WIXLIB

A Day DowntownEvery springPresident Thi uholds a long long longceremony to comfortwar wives.Mother and I go becauseafter President Thi u’stalk talk talk—of winning the war,of democracy,of our fathers’ bravery—each family getsfive kilos of sugar,ten kilos of rice,and a small jug ofvegetable oil.Inside the cycloMother crosses her legsso I can fit beside her.The breeze still cool,we bounce across the bridgeshaped like a crescent moonwhere I’m not to go by myself.Mother smells of lavenderand warmth;she’s so beautifuleven ifher cheeks are too hollow,her mouth too dark with worries.

Despite warnings,I still want her sunken eyes.Before I see it,I hear downtown,thick with beeps,shouts, police whistles.Everywhere,mopeds and bicyclesrace down the wide road,moving out of the wayonly when a truckhonks and mows straight downthe middle of the lane.We get outin front of an open market.We push our way toa bánh cu n stand.I love watchingthe spread of rice flour on cloth,stretched over a steaming pot.Like magic a crepe formsto be filled with shrimpand eaten withcucumber and bean sprouts.It tastes even betterthan it looks.While my mouth is full,the noises of the marketsilence themselves,letting me and my bánh cu nfloat.We squeeze ourselvesout of the market,

toward the presidential palace.We stand in line;for even longerwe sit on hot metal benchesfacing the podium.My white cottonhat and Mother’s flowery umbrellaare nothingagainst the afternoon sun,shooting rays intomy short short hair.I’m dizzyand thirsty;the fish saucein the bánh cu nwas very salty.Mother gives me a tamarind candy.I have never beenso thrilledto drink my saliva.Finally President Thi u appears,tan and sweaty.We know you have suffered.I thank you,your country thanks you.Then he cries actual tears,unwiped, facing the cameras.

Mother clicks her tongue:Tears of an ugly fish.I know that to meanfake tears of a crocodile.April 12

Twisting TwistingMother measuresrice grainsleft in the bin.Not enough to lasttill paydayat the end of the month.Her browstwist like laundrybeing wrung dry.Yam and manioctaste lovelyblended with rice,she says, and smiles,as if I don’t knowhow the poorfill their children’s bellies.April 13

Closed Too SoonA siren screamsover Miss Xinh’s voicein the middle of a lessonon smiley and baldPresident Ford.We all know it’s bad news.School’s now closed;everyone must go homea month too soon.I’m mad and pinch the girlwho shares my desk.Tram is half my size,so skinny and nervous.Our mothers are friends.She will tell on me.She always tells on me.Mother will againscold me to be gentle.I need timeto finish this riddle:A man usually rides his bike9 kilometers per hour,

yet the wind slows himto 6.76 kilometersfor 26 minutesand 5.55 kilometersfor 10;how long until he gets home11.54 kilometers away?The first to solve itgets the sweet potato plantsprouting at the window.I want to plant itbeside my papaya tree,where vines can climband shade ripening fruit.Again I pinch Tram,knowing the plantwill be awardedtodayto the teacher’s pet,who is alwaysskinny and nervousand never me.April 14

PromisesFive papayasthe sizes ofmy head,a knee,two elbows,and a thumbcling to the trunk.Still greenbut promising.April 15

Bridge to the SeaUncle S n,Father’s best friend,visits us.He’s short, dark, and smiley,not tall, thin, and seriouslike Father in photographs.Still, when classmatesask about my father,sometimes short and smileycome to mindbefore I can stop it.Uncle S n goes straightto the kitchen,where the back door opens intoan alley.Unbelievable luck!This door bypasses the navy checkpointand leads straight to the port.I will not riskfleeing with my childrenon a rickety boat.Would a navy shipmeet your approval?As if the navywould abandon its country?

There won’t be a South Vietnamleft to abandon.You really believewe can leave?When the time comes,this houseis our bridgeto the sea.April 16

Should We?Mother calls a family meeting.Ông Xuân has soldleaves of goldto buy twelve airplane tickets.Bà Nam has a vanready to loadtwenty-five relativestoward the coast.Mother asks us,Should we leave our home?Brother Quang says,How can we scramble awaylike rats,without honor, without dignity,when everyone must helprebuild the country?Brother Khôi says,What if Father comes homeand finds his family gone?Brother V says,Yes, we must go.

