Mai fussed with her hair before her shift at the Stardust on a sultry day in late June. To stay cooler, she’d pinned it up. Hạnh was helping her twist it into a French braid when they heard slow but deliberate steps on the boardinghouse stairs. Then, a knock on the door. Hạnh opened it to Bà Phạm, the owner of the house.
“Cháu Mai, you have a visitor. Downstairs at the camera shop.”
“A GI?” Mai asked, thinking Sandy was paying her a surprise visit.
“No. A woman.”
Mai glanced at Hạnh in the mirror. “Are you expecting anyone?”
Hạnh shook her head.
“All right. Send her up.”
Bà Phạm nodded and resumed her heavy tread down the steps.
A minute later a lighter gait trotted up to the fourth floor. Hạnh stayed by the door and opened it before the person had time to knock.
It was Tâm.
Startled, Mai dropped the comb she’d been using to tease her hair into place. “Chị Tâm.”
“Hello, Mai.”
“I’ll go downstairs.” Hạnh closed the door and made a speedy exit.
Mai took a good look at her sister. She was thinner and more sinewy. Her arms had definition they’d never had before, and her face was leaner. She’d cut her hair, too; it no longer hung down her back but was cut at her chin. She wore an áo bà ba, the black tunic over black pants that was common for women in the Mekong Delta but not in Saigon. Her sneakers were so soiled they had the same shade as dirt. As she noted her sister’s appearance, she realized Tâm was examining her.
“How did you find me, Chị Tâm?”
“It wasn’t hard,” Tâm said. “I went to the Stardust. They told me.”
Mai nodded, feeling awkward. Tâm was different, but she couldn’t figure out how or why. And yet the air between them seemed charged with a peculiar energy. “Are you still working at the Saigon Café?”
“No. I have other work.”
“What kind of work?”
“Oh, this and that.”
Mai frowned. “What is this and that?”
“I—I have been studying.”
“Your plants?”
“In a way. I’m here to tell you I’m going away, and I wanted to say goodbye. You’re the only family I have.” Tâm’s face was blank, as if she was keeping rigid control of her feelings.
Mai’s stomach pitched. Despite their problems, she never imagined Tâm would leave Saigon. Mai would be alone “Where—where are you going?”
Tâm ignored the question. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. Or if I’ll be back at all. We may not see each other again.”
“Wait. You are leaving, but you won’t tell me what you’re doing or where you’re going? What if I need you? What if something happens? How will I find you?”
Tâm’s features softened for an instant, but she quickly wrestled them back to the unrelenting stolid expression with which she’d come in. “You won’t be able to.”
Mai blinked rapidly. Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “It wasn’t enough for us to lose Mama, Papa, and Sáng. Now you’re willing to lose me, too?”
Tâm stood motionless, her eyes scanning her sister’s face. “It’s always about you, Mai, isn’t it? That’s why we don’t get along. I have dedicated myself to something that requires a selflessness you could never understand.”
Mai’s mouth opened. She crossed her arms. “You are serious? You have never thought about anyone beside yourself. You think you’re smarter and more capable than me. You’ve always told me what I do wrong and how much better you are. How I’m a traitor to the family. You are not only selfish, but you are cruel.”
“Of course you would say that.” Tâm motioned with her hand. “Look around, Mai. What are you doing with your life? Prostituting yourself with our enemies? How many of them have you fucked? Two . . . five . . . ten? I don’t have to tell you who or what you are. You know.”
Mai raised her hand and slapped Tâm across the face.
Tâm raised a hand to her reddening cheek. “How do you know one of those American soldiers wasn’t part of the squad that massacred our family? You have changed, Mai. Not only are you consorting with the enemy, but you continue to disrespect your older sister and have either forgotten or chosen not to honor your elders.”
“You have no right to say that, Chị Tâm. You have no idea what I do or who I do it with. The important thing is that I am a survivor. I bring home more money in a week than Papa made in a month.”
“It’s tainted money. Only traitors would take it.”
Mai took a step back. “You should hear what some of the girls at the bar say about Vietnamese men. How they watched their fathers or their neighbors beat their wives. Perhaps raped them. Then told them to go outside and feed the pigs. American men treat their women well. With respect. They are gentlemen in comparison. These girls say they will never marry a Vietnamese man.”
“And you believe them . . . these girls? Did you ever see our father treat our mother that way?” Tâm snorted. “The Americans only treat you well until they get what they want.”
Mai shook her head. “You’re wrong. American soldiers are kind. And polite. They want to know what we think. How many Vietnamese men do you know who ask us our opinions? They’re too busy drinking at night after work. Do they feed their animals? Buy food at the market and cook it? Wash their own clothes? We do it all. And why? Because they are men, and we are women. And women don’t mean shit in Vietnam.”
Tâm folded her arms.
Mai planted her hands on her hips. “Most of the women at the Stardust love their jobs. For the first time in their lives, they feel free. No one can take that away from them.”
“Until the Viet Cong defeat South Vietnam. Then they will all become marked women. Anyone who consorts with the enemy will be dealt with. Including you. You could spend the rest of your life in prison. If you are not executed.”
“The North will never win the war,” Mai said defiantly.
Tâm stared at her in silence. Then: “You deserve everything you are going to get, little sister. I fear for your future. But you have brought it on yourself. Do not come to me for help.”
Tâm turned on her heel, headed to the door, and slammed it on the way out. Mai heard her stomp down the steps.