Goodbye, Vietnam (4 page)

It was early morning when we reached the outskirts of the town. A shopkeeper was opening the shutters of his store to prepare for business. We could see that his shelves were nearly empty. From one of the street corners an officer watched suspiciously. Bicyclers passed on their way to work. I stayed as close to my parents as I could. Even our grandmother walked in my father’s shadow. I was disappointed at how shabby everything was.

Father cautioned us to keep our eyes on the ground and not to gawk like country people. As we wandered through the narrow streets, he consulted his bit of paper. He was guiding us toward a house when a policeman blocked our way.

“Where are your papers?” the officer demanded. He was thin and looked as though he had been on duty for many hours and still had many more hours to go. If father had shown our papers, the officer would
have known we came from a distant village. He would have been suspicious.

“We live just outside the town,” my father said. “We are paying a visit to my cousin, who is ill. We were upset when we heard of the illness and did not think to bring our papers.”

“What do you have there?” The officer reached out for the basket that held my father’s tools. Not only were such tools forbidden, but if they were discovered, they would be taken away. Then there would be no place for us on the boat.

With a quick shove, my grandmother pushed her way in front of my father, giving the officer a sly grin. “Our relative, who is dear to us, is very sick, and we are bringing him nourishment to make him strong.” She pulled back the cover from her basket and the ducks thrust their heads up and looked about with wild, beady eyes. “It is possible that one duck might serve to feed him,” she said, “in which case this second duck might not be needed.”

The officer looked longingly at the ducks and then over his shoulder. There was no one else on the street. His hand reached out and grabbed one of the ducks around its neck and snatched it out of the basket. So
great a look of pleasure came over the officer’s face, the duck might already be in his pot cooking instead of flapping about in his hands. He stuffed the bird inside his jacket and turned on his heel. As he walked briskly away, we could see the legs of the duck dangling out of his jacket.

“The ducks you wanted me to leave behind,” my grandmother said smugly, “have saved our lives.”

4

Father said, “Quickly, it is the house with the banana tree.” It was a poor-looking house with a few scrawny chickens scratching in the yard. No sooner had we started up the path than the door opened wide like a mouth hungry for food. We were hurried along by a man who called himself Quach Loc. His wife stood next to him. They looked more like brother and sister than husband and wife. Both were short and plump with round faces and pudgy, dimpled little hands. “Come in.” Quach Loc rushed us through the door, which he hastily shut. “You are the Vinh family? You have brought your tools?”

My father opened his chest, proudly displaying what was inside. The man nodded his approval. “Your boat is owned by Captain Muoi. I am sure there will be no trouble. It will be a pleasure trip. You must buy your food for the journey. I know a place where it can be had with no questions asked. I will go with you. First you must all have a cup of tea.” Loc indicated that we should be seated.

We dropped our baskets with relief and sank down onto the floor mats. The man appeared friendly, but he smiled too much. I began to be afraid.

“I believed the food would be provided,” my father said.

“Provided! No, indeed. You are lucky to have a passage on the boat.
Provided!
Some people are never satisfied. But my wife will provide you with tea. Yes, indeed. Quach Loc knows how to be hospitable.”

While the tea was being poured out, I glanced quickly about the room and saw that a woman and a girl were sitting in the shadows. The girl was about my age and was wearing American blue jeans. I knew what they were because I had once seen a boy come through our village in the dark blue trousers.

Quach Loc called to the woman, “
Bac si
Hong, you and your daughter Kim must join us.” We were surprised, for
bac si
is a title that indicates honor is due the person. Loc turned to us and in a low voice said,
“Bac si
Hong is a doctor. It is very strange to call a woman
bac si.”

I saw that the doctor lady disliked the fat little man. The girl, Kim, moved shyly to her mother’s side and
hung on to her mother’s hand. They seated themselves a little apart from us. I knew it was rude, but I couldn’t help staring at the woman. I had never seen a doctor before. A doctor who was a woman seemed almost unimaginable.

