Children of the River (16 page)

Sundara stopped drying the pan she held.
“Have you never thought of this?” Soka asked gently. “The plane may have been dangerous, but you are alive. If you had stayed in Phnom Penh …” She trailed off, shaking her head.
Sundara searched Soka's face, puzzled. She had always felt somehow punished by their decision to send her off. She'd never stopped to think that her ultimate safety had been part of the plan.
“Are you sure of this, Younger Aunt? Because if you could have been there and heard the way she kept after me, making me promise to …”
Soka waited. “Yes, go on. Making you promise to what?”
Sundara hesitated, then looked Soka in the eyes. “To take good care of … the baby.” There. She'd said it. The baby.
“Ahh …”
“And Younger Aunt? I tried. I—I did the best I could.”
“I know you did.” Soka took the pan from Sundara's hands and put it in the cupboard. “Sundara, you were nothing but a child yourself. This is what I've been wanting to tell you…. Until that day when her little spirit … Well, I had no
idea
you thought … If anything, you see, it was
my
fault. She was my baby. On the ship … I should have got up. I should have—”
“No, Younger Aunt, you couldn't have. Not sick the way you were. No one could.”
“You don't think so?”
“Of course not.”
Soka sighed. “Well, perhaps you're right. After all, wasn't bad karma certain, leaving our house that way without the ceremonies?”
“I suppose,” Sundara said, but she was not thinking about luck. She was still struggling with guilt, and her voice trembled with the most important question of all. “Then you really don't blame me that the baby died?”
“No! God in heaven, of course it wasn't your fault. Now, never let me hear you say that again! Don't I have enough on my conscience without thinking I made you suffer such guilt all this time?”
Not my faulty
Sundara was thinking.
Not my fault.
Her spirit rose.
“So your mother made you promise to take care of my baby,” Soka said. Sundara nodded. “And she made
me
promise to take care of
youl”
She laughed with a touch of helplessness. “She better get here someday, Niece! I want her to appreciate what a lot of trouble you and I have gone through to keep our promises!”
Sundara could only shake her head at this. They were bound together in the funny, sad joke. Would her mother ever learn how hard they'd tried?
Well, there are always sad thoughts for those who want to be sad, Sundara told herself, but now she had this to hold to: Losing the baby was not her fault. Soka did not blame her. And in spite of the angry last words, her parents had hurried her onto that plane for a reason she'd never let herself believe: love.
The kitchen was warm as she and Soka worked together, the quiet between them easy. What a Thanksgiving this had turned out to be! The clinking of the dishes sounded
to
Sundara like sweet, peaceful music. Temple bells.

CHAPTER
19

Mrs. McKinnon appeared in the doorway of her husband's office. “Honey,” she said to him, “you have
got
to get some rest.” She glanced at her watch. “You're going to be exhausted tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
Dr. McKinnon looked startled. “So this is really going to happen.” He shrugged at Jonathan and Sundara. “Been so busy boning up, I guess the reality hasn't had a chance to sink in.”
The medical team was leaving in the morning. The doctors, nurses, and paramedics from different towns were to meet in Portland for breakfast near the airport. A minister would pray with them. The flight went first to Seattle, then Hong Kong, and, finally, Bangkok. Jonathan's father would be gone for two months. Once he left Bangkok for the camp, he would not even be able to phone home.
Dr. McKinnon took off his reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. His desk was littered with empty coffee cups and Xerox copies of articles about tropical diseases. A stack of medical books threatened to slide onto the floor.
“Actually, now that it's time,” he said, “I can't wait to get going.” He pushed back his chair and began putting the tapes of Khmer phrases they'd made in a satchel.
Mrs. McKinnon smiled weakly.
Sundara and Jonathan traded glances. Sundara couldn't blame her for worrying; she worried about Dr. McKinnon too.
“You must take care yourself,” she admonished him now. “If the camp in a jungle, watch out for the tiger.”
“Richard.” Mrs. McKinnon turned pale. “She's kidding, isn't she?”
He laughed shortly. “Tigers'll be the least of our problems. With forty or fifty thousand people crammed in Sakeo, I'm sure the tigers'U smell us and stay away.”
“Right.” She didn't look reassured. She gave Jonathan a crooked smile. “Going to be a strange Christmas around here, isn't it?”
