In an effort to distract the soldiers, she began evoking the protection of their ancestors very loudly, a signal to Minh to let him know there was danger and he should run.
“Tell us where your husband is!” one of the soldiers barked again. He pushed the rifle into her ribs.
“My husband isn’t here,” she whimpered, hoping he’d had enough time to flee from the backyard.
The men, infuriated by her answer, shook their heads and shouted at each other. They kicked over metal pails and tore down the hammocks strung outside. They found a small sack of rice and emptied it onto the dirt floor. They searched the house, throwing pots down from the kitchen shelves and laundry from the clothesline. Most painful to Anh was the destruction of the family’s altar; the men shattered the small ceramic vase with its pale white flower and the plate with the mound of salt, burning incense, and piece of fruit.
As the soldiers’ rampage continued, Linh—who’d heard her sister’s cries—rushed to her side, grateful that B?o had already left for school and her husband had already departed for the farm.
Suddenly, the terrible sound of a man screaming pierced through the air.
Two men in uniform emerged from the woods, dragging Minh on the ground.
The men wouldn’t listen to his protests of innocence. They pulled him by his hair into the small courtyard in front of their hut.
They began kicking him in the ribs, chanting, “Capitalist traitor” until his blood soaked the parched soil. “You are lazy. You should be ashamed,” another one said as he kicked Minh’s head.
Linh held Anh back as they both begged the men to stop. But the beating was relentless. It took no more than five minutes of their boots striking her husband’s body for the life to drain from him.
“Let’s go!” the head soldier finally commanded. The men walked toward the jeep. All but one soldier, who stepped over a sobbing Anh and pushed his face close to Linh’s. “Tell your husband he’s next!” he hissed with narrow eyes before making sure the two sisters saw him spit inches away from Minh’s body.
Anh did not remember what happened in the hours that followed. She had a vague sensation of her sister silently washing Minh’s body, her hands moving deftly to remove any trace of dirt or blood from his skin. She recalled B?o’s wide eyes as his father dug a crude grave, the boy clutching the fruit his mother had given him for the spiritual offering, and finally the long incantation of prayers. But Anh had gone through the steps of the burial as though she were in a trance.
“You must eat something,” Linh tried to insist after the funeral, but Anh could do nothing beyond finding a mat on the floor and curling herself into a tight ball.
“A little rice gruel—please.” She held a ladle of watery liquid near Anh’s lips. Each grain used to make it had been scooped up and cleaned after the attack.
Anh shook her head and refused. But when B?o came the next morning with a small wooden bowl full of porridge, she managed to take in a few spoonfuls.
“You’re a good boy,” she said, her eyes full of tears. The sight of him both warmed her heart and pained her. How lucky he was to still have his father, while she would now be forced to raise her baby on her own.
Three days later, Anh awoke with terrible cramps. She pulled off the blanket and discovered her cotton pants were soaked through with blood. The child who had begun to grow inside her, the manifestation of her and Minh’s love, had untethered itself from her womb while she was sleeping. As she reached between her legs, her fingers touching the crimson, clotting mass, Anh couldn’t believe the gods could be so cruel. First her husband, now the baby. The two things she loved most in this world were suddenly gone.
Her despair overtook her. What had she done to deserve such a punishment?
Anh shuddered. Part of her had always been superstitious, the belief that evil spirits could inhabit a body and cause it harm. And only days earlier, just after they’d buried Minh, she’d felt a pang of resentment that her baby would not have the protection of its father, like B?o enjoyed. Now Anh wondered if she’d caused her miscarriage by having such terrible, selfish thoughts. Had she brought about her own misfortune by jealously yearning to be more like Linh? Had she poisoned her womb with her envy?
When Linh came in carrying a cold compress for her head and some warm broth, Anh turned away from her and only groaned.
Over the next week, Linh ignored Anh’s efforts to keep her at a distance. “The baby will now be with Minh,” Linh said, trying again to offer some comfort to her sister.
“I wish the gods had taken me instead,” Anh wept. “You are so fortunate. You still have your husband and son,” she murmured to Linh. “But I’ve lost everything.”
“Nonsense.” Linh waved away such dark thoughts. “You also have Chung and me. You have B?o.” She clutched Anh’s hands in hers.
“But we all must be careful now,” Linh said quietly. “Your losses are terrible and unfair, but we mustn’t draw any more attention to ourselves.”
That night Linh held B?o extra close, his little body curled next to hers. When her husband approached her the following morning with fear in his eyes, revealing his concern that the soldiers would come for him next, she listened intently. And when he whispered to her that he thought they should try to escape, she did not protest.
CHAPTER 13Long Island, 1979
GRACE HANDED THE DINNER PLATES TO THE GIRLS TO SETthe table.
“How was everyone’s day?” Tom asked as he stepped into the busy kitchen.
“I went up to the motherhouse today. It looks like they have their hands full up there,” Grace said as she arranged the chicken cutlets on a plate. “But it was good to see B?o.”
“Maybe we can we adopt him?” Molly asked. It was just like Molly to be concerned and want to strategize about ways to help a stranger. Although the youngest, she was the child who always took the lead in school with food drives, toy campaigns for needy families, or fundraisers for St. Jude. Katie scraped her dish noisily into the waste bin. “It doesn’t work like that, stupid. They have agencies that care for kids like that.”