Everyone knows he dreamsof touching the same groundwhere Bruce Lee walked.Mother twists her brows.I’ve lived in the North.At first, not much will happen,then suddenly Quangwill be asked to leave college.Hà will come homechanting the slogansof H Chí Minh,and Khôi will be rewardedfor reporting to his teachereverything we say in the house.Her brows twistso muchwe hush.April 17

SssshhhhhhhBrother Khôi shakes mebefore dawn.I follow himto the back garden.In his palm chirpsa downy yellow fuzz,just hatched.He presses his palmagainst my squeal.No matter what Mother decides,we are not to leave.I must protect my chickand you your papayas.He holds out his pinkyand staresstaresstaresuntil I extend mineand we hook.April 18

Quiet DecisionDinnertimeI help Motherpeel sweet potatoesto stretch the rice.I start to chop offa potato’s endas wide asa thumbnail,then decideto slice offonly a sliver.I am proudof my abilityto saveuntil I seetearsin Mother’sdeep eyes.You deserve to grow upwhere you don’t worry aboutsaving half a biteof sweet potato.April 19

Early MonsoonWe pretendthe monsoonhas come early.In the distancebombsexplode like thunder,slasheslighten the sky,gunfirefalls like rain.Distantyet within ears,within eyes.Not that far awayafter all.April 20

The President ResignsOn TV President Thi ulooks sad and yellow;what has happened to his tan?His eyes brim with tears;this time they look real.I can no longer be your presidentbut I will never leave my peopleor our country.Mother lifts one brow,what she doeswhen she thinksI’m lying.April 21

Watch Over UsUncle S n returnsand tells usto be ready to leaveany day.Don’t tell anyone,or all of Saigonwill storm the port.Only navy familiescan board the ships.Uncle S n and Fathergraduated in the same navy class.It was mere luckthat Uncle S ndidn’t go on the missionwhere Father was captured.Mother pulls me closeand pats my head.Father watches over useven if he’s not here.Mother tells meshe and Father have a pact.If war should separate them,they know to find each otherthrough Father’s ancestral homein the North.

April 24

Crisscrossed PacksPedal, pedalMother’s feetpush the sewing machine.The faster she pedalsthe faster stitches appearon heavy brown cloth.Two rectanglesmake a pack.A long stripmakes a handleto be strapped acrossthe wearer’s chest.Hours laterthe stitches appearin slow motion,the needle a wormlaying tiny eggsthat sink into brown cloth.The tired wormreproduces much more slowlyat the end of the daythan at the beginningwhen Mother startedthe first of five bags.Brother Khôi says too loudly,Make only three.

Mother goesto a high shelf,bringing back Father’s portrait.Come with usor we’ll all stay.Think, my son;your action will determineour future.Mother knows this soncannot stand to hurtanyone,anything.Look at Father.Come with usso Fatherwill be proudyou obeyed your motherwhile he’s not here.I look at my toes,feeling Brother Khôi’s eyesburn into my scalp.I also feel him slowly nodding.Who can go againsta motherwho has become gaunt like barkfrom raising four children alone?April 26

ChoiceInto each pack:one pair of pants,one pair of shorts,three pairs of underwear,two shirts,sandals,toothbrush and paste,soap,ten palms of rice grains,three clumps of cooked rice,one choice.I choose my doll,once lent to a neighborwho left it outside,where mice bither left cheekand right thumb.I love her morefor her scars.I dress herin a red and white dresswith matching hat and bootiesthat Mother knitted.April 27

Left BehindTen gold-rimmed glassesFather brought back from Americawhere he trained before I was born.Brother Quang’sreport cards,each ranking him first in class,beginning in kindergarten.Vines of bougainvilleafully in bloom,burgundy and whitelike the colorsof our house.Vines of jasminein front of every windowthat remind Motherof the North.A cowboy leather beltBrother V sewedon Mother’s machineand broke her needle.That was whenhe adoredJohnny Cashmore thanBruce Lee.

A row of glass jarsBrother Khôi usedto raise fighting fish.Two hooksand the hammockwhere I nap.Photographs:every T t at the zoo,Father in his youth,Mother in her youth,baby pictures,where you can’t tell whose bottomis exposed for all the world to see.Mother chooses tenand burns the rest.We cannot leaveevidence of Father’s lifethat might hurt him.April 27Evening

Wet and CryingMy biggest papayais light yellow,still flecked with green.Brother V wantsto cut it down,saying it’s better thanletting the Communists have it.Mother says yellow papayatastes lovelydipped in chili salt.You children should eatfresh fruitwhile you can.Brother V chops;the head falls;a silver blade slices.Black seeds spilllike clusters of eyes,wet and crying.April 28

Sour BacksAt the portwe find outthere’s no such thingas a secretamong the Vietnamese.Thousandsfound outabout the navy shipsready to abandon the navy.Uncle S n flares elbows into wings,lunges forwardprotecting his children.But our family sticks togetherlike wet pages.I see nothing but backssour and sweaty.Brother V steps up,placing Mother in front of himand lifting meonto his shoulders.His palms pressBrothers Quang and Khôiforward.

