Читать книгу Angel in the Full Moon - Don Easton - Страница 7

It was ten o’clock at night in Hanoi as Bin stood at the back of the cargo van with his twelve-year-old daughter. The incessant January rain, coupled with a light breeze, made the fifteen-degree Celsius temperature seem colder. Bin had no idea that his dream for the future was about to become a permanent nightmare—or that the rear doors on the van opening in front of him were the gates to hell.

The driver turned in his seat and gave Bin an impatient nod. Bin grimaced and shoved the plastic bag containing Hng’s belongings into the van. Saying goodbye was difficult and it was more than the rain that made his cheeks wet.

Hng was the older of Bin’s two children. When Bin was given the opportunity for both his children to go to America he could hardly believe his good fortune. There was little future for them in Vietnam. He bent over to give Hng another final hug.

A swarm of motor scooters zoomed past like angry, wet hornets and disappeared into the night. Hanoi was like a hive when it came to scooters. Few people could afford cars.

Bin ignored the scooters and forced himself to smile at Hng. She smiled back, but the corners of her mouth twitched, revealing her nervousness. On impulse, she checked the pocket of her new coat again. Yes, the gift was still there. Wrapped in a small piece of tissue paper and tied with a pink ribbon.

The silver necklace with the pearl from Halong Bay had cost Bin the equivalent of sixteen American dollars. An exorbitant amount of money, thought Bin. But the American lady will be grateful.

Bin’s mind turned to Hng’s new coat. She will need it. It can be very cold in the United States. A long blast from the van’s horn interrupted his thoughts and he watched as Hng quickly climbed in to join a handful of young women who sat on the floor of the van. Bin had opted to leave his other daughter, nine-year-old Linh, back at their apartment with her grandmother. It wasn’t simply that he didn’t own a car. He often pedalled with both children on his bicycle. The real reason was he was afraid he might cry. He didn’t want Linh to see him cry. Especially when she was scheduled to leave next.

The children’s mother died of cancer when Linh was six months old. Bin’s own mother lived with them, but time had been hard on both her body and her mind. Hng, despite being only three years older than Linh, had taken on more of a role of a parent than that of a sister.

Bin started to close the doors but Hng looked at him and quickly blurted, “Con thng cha tht nhiu.”

Bin replied, “English now, Hng. You speak English.” He paused and said, “And I love you a lot as well ... but now it is time for you to be strong.”

“I am strong,” she replied, trying to make her face look stern.

Bin hid his smile and said, “I know you are. I will be anxious to talk with you.”

“I telephone in United States,” said Hng. “Six months.”

Bin shook his head and replied, “No. The word is weeks. Say weeks.”

“Yes. Weeeks,” replied Hng. She frowned at her mistake.

“Good. That is good. You call. Linh and I will be waiting.

You be sure it is good before I send Linh.”

“Con có th hy sinh tt c vì ch.”

“English ... please.”

Hng sighed and said, “I will do ...” she hesitated, searching for the word she was looking for, “whatever ... you ask.”

Bin smiled and said, “Good. Very good. I know you will do whatever I ask. I ask that you do whatever for Linh, too.”

Hng nodded seriously as Bin closed the doors.

Minutes later, Bin held his bicycle and stood silently in the rain staring at the empty street. His heart and stomach felt like they were being wrenched from his body. The image of Hng waving at him through the back window of the van would forever be etched in his memory.

Bin climbed on his bicycle and pedalled toward his apartment. He brooded about his last-minute decision not to send Linh to America on the same boat as Hng. People were angry with him, but eventually he was told that the American family understood.

The American family had lost two daughters in an unfortunate accident. The Americans wanted to fill the emptiness they felt and were willing to take his daughters into their home. They would pay for them to go to school in America.

Perhaps, some day, Bin would be allowed to go to America, too. For now, they agreed that Hng would travel first. Another boat was scheduled to leave when it was known that the first boat arrived safely.

Not that there was any real danger, Bin had been told. The passengers would be smuggled into the United States from Canada. Even if the authorities caught them, the worse that would happen is that they would be returned to Vietnam.

If that happened, Bin knew, he would face some criticism from his own government. The opportunity for a prosperous and happy future for his children was well worth that risk. He was told that if all went well, eventually the right people in America would be paid and both his daughters would become American citizens.

Bin heard that there were many other passengers being smuggled. All young women who were being given jobs in the hotel industry. They would have to work to pay for the cost of being brought to America. That would not take long. There was a tremendous amount of money to be made. They would have no problem paying off their debt, even while sending money home to their families.

