The Reeducation of Cherry Truong (29 page)

Lum has adjusted so well. His English is excellent (he even helps me with the occasional translation at the bank or grocery store), and although most Vietnamese boys are short compared to the Americans, he measures the tallest in his class. He must have inherited those genes from our family, perhaps our father. Sanh, as you will see when you are with us, is short, even for a Vietnamese man. Lum is so well liked by everyone. I predict he will make an excellent lawyer or businessman, or even a politician!

Cherry is smart and clever—sometimes, I'm afraid too much for her own good. Unlike Vietnamese teachers who encourage humility, her nursery school teachers praise her, to the point that the child believes these compliments too readily. I try not to spoil her, Mother, but I cannot stop Sanh from doing so. If I discipline my daughter, she hardly listens, always turning to her father as if he is her only parent. She treats me like a servant.

Is this how I acted around you as a child? If so, please know I have learned my lesson. It is true, Cherry is still young. Perhaps this is just temporary. I hope so.…

Tuyet Truong

Westminster, California, USA

 

Chapter Eight

KIM-LY

L
ITTLE
S
AIGON
, C
ALIFORNIA
, 1996

Since Ba Liem's slip in the bathtub a few months ago, her psychic abilities could predict the last two numbers in the California SuperLotto. Kim-Ly had been suspicious, but she couldn't deny her friend's uncanny skill, consistent almost three out of every four drawings. For the opportunity to earn millions of dollars, these were not terrible odds.

“They float inside my head only a few seconds before. Too bad it doesn't come earlier, huh?” Ba Liem giggled. “Then we could be rich.”

Kim-Ly believed it could. SuperLotto occurred twice a week. Every Wednesday, Kim-Ly and the twins convened at her family's beauty salon where they watched the selection of white rubber balls bounce and twirl in a gleaming glass case until they rolled out in a clean, tantalizing row. As Kim-Ly's eyes caressed the number combination that could yield a lucky someone permanent financial security, she would chide herself for not selecting those numbers. Of course, there would be a 12 in this week's drawing. There hadn't been a 12 in three weeks. She'd record the numbers in her small crocodile skin notebook and study them at night, determined to decipher the lottery's mystery.

Only Kim-Ly and Ba Liem's twin sister Ba Nhanh knew of the fortune-teller's recent intuition and they planned to keep it that way. While they agreed to share any substantial winnings, they didn't want to tip off any selfish, greedy relatives or friends who could suddenly decide they loved them again. So until they devised the strategy to capitalize on Ba Liem's talent, they discreetly studied the lottery drawing every week, each buying one ticket, just in case.

SuperLotto only cost a dollar for each game, but still some of Kim-Ly's children, even grandchildren, felt compelled to criticize.

“Do you know the odds of winning the lottery?” her granddaughter Cherry once asked. “Of even winning your dollar back?”

“Are they any better than surviving a war?” Kim-Ly retorted, holding her lottery ticket close to her chest, over her heart.

Most of the time, the twins and Kim-Ly sat in peace in the waiting lounge. Midweek, the mall was never crowded, with most people still at work or at home with their children. But this afternoon their concentration was interrupted by hooligans.

Her underachiever grandson Lum and his friends had the gall to take up all of the chairs in the waiting lounge. Unless they were getting their hair cut (which some needed), she didn't understand why they took up such valuable seating space, smudging their greasy fingerprints on the gossip magazines and newspapers with their careless perusing. Couldn't they hang out in the food court with the rest of the smokers? Lum once again flaunted his irresponsibility, allowing his friends to harass his dying grandmother.

“Boys, let your elders sit down,” Lum's mother, Tuyet, said, as she sorted through a drawer of nail files and cotton balls. She turned to Kim-Ly. “And you're not dying. You have high blood pressure.”

“Severely high blood pressure,” Kim-Ly muttered, pulling her shawl around her shoulders.

Two peroxide blondies entered the salon and pointed to the pedicure stations. Tuyet nodded and turned to her mother. “Be nice,” she said, wagging the emery board in Kim-Ly's face.

Waiting until her daughter walked out of earshot, Kim-Ly whispered to the twins, “Since when do we pay respect to children?”