“We'll save it, Mom. We'll have it when he comes home.”
When be comes borne.
The words hung in the air.
Mrs. McKinnon opened her eyes and blinked hard.
Dr. McKinnon caught this. “Now, Gwen …”
She waved him off, shaking her head, collecting herself.
“I'm going to be fine …”
She nodded. Then she stopped and took a deep breath.
“Well” She stuck her hands on her hips, surveying the cluttered office. “At least I'll be glad to get this place cleaned out.”
Jonathan and his father looked at each other. No one said anything for a moment.
Sundara took her jacket from the back of her chair. Their time was up. She had helped Dr. McKinnon all she could. She had no excuse to stay any longer tonight. She would have no excuse to come ever again.
She opened her book bag.
“Dr. McKinnon, this for you.” She handed him a small wooden plaque that she'd lettered in Khmer script. “You will honor me if you hang this where you work at the camp. I'm thinking some people might be fear of your white face, and you so big, so I make this to help them know you are a good man, one who see not only with his eyes.”
He cleared his throat. “Ah … thank you. Thank you very much.
You
honor
me.
”
“What does it say?” Mrs. McKinnon asked.
“I try to translate what that man Albert Schweitzer say, the word over the hospital door. ‘Here, at whatever hour you come, you will find light and help and human kindness.” She hesitated. “Someday, Dr. McKinnon, I like very much to follow in your footprint.”
Dr. McKinnon placed his huge palms together, dipping his forehead in a Khmer bow of respect.
“Ahh….” she breathed, beaming. “You learn good!”
When all their good-byes were said, Jonathan walked Sundara out to her car. The mist drifted down through the porch light.
“ I feel like such a jerk,” he said. “All my raving about them never making a commitment. I guess I felt safe, shooting off my mouth—I never really thought he'd
do
it.”
She opened the car door. “You sorry you not showing more respect or sorry he going?”
“Both, I guess. I just feel so …
responsible.
He wouldn't be doing this if I hadn't freaked out. He said that. Said I forced him to take a closer look at himself. I thought that's what I wanted … but now that he's actually going … well, I know
somebody's
got to, but …” He stopped, studied her face. “This must sound pretty selfish to you. Thousands of people over there—your relatives, maybe—and I'm worried about one guy, just because he happens to be my dad.”
“One person matter a lot,” she said without looking at him, “when the one person somebody you love.”
A long silence.
“Your mother worry about him too.”
“Yeah.” He leaned on the open car door. “You know, I always thought people who did this sort ofthing just went off, all brave and full of conviction. It never occurred to me they might have mixed feelings. Now I see there's a lot more to it. It's not that my dad's so brave, see. Actually he's scared. But he's going anyway. That's what gets me. He's scared but he's psyched up too.”
“Your father a special person. Don't I try to tell you this all the time?”
“Yeah, yeah, okay. Call me a slow learner.” Jonathan sighed. “I bet none of us'll sleep tonight.”
Sundara had the car keys in her hand. There didn't seem to be much else to say.
“Well,” he said, “looks like this is it, then.”
She nodded.
“I've gotten spoiled, having you over here every night.” He kicked at a bit of gravel. Then, as if the wet pavement had given him a brilliant idea, his head snapped up. “What if we told your folks / needed lessons in Khmer?”
They laughed, but only briefly.
“Oh, Sundara.” He looked like he was in pain, like he wanted to hit something. Suddenly he reached out and took her into his arms.
Surprise stiffened her for a moment, then she sank against him. She let out a long, trembling sigh. Nothing had ever felt so good. She smelted the rain on him, felt his heart pounding under the damp flannel of his shirt.
And then he held her a little away. His hands slid up her cheeks and into her hair and he was pulling her mouth to his.
A kiss, she was thinking. A real kiss. So this is—
It was over too quickly.
“Oh, Jonatan …”
He released her. “I know, I know.” He backed away, walking a crazed circle. “You don't have to say it. I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry, okay? I'm really sorry.” He stopped, faced her. “But I just couldn't help it.”
Sundara bit her lip, still tasting him, her gaze fixed on his chest. “Going to have to last me a long time, thinking about that.” She raised her eyes. “Maybe you could do again?”

