Love Like Hate (4 page)

I
n March 2001, Kim Lan had a phone installed in the house. It was a marvelous yellow thing that she placed in a custom-made box with a lock, to prevent the servants from dialing their home villages. Like the TV, the phone box was covered with a frilly piece of cloth to keep the dust away. She bought her first TV at twenty-five, her first fridge at twenty-eight, and now her first phone at fifty-four. She had been on a speeding train already so an airplane should be just around the corner. She would fly to America after Hoa had moved there. Who knows, she might be destined for hot water and a flush toilet yet. She had read in
Today’s Knowledge
about a flying car they were developing. At this rate, she’d be rocketed to the moon on her deathbed.

Kim Lan marveled at the small machine connecting her to the rest of the world. At any moment—but cheaper on weekends, of course—she could dial Japan or Uganda, and talk to a real foreigner on the other side. With hardly anyone to call, however, she often picked up the phone just to hear its beeping pulse. As if heeding her wish to communicate with the beyond, a letter arrived for her from a Viet Kieu that same month. On a sunny afternoon, a young mailman stopped his motorbike in front of her café and shouted, “Mrs. Kim Lan. You have a letter!”

She walked to the curb to retrieve it from him. There was no name over the return address: 903 Stryker Street, Archbold, OH 43502, USA. Kim Lan had never received a letter from America so
this was very exciting stuff. A letter from America also meant a tip was expected. She gave it to the mailman, went back inside, ripped the envelope open and read:

My Dear Kim Lan
,

I’m writing to you from America. I’ve been here for eight years already. I have a good job and everything is OK. I’ve learned English and I’m working at a chicken packing plant. It’s a very hard job and it doesn’t pay very much, but I’m just happy to have a job. If I could endure fifteen years in prison, then of course I can handle this job in America. I have no hurt feelings about what happened between us and I still think about you every once in a while. I will never forget that pork stew you brought me while I was in prison. No one can make pork stew like you, not even my new wife. After I left you, I went to Cao Lanh and stayed for two years before I left for America in the Orderly Departure Program with a new wife. My new wife is from Cao Lanh and she also works in the chicken plant with me. I kill chickens, she packs them. Although she doesn’t compare to you, I’m just grateful I’m not alone. I hope you are happy with Sen. Please tell him I do not hate him. And tell Cun I will send him $200 for Christmas
.

Hoang Long

A photo came with the letter. In it, Hoang Long stood next to his new wife in front of a red Honda Civic, one arm around her waist, one pointing at his car. Wearing an AC/DC T-shirt, he flashed a bright smile, displaying his new teeth.

Seeing Hoang Long’s dental work, Kim Lan unconsciously bared her own yellowing teeth and touched them with her fingers. Vietnamese toothpastes had really low standards.
Only $200 for Cun after eight years?
she sneered.
He complains that he isn’t being paid very much, but of course he’s making lots of money. Just look at that nice car. He only writes that because he doesn’t want his son to hit him up. The address is probably fake: There is no Stryker Street, and no Archbold, Ohio. There’s no Ohio, period. You can’t even pronounce it, so how can it exist? He thinks
he can just put down any combination of letters and I’ll believe it. I’ve heard of California and Florida, but Ohio?

She had already guessed that Hoang Long was in America. All ex-Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) soldiers who had spent at least four years in a reeducation camp were allowed to go to the US under the Orderly Departure Program. If she had dumped Sen, she could have gone to the US with Hoang Long, but no, she had her principles. And how had Sen responded to her incredible sacrifice?
By going to the whorehouses regularly
, she reflected with disgust. But the real reason she had not left with Hoang Long was because she did not want to abandon Hoa. Hoa was the most precious thing in her life, her very reason for living. Provoked by this letter, she wrote one of her own, not to Hoang Long but to Huyen, the neighborhood girl who had married the Viet Kieu:

Beloved Huyen!

How are you? I am so happy for you. You are very lucky
.

How are things in Philadelphia? I think of you often and want to send you and your husband my deepest and most sincere wishes for your future happiness
.

My mother is doing OK. I’m going to school to study English. Following your example, I’m very fashionably dressed now!

Perhaps you don’t even remember me, but I remember you very well. You were always the best-looking and the best-dressed girl in the neighborhood. I model myself after you. In case you don’t remember me, I’m the daughter of the lady who owns Paris by Night. I am seven years younger than you, so we didn’t hang out much. In fact, we didn’t hang out at all, but I still remember you very well, because you were my hero!

I was very reluctant to send you this letter. I was afraid you would misunderstand my intentions. Why am I writing to you out of the blue? What do I want exactly?

I’ve always wanted to stay in touch, my beloved Huyen, but I was only a kid before, distracted by school and play, and did not know a thing about
writing letters. I also did not have your address. But your mother finally gave me your address recently and she encouraged me to write you a long letter. She said you love to receive letters from Vietnam
.

In any case, I just want to congratulate you on being such a lucky girl! I love you very much. I’m not trying to suck up to you now that you have a rich husband. That’s not how I live. But it’s true that my family has fallen on hard times. The café is not doing so well. But a torn shirt need not stink. Just because you’re poor doesn’t mean you have to suck up to anyone
.

If only I were as lucky as you, how happy I’d be. I have dreamed of going to America since I was ten, maybe earlier. I only want to go to America so I can help my mother out by sending money home each month
.

To make a long story short: I’m just not a lucky girl. Not at all like you. But why am I boring you with my sad story? I better shut up before I put you to sleep! Seeing you so happy makes me a little happier
.

