Two years passed. Đêm Nguyệt started school in the neighborhood. Mai was the happiest she’d been since she was a little girl. She loved Ahn Vinh, not with the passion she’d felt for Sandy, but with a deeper, more gentle love. He was her best friend, her companion, and a willing, eager lover. For the first time she experienced the exquisite pleasures of sex, a pleasure she’d previously thought was just a lie to coax a woman’s compliance. Now she knew.
She worked part-time giving manicures and pedicures, tended the garden in back, and was a full-time mother to Đêm Nguyệt. But the war dragged on, and she could tell from the deepening lines on Vinh’s face that it was not going well. After the American soldiers left, the North made steady inroads into the South, capturing more territory in their sweep toward Saigon.
By the second half of April 1975, Mai could no longer ignore reality. A palpable anxiety had gripped Saigon. The wealthy tried to flee, taking their wealth with them. As days passed and the North closed in, though, wealth no longer mattered. What mattered were trains, ships, and airplane tickets. The city grew increasingly chaotic, as both rich and poor grabbed whatever they could and hastened to escape.
Mai couldn’t sleep. She lost her appetite. She remembered what Chị Tâm had told her the last time they’d seen each other. When Vietnam fell, Mai would be marked for having “entertained” the enemy at the Stardust. For all she knew, it might be Chị Tâm who reported her to the authorities before she died. And now, as the mistress of a South Vietnamese navy captain, she might as well have a target painted on her back. At best, she would be sent to a reeducation camp; at worst, imprisoned, even executed. And because Đêm Nguyệt was of mixed race, he would not only be taken away from her, but probably subjected to discrimination. The Vietnamese, no matter whether they were from the North or South, frowned on mixed-race children. It was proof that some women, in this case Mai, were amoral, that they had consorted with American GIs.
Vinh was preoccupied with helping his troops and trying to arrange his own family’s safe passage. Because he wasn’t with her, Mai grew frantic. She had a little savings, but not enough for two plane tickets out of Saigon. She had no car or motorbike. She might be able to buy train tickets to Cambodia, but passing through newly captured North Vietnamese territory would be impossible, and the situation in Cambodia wasn’t much better.
She avoided raising the subject with Anh Vinh during the few stolen hours he spent with her. But as the days passed, and the North closed in on Saigon, she grew desperate. He was her only hope. They were on her couch after Nguyệt fell asleep the night of April 29 when she spoke up.
“Anh Vinh, I have tried not to bring this up . . . I hate to burden you . . . but I have no choice. I know you are planning to flee when the North takes Saigon. Can you help Nguyệt and me? They will kill me if I stay here. They will take Đêm Nguyệt away from me.”
He turned toward her and cupped her face in his hands. “Em, my beautiful Mai,” he said. “Did you think I would abandon you?”
“I—I didn’t know.”
“Never. Ever. You are part of me. Deep in my heart. I could never leave my heart in Saigon. Of course I am planning to get you out.” He tightened his hold. “I’m so sorry you have been frightened.”
Tears rimmed her eyes. “I know you have been preoccupied,” she said tentatively.
“Em Mai. Have faith. I am working on it. But it is difficult to plan. We do not know exactly when we will go. It depends on the North.”
Her voice was edged in panic. “So, what should we do?”
He released her. “First, try not to worry. You must stay strong. For you and your son. Tonight you should pack only what you need. What you cannot live without. For Nguyệt as well.” He stopped. “I’ll try to call you an hour before I come for you. If the telephones are down, I’ll either come for you myself or send a car. But you must turn on your radio and keep it on so you can track the progress of the Communists. It won’t be more than a day or two, now. They are just outside the city.”
She shivered. “Are—are you sure you will come for us?”
Again he wrapped his arms around her. “Once I know my family is safe, it will be your turn. I will not leave Vietnam without you.”
“But how do I know that? The city is near panic.” She could not stop trembling. Her life, and that of her son, again depended on a man. She’d vowed never to let herself be in that situation again. To let a man have power over her. To be fair, though, this time it wasn’t simply one man. It was an entire army.
Anh Vinh released his hold on her, got up, and started to pace. “I am going to tell you something that is top secret. If you tell a soul, we will both be in great peril. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“Captain Đỗ Kiếm is the deputy chief of staff for the South Vietnamese navy. He has a secret plan to evacuate the navy and our families. He has assembled a flotilla of thirty-five navy vessels that will sail from an island fifty miles off the coast in the South China Sea. The flotilla will join the U.S. Seventh Fleet and head for Subic Bay in the Philippines. My only task is to get my family to that island. You and Nguyệt will be two of the passengers.” He gave her a wan smile. “So, you see? It is arranged.”
Knowing the end was near, Mai packed a small suitcase for herself and Nguyệt. A change of clothes for them both, the two toys he played with most, and a beautiful necklace with emeralds Anh Vinh had given her, which she might have to sell at some point. She also tucked Freddy’s Purple Heart and Joe Hunter’s address into the bag. She tried to sleep but it was useless. She rose and took a shower.
Anh Vinh did love her and she loved him, but family always came first. He had an obligation. Ironically, that had been Chị Tâm’s attitude after the massacre seven years earlier. She understood her sister better now. Chị Tâm was fulfilling her duty as she saw it, but Mai had been too young and self-absorbed to appreciate it. She was older now, with a family of her own. She wished she hadn’t been so ungrateful to her sister. But the awful words she and Chị Tâm had spoken to each other the last time they met could never be unsaid.
She brewed a pot of tea and paced back and forth.