The Reeducation of Cherry Truong (34 page)

*   *   *

July 14, Sunday, Bastille Day, and even the Truongs were celebrating. Xuan planned to march with his school in the televised annual military parade on the Champs-Élysées. It was the school's most prestigious honor for its students, and Xuan had been looking forward to this moment for weeks. Hoa had to iron her grandson's uniform several times to ensure the seams fell straight and the hemlines hung properly.

Since Hung couldn't be left home alone, Cam's parents volunteered to stay behind. Hoa hadn't walked along the Champs-Élysées in years. Yen bought several crepes from a street vendor to munch on while they waited for the parade. They found a viewing space on an intersection under the Arc de Triomphe, which would allow them to see Xuan and the rest of the cadets from several angles, but also provided no protection from the summer sun.

Hoa strained against the partitioned rope to find her grandson. Trinh and Cherry jumped up and down, waving, pointing, but she couldn't find him. Finally, as the cadets marched past their section, Xuan's face emerged from the masses, jubilant, winking, thrilled. It lasted the briefest of seconds, Hoa beaming at her grandson, and then he was off again, marching past the rest of the Parisians along the Champs-Élysées.

Cherry only had a week left before she returned to America, and during her time in France, she'd spent most of her days with Trinh. Hoa couldn't really blame her granddaughter. How could she expect a teenager to sit in an apartment all day, when she could be shopping or exploring the city with her younger, more exciting aunt? Hoa still had every evening with her granddaughter. She reminded herself of this whenever she felt annoyed at their shared laughter or whispers at the dinner table.

At least they had this day together. Hoa resolved to make more efforts with Cherry. Perhaps she could ask Trinh or Ngoan to watch Hung one afternoon, so she and Cherry could go out together.

An arm wrapped around her waist, disturbing her thoughts. Cam put her head on her grandmère's shoulder. Hoa smiled. Though her feet hurt, the sun still shone in her eyes, and their neighbors' cigarette smoke made her cough, Hoa did feel content. Everyone's faces tilted to the sky watching the French Acrobatic Patrol perform its flypast. She remembered watching this on television for years, but it felt more impressive, and noisier, in person. Although she was not French, she imagined Xuan and Cam's futures, their children's futures, in this country, and the neat trails of smoke made her feel irrationally optimistic.

After the parade, Xuan caught up with the family to take pictures in front of the Arc. Sunburned, exhausted, he beamed joyfully from the day's excitement. They were all supposed to walk home together, but Xuan invited his father to meet up with his schoolmates for a drink at a brasserie. The men promised to be home in time for dinner.

Trinh noisily wept as the women walked home. It seemed the woman had been crying all day. Hoa looked over in disdain, as both Cam and Cherry comforted their aunt, whispering words of assurance.

“He didn't even ask me to come,” Trinh said, sobbing into Cherry's hair. “He doesn't need his mother.”

“Maybe only men were invited,” Cam said, soothingly. “He would never intentionally leave you out.”

Trinh emphatically shook her head. “Something is broken between us. It has been for a long time, I just couldn't believe it. I should not be surprised. This family is cursed.”

They stopped at an intersection, waiting for the crosswalk. Hoa turned to look at her daughter-in-law, whose face was streaked with fresh tears. “What are you saying?” Hoa asked.

“We're cursed,” Trinh repeated. “We have been since we left Vietnam.”

The light turned green, the walking man flashed, and the women crossed the street with the rest of the parade watchers. Everyone was eager to return home for their Bastille celebration dinners. Cam had stepped back in order to walk with Hoa, but Cherry remained at her aunt's side. This was supposed to be a day when families came together. Instead, they were once again tending to one of Trinh's moods. Hoa wondered if the time would ever come when Trinh wouldn't ruin another holiday.

“Girls, we still need some limes and peanuts for the dinner,” Hoa said, pulling out some bills from her handbag and handing them to Cam. “Your auntie and I will meet you at home.”

Hoa waited until the girls had rounded the corner before turning to her daughter-in-law. “I want you to stop all this nonsense about a family curse,” she said, offering Trinh one of her handkerchiefs. “You are upsetting everyone.”

