The Reeducation of Cherry Truong (32 page)

“Why were you hiding from me?” she asked.

“We found a tournament,” Huy said. The players in the glass room looked as crazed as the twins in the bingo parlor.

“And why aren't you playing?” Kim-Ly asked.

“I'm already out. We're just waiting on Lum and the other guys.”

Barred from sitting near the active tables, Huy led Kim-Ly to a corner reserved for the losers and nonplayers, where they enjoyed hot appetizers and refreshments. Because they were complimentary, Kim-Ly determined that another gin and tonic couldn't hurt, especially if she had snacks with it.

Lum and the rest of the boys sprawled at different tables. Kim-Ly wondered if this was a part of their strategy. All the men at Lum's table looked much older than him. Most were smoking and their clothes looked wrinkled and ill-fitting. This had to happen to many gamblers. They became so concerned with their game they lost all perspective on their appearance. Lum, on the other hand, just looked like a little boy.

Kim-Ly turned to Huy. “Lum looks scared. Is he in trouble?”

Huy shook his head, not even turning in Lum's direction. “Nah, he's good.”

She analyzed the chips on the table. Lum's pile looked comparable to those sitting next to him, but not nearly as large as the chip pile of the heavyset man with the cowboy hat and sunglasses. Cowboy clearly seemed to be intimidating the others. He grunted and used his thumbs a lot to indicate his wishes to the dealer. Only Lum and another player seemed relaxed and willing to stay in the rounds.

Lum's chips dwindled. He'd challenged Cowboy in two consecutive hands and lost. Kim-Ly felt torn between wanting him kicked out so they could leave, and wanting him to prevail over the fat bastard. His face expressed no worry as he patiently moved his chips and held his cards with the utmost aplomb. It was the same confident expression Viet always wore whenever he assured his mother he'd pay back her small loan, that she only needed to have faith in him.

On the other side of the table, Cowboy smirked, his mustache twitching, his left index finger caressing a white chip. He was going to beat her grandson, she felt sure of it. Kim-Ly wished she could see Lum's cards. The poker room appeared friendly with complimentary drinks and food, luxurious chairs, and pretty girls, but it was a trap. All of them were lured to this hotel built in America's wasteland just to take away their money. Cowboy probably worked for the casino. Perhaps he was Johnny Luck. Narrowing her eyes, she realized Cowboy had blurred until he became one orange, flaming mass. She put down her perspiring drink.

“Are you all right, Ba Vo?” Huy asked.

She couldn't say anything. She could only hear her heartbeat thumping louder and faster, reverberating to the top of her skull and crashing to the bottom of her stomach. Clutching her hands to her chest, she tried to quiet it, and looked down at her purple cardigan, covered with the crumbs of all those tiny quiches and minitoasts. Her heart grew louder, faster, higher, hotter, until Kim-Ly couldn't stand it any longer. She stretched her neck back, her eyes confronted by the orange lights shining from the ceiling, filling her line of vision, and she screamed.

She didn't remember closing her mouth, collapsing to the floor, her head cushioned by the rose plush casino carpet. What she could recall was Viet's face above her as her eyes blinked open.

“Don't leave me,” she pleaded. “You know I am not well. I need you.”

Viet sighed, unmoved. “You're going to be fine, Mother. You'll always be fine.”

When she blinked again, Kim-Ly realized it was Lum's face hovering over her. He was crying. A man and a woman in white uniforms had wrapped something tight around her arm and were shining tiny flashlights into her face. The stethoscope chilled her skin. They were asking her all sorts of questions and the boys were quickly shouting their translations. If she could see them, hear them, feel her hands and feet. Kim-Ly ignored all their questions, turned her head until she could see her grandson, and asked to go home.

“Do you want to go to a hospital? Do you want to see a doctor?”

She shook her head. “I want to go home.”

Kim-Ly didn't know what happened with the poker game and she didn't want to ask. The other boys stayed behind.

“We don't have to tell anyone,” Kim-Ly said, pacing her voice to sound friendly, gentle. “Your mother and aunties would only worry.”