I promise myselfto never againmake fun ofBruce Lee.April 29Afternoon

One Mat EachWe climb onand claim a spaceof two straw matsunder the deck,enough for us fiveto lie side by side.By sunset our spaceis one straw mat,enough for us fiveto huddle together.Bodies cramevery centimeterbelow deck,then every centimeteron deck.Everyone knows the shipcould sink,unable to holdthe piles of bodiesthat keep crawling onlike raging antsfrom a disrupted nest.But no oneis heartless enoughto saystopbecause what if

they had beenstoppedbefore their turn?April 29Sunset

In the DarkUncle S n visitsand whispers to Mother.We follow Motherwho follows Uncle S nwho leads his familyup to the deckand off the ship.It has been saidthe ship next doorhas a better engine,more water,endless fuel,countless salty eggs.Uncle S n lingerswithout getting onthe new ship;so do we.Hordes pourby us,beyond us.Above usbombs pierce the sky.Red and green flaresexplode like fireworks.

All lights are offso the port will not bea target.In the darka nudge herea nudge thereand we end upback on the first shipin the same spotwith two mats.Without lightsour ship glides out to sea,emptied of half its passengers.April 29Near midnight

Saigon Is GoneI listen tothe swish, swishof Mother’s handheld fan,the whispers among adults,the bombs in the ever greater distance.The commander has orderedeveryone below deckeven though he has chosena safe river routeto connect to the sea,avoiding the obvious escape paththrough V ng T u,where the Communists are droppingall the bombs they have left.I hope TiTi got out.Mother is sickwith waves in her stomacheven though the shipbarely creeps along.We hear a helicoptercircling circlingnear our ship.

People run and scream,Communists!Our ship dips lowas the crowd runs to the left,and then to the right.This is not helping Mother.I wish they would stand stilland hush.The commander is talking:Do not be frightened!It’s a pilot for our sidewho has jumped into the water,letting his helicopterplunge in behind him.The pilotappears below deck,wet and shaking.He salutes the commanderand shouts,At noon today the Communistscrashed their tanksthrough the gatesof the presidential palaceand planted on the roofa flag with one huge star.Then he adds

what no one wants to hear:It’s over;Saigon is gone.April 30Late afternoon

PART II

At Sea

FloatingOur ship creeps alongthe river routewithout lightswithout cookingwithout bathrooms.We are toldto sip wateronly when we mustso our bodiescan stop needing.Mine won’t listen.Mother sighs.I don’t blame her,having a daughterwho’s eitherdying of thirstor demanding release.Other girlsmust be madeof bamboo,bending whichever waythey are told.

Mother tells Uncle S nI need a bathroom.We are allowedinto the commander’s cabin,where the bathroom isso white and clean,so worth the embarrassment.May 1

S-l-o-w-l-yI nibble onthe last clumpof cooked ricefrom my sack.Hard and moldy,yet chewy and sweetinside.I chew each grains-l-o-w-l-y.I hear others chewbut have never seenanyone actually eating.No one has offeredto sharewhat I smell:sardines, dried durian,salted eggs, toasted sesame.I lean towardthe familyon the next mat.Mother firmlyshakes her head.She looks so sadas she patsmy hand.

May 2

RationsOn the third daywe join the seatoward Thailand.The commander saysit’s safe enoughfor his men to cook,for us to go above deck,for all to smile a little.He says there’s enoughrice and waterfor three weeks,but rescue should happenmuch earlier.Do not worry,ships from all countriesare out looking for us.Morning, noon, and nightwe each getone clump of rice,small, medium, large,according to our height,plus one cup of waterno matter our size.

The first hot biteof freshly cooked rice,plump and nutty,makes me imaginethe taste of ripe papayaalthough one has nothingto do with the other.May 3

RoutineMother cannot allowidle children,hers or anyone else’s.After one weekon the shipBrother Quang beginsEnglish lessons.I wish he wouldkeep it to:How are you?This is a pen.But when an adult is not therehe says,We must consider the shameof abandoning our own countryand begging toward the unknownwhere we will all begin againat the lowest levelon the social scale.It’s better in the afternoonswith Brother V ,who just wants usto do front kicksand back kicks,at times addingone-two punches.