“I'm only saying what they already feel,” Trinh said, accepting the silk handkerchief and dabbing the corners of her eyes. “We should stop pretending.”

“No one is pretending! This is all in your head.”

“Really? My assault in the camps? Father's dementia? How Phung can't keep a job, or how Cam had to abort the Bourdains' baby? Coincidental misfortunes, all in one family?”

“It is life,” Hoa said. “Everyone suffers. We are not special.”

They reached the apartment house. Trinh stopped in front of the garden, kneeling into the soil to pinch some blooms from the basil stalks. When she turned to reach the front door, Hoa stood in the doorway.

“Did you tell Cherry all of this?” Hoa asked.

“She already knows,” Trinh said. “We are not the only ones suffering. Poor Lum is paying for it, too.”

“How?”

“You need to ask Cherry,” Trinh said. “I will not betray her confidence.”

Hoa stared at Trinh. Her tears had dried. Trinh now looked serene, calm. “I have only been supportive of you,” Hoa said. “All these years, I have treated you as my own daughter.”

“I believe you,” Trinh said, nodding. “But if you want to know why your granddaughter is so sad, you need to ask her.”

*   *   *

Hoa didn't have much time or energy to consider Trinh's words once they entered the house. There were too many tasks and people in the way to think of anything other than ensuring that Hung was bathed and dressed, the nice plates and silverware were set on the table, and that the dishes were warm when everyone was ready to sit down. Xuan was so unusually relaxed and chatty when he arrived home, even Trinh swallowed back her insecurities. They talked of pleasant things. Cam prepared Xuan's favorite dessert, a mixed berry tart.

Hoa resolved to speak to Cherry the next morning. There was no need to ruin such a lovely evening, and they were exhausted from all the sun, food, and wine. Once Hoa finished putting away the last of the good dishes in the cupboard, she put a kettle of tea on the stove. She looked for Cherry in the living room, and saw that the study door was closed. When she opened it, she found Cherry sitting at Hung's desk. The drawer was pulled out. Atop the desk, small stacks of letters and envelopes surrounded Hung's upended box. Cherry held one of the letters in her hands. Her forehead was creased in concentration.

“What are you doing?” Hoa asked, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her.

Cherry looked up, her eyes wide, but unalarmed. Unashamed. “I was looking for stamps.”

Hoa crossed the room as quickly as she could, snatching the letter from Cherry's hands, grabbing as many from the desk as she could, pulling them into her arms. A few pages slipped from her hold, and cascaded to the wooden floor.

“These are private letters,” Hoa said, trying to cram them back inside the box, but in her panicked haste, she crinkled and ripped some of the pages. She tried to squeeze the box lid shut, but it kept popping open, bloated with more pages than Hoa could remember.

“It takes me twice as long to read Vietnamese as English,” Cherry said. She hadn't moved from her seat, though Hoa was now pacing the room. “And I can barely read French. Can you?”

Hoa turned to look at her granddaughter. “You shouldn't have done this,” she whispered.

“Why not?” Cherry asked. “It's okay. I know what it's like to be disappointed by someone you love.”

“You don't understand,” Hoa said. Dizzy, she sank to the bed, her hand groping for the pillow, finding it, hugging it to her chest.

“Then tell me,” Cherry said, walking over to sit next to Hoa on the bed, “because I've watched you work and care for this man from morning to night.”

“This man is your grandpère,” Hoa said. “You should only have good memories of him.”

“You're not even angry,” Cherry said, disappointment shading her voice.

Hoa sighed. “It's been many years. Some day, you'll understand what I mean.”

“But you're still suffering,” Cherry said. “Why do you still let him hurt you? Because he's family? Why do we have to love them more than they love us?”

She observed her granddaughter's face, contorted in frustration. Young Cherry, not even seventeen, eyes dull from a lack of sleep, shoulders slumped with the burden of other people's problems. How could her parents let this happen to her? How could Hoa? She released the pillow, and reached over, resting a palm over her granddaughter's jittery fingers. “Are you talking about Lum?”

Cherry jerked her hand back. “No.”