“Maybe they should.” The lights of an oncoming car briefly illuminated his angry, tight face. “They checked your purse, Grandmother. You didn't have your medication on you. Why is that?”

“I must have left it in another bag.”

“You can't do that, Grandmother. Do you realize you could have died tonight?”

“Pills can't keep me from dying.”

“Are you kidding?” Lum whipped his head to stare at her. “After complaining to Mom that I don't take you to your doctor's appointments?”

“You don't.”

“Because you always want Dat to take you.”

“Is this what it's about?” Kim-Ly asked, pouncing on the opportunity to deflect. “You should not let your jealousy control you this way.”

“Trust me, Grandmother, I'm not jealous of Dat.”

They fell silent for many miles. Kim-Ly looked out the window to a casino that the twins had pointed out on the ride into Vegas, nestled on the California–Nevada border. One step over and gambling was illegal. One step back and the money was yours to lose.

“Did you know I was never allowed to hold you as a baby?” she said. “Your mother was very cruel to me. If you're not allowed to hold your grandson, how can you ever know him? I may understand Dat better, but that is not my fault.”

“I know you disowned us, Grandmother,” he said.

“Oh, that's ridiculous,” Kim-Ly said. “Your mother takes everything so literally.”

“She told me about the American officer,” Lum said. “You tried to force her to marry him instead of my father just so you could make a business deal.”

“Is that what she told you?” Kim-Ly said with a snort. “Then you really are as stupid as Dat says.”

She expected her grandson to deny her provocation, to defend himself. He remained silent as he switched lanes to pass another car. Kim-Ly furtively watched him, the tightness in his cheekbones, the squinting in his eyes. She wondered if he was sincerely wounded by her words.

“I believe her,” he finally said. “I know what you're capable of. It shouldn't surprise me, given how you and Uncle Thang made money back in Vietnam.”

“We never sold anything illegal! Your mother never understood the family business.” The pressure returned to her chest. “Do you want your mother to know how you mistreated me tonight? The activities you participated in?”

Her grandson had the insolence to smile. “You can't leave anyone alone,” he said. “Not those poor people you give loans to and not your family. You meddle and meddle, and make things worse. You drive Uncle Viet away because you refused to see his children. You destroy lives. I don't have to stick around and let you do that to me.”

Looking over at him, the oncoming traffic manipulating the lights and shadows across his face, he appeared menacing, deranged. “You should not speak to your mother this way,” Kim-Ly said, loudly, forcefully.

He turned to her, his eyes thinning, focusing, seeing her. “I am not your son.”

They returned to her home at Hien and Chinh's at nearly two in the morning. Lum walked her to the front steps and after she unlocked the door, left without saying good-bye. At breakfast the next day, Hien told her that someone in Huntington Beach had won the SuperLotto jackpot while she'd been in Vegas. A lawyer's housewife who clearly didn't need the money had bought the ticket on a whim.

The family sipped on asparagus and crabmeat soup and said nothing about Kim-Ly's early return. When Dat stood to leave for the library, Kim-Ly pressed his hand to stay. She waited until Dat's sister and parents had left the table to tell her grandson everything; the false driver's licenses, the drinking, the gambling, even Lum's foolish plans to propose to Quynh. Dat didn't seem surprised. He listened to what she said, never interrupting, and they both sighed at the trouble Lum had fallen in.

“You have to help your cousin. He's not smart enough to help himself. He'll say anything to hide his addiction. He'll even say I am not well.”

Dat slowly nodded, pushing up the bridge of his eyeglasses with his pointer finger. “I'm glad you confided in me, Grandmother. I promise you, we will help him. He will not disgrace this family.”

“I trust you, Dat,” Kim-Ly said, smiling and patting his shoulder. “I know you will fix this.”

At such a crucial moment in her family's life, Kim-Ly felt grateful to have a family member she could rely on. Although she knew some of her family considered her rigid, even impossible, Kim-Ly set high standards for their own good. She wanted the best for them. To see Lum throw his life away because he overestimated his intelligence, because he trusted those he should not, was all too familiar. The world could be cruel to the weak and slow-witted. Just look at what happened to Viet. She had loved her son too much to help him properly. Such suffering would not continue down her lineage. Lum's parents couldn't see it. Neither could his sister. Only Kim-Ly could. So she and Dat would help him. Lum would never know it, but they would rescue his future.