Brother Khôi gets to monitorlines for the bathrooms,where bottoms stick outto the seabehind blankets blowingin the wind.When not in classI have to staywithin sight of Mother,like a baby.Mother gives meher writing pad.Write tiny,there’s but one pad.Writing becomesboring,so I drawover my words.Pouches of pan-fried shredded coconutTamarind paste on banana leafSteamed corn on the cobRounds of fried doughWedges of pineapple on a stickAnd of coursecubes of papaya tender and shiny.Mother smoothes back my hair,knowing the painof a girlwho loves snacksbut is strandedon a ship.May 7

Once KnewWater, water, watereverywheremaking me thinkland is just somethingI once knewlikenapping on a hammockbathing without saltwatching Mother writelaughing for no reasonkicking up powdery dirtandwearing clean nightclothessmelling of the sun.May 12

Brother Khôi’s SecretBrother Khôi stinks;we can’t ignore it.He stews and sweatsin a jackethe won’t take off.Forced to sponge-wipetwice a day,he wraps the jacketaround his waist.He keeps clutching somethingin the left pocket,where the stench grows.Neighbors complain,even the oneseight mats away,saying it’s bad enoughbeing trappedin putrid, hot airmade from fermented bodiesand oily sweat,must everybodyalso enduresomething rotten?

Finally Brother Vholds Brother Khôi downand forces himto open his hand.A flattened chicklies crooked,neck danglingoff his palm.The chick had nota chanceafter we shovedfor hours to board.Brother Khôi screams,kicks everything off our mats.Brother Quangcarries himabove deck.Quiet.May 13

Last RespectsAfter two weeks at seathe commander callsall of us above deckfor a formal lowering ofour yellow flagwith three red stripes.South Vietnam no longer exists.One woman tries to throwherself overboard,screaming that without a countryshe cannot live.As they wrestle her down,a man stabs his heartwith a toothbrush.I don’t know them,so their pain seems unrealnext to Brother Khôi’s,whose eyes are as wildas those of his broken chick.I hold his hand:Come with me.He doesn’t resist.

Aloneat the back of the shipI open Mother’s white handkerchief.Inside lies my mouse-bitten doll,her arms wrapped aroundthe limp fuzzy body of his chick.I tie it all into a bundle.Brother Khôi nodsand I smile,but I regretnot having my dollas soon as the white bundlesinks into the sea.May 14

One EngineIn the middleof the nightour ship stops.Mother hugs me,hearts drummingas one.If the Communistscatch us fleeing,it’s a million times worsethan staying at home.After many shoutsand much timethe ship moves forwardwith just one engine.Mother would notrelease me.The commander says,Thailand is much fartheron one engine.It was risky to takethe river route.We escaped bombs

but missed the rescue ships.The commander decidesthe ration is nowhalf a clump of riceonly at morning and night,and one cup of waterall day.Sip,he says,and don’t waste strengthmoving aroundbecause it’s impossibleto predicthow much longerwe willbe floating.May 16

The MoonDuring the daythe deck belongsto men and children.At nightfallwomen make their wayup.In single filesthey sponge-batheand relieve themselvesbehind blanket curtains.I always stand in linewith Mother.Every nightshe points upward.At leastthe moon remainsunchanged.Your father could be lookingat the same round moon.He may already understandwe will wait for himacross the world.

I feel guilty,having not oncethought of Father.I can’t wish for himto appearuntil I know wherewe’ll be.May 18

A KissThe horn on our shipblows and blows,waking everyonefrom a week-long nap.A sure answer,honk honk,seems close enoughand real enoughto call everyone on deck.A gigantic shipwith an American flagmoves closer.Men in white uniformwave and smile.Our commander wearshis navy jacket and hat,so white and so crisp.Now I realizewhy I like him so much.In uniform,he looks just like Father.He boards the other ship,salutes and shakes handswith a man whose hairgrows on his face

not on his headin the color of flames.I had not knownsuch hair was possible.We clap and clapas the ships draw togetheran

baby clothes to give to seamstresses. A few years ago she made enough money to consider buying a car. On weekends she takes me to market stalls, dropping off the clothes and trying to collect on last week’s goods. Hardly anyone buys anymore, she says. People can b