CHAPTER
20

Sundara steered Pon onto the escalator at the Portland International Airport, banging the bulky gift box against the moving handrail as she stepped on behind him. Readjusting her load at the top, she scanned a video screen listing the flights. Ahead of her, Soka and Naro tried to hurry Grandmother along.
“Younger Aunt! No need to rush. The plane will be forty-five minutes late.”
Soka stopped. “Oh, no! I cannot wait that long. Not after all the waiting we have already endured!”
Sundara caught up with the others and together they peered down the long corridor at the lighted signs of the gate numbers, white against blue.
“Gate forty-six,” Naro said, checking the note he'd made.
Naturally, Ravy already knew where to go. “It's down at the end.”
Sundara coaxed Pon through the metal detector and waited for the box containing Valinn's heavy jacket to be X-rayed and reappear on the conveyor belt. They had not forgotten how cool the climate in Oregon had first seemed to them, even arriving in the summer. How much harder it would be for Valinn, coming at this dreary time of year, December twenty-first, one of the shortest, darkest days. It didn't seem a good omen, but maybe there was comfort in knowing this was the worst; from now on the days would improve in light and length.
Two other Khmer families, friends from Portland, were already sitting in a row of plastic seats, dressed in their best American-style suits and bright dresses. One of the families had known Valinn, and the husband she'd lost, when they all lived in Takeo. Soon more families came, and the children chased each other around the terminal, stopping only to watch the big jets take off or land.
Sundara watched the wind-driven sheets of water ripple across the runway. She was glad Valinn would have family to meet her. Much better than the finish of her own long flight, in darkness, from the Philippines …
The harsh light had blinded her when the plane door opened that morning. She remembered squinting at her first dismaying glimpse of America—nothing but gray pavement. Clutching Pon, she had let the surge of weary passengers carry her down the stairs. Now they were in the terminal. She couldn't see over heads. She stood on tiptoes. Wait! Naro and Soka. Where were they? Pon began crying again. Oh no, more diarrhea. Frantic, she threaded her way through the crowd. “Uncle! Younger Aunt” Lost. Tears welling up. And the shame of it, looking so dirty, knowing she smelled bad …
Suddenly she saw her, one of those strange black people, darker than a Khmer. On her collar a little pin, a red cross. Didn't that mean help? Catching her eye, Sundara spoke only with her heart and hoped the meaning showed on her face.
Please help me.
To her utter surprise, the big woman took one look and answered by embracing her, never mind Pon and the diarrhea. She had taken the child from Sundara's arms and soon gathered their family together again. God alone could have sent such a person, Sundara had thought many times since then, a woman ready to open her arms to a stranger….
She turned away from the window now and glanced around the waiting room. Surely it would be less frightening for Valinn, with family here to reassure her, remind her as many times as she needed to hear it that she truly was safe at last. She was in America.
“Moni” Sundara said, spotting her friend. “How good to see you. We missed you at Thanksgiving.”
“Ah, I'm sorry I couldn't be there. But how have you been, Little One? We were so worried about you.”
“I'm well, Moni. Things are better.” Sundara flushed, remembering the day she cried. She brightened her voice now. “I wasn't expecting so many people. I'm sure most of them don't even know my aunt.”
“But she is Khmer, and such a short time ago in our homeland. When Prom Kea's wife offered me a ride today I was so grateful. I have so many things to ask your aunt … if she ever saw people I know, that sort of thing.”
“Yes, there'll be questions for her from every mouth. Ah, I wish the plane would hurry. Did you hear it's late?” She glanced at the big clock suspended from the ceiling. “We still have another hour.”
“We do? Oh, good. I wanted to buy a rose on the way in, but I didn't think I'd have time. Come walk to the flower cart with me.”
Sundara went to tell Soka where she was going and found her aunt feverish with excitement. It was a party, and she was the center of attention, the closest relative to the guest of honor.
“Yes, yes, you can go. But hurry back. Everyone must be here when she steps off the plane!”
Sundara joined Moni. “Soka's almost
too
excited.”
“Who can blame her? After so many years, to see her sister again …”
Sundara thought of Mayoury with a pang. Had her own mother loved her spoiled baby sister Soka the same way Sundara loved Mayoury?
Moni picked out a pink rose with a bit of baby's breath and fern and paid for it.
