The Time Keepers

Chapter 37

CHAPTER 37

A NH WALKED INTO THE MOTHERHOUSE, AVOIDING EYE CONTACT with the Sisters. She knew they would ask her how the excursion had gone, and she didn’t have the words nor the heart to try and explain what had happened. B?o had already found his favorite spot in front of the television, his sneakers pulled off and his feet curled beneath him. She could see his was already trying to forget the uncomfortable incident, escaping into the storyline of his favorite program.

She had hoped the outing with Grace would help with the homesickness she’d been feeling since she’d arrived. She missed so much about Vietnam. Not just the comfort of their once-tight-knit family, the closeness with her sister, the warmth of her husband beside her. But also the canopy of trees, the scent of the frangipani flowers, and the food. In this strange country, the fruits had no smell or even taste. She had initially thought it might just be the fruit that the sisters served them at the motherhouse. But a trip out with the kind woman, Grace, had cemented her suspicions. This was a country where the fruit simply had no sweetness.

She longed for her former life, or the parts free of hardship or danger. Where were the succulent mangoes? The sweet longans and juicy pomelos? It was a terrible waste to eat a fruit that was picked too early. The taste, it seemed, had been left abandoned on the vine.

In America, they ate whatever was put in front of them, never pondering what was missing. But Anh knew she wasn’t the only one who noticed this difference. B?o had left the blueberries floating in the milk of his cereal that morning. Dinh, a single man in his late twenties who had been so severely beaten during an interrogation by the North Vietnamese Army that he still walked with a limp, had similarly made a comment over breakfast about how he wished he could start an orchard in the extensive backyard of the motherhouse because he so missed eating fruit that had fully ripened as it should.

“How sad these Americans must be to eat food with no flavor,” he lamented as he ate the white toast and jam that the nuns took for themselves with their tea each morning. “What I’d do for some congee and pickled vegetables.…”

Anh laughed. She, too, missed her typical morning breakfast, the quiet ritual of preparing the rice gruel and flavoring it with fresh herbs and roasted peanuts. Her appetite had diminished since she arrived in America, a fact that amazed her because they had spent nearly every hour on the fishing boat dreaming of all the food they would have once they were rescued. Even in the refugee camp, where they had stayed before they heard the wonderful news that an American Catholic church would be sponsoring them, they had eaten a diet similar to what they had eaten at home, mostly rice and stewed vegetables. So the tasteless cornflakes or spongy bread that was now offered each morning had little appeal, as did the bland chicken or beef they would have at dinner.

There were also medicinal properties to their diet back home, the ones Linh had always been quick to recommend: ginger to fight off nausea or infection, chilies that gave one energy and kept one’s bones strong. Anh had been so fatigued since she arrived, and she suspected it was from the change in her diet.

The upsetting episode at Kepler’s had upturned everything for the rest of the afternoon. She had been hoping to buy a chicken and bring it back to the motherhouse to cook. Sister Mary Alice had given her twenty dollars to buy some ingredients, knowing that Anh enjoyed making things in the small kitchenette. Anh had been planning what she would make even before getting in Grace’s car. She’d boil the chicken that night for supper, bones and all, and make a simple stock that would give both she and B?o the strength they had been lacking.

But the second stop never happened after they were at Kepler’s.

“We can go to the butcher, if you’d like?” Grace was kind enough to still offer. But Anh had just shaken her head.

“Not today, miss,” she said. She could tell by B?o’s expression he just wanted to go back to the motherhouse. Even she could still hear the accusing tone of the woman with the pink fingernails and powdered face rattling around in her head. Sadly, Anh had wanted to go back too.

She was sorry to have cut the day short. Earlier that morning, before Grace arrived, she’d summoned up Linh’s voice in her head, reminding her to be less shy, to have courage, and to use the afternoon to practice her English. Anh wanted to become more comfortable in this new country, to learn its customs and language, but it did not come that easy to her.

Dinh, on the other hand, had been quite forthcoming with the sisters of Our Lady Queen of Martyrs. His easy smile and quick laugh had helped make an instant connection with the women, and they often relied on him to corral the others when they needed them all to help with the general housekeeping. Looking at how quickly he was to help scrub the floors or clean the dishes, he became a house favorite.

There was something about him that reminded her of her late husband. Perhaps it was his eagerness to always pitch in and help. Her husband had been the same way, particularly early on in their courtship when he wanted to show her parents that he was a good match. Anh remembered fondly how he came over to her house and chopped firewood for her parents or did other tasks that were difficult for an aging couple, like helping repair the tin roof when it leaked.

So many times, Anh had thought back to their wedding night, when he’d outdone himself with the most chivalrous act. It was the first time they’d made love, and much to her distress, she did not bleed on the marital sheet. The custom was to display proof of her virginity the next morning to her in-laws, but there were no red droplets to be seen.

“Don’t worry, my beautiful bride,” Minh had whispered, careful that no ears outside the wedding chamber could hear them. She watched as he stood up to retrieve a small knife on the shelf and quickly pricked his finger, squeezing some blood into the center.

“No one will know but us,” he promised, kissing her again.

Now, for the first time since her husband’s death, Anh felt aware of the kindness of another man toward her. She especially appreciated how Dinh enjoyed being playful with B?o too, affectionately calling him by the nickname “Bi,” which meant “little marble.” He took scraps of paper and made origami little soldiers, sometimes piercing the paper with wooden toothpicks so they looked as if they were holding tiny swords.

When Anh had awakened to discover B?o missing that dreadful morning during their first week with the sisters, it had been Dinh, who had consoled her in their native tongue as the sisters squawked around, throwing their hands in the air and speaking feverishly in fast sentences that she didn’t understand.

And while Dinh had reassured her, kneeling next to her as she held her head in her hands and wept and telling her that B?o would soon be found unharmed, it was Grace who’d actually brought him back safely.

Anh had a vague memory of seeing Grace at the police station, but she had been so distraught when B?o finally stepped into the room, that she barely glanced at her, focusing only on her nephew.

When Grace appeared the next day at the motherhouse, a panic swept over her. Did this woman want to take him from her? Did she think it was something she had done to make him run away?

She soon learned Grace only wanted to help. She brought new books to practice English with and even some clothes.

When Grace arrived with a shopping bag full of dresses, Anh proved lucky enough to fit perfectly into the garments. The two other Vietnamese women were not as tall as Anh was and would need them hemmed. Not wanting to seem too greedy, Anh offered to alter one for each of them. There was a simple red one that was easy enough to take in from the bottom and sew two darts into the bodice; another was a prairie dress that she could shorten as well. After Anh spent several hours working on them so the other two women could also have something special to wear, Dinh had whispered to her with a kind smile, “They would both look so much prettier on you.”

While Anh was only recently growing more confident using her English, Dinh had been the first of the adults to start speaking to the Sisters from the moment they arrived at the motherhouse. Later, he’d confided with her that he’d hope to set a precedent and show he was willing to make mistakes in order to learn. After he had mastered the basic phrases such as “I am hungry; I want to eat,” he brought up what everyone was thinking. “I want to work. I want …” He made a gesture with his fingers. “I want money.”

Anh was grateful that Dinh had brought up what was on all their minds. How would they ever come to be self-sufficient in this new country? They needed to work. They needed to earn their own money. None of them wanted to live under the Sisters’ roof forever. When the social worker came to visit the next time, Dinh asked the questions for the group. They welcomed having a leader. They looked to Dinh to ensure there was a plan in place to help them find their way.