With much love to you
,

Hoa

Kim Lan rewrote this letter several times to make sure it sounded just like the heartfelt outpouring of a teenager. Favoring a felt tip over a ballpoint pen, she spent an hour practicing a loopy, left-leaning penmanship. She considered misspelling a word or two, but decided against it after much deliberation. Done with the final draft, she sent it away with several photos of Hoa—the latest, most improved version—including one in pajamas. Huyen and her husband must count among their acquaintances a lonely Viet Kieu or two, no?

5
ASSETS

O
n Hoa’s fifteenth birthday, Kim Lan bought her a Wave motorbike. You were supposed to be sixteen to get a license but most people never bothered. If your legs could reach the ground from the seat, then you were good to go, and Hoa had extra-long legs. With sleek, large wheels to smoothly overcome the tribulations of a Vietnamese road, the Honda Wave was the hottest thing in Saigon in 2001. It could cruise up to fifty miles an hour. Zooming all over town on her motorbike, Hoa looked like an actress in a Hong Kong movie. She had learned how to put on lipstick, eye shadow, mascara, shimmer, blush, rouge, greasepaint, lip gloss, pomade and pancake.

When she opened her mouth, a dozen English phrases sputtered out, gleaned from Madonna and Britney Spears CDs. Every inch of her was brand named—CK, Revlon, Polo, Levi’s, Adidas—albeit much of it was fake. She was rarely seen without a baseball cap from her huge collection. She bought them compulsively because they were so cool and so American. Each new cap made her feel like a new person, with her favorite featuring a shark biting a stick in half. Kim Lan fretted, “Your hair’s so thick and shiny, Hoa, you shouldn’t hide it all the time behind a baseball cap.”

“You keep talking like this, Mama, and one of these days I’m going to shave all of my hair off!”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Kim Lan loved to take care of her daughter’s hair. Braiding Hoa’s
hair one day, she said, “You know, Hoa, I see many girls dyeing their hair blonde or brown nowadays. I think you would look wonderful with blonde hair.”

“Yeah, Mama. I’d look like a freak!”

“No, you wouldn’t. I think you would look just like Elizabeth Monroe.”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“It’s before your time, Hoa. Elizabeth Monroe was one of Martin Luther King’s lovers. She was also friends with Michael Jackson. You’ve heard of Michael Jackson?”

“Yes, of course, who hasn’t? The thin nose, the moonwalk. He always grabs his dick when he dances.”

Kim Lan tapped Hoa lightly on the head. “Watch your mouth!”

In general, Kim Lan was gratified by Hoa’s progress, but she was becoming a little worried about her effect on men. Males of all ages were constantly eyeing her daughter. There was a weirdo of about nineteen who sat in the café all day just to catch a glimpse of Hoa walking in and out. He drank beer after beer until his face and eyes turned red. Once he pretended to lean down to tie his shoe just as Hoa walked by. As he brushed his head against her swishy skirt, redolent of detergent and fabric softener, his mouth coming close enough to kiss or bite her naked, marmoreal ankle, he felt a terrible jolt up his spine and let out a sad, preternatural moan that startled everyone present. That was as close as he ever got to Hoa. The weirdo knew he had no chance, knew that it would be at least a felony if someone of his constitution and smallness was to taint such an angelic apparition. Still, he thought that if he sat there in humble supplication long enough, God might feel so sorry for him, he’d be allowed to upset the natural order of things and be vindicated once and for all. At that age, it’s easy to think one fuck could solve everything. Even the women were checking Hoa out, inflamed by jealousy or lust.
Hoa is becoming too popular for her own good
, Kim Lan thought.

Hoa was tall and well proportioned, but most important, she had very nice breasts, a trait she shared with her mother. Kim Lan was worried when Hoa’s breasts started to bud at eleven, ahead of other girls’. She thought they might grow to melon size but, no, they ended up just about perfect. The only flaw was the dark coloration of the areolae. Instead of virgin pink, they were chocolate brown. A mother has to worry about so much. She has to pay attention to every detail of her daughter’s development. “When you apply face cream,” she advised Hoa, “you must rub upward, so your skin won’t sag. If you rub downward, you will look like an old lady at age forty. And when you’re in the shower, Hoa, you must rub upward when you soap your breasts. When it comes to your own body, never rub downward.” Anticipating Hoa’s first menstruation, Kim Lan advised, “The very first time it happens, you must dip your panties into a bucket of water three times.”

“Why, Mother?”

“Just do what I say. If you dip them three times, you will bleed for only three days. If you don’t, you’ll bleed for seven days.”

“I don’t get it.”

“And don’t shampoo during your period or you will have bags under your eyes.”

“Huh?”

“Just trust me, I know, I bled for forty years.”

“Are you still bleeding?”

“No, of course not.”

When it finally happened, Kim Lan said, “It’s like this: You have to put
this
into
this
.”

“But I can’t walk that way, Mother, my legs are all splayed!”

“Stay home this morning if you have to.”

“It feels funny, Mother, like there’s a hand there!”

Kim Lan grimaced hearing that. Now that her daughter was fifteen, the danger of having a hand there was greater than ever. Kim Lan said, “I’ve had two husbands and two kids but my breasts are
still firm. Many women my age have mushy breasts but touch these, see how firm they are? Your breasts are also nice, and that’s good, but it means you must be extra careful. Every man wants to feel your breasts. Whatever you do, Hoa, don’t let them touch you. If you let them touch you, it’s all over.”

“I understand, Mama.”

“I will give you everything you want in this life, but you must not let a man touch you. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Mama. You always talk about this.”

“Don’t even let them touch your hand! If you let a man touch your hand, then he will grab your breasts the next time, then he will pull your pants down, then everything will be wasted, everything I’ve done for you will be wasted. Look at my ridiculous life: I’ve had two ridiculous men, two clowns! You must have a strategy, then everything will work out fine. You must be patient. Do not sleep with the first clown who grabs you.”

“Don’t worry, Mama. I won’t let anyone grab me.”