Mai took Hạnh with her to the doctor. She steered the Vespa around the shadowy back streets of Saigon, zigzagging through alleys too narrow, crowded, and dirty to be called streets. Storefront after storefront, most of them shabby and dilapidated, lined both sides of the alleys. Feral cats made themselves at home. Women squatted over pots stirring phở while hungry customers eagerly waited. Emaciated dogs whimpered for scraps but were swatted away, and the absence of sunshine intensified the fetid odors of animal waste, rotten food, and decay. Above it all was the nasal buzz of women gossiping and shopkeepers selling their wares.
Halfway down a cramped alley was a sign that said “For Dr. Jin” with an arrow pointing up.
“Is that the Chinese doctor?” Mai pointed to the sign.
“Yes,” Hạnh said.
Mai frowned.
Hạnh replied quickly, “He is very good. Um—at least that’s what I hear.”
After parking the Vespa, Mai and Hạnh found a staircase behind the sign and climbed up. A closed door with another sign told them they were at the doctor’s office. Mai shot Hạnh a worried glance. Hạnh returned a wan smile, which Mai figured was supposed to reassure her.
“Go ahead. Knock,” Hạnh said.
Mai nodded and tapped lightly on the door. A voice inside said, “Enter.”
She twisted the door handle and they walked in. A man wearing a white doctor’s coat sat behind a desk. His hair was graying at his temples, and he wore wire-rimmed eyeglasses. The desk and two chairs filled the room, but a half-opened door in the back led to another room, which looked bigger.
“You called?” he said in a businesslike tone. “Nguyễn Linh Mai, yes?” When Mai nodded, he squinted at her. “How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
“And you don’t want the baby.”
She nodded.
“You are sure?”
He glanced over at Hạnh.
“You look familiar. You have been here before?”
Hạnh tightened her lips and looked down.
Mai’s mouth opened in surprise. “You never told me.”
Hạnh shrugged. “It was before I knew you.”
The doctor looked from one to the other. “So, did you tell her what to expect?”
Hạnh shook her head.
He frowned. “Okay, okay. Come with me. I’ll show you.”
“Right now?” Mai felt her stomach knot.
“Now,” he said gruffly.
“But—but I’m not ready.”
“Then why are you here?” Impatience laced his words.
“I—I wanted to know more about the procedure.”
“You are wasting my time.”
“Please.”
Dr. Jin sighed. He pushed himself away from the desk and motioned for her to follow him into the back room.
Mai tentatively followed him. In the center of the room was a black leather examination table with straps on both sides. A white sheet was folded at one end of the table. The room was dim, but the sheet looked clean. Mai wrapped her arms around herself.
“What’s that?” Her voice was tense.
“That is the table you will lie on when we do the procedure,” Dr. Jin said.
“What are the silver straps?”
“The stirrups are where you will place your feet.”
Mai swallowed. “How long will it take?”
“About twenty minutes,” he said. “But you will need to rest for two days after.”
Mai and Hạnh exchanged glances. Hạnh wasn’t offering any more smiles. Suddenly, Mai felt her belly quiver. She dropped her hands to the spot. “What—what’s happening?” she cried out.
The doctor approached her. “Let me feel your belly.”
Mai staggered back.
“I will not hurt you.”
Mai stood still. The doctor placed a hand on her belly and kept it there. Then he looked at her. “Your baby is kicking. Here.” He reached for her hand.
Mai let him guide her hand to the spot. The quiver ceased. “I don’t feel anything,” she said.
“Wait.”
She waited a moment. The quiver started again. She kept her hands on top of her belly, and a smile filled with wonder unfolded across her face. “This is my baby?”
The doctor nodded. “His foot.”
“Hạnh,” she said excitedly. “Come here. Feel.”
Hạnh placed her hand on Mai’s belly and squeaked in delight a few seconds later. “I can feel him.”
“Or her,” the doctor said. He looked at Mai with a quizzical expression, as if he was asking, What now?
Mai kept her hands on her belly. She had witnessed so much horror, death, and heartbreak over the past year. Was this part of the Buddha’s teaching? To do what she could to reclaim life? She sounded like her sister. Despite the hostility between them, she smiled.
She ran her tongue around her lips. Maybe she could manage this. Lots of girls her age had babies. It wouldn’t have to slow her down. And there was always the chance that Sandy would send her the plane ticket. Most of all, her own son or daughter would mark the start of her own family. Wasn’t that what she’d dreamed about? She looked at the doctor. “I—I have changed my mind, Doctor. I do not want an abortion.”
Dr. Jin’s expression flashed with irritation, as if he’d known all along he wouldn’t be making any money today. “Good. Now, go home and leave me alone. Next time think it through before you bother busy people.”