Quach Loc whispered to us, “
Bac si
Hong has had a most sad time. Her husband, who was once a well-known university professor in Ho Chi Minh City, was taken away by the police. Only last month he returned a sick man and died.
Bac si
Hong and her daughter will be on the boat with you.”

Bac si
Hong and Kim did not drink their tea. Their faces were empty of expression. I saw that both the mother and daughter had squares of white material pinned to their clothes to let others know they were in mourning. I looked hastily away, but Thant could not take his eyes off the two strangers. He inched his way to the
bac si
, who was very beautiful, and touched the soft material of her skirt. My mother was horrified at this rudeness and pulled him back, but the
bac si
had come to life and reached out for Thant’s hand.

Our grandmother was frowning at the
bac si
. We had heard the grandmother scoff at doctors, because
they had to go to school to learn to heal. “You cannot buy such knowledge,” she always said. “It must be passed down from one sorcerer to another.”

Our father excused himself. “If food is needed, I had better go and find it. We thank you for your tea.”

Quach Loc followed him. “I am known here, and the storekeepers will give you a better bargain when they see you are my friend.”

We all waited silently for my father and Quach Loc to return. Our mother and grandmother didn’t take their eyes from the door, but Thant and Anh fell asleep, Thant with his head on my mother’s lap, Anh sitting against the wall, one hand holding on to me. I sometimes thought Anh was as much a part of me as my arm or leg.

I wanted to move closer to the girl, Kim, and maybe even talk with her. Ho Chi Minh City was a huge place. Much, much bigger than even Go Cong. I wondered what it would be like to live in such a city. I had a thousand questions to ask, but I didn’t want to awaken Anh by moving and I couldn’t catch the girl’s eye. Before I knew it my eyes fluttered shut and I was asleep.

When I awoke, my father had returned and was talking in a quick, hushed whisper to my mother. “It took all of our money,” he was saying, “and I know that thief Quach Loc got a commission on everything I bought.” He looked hastily in the direction of the kitchen, where Loc and his wife were also whispering together, but the look on their faces was one of satisfaction.

The man who was to take us to the boat arrived only moments after it grew dark. He was a small man with a crafty face like a monkey’s. Quach Loc introduced us. The man consulted a paper he held and, bowing before
Bac si
Hong, said, “From you, eight taels of gold for yourself and your daughter.”

I caught my breath. So much money! There was not that much in all of our village.

Bac si
Hong reached into a canvas bag and took out a leather purse. One by one she placed the small gold coins into the man’s outstretched hand. As she was counting out the money, the man was staring at her hand. When she had finished he said, “Now I must ask for one tael to give as a bribe to the officers who guard the harbor.”

Bac si
Hong raised her eyes and stared hopelessly at the man. “That is all I have,” she said. “We had to sell everything to get that much.” She held out the leather purse. “Look for yourself.”

“I will take your ring,” he said, pointing to a wide gold band on her left hand.

“But that is my wedding ring.”

The man shrugged. “If you don’t wish to go …?”

Bac si
Hong began to tug at her ring. “I can’t give it to you,” she said. “It hasn’t been off for years.”

“Allow me,” he said. He grabbed her hand and began to twist the ring, but it would not come off. In disgust the man gave up. “What else do you have?” He snatched at her bag and emptied it onto the floor. Pushing aside a small heap of clothes, he took up a leather case. “What is in here?”

“Medicines,” she answered. “There may be sickness on the boat.”

“Medicine is scarce and sells well. I’ll accept it in payment.”

“Wait,”
Bac si
Hong said. “There is something of my daughter’s I could give you instead of the medicines.” I saw her give Kim a pleading look. “The medicines may save lives, Kim,” she said.

When Kim did not move, her mother reached over and took from her hand a long black case, which she opened. Inside was a thin silver object.

“What is it?” the little man asked greedily. He reached for it, but Kim pulled it out of her mother’s hand.

“It’s a flute,” she said, and lifted the instrument to her lips. She began to make the strangest, most beautiful music I had ever heard.