“Ridiculous,” Ba Liem agreed. “This is your beauty salon. They have to be nice to us.”

The women grinned at each other as they took their usual seats, not even acknowledging the boys' meek bows of respect. While three of the deadbeats hid behind gossip magazines, Lum unabashedly returned eye contact and smiled.

“So what are you doing this afternoon?” Kim-Ly asked her grandson. “It must be something special to take time off from school.”

“It's spring break, Grandmother,” Lum said, his shoulders slouched over like a common laborer.

“You can still study,” Kim-Ly said. “Extra time to review materials.”

“Thank you, Grandmother,” Lum muttered, suddenly very interested in the television. Ba Nhanh was clutching the remote control, trying to find the channel for the lottery. “I studied everything last night so I'm taking a break today. But I appreciate your advice.”

She knew he was lying. Even economics majors at anyone-can-enroll community colleges had other coursework to study. A person could never finish studying. And he believed he could be a businessman? Kim-Ly wanted to press the issue, but her granddaughter Linh and her friend Quynh wandered in. They wore skimpy tank tops and low-waisted jeans. While Quynh obediently greeted Kim-Ly and the twins, her own granddaughter brazenly passed by her to kiss her boyfriend Huy on the cheek.

“How are you feeling, Ba Vo?” Quynh asked, straightening Kim-Ly's scarf.

“My throat is so dry.” Kim-Ly wheezed softly to demonstrate. “Could you get me some water?”

Quynh squeezed Kim-Ly's hand and left for the water cooler at the back of the salon. Kim-Ly's eyes wandered to her daughter still serving the blondies. While Tuyet scrambled to scrub both of the customers' callused heels, one of the blondies in the massage chairs met eyes with Kim-Ly, then quickly looked away.

“Hi, Grandmother,” Linh finally remembered, still not moving from Huy's lap.

Kim-Ly shifted her scrutiny to her granddaughter. Linh's mother was busy twisting curlers into a customer's hair, or else Kim-Ly hoped she'd scold her daughter for her whorish behavior. After registering Kim-Ly's lengthy look of disapproval, Linh slid off her boyfriend's lap and into the chair next to his. Quynh returned with a paper cup of cold water.

“How are your parents?” Kim-Ly asked, accepting the refreshing drink. “Are they doing well?”

“They're very busy,” Quynh said, taking a seat next to Lum, who immediately put his arm around her. “They always are this time of year.”

“Then I'm sure you must be helping them around the house a lot,” Kim-Ly said, leaning forward in her chair. “Looking after your brothers?”

“Yes,” Quynh said. “Of course.”

“It's starting,” Ba Nhanh said, poking the remote control into Kim-Ly's side.

Kim-Ly pulled her freshly purchased lottery ticket from her purse, holding the top with one thumb and the bottom with another. The twins did the same. As they waited for the orange-tanned host to announce the numbers, Kim-Ly noticed Lum and his friends plucking their own lottery tickets from their pockets.

“What is this?” she demanded. “Are you making fun of us?”

“The jackpot is up to 120 million,” one deadbeat said. “It's on the news.”

The older women exchanged grave glances. Wouldn't that be terribly ironic? For one of these naïve newbies to win over a dedicated player? Lum held his lottery ticket next to his grandmother's.

“Look at that,” Lum said. “We have two numbers in common. Think it's in our blood?”

Kim-Ly ignored him, her eyes returning to the television. While the mandolin music trilled and her daughters chatted with customers, Kim-Ly and the rest of the ticket holders remained silent as the numbers filled the screen.

Her hopes were promptly dashed. She was out by the third number. Most of the boys had tossed their tickets as well. But Ba Liem held on to hers, biting her lip in concentration. Only the elder women noticed, the young ones chattering among themselves. Kim-Ly's body tensed. What if Ba Liem won? How could they contain their triumph?

When the final number appeared, Ba Liem placed her ticket back in her purse. “Too bad,” she said, looking at her sister and Kim-Ly. “Maybe next time. I'm hungry. Where should we go?”

“There's that new
cha ca
restaurant downstairs,” Ba Nhanh said.

Kim-Ly shook her head, sniffing in distaste. “Don't go there. The owner is a rat.”

“How so?”

