The Time Keepers

Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15 Vietnam, 1978

I N THE DAYS LEADING UP TO THEIR ESCAPE, L INH TRIES TO MAKE nothing seem out of the ordinary for B?o. The firewood is stacked outside the house, the laundry is washed and placed on a clothesline, and the water jugs are full. She sends him off to school each morning.

This type of planning has been her and Chung’s mindset for nearly a year and half. It was well known that the Communists watched everything from afar. If people suddenly placed too much money in the bank, or if a neighbor reported that they heard a family was quickly selling off all their belongings, an arrest could be ordered solely on the suspicion they were preparing to flee.

So for just over a year, they have worked slowly and carefully. Chung took on more responsibilities at the collective farm to prove his loyalty. Linh found a job picking fruit at the orchard that had been her family’s until the takeover. At night, she and Anh wove baskets, using strips of bamboo from the garden, then sold them at a weekend market several miles away. Every bit of money they saved was buried underneath the earthen jars behind their house.

They have already paid all they have to the latest smuggler who has agreed to get them out of Vietnam. Two other fishermen had previously promised Linh they would get the four of them out. Each of them took the first payment from her but never reappeared for the second. But now things are different, for it is the first time Linh has paid the second of the three payments. The last one is to be made on the day of their journey.

Five days before they are set to leave, Linh and Chung realize they don’t have enough money to make the final payment. They continue to calculate the missing sum in their mind, struggling to figure out a way to get the needed funds. It is late at night when the couple find themselves staring at their hands.

Their gold wedding bands glimmer on their fingers. Sacred to them in the most holy way, for they believe the rings are a symbol of their marriage and love. The thought of selling them causes them both tremendous anguish.

“We’ll replace them as soon as we can,” Chung promises. He slides his off and hands it to his wife.

Linh holds the ring in her palm then closes her fingers around the gold circle. The last time she held the ring in her grip was on her wedding day, when she and Chung took vows that bound themselves to each other for eternity.

“It will bring us bad luck if we sell them,” she whispers.

“We cannot stay,” Chung reminds her.

“But will it even be enough?”

Chung does a rough calculation in his head. “I think we might need to ask Anh to sell hers, too.”

Linh shakes her head. “No, we can’t. She’s already lost so much.”

He doesn’t answer at first. Then Chung’s face becomes resolved. “I will ask her, then.”

The next morning Linh rises early. She dresses in her traditional áo bà ba , the long white tunic and flowing pants. She brushes her long black hair and adjusts her conical hat to cover her eyes. On her left hand, she still wears her gold wedding band. In a small silk coin purse, she carries her husband’s as well as the ring Anh has stoically given her.

Three hours later, she walks home with the amount of money they need for the journey, but the sight of her bare finger, and the realization that Chung’s and Anh’s are now bare too, breaks her heart.

On the morning of their escape, Chung, nervous to draw any attention to him and his family, goes to work as usual and harnesses the village’s half-starved water buffalo to a plow while the women plan their separate departure.

The sisters move quickly after Chung departs. B?o does as his mother instructs, wearing a second pair of clothing underneath his normal cotton shirt and pants. His mother doesn’t protest this time when he takes some food she’s left in the kitchen and puts it on a plate for Bibo.

“See you soon,” he tells the dog as he kisses him by his matted ear and tenderly rubs his spotty brown coat. He thinks they are only going on a trip and will be back in a few short days.

Anh has packed a pot, three lemons, a box of sugar, and some triangles of pressed rice wrapped in leaves into a tightly folded kerchief. Linh carries a thermos of water, some kerosene, and more food as well. They walk slowly down dirt paths and through patches of forest.

“Mama, are we almost there?” he asks after two hours of trekking.

“Yes,” Linh replies. “We are almost there.” But she stretches the truth. They continue to walk for another hour. Just when B?o doesn’t think he can go one step farther, his mother points to a small wooden house.

“It’s just over there,” she indicates.

The house is long and narrow. Mud floor. Corrugated metal walls. A little girl in a torn yellow dress is in the back, drying banana leaves.

Linh tells B?o to go in the back and help the girl. “Make a new friend,” she says.

A man emerges from the house and waves Linh and Anh inside.

Within the dark, dank interior, Linh takes out a can from the things she has packed. She opens it and spills out some coffee. Within the dark grains, two small gold bars are revealed. She takes another can out, and two more sparkling bars emerge.

The man takes them and dusts off the coffee by polishing the bars on his pant leg.

Anh excuses herself and goes outside. She hears the little girl pepper B?o with questions. She looks younger than him. Her hair is long and tangled; her face is smudged a little with dirt.

“My name is Mai,” she says. “Are you here for my father?” she asks. “People come here and bring him gold.”

Anh is silent as Linh tells B?o they are both leaving him and will meet him later after it is dark. “Your father will meet us there too. It is too dangerous for us all to travel together, so we need to arrive there separately.”

She watches as Linh crouches down to kiss him on the head. “That little girl in the back is the daughter of the man who is arranging our special voyage,” she whispers. “Her father is a friend of the captain. She knows the meeting spot where the boat will come.”

He reaches to touch his mother, and the sight of his fingers reaching for Linh’s cheek guts Anh to her core. Her sister is kneeling, her arms stretched out to him. Her black hair is tied back, and the light catches his reflection in her eyes.

“I want to go with you,” he begs. “I don’t want to stay here alone.”

Linh fights back tears. “I know, bé tí, I know.” She struggles to soothe him, to make him feel safe, like she has always done in the past.

She reaches into one of the baskets that she is carrying on her pole, and she hands him a mango.

“Everything will be fine,” she offers, trying to smile through her tears.

Anh turns away. For years, she has believed her sister’s promises, but now she cannot help but feel uncertain. Still, as she listens to Linh’s parting words to her son, she knows they are true.

“B?o, you know your ma always saves the sweetest fruit for you.”

Anh and Linh quietly trudge through the woods, not a word exchanged between them. They know the plan. They have imagined it for weeks. Now each step must fall into place, and they pray for no unforeseen problems that might derail their escape.

The biggest risk is leaving B?o alone with the fisherman and his daughter. Anh knows Linh must surrender to this part of their escape—that her brother-in-law has stressed that they must separate as a family to avoid suspicion.

But it is an oppressive request. Her sister must put her trust a complete stranger and hope he does what they’ve bribed him to do—to bring B?o to the place where their boat will depart.

Anh takes a step closer to her sister, lets the cloth with her few belongings slide from her shoulders. “He will be there waiting for us,” she promises. Her hand reaches to squeeze Linh’s fingers.

For her whole life, it’s been her sister who has reassured her. But now their roles are reversed.

Linh turns to her, the whites of her eyes shining against the dark sky. She grips Anh’s hand in her own. But she says nothing. For the first time since Anh can remember, her sister has no words.