Emma-Jade found Louis for the third time at the Saigon airport. As he was a head taller than most of the people in the crowd, he did not have to nudge anyone aside in order to be seen. Since the end of the war, every Vietnamese traveller arriving from abroad has been awaited by members of their extended family, gathering in great numbers because that signifies a “coming home” after a long absence. The families rent vans and fill them by order of priority. Whether there has been fifteen years, twenty years, or thirty years of separation, the family remains united: cousins, brothers and sisters, the new nephews and nieces, children, aunts and uncles, parents. It’s a celebration. The family is a celebration. Unlike those visitors whose oversized suitcases and giant boxes overflow with Werther’s caramels, LU biscuits, moisturizing creams, the latest in menstrual pads, Emma-Jade is, as usual, wheeling her simple carry-on.
Seated on the hotel terrace facing Louis, Emma-Jade has fallen asleep despite the constant noise from the countless scooters, bicycles, and cars, just like em Hồng. Louis watches her sleep until she wakes twenty-four hours later, exactly as before.