 

1986

Cuc Bui
Paris, France

… I received a postcard from my grandchildren in America the other day. They had taken a vacation to Mexico, which they can drive to by car. Lum and Cherry say they have been swimming at the beach and visiting street fairs. How exciting for them.

While I'm aware they sent that card out of respect, I can't help but feel offended. Wouldn't you? If they have free time from school, shouldn't they be visiting their grandpère? I can't imagine what Mexico has to offer over their family. They have a beach in California. But how often can they see us?

I do not blame them. They are too young to understand. But their parents, their father, he is the one who disappoints me. I know I tried my best with my boys, but it still pains me to watch how my youngest turned out. Not as smart as Yen, not as loyal as Phung. Always bowing down to that serpent of a wife, who has always hated us, even when we cared for her when her family kicked her out to the streets. She dares to blame us for our family's separation. An aberration of a human being, I shall never say or write her name again.

This was Sanh's choice. He has no one to blame but himself. While I am of the mind that men should choose their own wives, his choice has never made sense to me. Now he must suffer for it for the rest of his life.…

Hung Truong

Paris, France

 

Chapter Nine

HOA

P
ARIS
, F
RANCE
, 1996

Hoa realized her granddaughter was troubled the first night she arrived. Cherry acted cranky, distracted. Her appetite, which Hoa remembered as healthy, enthusiastic for her grandmère's cooking, was poor. Hoa understood this was typical adolescent behavior—she'd seen it with both Xuan and Cam—but unlike her cousins, Cherry accepted no comfort from her grandmère. Her hug at the airport was brief and perfunctory, and conversation at her welcome dinner felt awkward and forced. Cherry excused herself early that evening, claiming to be exhausted. Later that night, Hoa sneaked into the study where Cherry was sleeping to make sure her blankets were covering her properly. After adjusting her pillow, Hoa fought the impulse to kiss those chubby cheeks and delicate eyebrows. It was hard to believe she was already a young woman. And Hoa had only spent a handful of days with her in that short lifetime.

Hoa knew she shouldn't push herself on her granddaughter—that she should give her time to recover from the plane ride, and space to reacquaint herself with her relatives—but she couldn't help her eagerness. She had three weeks with her granddaughter. Three weeks. Cherry had come alone to Paris this summer, without her parents and without her brother, Lum, who claimed he had to work. This was the second year in a row that Hoa had not seen her grandson.

The next morning, Cherry walked with Cam to her patisserie in the Marais, and returned with a book of postcards she purchased from a street vendor along the Seine. While Hoa picked up the living room and folded laundry, Cherry worked for over half an hour on one postcard, her tight, square handwriting nearly impossible to read when Hoa passed by and casually peered over her shoulder. While Cherry was feeding Grandpère lunch in his bedroom, Hoa sat on the sofa and wistfully stared at the card from across the living room. She could not invade her granddaughter's privacy. She tried to focus on her crocheting.

“Why don't you tell me what is bothering you?” Hoa finally asked when Cherry returned from the bedroom with an empty bowl and spoon. “What can you put in writing that you can't say to me?”

“You're the one who taught me to write letters,” Cherry said. “Sometimes they can be more intimate than talking. You can say more.”

After depositing the dishes in the kitchen, she walked to the sofa and sat next to Hoa, who was crocheting a blanket. “I've kept all of your letters,” Cherry said. “I read them when I miss you.”

Though she recognized her granddaughter's strategy, Hoa allowed herself to be swayed. “So you are writing to a friend?” Hoa asked, smiling. “A boyfriend?”

Cherry's face flushed pink. “No, just my cousin.”

“Oh,” Hoa said, immediately regretting the assumption.

“You don't have to feel sorry for me,” Cherry said. “I probably wouldn't have time for one, even if someone were interested.”