Bin knew that for many of the young women, their fate would no be so. He had heard rumours that some of the young women lacked morals and became greedy, opting instead to make more money by selling their bodies. Some sent money home to Vietnam for their parents, who became rich, but when asked about their daughters, the shame was evident. They said their daughters worked in hotels or restaurants, but few believed it. Maids in hotels were not paid that much.

Bin had talked at length about this to both his daughters. He had also spoken to the smugglers. If there was even a suggestion that they engage in any impropriety, he would go to the authorities. He was assured otherwise. This family was decent, heartbroken over the loss of their own daughters. He was told that he was foolish to worry. Still, these were his daughters. What father would not worry?

Bin’s daughters were fortunate. They would not have to work at all to pay for their voyage. His was a special situation. Bin’s contact had taken a picture of Hng and Linh standing in front of the One Pillar Pagoda close to where Bin worked. The picture was sent to America and Bin heard that the family instantly loved his daughters. He was told that if his daughters were truly unhappy, then the American family would pay to return them to Vietnam.

Bin thought about the Westerners’ use of the word love. He decided that it was a word they used as if they were saying hello. From Westerners, it sounded about as genuine as the fake Rolexes sold at the market. The Vietnamese expressed love more often through action, by doing something nice for the person. It had more meaning.

It was the same with Western names, Bin mused. They never stood for anything. His own name, Bin, meant ocean. Western names did not usually have meaning. Bin was told the name of the American family was Pops and it meant friendly father. Believing the name to be real, he felt reassured. Had he known it was a nickname with a secretive, twisted, and perverse meaning, he would have been aghast.

Bin reflected upon the picture of his two daughters. His contact had graciously provided him with a black and white photocopy. In the picture, Hng held Linh’s hand. Not that she was afraid Linh would run out into traffic. She knew better. She held Linh’s hand because she loved her. Their spirits entwined like one. Anyone looking at the picture could see their true beauty. Perhaps the American family were sincere when they said they loved my children? It would be impossible not to ....

Bin had not always lived in Hanoi. As a child, he was raised in the South. Saigon. Bin still preferred the city by its old name, but while working in Hanoi, he was careful to refer to it as H Chi Minh City.

Bin’s father had served with the South Vietnamese army and fought alongside the Americans until the Communists achieved victory in 1975. His father had learned English and taught it to Bin, who in turn, taught it to both his daughters. After the war, Bin’s father was placed in a re-education camp, where he died thirteen years later. Bin scoffed at the term reeducation. It was a camp of forced labour and brutality.

Bin’s wife, formerly from Dong Ha, had been exposed to heavy concentrations of Agent Orange during the war. Their daughter, Hng, like many second generation children, was born with an abnormality. She had an extra thumb protruding off the thumb of one hand. This was only a minor imperfection, Bin decided, when so many other families had children who were born without feet or arms.

Hng’s extra thumb was not something that had been hidden from the American family. Bin was told that Pops would have an American doctor fix it, but only if Hng wished. Bin knew that Hng would wish it to be so. She wanted to be perfect. She does not understand that she already is.

Linh was born without any abnormalities. Something that was cause for extreme joy. A sign that the future would improve, thought Bin. He had received a teaching degree just days after Linh was born. He felt like their lives were complete and that their future would be good. But it was not good.

Bin’s wife died six months later of organ failure brought on by the dioxin in her body. The closest Bin ever came to being a teacher was doing janitorial work at a school. The Communist party was only too aware of his family’s sympathy to the South during the war. He would not be allowed to teach.

It was not until recently that the government recognized the benefit of tourism and knew that Bin’s ability to speak English could be an asset. He was sent to Hanoi to act as a tour guide at Uncle H’s Mausoleum.

Bin lived in a one-room apartment facing an alley that he shared with his daughters and his own mother. His kitchen, like others in his neighbourhood, was a small plastic table and chairs set out on the sidewalk at the front of the building. The rest of his kitchen consisted of a hot plate set up on wooden boxes in the alley. The boxes were on their sides and a piece of cloth wired to the boxes acted as a curtain to keep the dust off the dishes. All this was enclosed with a wrought-iron grate bolted to the alley wall, which protruded just over an arm’s length away from the boxes. Entry was through a padlocked door.

For the first few months, he was paid barely enough to buy rice and noodles. Later, he learned to become a little shrewder about accepting tips from the tourists. Soon he would be able to afford a bigger apartment. One that would give his mother her own room to snore in.

