On April 30, Mai turned on her radio at eight am. At half past ten, the president of South Vietnam, General Dương Văn Minh, who had gone on radio and television earlier to announce his administration’s surrender, appealed to all Saigon troops to lay down their arms. While he was speaking, scores of North Vietnamese tanks, armored vehicles, and camouflaged Chinese trucks rolled toward the presidential palace.
Where was Anh Vinh? She needed to know he was coming for them. She knew he was not in his office. Logic told her he was taking his family to safety, but Mai’s anxiety made her pace restlessly. Even Đêm Nguyệt, absorbing the stress without knowing why, grew cranky. Mai suggested he play with his toys and opened his toy chest. It struck her that this would be the last time he played with them. After a few minutes, though, Đêm Nguyệt lost interest. He went to the window, where he looked out at the front of their building. She hadn’t told him they were leaving today and was surprised he seemed to sense it. But no car was there. Nothing to see. A preternatural quiet descended on the city, punctuated only by an occasional shout, and glass shattering when looters broke windows to steal what they could.
The radio announcer reported sporadic fighting at various spots in Saigon, and she could hear the stutter of gunfire between the whine of helicopters and planes overhead. She learned later that most were Air America airplanes, and they were rescuing important government officials who hadn’t left Vietnam yet and ferrying them to waiting ships.
Lunchtime approached. Still no Anh Vinh. Or his car. At noon, Communist tanks rolled into the presidential palace and hoisted the red and yellow flag of North Vietnam. Mai was desperate. Anh Vinh should have been here by now. Which meant he wasn’t coming. What were she and Nguyệt going to do? Once again, a person she’d dared to love had abandoned her.
She started to cry. If Nguyệt had not been there she might have thrown herself out the window. Men always abandoned her. What had she done in this or a past life that was so evil that her karma was to face her fate alone? To be imprisoned, perhaps executed, when the Communists found her? Her stomach knotted. She grabbed Nguyệt. They would run away. Then she realized she had no idea where they would go.
The island. What was its name? Anh Vinh hadn’t told her. He didn’t want her to know.
That afternoon, the former president went on the radio for the final time to announce, “I declare the Saigon government is completely dissolved at all levels.”
The war was over.
Mai made dinner for herself and Đêm Nguyệt, but she couldn’t eat. There was nothing to do but wait to be captured. In a way, she hoped it would be soon. She couldn’t keep up the pretense that everything was fine in front of Đêm Nguyệt. Exhausted by the lack of sleep the previous two nights, she and Đêm Nguyệt lay down on her bed and were soon slumbering.
It was dark when an insistent ringing woke her. Her doorbell. She rushed to the door and the intercom but hesitated at the last minute. Was it the police? Perhaps yes, perhaps no. Still, she was cautious. Đêm Nguyệt solved the problem. He pressed the button and in his five-year-old voice asked, “Yes, who’s there?”
“Đêm Nguyệt, it’s me.”
“Uncle Vinh?”
“Tell your mother to come down. You too. Hurry.”
Mai slumped against the door. Tears filled her eyes, this time tears of relief.
Once they were settled in Anh Vinh’s official chauffeured car, Mai said, “What happened? Where were you? I feared you changed your mind.”
“I told you once my family was safe I would come for you, darling Mai.” He drew her close.
She sniffed. “I know, I know, I just—”
“You had no faith.”
“I thought you would be here earlier.”
“There was a problem.” He went on. “The Americans didn’t show up. Remember how I told you how the U.S. is helping to evacuate us? Many boarded U.S. Navy aircraft carriers and steamed out of Vietnam. Others boarded helicopters from the U.S. embassy. Still others were taken on Air America flights. The CIA’s airline.”
“Yes, yes.”
“Do you also recall the other night when I told you about Captain Kiếm’s secret plan?” She nodded. “Well, he thought it was all in place. But somehow the U.S. forgot they were to escort us to Subic Bay. A destroyer had to circle back to the island, which, fortunately, has not yet been occupied by the North Vietnamese. It delayed our departure many hours. I didn’t have a chance to call you. I apologize.”
“But we’re going there now?”
“We are.” He tipped her chin up and looked into her eyes. “You look tired, my dear. Lean on me and try to sleep.”
They reached the southern coast of Vietnam just as the sun came up on May 1. A small motorboat was waiting for them. Vinh woke Mai and Nguyệt, who was also sleeping. Half an hour later they arrived at Con Son Island in the South China Sea. More than thirty South Vietnamese navy ships plus dozens of fishing boats and cargo ships gently rocked in the water, packed with people desperate to evacuate. Mai had never seen so many ships. Or people.
The motorboat stopped at the side of one of the cargo ships. A ladder was tossed over the side. Men helped Mai and Nguyệt climb aboard. Vinh followed them and made sure they had a spot on the deck. Then he went back to the ladder.
“Wait,” Mai called to him. “Aren’t you coming?”
“I must go with my family. They are aboard another ship.”
She ran toward him. “But what will become of us? You and I?”
“We are all going to Subic Bay in the Philippines. We will see each other there.”
To say goodbye. Mai tightened her lips. Once more tears rimmed her eyes. “Oh, Anh Vinh.”
“Never doubt that you are a kind, loving woman, Mai. You have been the love of my life.”
“Will we be together?”
An anguished look swept over him.
“Oh, Anh Vinh.”
His lips tightened.
She threw her arms around him. He held her tight. Then he embraced Đêm Nguyệt. “Take care of your mother, little man. She is the most precious cargo on this ship.”
“I will, Uncle Vinh.”
“And so are you, my son. I know you will grow up to do great things.”
Mai watched him climb down the ladder and step into the motorboat. Without either of them acknowledging it, Mai knew this would be the last time she and Đêm Nguyệt would see Anh Vinh.