“You really don't have to do this,” Sundara said.
“Oh, I want to. I'm so honored to share your happy day. I don't want to be empty-handed.”
Sundara smiled. “Well, now. I want to hear all about what it's like to be married.”
Moni glanced at her. “Soka didn't tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“About the reason I didn't come to Thanksgiving.”
Sundara tilted her head. “She said you were sick.”
“Ah. Well, I was sick, in a way. Sick in my spirit.”
“Moni, what's the matter?” Now that she thought of it, Moni did not seem her usual lighthearted self.
“Remember the letter you helped me write? Well, I got an answer.” She looked up from a fuzzy tiger in the gift shop window. “Sundara, my husband has another wife and two children alive in one of the camps.”
Sundara stared. “Another wife? How can that be?”
Moni sighed. “I didn't want to worry you about that before. He was so certain they were dead. But they're alive, and they want to come here.”
“Oh, Moni.” Sundara tried to think what this would mean. She was torn between happiness for the news of life, and sorrow for Moni. “What does Chan Seng say?”
She shrugged. “He wants them to come.” She looked down at her rose. “He wants me to divorce him.”
“I can't believe that. He seems to love you so much.”
“But she is his number one wife. I am only wife number two. Of course, Soka tells me not to divorce him. ‘You are his number one wife in America,’ she says. A man cannot have two wives here, so unless I agree to a divorce, the Immigration people cannot help him.”
“You're not going to agree to it, are you? It doesn't seem fair after all you've been through.”
“But he cannot just close his
eyes
to his first wife, can he? She writes to him that she will wait forever for him to rescue her.”
Sundara thought how she would feel, sitting in a refugee camp with her children after a harrowing escape, finding out that her husband had started a new life in America without her, a new life with a new woman. She remembered the song that always brought them to tears.
“I'm giving him a divorce,” Moni said. “I don't want to be married to a man when only his body is here and his spirit is somewhere else.”
“Oh, Moni. Why didn't Soka tell me?”
“Ah, well, she probably hates to have: you see that this is the way it turns out with our people these days. It makes it harder for her to insist you save yourself for a Khmer husband.”
“Yes,” Sundara said thoughtfully. “That must be it.”
“Think about it, Sundara. I've tried to keep the customs, haven't I? They say I should marry only a Khmer, but no one makes a match for me. So I find a man myself, and then they whisper it isn't right. Then I try to be a good wife and this happens.” She shook her head. “I only hope we haven't started a baby….”
“Yes, that would really make things difficult.” Sundara looked down, noticing the cracks in Moni's cheap, poorly made shoes.
These are feet,
she thought sadly,
that bave walked the length of Kampuchea.
And come to this.
“I think I must learn to steer my own boat down this river, Little Sister. I must take care of myself now. I cannot worry so much what the others say.”
Maybe she was right. They walked awhile in silence. Sundara's head ached with the tension, the smoky air, the dizzying orange-and-blue geometric patterns on the carpet.
Moni spoke with a wan smile. “And what of the American boy?”
Sundara sighed. “Even when I keep my promise to stay away, my spirit is with him.” She knew Soka still thought it was wrong to care for Jonathan. But now, in the new land, everyone had to make changes. Some changed more quickly than others, but in the end all had to give way to the flow. No one could keep the river from the sea.
Back at the gate, Moni went to talk to another woman and Sundara stood with Soka. They'd all run out of small talk. People were jumpy.
“Is that it?” the Khmer children would cry, running to the windows as each plane landed. Once or twice the adults even moved toward the red double doors. Surely this was it. They gripped each other, watching. No? This was a plane from Denver? They fell back, sighing.
“I cannot endure much more of this,” Soka said after the second false rush.
Grandmother, too, looked strained to the breaking point, unsteady on her feet but refusing to sit down.
Sundara touched Soka's shoulder. “She'll be here soon, Younger Aunt.” She glanced around her at all the other faces, varying mixtures of anticipation and grief. The Khmers had filled an entire section of the terminal, and the white people nearby were watching them with frank curiosity.
“I wish your mother could be on the plane too,” Soka said, overcome, beginning to weep with the stress of waiting. “She was my favorite sister. I don't know if she ever knew that.”