“Don't you remember? I lent him money for his first restaurant that went bankrupt. Then the fool asked me for another loan, as if I'd forget. When I refused, he called me terrible names.”

“Awful,” Ba Liem said. “What about some
banh cuon
across the street? They said they'd give us a discount if I read the owner's palm.”

“Let's go,” Ba Nhanh said. “I haven't eaten anything since lunch.”

“I can't go anyway,” Kim-Ly said. “I'm waiting for Dat. We're going to see the doctor again. I've been feeling faint, you know.”

The twins cooed in sympathy. “Our poor friend,” Ba Liem said.

“Does this mean you won't be able to come to Las Vegas with us next weekend?” Ba Nhanh asked.

The twins had returned only last month from one of their weekends in Las Vegas, taking one of those free buses the casinos sent over to Little Saigon every Friday morning. It was supposed to be a good deal: free transportation, deeply discounted rooms only minutes from the Strip, and a book of coupon vouchers for buffet meals. Kim-Ly was suspicious. Nothing, especially in America, was free.

But the twins came back with such enviable stories about the different foods they'd tasted and the free shows they'd watched on the “glamorous strip.” Casino strip, not strip mall. And during their last visit, Ba Liem realized her intuition applied to the daily bingo games held at the smaller casinos on the Strip. Suddenly, Las Vegas did not seem so terrible. Except for a few insufferable drives to San Diego and San Francisco, Kim-Ly had never been outside of Little Saigon since arriving to America.

“I'm still considering it,” Kim-Ly said. “What was the name of the bus company again?”

“Tommy Luck or Bonny Luck, or something,” Ba Liem said. “Who cares? It's free!”

Kim-Ly was still determining how to tell her children about this trip. They were so concerned about her health and complicated medication regimen. Of course, as an adult she could do whatever she wanted, but she didn't wish to needlessly worry her children.

Dat arrived not long after the twins left, exactly on time, hands gripped around the shoulder straps of his gray nylon book bag. He obediently greeted his elders in the salon, then stared at his dawdling cousins and their friends.

“What's going on, cousin?” Lum asked.

Dat shrugged, looking down at the shiny floor, littered with dirt and hair. The boys had never gotten along. Kim-Ly blamed it on their mothers' competitiveness, which she'd encouraged when they were younger, never believing it could grow so petty.

“Nothing,” Dat said. “What are you doing?”

“That's not true,” Quynh said. “Your sister told me you won the President's Award. Congratulations.”

Dat blinked at her for a moment. Sighing, Kim-Ly bumped his elbow with her bag.

“Thanks,” Dat finally said. “It was a statewide essay competition. I'm the first biology major to ever win.”

The other boys weren't listening, looking over their shoulders at the clock on the wall and exchanging glances. Linh rudely snapped her chewing gum.

“That's great,” Quynh said. “Your parents must be so happy.”

“Of course they are,” Lum said insincerely, his arm still looped around Quynh. “Good luck.”

“Hey, I'm up for a big award, too,” Huy said. Linh sat back in his lap again. “Worst attendance in World History. Think they'll give me scholarship money for that?”

The children laughed, all except for Quynh and Dat. Dat's cheeks flushed red, but he was too dignified to respond to such childishness. Kim-Ly quickly gathered her bag and scarf to stand, taking her grandson's arm. As they walked out of the salon and descended the escalator, they could still hear laughter echoing throughout the mall. Or perhaps that came from the children in the arcade on the third floor. No matter.

Dat remained silent in the car. Kim-Ly adjusted her seat and secured her seatbelt, impressed with how clean and pine-scent fresh her grandson kept his car. Kim-Ly had contributed a significant sum to help his parents buy the used Honda for Dat's high school graduation gift, and he was clearly grateful. After Viet's abrupt move to Houston six months ago, Dat had dutifully stepped in as Kim-Ly's driver and companion to her doctor's appointments.

“They're a little rambunctious,” Kim-Ly said. “Your cousins and their friends. But they are harmless. They need discipline.”

“They encourage each other's laziness,” Dat said when they stopped at a red light. “Quynh was on the honor roll in high school, but now she's always at the bottom of the grading curve. She doesn't even care. If she only spent time with other people who took studying seriously…”