T. Parker - Little Saigon

“I never really knew that Benny and Li were involved in this. They never said one word about it to me.”

“And now you can see why. Things in our arena are dangerous, Chuck. They wanted nothing but to protect you. Bennett has two lives. In one, he is a businessman, a man of money and influence. But does he live in a great home? No. Does he wear expensive clothing or drive big cars? No. The other Bennett is a soldier and a patriot. Much of the costs of supplies, he bears himself. He will be angry, when he knows I’ve talked to you.” Xuan gave a little laugh, then placed his hand very lightly on Frye’s shoulder. “I believe that you should know. And Chuck, I know what it is to be... outside.”

“Outside of what?”

“Your family.”

“What makes you think I’m outside mine?”

Xuan folded his hands and smiled. “It is something that I see in your face. In the way you behave with your brother. In the way you looked at him at the Asian Wind and stood up to hug him. In the way you go to him and he does not go to you. You come from a powerful family, Chuck. But you are not among them. You are outside.” Xuan wiped his thick glasses again. “I mean no offense. I was outside my own family. I was considered too political. There came a time when I had to choose. I chose my country.”

And what is it that I’ve chosen, wondered Frye. A surf shop? A cave-house? A wife I couldn’t keep?

“No,” said Xuan. “You don’t have to choose. You are a country at peace. You are a generation of peace. Enjoy the fruits of that freedom.”

I’ve done some of that, Frye thought. Maybe too much. “Benny paid for it, I know.”

“Then make good with what he bought for you. Someday, I hope my people can say that. It will not be in my lifetime though. Peace and freedom are as far from Vietnam as the moon is from the earth.”

“We got to the moon, Xuan.”

Tuy Xuan smiled. “Yes, we did. What I’ve told you is for you, Chuck. Forgive my presumption about you and your family. Old men love the business of others, because their own is fading so fast.”

“If Thach’s men took Li, where are they now?”

“I think they are holding her. Where? Who can say? My guess is nowhere in little Saigon. We are a close community. We talk. I believe they are somewhere else.”

“Thank you, Xuan.”

“Shall we eat?”

Dinner was immense and unending. Frye took instruction on mixing the proper ingredients: easy on the fish sauce, use the greens to make your own soup, plenty of mint and cilantro and bean sprouts, stretch the rice paper just right and it will stick to itself and make a perfect roll. The rice cake was thick and sweet; Frye ate three helpings.

“Nha is a writer,” said Xuan. “She was very interested to talk to you about journalistic work.”

Nha explained that she was finishing her senior year at Cal State Fullerton, with a communications major. “I do enjoy the reporting,” she said. “But only when my heart is in the material. It’s difficult to care about football games.”

“Wait until you hit the rewrite desk on your first job,” Frye said. “You don’t know what boring is yet.”

“If I get a job I’ll be pleased,” she said. “It’s an overcrowded profession, I know.”

“Well, there’s one less reporter on the Ledger now,” he said. Nha and Xuan both blushed and looked away. “Anyway, it’s a good job. You’ll like it. You’ll learn to write fast and ask lots of questions. Think you have the personality for that, Nha?”

She smiled. Frye studied her creamy skin, the perfect red lips, her black hair tied with a white ribbon in a ponytail. “I can adjust. I’m very good at that.”

Xuan, fortified with wine, told of their escape from Vietnam, the long days on the boat, the near-starvation and final rescue by an Australian fishing crew. Frye watched the daughters glance anxiously among themselves, then lower their heads as Xuan mentioned the pirates who had attacked their leaking escape boat. “There were things too terrible to describe,” he said quietly, and that was that.

Nha excused herself and returned with an empty champagne bottle. She explained that while her family floated in the Pacific, nearly dead from thirst, they found this bottle floating past the ship. They’d prayed that it contained something drinkable. She shook a tiny scroll loose from inside and gave it to Frye. It said “To Whoever Finds This Note: We Hope You’re Having As Much Fun As We Are! Lance and Jennifer Gentry — Honeymooning in Hawaii — 6/82/.”

Xuan went on to say how they had arrived in California with no money, no work. Only a few friends and Li Frye were here to help them get started. Frye considered the nice house, the new dining room furniture and the lacquer paintings of Vietnam. A trade, he thought: your country for your life.

The girls all spoke English well; Xuan’s was fair, and Madame Tuy’s wasn’t good at all. They’ve come a long way, he thought: further than I’ll ever go. Xuan thanked him again for pulling him down at the Asian Wind, for saving his life. An exaggeration, thought Frye, but I’ll go with it. Dinner ended with a toast to him. It was Frye’s turn to look down, and he caught Nha’s steady gaze from the corner of his vision.

Something hit him as he sat there with this family, some glimpse of what his own was like when they were together, all those years ago. He wondered if they might be like this again, together without the swells of disappointment, without the unspoken battle lines, without the sharp memories of how it used to be and could never be again.

He excused himself, went into a bedroom, and called home. Hyla answered. She had entertained Mrs. Lansdale all day and tried to get Edison out of his cottage long enough to eat. “He’s been there all day, poring over that big chart on the wall. Filling in things, putting question marks in the little boxes. How are you, son?”

“Okay. I just wanted to call and tell you... that I love you and I know this is going to be all right.”

“I know it is too, Chuck.”

“I’m doing what I can, Mom. I’m not gonna mess anything up.”

“Chuck, don’t be that way.”

“I saw your Bowers last night.”

“When this happened to Li, it made me think of Debbie.”

“Me too... put me through to Dad?”

Edison sounded like a linebacker breaking huddle. “ Edison Frye!”

“Chuck.”

“Sonofabitching FBI is all over the place and they still haven’t found Eddie Vo! I got Lansdale with me here right now, and I told him he’s a hostage until we get Li back safe and sound. Bastard’s drinking all my gin.”

“You’ve got news on my case?”

“They’ll drop the charges. It took some leaning on my part, Chuck, I’ll have you know that.”

“Thanks.”

“For chrissakes, just mind your own business for a while, will you?”

“I’m trying.”

“You can die trying, son.”

“There’s no better way to go.”

Edison barked something to the senator. Springer spaniels howled in the background. “What do you have on Minh for us?”

“His father was American CIA and he’s still alive. One popular notion is that Minh gets information from him. The other popular notion around the department is that he’s a lousy detective and got the job because he’s a minority.”

“Half a bloody minority. It’s amazing we’ve got a flag left to salute in this country.”

“Anyway, I just wanted to call and say I’m doing what I can. I’m doing that.” Frye paused while his father told Lansdale to pour him another drink.

There was a moment of silence. “Pop... I want back in.”

“Back into what, son? Jail?”

“Back into my family.”