Sundara thought of Mayoury. She sniffed. The little monkey … She could still see her with a red hibiscus blossom behind her ear, dark eyes dancing with secret mischief. Had she ever told her sister how special she was? Oh,
wby
did people have to be separated before they understood how much they meant to each other? She glanced at Soka, who suddenly seemed small and vulnerable and not a person to fear at all. Would Sundara and her aunt find they cared for each other if
they
were separated?
She watched the children at the window. In their innocence this was still a party, but the adults could not help thinking of all those who would never step off a plane in the new land. Now it could never, ever be Chamroeun.
A strange thing, losing someone after such a long time of not knowing. Like the red cord binding the wrists of a wedding couple, the hope of finding him again had been one of the cords binding her to the old life in Kampuchea.
“Someday,” Soka said now, “when I save up the money, I want to get a bonze to perform a ceremony for all our relatives who died. Someday when we find out for sure …” She shuddered. “But why am I feeling this way? This is a day to be happy. Yet somehow …” Suddenly she turned with a stricken look. “Sundara, what did you do with her? The baby, I mean.”
Shocked, Sundara closed her eyes.
“I never wanted to ask before, but now I must know.”
Sundara took a breath. “Younger Aunt, it's hard even to say it.” She whispered to soften the words. “They made me throw her into the water.”
“Oiee,” Soka whimpered. “As I suspected, but … oh, my baby. No ceremony. It's just not right … Her little spirit wandering all this time …”
No ceremony. Just a small bundle splashing into the waves, just the screech of flocking gulls.
“Younger Aunt? I did pray for her.”
Soka didn't answer for a moment. “I'm glad,” she said finally, choking
on
tears. “That's better than nothing.” She sniffed and looked at Sundara. “You know, you really are a good girl.”
Soka's face went blurry before Sundara's eyes.
“This is the one” Ravy yelled. “Western Airlines!”
Suddenly the group surged toward the gate, Sundara shuffling blindly with them.
Soka bad called her a good girl.
Hastily she rubbed her palms up her cheeks. Tears were not the way to welcome Valinn.
The Khmers formed a human chute through which all the new arrivals would pass. The children pressed to the very door, kneeling on the blue carpet, peeking around the doorjamb. Naro motioned the group closer in one spot, back in another, nervously in charge. As the first passengers stepped out to the sea of brown faces, the Khmers leaned forward.
Two huge men in cowboy hats swaggered through. “Waiting for somebody,” one drawled. “Sure as hell ain't us” They laughed; someone whooped them a greeting.
Behind her, Sundara heard a white woman. “These orientals must be meeting a big group,” she whispered.
No, Sundara thought, just one. Forty Khmers had gathered for the arrival of this one survivor. She wept openly now. No one cared, all were lost in their own emotions. If only her parents, Samet, little Mayoury … Through tears she read the same longing on every other face. They could have filled the entire plane with the loved ones they'd left behind.
More people came down the hall, the Khmers parting distractedly to let them pass. Somebody's grandmother, a weary couple with a whining child, a soldier with a star pinned to his uniform …
What if there had been a mistake? What if Valinn had missed the plane?
Then Naro whirled and started the applause. Standing on tiptoes, Sundara saw a flash of black hair and someone falling into Soka's arms. Sundara was pushed forward into the solid crush of people completely blocking the door.
“I was so scared,” Valinn kept gasping in Khmer. “So scared no one would be here to meet me” She was laughing, crying, frantically bowing to everyone, joined palms to her forehead. Sundara embraced her in turn, surprised to find her cheek pressed against the rough new denim of an American-style jacket. Where in her journey had she picked that up?
“Oh Soka,” Valinn cried, “I never thought I'd see you again in this life.” She embraced Soka once more and for several minutes simply cried.
“You're safe, you're safe now,” Soka kept saying.
Finally, when the sobbing subsided, Valinn blinked away the tears and looked around at the children. “Which is little Sundara? I don't know her anymore.”
Sundara smiled as Soka, grinning and sobbing at the same time, pulled her forward.
“But you're all grown up! And such a beauty! Oiee! I hugged you not even realizing who you were! What four or five years can do….” She shook her head. “Oh, but never mind all that.” She placed her palms together in front of her, eyes shining.
“Little Niece,” she said, “I bring news for you.”