in terms of architectural wonders, Ian had been surprised by the sight of a dozen high-rises along the banks of the Saigon River. Multistory cranes dominated other parts of the skyline as developers rushed to build hotels and business centers.