“Your auntie mentioned your brother. You know you can tell your grandmère anything.”

“There's nothing to tell,” Cherry said, pulling back, standing. “Please, Grandmère, you don't need to worry about us.”

Hoa watched Cherry carefully as she wandered back to the desk, waiting, hoping she would change her mind. It sometimes worked with her sons and Xuan, and often with Cam. If she was patient enough, if she endured enough silence, they would realize she was trustworthy. They would confide in her, knowing she would keep their secrets safe.

But Cherry refused to look up, avoiding any eye contact, any connection, with her grandmère, her gaze lingering on Hung's box of letters.

Hoa reached again for the pillow. Perhaps it was different with American grandchildren. How could Hoa expect such trust when she herself could not reveal her own secrets? The letters loomed between them, taunting Hoa. Uncertain, ashamed, she did not want to make a mistake.

“I love you,” Hoa said. “I love you and your brother so much. I think about you always.”

“I know, Grandmère,” Cherry said, looking up, and the softest, vaguest of smiles appeared. “We do, too.”

*   *   *

After Cherry's departure, the apartment felt quiet. Hoa arranged Hung in the living room to watch television while she changed the linens and scrubbed the bathroom. That only took an hour, so Hoa decided to clean the kitchen stove and floors. Then she cleaned the inside of the refrigerator, tossing out anything that smelled spoiled or felt soft. Looking at the clock, she felt dismayed to find still an hour until lunchtime, when her daughters-in-law planned to stop by to eat with them. Hoa took a seat next to Hung and picked up her crochet needles.

Hung remained silent, absorbed in a soap opera he never would have watched a year ago. Now, he found the television program full of exaggerated gestures and screaming confrontations captivating. Sometimes, her curiosity got the better of her and Hoa would ask him what was happening. The characters' arguments usually involved love affairs, swindling, kidnappings, and stolen inheritances. It bemused Hoa that Hung always rooted for the naïve victims, who whined and cried over constantly being deceived by loved ones. Usually, he talked back to the television, yelling at the characters over their predictable, disastrous choices. But this morning he sat and silently took the drama inside of him, hardly reacting to their problems.

“Who is being bad today?” Hoa asked.

Hung thought for a moment and then pointed when a careless, young blond boy in an argyle sweater and short shorts sauntered onto the screen. “He is evil,” he said. “He is tricking his family.”

“And who is being good?”

After several seconds, he shook his head.

“No one is being good? That's a shame.”

Ngoan returned from the community center and Trinh walked downstairs to prepare for lunch. The women usually didn't go out of their way to join Hoa and Hung for such a routine meal, but Hoa suspected they wanted the house to feel less lonely after Cherry's departure. Hoa appreciated their good will.

Hoa left Hung to his soap opera to help the women with lunch preparations, which were simply a matter of reheating several dishes and steaming rice, since they still had so much food left over from the weekend Bastille dinner. When Hoa returned to the living room to call Hung to lunch, she realized he'd left the couch with the television still on. She checked his bedroom, the bathroom, and the office.

“Ngoan, Trinh,” Hoa said, returning to the living room, noticing the door ajar. “Did you leave the front door open?”

Both women said no. Hoa opened the door and peeked down the hall, where she saw the building's front door was open as well. Still wearing her slippers, Hoa padded outside, looking down both sides of the street. To her relief, she saw Hung at the corner, still in his pajamas, staring at another apartment building.

“What are you doing?” she asked when she reached his side. “You cannot leave the house by yourself. You could get lost.”

Hung turned to her with wet eyes. “I can't find the house.”

“You just left it.”

“No,” Hung said, once again peering up at the apartment building in front of him. “I know what my house looks like.”

“We live here now,” Hoa said, hooking her arm around his. “We live in France. Now we have to go inside. Lunch is ready.”

“What are you talking about?” Hung shook off her arm, suddenly angry. “I know where I live.”

Trinh had walked outside to follow her, and Hoa waved for help. Pedestrians brushed past them, one bumping into Hoa's shoulder. Hoa held on to Hung's pajama sleeve as tightly as possible.

“You are causing trouble,” Hoa said. “The food is going to get cold.”