It was midnight when Bin pedalled back through the Ba Dinh district of Hanoi and quietly carried his bicycle into his apartment. Tomorrow he would face questions. He did not like the fact that he had to deal with smugglers. Lying to friends about where his daughter went made him feel guilty—but he understood the need for secrecy.

Hng sat quietly on the floor as the van continued through the streets of Hanoi, occasionally stopping to pick up more women. Hng figured they were all about six or seven years older than her. She caught the friendly smile of a younger woman who had been in the van when Hng got in. Hng forced a quick smile back before turning away—directing her attention to the floor of the van. She remembered her vow to stay strong and did not want anyone to see the tears on her face.

“Em tê;n là gì?” the young woman asked her.

“Hng,” she answered, continuing to stare at the floor.

“You ... talk ... English,” she noted, slowly enunciating the words of this foreign language.

“A little,” replied Hng.

She smiled again. “Yes, me talk a ... small ... English,” she said, holding her thumb and finger close together to emphasize her point. “My name Ngc Bích. You, me, we teach English each other, okay?”

“Okay,” replied Hng, looking down at the van floor.

“You cold?” asked Ngc Bích.

Hng shook her head.

“Very cold in America. I think you cold now,” said Ngc Bích, while changing positions and sitting beside Hng. “You be okay,” said Ngc Bích. “Okay to be afraid,” she added, while putting her arm around Hng’s shoulders.

“I’m not afraid,” said Hng, glancing up defiantly at the other women in the van.

Ngc Bích caught Hng’s expression and said, “That okay. They no speak English. They no understand what me say with you. I see you cry. I am sorry with you.”

Hng paused for a moment, and said, “I’m not afraid. I only miss my family.”

“My family live in Nha Trang,” said Ngc Bích, pulling Hng closer. “My father dies two years before. I cries. The day last, my mother say goodbye to me in Nha Trang. I am oldest five kids. Two brothers. Two sisters,” she said, holding up two fingers on each hand. “It is good I send money from America—but yesterday I cry the same as you. You father and mother many kids?”

“One sister. No mother,” replied Hng.

Ngc Bích paused briefly and said, “It okay to cry.”

Hng solemnly studied Ngc Bích’s face but did not respond.

“I cry for my brothers and sisters today. You want, you ... me ... be sister now,” added Ngc Bích.

Hng reflected upon this briefly, before nodding. They each smiled and hugged each other.

Eventually the van came to a stop and everyone got out. The driver warned them to be quiet and to follow him. Hng slung her bag of belongings over her shoulder and, along with everyone else, obediently followed. They entered an apartment building, trudged up four flights of stairs, were led to a room halfway down the hall, and ushered inside.

Hng and Ngc Bích quietly sat on the apartment floor with a dozen others. The driver left but two other Vietnamese men remained in the room. The men told everyone to sit quietly and not to speak.

Later, there were more soft knocks on the apartment door as several more groups of young women arrived. Hng counted thirty-five women but lost count when the room became too crowded.

An hour passed, and the silence in the room made Hng more conscious of the humidity and the sticky feeling from the heat generated by their cramped quarters. Eventually there was another knock at the door.

Another Vietnamese man entered the room, followed by two other men who were both foreigners and appeared to be about fifty years old. One foreigner was lean and tall, with a thin, grey moustache that matched the colour of his brush cut. His face was pointed with sharp cheek bones and large dark eyes peered out from a nose that reminded Hng of a beak on a bird. Like a long-billed vulture ... She heard the Vietnamese man call him Petya.

The other foreigner took off his jacket and Hng saw that he was wearing a golf shirt and slacks. His head was shaved bald and he had a large pot belly ... but it was his arms that caught Hng’s attention. She had never seen arms covered in so much thick, black hair. More black hair unleashed itself from the open neck on his golf shirt. It made Hng think of a bald ape and she quickly looked away so as not to be seen as being rude.

The two foreigners spoke to each other in a language that Hng did not understand. After, the bald ape turned to the Vietnamese man.

“Tell them all to stand,” said the bald ape, speaking English.

“Yes, Styopa,” replied the Vietnamese man. He then gave the command in Vietnamese and everyone got to their feet.

For Hng, the names Petya and Styopa were too foreign to pronounce. She would just think of them as the vulture and the bald ape.

The vulture and the bald ape approached each woman and pointed for them to stand on one side of the room or the other. As this happened, the Vietnamese man wrote everyone’s names down on two lists.

It is the Vietnamese custom not to look into a person’s face. To do so could imply a lack of respect. In this case, Hng sensed it was an uncomfortable shame the women felt as they stared down at the floor, wondering what the selection was all about. When the men reached Hng, the bald ape lifted her chin to face him, but she continued to avert her eyes.