The man dropped his hand and stood staring at Kim while she played. The music sounded to me as if it ought to be played in pleasant gardens where there were fountains. When Kim finished, she put the flute back into its case and handed it to the man. He shook his head, indicating that she should keep it. But he was embarrassed by being caught in a kind act, and when he turned away, his voice was rough. “Come with me,” he ordered.

Quach Loc opened the door for us. He and his wife bowed low in farewell. Our family, with Kim and her mother, followed the little man. I had not liked the house of Quach Loc, but it seemed safer to me than the unknown streets of Go Cong.

5

The man led us through the darkened city toward the harbor. Our father walked ahead. Our mother followed with Thant holding her hand. It was rare for Thant to allow anyone to take his hand. Anh and I came next and behind us the grandmother and
Bac si
Hong with Kim. We were silent as we walked through the dark streets. Soon I smelled something strange. Although I had never smelled it before, I knew what it was. The sea. We were at the harbor. I could make out the shapes of sampans with their shrimplike tails curled over the backs of the boats. The lanterns that hung from the masts looked like they were floating in the air. The man had stopped. Ahead of us on a wharf a crowd of people huddled together. As we came closer, the knot of people pushed and shoved against us. I pulled back. When I had thought about the trip I had thought about being on the boat with my family. Then I had added Kim and her mother, thinking I would be glad for Kim’s company if Kim would just look at me or speak to me. Of course, I knew all along
there would be other people on the boat, but I had never expected this many. “Is it a very large boat?” I asked.

“The boat is no more than forty feet,” my father answered. “All these people will not fit on such a boat.”

“But haven’t they paid their passage?” asked our mother. “They cannot be left behind!”

“If they are, who will they complain to?” said our father. “People are put in jail for trying to leave the country.”

“But they will have no money left for another boat,” I said.

“No,” our father replied gravely.

The little man had disappeared into the cabin of the boat. Now he came in search of our father. “You are to come aboard,” he said to Father. “The boat must leave before it is discovered, but the engine won’t cooperate. If you can’t do something with it in a hurry, there will be no trip.” The people around us heard the man’s words and quickly repeated them. A silence fell over the crowd.

“My family must be allowed to come with me,” Father said.

The man nodded. The people knew what my father
was wanted for and drew aside to allow us to pass. As I hurried after my parents, I saw the frightened look on Kim’s face. Without thinking of what I was doing, I reached out and grabbed Kim’s hand, pulling her with us. Kim’s mother understood. She picked up their bundles and hurried after our family. A man guarding the entrance to the boat pointed to Kim and
Bac si
Hong. “Who are they?” he asked me.

I don’t know where I found the courage, but I said, “My aunt and my cousin.”

“Well, move quickly,” he said.

Leading to the boat was a gangplank so narrow there was room for only one person at a time. A lantern illuminated the boat. I thought there must be some mistake—the boat was so small. How, I wondered, would all those people on the wharf fit into it? The boat looked very old, as though it had been floating on the sea for many years.

The man told us to stay where we were and went off with my father. For the first time Kim’s mother spoke. “They are no better than murderers to send us off in such a boat. The first wave will crush it.” She looked in the direction of the wharf as though she were considering making her way back with Kim. A
moment later the anger disappeared and the look of despair that had been on her face since we had first seen her returned.

Our grandmother was sobbing. “We will all drown,” she wailed. “The
ma da
will reach out of the water and pull the boat down to the bottom of the sea. We will drown and our spirits will never rest.”

My mother tried to comfort her, but the wailing continued. Thant and Anh began to cry. I felt tears in my own eyes and saw that Kim had buried her face against her mother.
Bac si
Hong looked at us and gently pushed Kim away. “Crying will not help.” Her voice was suddenly businesslike. “We must find a good place for ourselves before the others come.” She looked quickly about the boat. There was a small cabin made of planks that looked as if they did not quite fit together. Inside the cabin was the entrance to the lower part of the boat where my father had been taken to work on the engine.