“You are the young one,” he said. “You speak English?” he asked.

Hng nodded, but the man still gripped her chin, making nodding difficult.

“Let me hear you talk,” he commanded.

Hng swallowed and said, “Yes, I speak English. My father taught me.”

“Good. And you are going to the States to live with an American family, correct?”

“Yes, to live in the house of Mister Pops.”

“Mister Pops!” The bald ape glanced at the vulture and they both chuckled before turning back to Hng. “Your English is good,” he said, releasing her chin. “Your sister was supposed to come. Why didn’t she?”

“My father wanted me to go first. To make sure it would be good for my sister.”

“That is very prudent,” said the vulture. “Your father is a wise man, but you will see that you are very happy there.”

The bald ape grabbed Hng’s hand and held it up to show the vulture her extra thumb. Hng felt her face flush with embarrassment. The vulture spoke harshly to the bald ape in his own language and the ape dropped her hand. Hng felt his eyes upon her for a moment before they moved on.

When the men finished dividing the women into two groups, the bald ape walked back to one young woman and poked her in the ribs with his finger and turned to his Vietnamese colleague and said, “This one is too fat. Nobody will want her.”

The Vietnamese colleague said, “She is fat now, but she will be much thinner in six weeks when she arrives.”

The bald ape blurted out a laugh.

Hng had been warned that the voyage on the ship would be cramped, with little time on deck. It would be a tough journey, but one they were told they would forget completely once they arrived in America. Still, his cruel laugh—he is like the rats who live in the sewer. The sewer I must cross to America.

She risked glancing at the vulture. His face was cold, without expression. A slit under his beak cracked open and he said, “They are all okay. Get them to the ship.”

Moments later, Hng found herself crammed into the back of a large cube van. There was standing room only and she was glad that Ngc Bích had remained by her side.

It was three hours later when they hurried up a wooden gangplank in the dark to the deck of a ship. The women were told to remain in the two groups they had been divided in. Each group was directed to a separate cargo hold.

They were told to climb down a ladder leading below deck and a man stood at the top of each ladder to help. Hng stooped to get on the ladder and felt the man grab the cheek of her buttock and squeeze tight while emitting a laugh.

Hng gasped but before she could respond, Ngc Bích slapped the man hard across his face. He released his grip immediately and pulled back a fist to punch Ngc Bích in the face. At the same time, another man’s voice uttered a command from the darkness for them to be quiet.

The man who had grabbed Hng scowled and lowered his fist. He grabbed Hng by the arm and made her go with the second group of women. She quickly made her way down the ladder into the cargo hold and, along with the others, stood waiting for further instructions.

An hour passed and, following the shouts and commands from above, the diesel engines coughed and rumbled to life, causing the ship to shake before it slipped away from its moorage.

A crew member eventually came down the ladder and told them the cargo space they were in was their home for the next six weeks. He pointed to a plastic pail that they could use for a toilet and pieces of cardboard on the floor for them to lie on. Nobody would be allowed up on deck for two weeks, after which they may be allowed up on deck at night only. The passengers looked at each other in shock as the crew member climbed back up the ladder and closed the cargo doors behind him.

Three of the young women started crying. Hng stared at them blankly for a moment before picking up a piece of cardboard and selecting a spot near the hull of the ship to lay it down. She was cold, even with her new coat, and brought her knees up close to her chest. She lay with her back to the hull, but felt the vibration of the ship’s engines and readjusted the cardboard.

When she was settled once more, she stared at a black cord with a yellow light bulb that hung from above, swinging with the movement of the ship. The dim light did not hide the fear she saw in some of the faces around her. She wished Ngc Bích had not slapped the crew member. She felt exhausted. Maybe later they would be allowed to be together ...

Hng suddenly awakened to the sound of someone vomiting beside her. She felt nauseous, too, and moaned, grabbing her head as a piercing pain reduced her vision to flashes of light. The smell of diesel was overwhelming and water had leaked in, turning much of the cardboard mattresses into soggy masses.

The woman who vomited faced a string of obscenities from another neighbour, which only brought more angry voices and commotion from others. Another woman climbed to the top of the ladder and yelled and pounded on the cargo door. From somewhere in the ship, Hng heard Ngc Bích yelling and the pounding clang of metal being struck with a pipe.

The cargo doors were opened and the women rushed to stand beneath as fresh air and rain came in from above. The crew member took only the first few steps down the ladder before cursing and going back up. He returned a few minutes later and tossed down a mop while ordering another woman to bring up the plastic pail so that it could be dumped overboard.

Three weeks passed and, despite the promise to be allowed on deck at night, had that luxury rescinded because of severe storms. The ship rocked and creaked as it was blasted by the wind and heavy waves. During this time, the cargo doors were closed again to prevent flooding. It was also the time when most people were sick.

On this night, the storm was worse than usual and Hng was one of the few who had managed to keep her food down. She waited until most of the others were asleep before deciding to take the opportunity to squat over the plastic pail.

She balanced her steps on the rollicking floor of the ship as she headed for the pail, only to see that it was overflowing. She wondered what to do just as the ship gave another violent heave, sending the pail sliding across the floor and tipping over. She decided to wait.

On the following night, the storms abated. It was January 29^th, this year’s official beginning of the celebration of Tt Nguyê;n án, or “TET,” as it is commonly called, marking the lunar New Year. This year was the Year of the Dog. Today, their daily rations of rice, noodles, and fish soup was replaced with ample quantities of chicken, pork, and vegetables.

As soon as darkness came, everyone was allowed on deck. It didn’t take Hng and Ngc Bích long to find each other. They decided to speak Vietnamese to each other. Tonight would be a night to relax. Even if they couldn’t be together on the ship, they promised each other they would remain friends when they got off. Then there would be plenty of time to practise English.

They watched as a couple of the crew members waved bottles of wine and invited some of the women back to their rooms with them. Some of the women went and Hng caught the look of disapproval from Ngc Bích as she stared after them.

“The crew ... their rooms will be warm,” said Hng. “Is it wrong to drink wine?”

Ngc Bích turned to Hng and smiled and said, “You are a child, my new sister. It is not just wine that these men want to put in the women.”

Hng felt embarrassed but said, “The women, maybe they will just enjoy the warmth and then say no, and leave.”

Ngc Bích shook her head and said, “That is why the men will share the wine. These young women will be too drunk to say no ... and if they do, the men may not listen. Never dishonour your family by such behaviour.”

Hng was appalled that Ngc Bích would even feel the need to convey that to her. “I never would. Yuk! Never!”

“Good. No man would ever want you for his wife then,” said Ngc Bích seriously.

“I will never dishonour my family,” replied Hng solemnly. “My father has told me about such women. Greedy women, who give their bodies to men.”

Ngc Bích nodded. “Always respect what you do and respect yourself. In America I am going to be trained to give massages and work at a hotel where the very rich go,” said Ngc Bích. “I will make lots of money and then,” Ngc Bích paused as her eyes twinkled, “when a man with a bottle of wine invites me to his room ... I will go.”

“You will go?” exclaimed Hng.

“Yes. Because that man will be my husband.”

Hng laughed and Ngc Bích joined in. Hng could not remember the last time she had laughed. Ngc Bích’s comments made her realize how lucky she was ... or would be in three weeks when they arrived. She was told that the home of Mister Pops was so large that she would have her own bedroom. He was even so rich that when Linh came, she would also have her own bedroom.

Pops turned the radio on to maximum volume before flushing the toilet and crouching down to hurry through the short passageway that led to the television room in his basement. Once free of the passageway, he pushed the square doorway shut behind him.

He stood panting for a moment. Not that he was out of shape. He was a big man with a narcissistic drive that compelled him to maintain a daily routine of bodybuilding. His panting was not from physical exertion. It was from excitement.

Pops’s house was a four-level split built over the side of a hill. In the basement of the home, he had discovered a small trap door leading to a dead space in the earth behind his foundation. The trap door was intended to gain access to some plumbing pipes that led from the upper levels down to the run-off pipes in the earth below.

When Pops first stuck his head in the hole and shone a flashlight around, he saw a space that ran the width of his house and was several metres wide. It was partially back-filled with dirt and debris from when his house was built. The area was completely sealed off by cement foundations that supported the upper levels of his house farther back on the hill.

For many months, Pops lay awake and fantasized about what special use he could make of this newfound space. His fantasies were about to become real.

Now Pops stood and held his breath and listened. Not a sound! He placed his ear to the wall and could hear a slight sound from the radio, but if he had not known better, he might have deduced it came from some other home in his neighbourhood.

“Yes!” he shouted with elation, while punching his fist into the palm of his other hand. The heavy thickness of soundproofing worked! He opened the passageway door and ducked back inside to retrieve the radio.

The room he had built was basically a smaller room within the space. It was like a huge rectangular plywood box with an igloo-style passageway that led into it. There was a drain on the floor, along with a foam mattress, a toilet, and a set of shackles and chains fastened to the floor at each end of the room.