Robert McGill - Once We Had a Country

Wale left him there again and didn’t come back until the following afternoon, when he stopped by briefly to inform him they would fly out in nine days. After that, he returned only once a day to drop off provisions, never staying long. Yia Pao wanted to tell his friends in Vientiane of his imminent departure, but he dared not leave the apartment or ask Wale to take the risk of delivering a message.

The day before the flight, Wale informed him that a man would drive him and Xang to the airport in the morning, and that Wale would meet them there. The man who arrived wore dark glasses and barely spoke. At the airport, he produced papers and tickets, as well as an index card with the address and phone number for the farm. Yia Pao asked where Wale was and the man didn’t answer, only advised him to get on the plane before the wrong people turned up. Yia Pao passed through the airport with Xang and boarded the airplane, expecting to be pulled aside at any moment. When he felt the wheels leave the runway, he couldn’t believe it. Then, at the terminal in Toronto, he called the number he’d been given and got no answer. There was nothing to do except make his way to the address on the card.

Yia Pao says he wishes deeply that Gordon were here too. He can’t say how sorry he is for what happened. He wants Maggie to know that her father was a fine man, thoughtful and brave, a true friend. The Hmong believe the spirits of one’s ancestors remain in this world, looking out for their loved ones. The spirit of Maggie’s father must be a powerful one, and she’s lucky to have had him in her life.

As Yia Pao tells his story, the pain in Maggie’s body grows. She tries to recall the television documentary about her father, wanting to determine where Yia Pao’s version of the story differs from it, but focusing is hard. At times the bed beneath her seems to quake, and Yia Pao’s voice reaches her ears as if through a long funnel. She remembers that the documentary showed her father snatching Yia Pao’s baby under the nose of Sal’s goons, then hiding behind a waterfall. The filmmaker seems to have guessed right that he and Yia Pao escaped from their captors, but Yia Pao says nothing of a pit, nothing of being washed down a river.

When he recalls becoming separated from Xang and her father, she feels the tears start down her face. By the time he finishes speaking, they flow easily, without shame. She reaches for the statue and holds it tight against her chest. Not a taunt, after all, nor a tainted inheritance; just a sad reminder of a shared life. For the first time, the little saint seems like something she can love.

“You really don’t think my father knew what was in it? I mean, when he sent it to me?”

A look comes over Yia Pao, as if the question is one he doesn’t want to consider. Eventually the muscles in his face loosen. “How could he have known?”

A mistake, then. A stupid mix-up. It should be a comfort, but it makes things seem even worse.

“Why didn’t you tell Sal what happened with the money?” she says. “He could have contacted me. I could have sent it back.”

Yia Pao shakes his head. “Your father made me swear not to tell. Sal would have thought he’d sent the money on purpose. He would have killed us, then come after you. It was better for him to think the money was still in Laos.”

She doesn’t want to imagine what it meant for her father and Yia Pao to keep the truth hidden, doesn’t want to contemplate the scars on Yia Pao’s face. It’s easier for her to dwell on the escape, the jungle, the search for his son.

“Once you were in Vientiane,” she says, “you should have gotten in touch with me.” She could have helped him, and he could have told her what had happened.

“I didn’t know how to reach you,” he replies. “It was dangerous to make inquiries.”

It makes sense. It’s an explanation. But when she thinks about it, she can also imagine him staying quiet to keep her from knowing about the money. That way, he might hope to find himself in Canada one day, as he is now, with the chance to take it for himself, and Maggie none the wiser.

She shouldn’t be so mistrustful. When she told him about the statue burning in the fire, he looked genuinely glad. It doesn’t matter anyhow, now that the money’s gone. What matters is that this man was a friend to her father, who never had friends, and he’s here with his son, alone in the world.

“What do you think happened to Wale?” she asks.

“I don’t know.” He looks downcast as he says it.

“You think Sal found him?”

“Perhaps he is lying low.” But he doesn’t sound hopeful.

The throbbing in her leg grows stronger, turns into a screaming. There’s a knock at the door and Josef appears with a grin, his eyes already on the baby. As he enters with Lenka in tow, he waves at Xang and the boy laughs. Josef draws closer and waggles his fingers at the child. Then, turning to Maggie, his smile diminished only a little, he tells her that visiting hours are over for the morning and they’ll have to come back later.

Maggie’s mind grows crowded, even as her foot shrieks. There’s so much they haven’t talked about. Where are Yia Pao and Xang going to stay? What about their papers? Knowing Wale and the company he keeps, the documents are likely forged. What about Wale? They should be calling the authorities in Vientiane, telling them about Sal, urging them to keep a lookout. Surely not everyone in the place is corrupt. They should be contacting the documentarian, telling her she was wrong and Yia Pao never drowned in any river. But already he’s saying goodbye, his voice once more swirling down a funnel. He and Xang are moving toward the door with the priest and Lenka, and Maggie has a feeling that if she lets them go, she’ll never see them again.

Lenka must recognize the look in her eyes, because she returns to take her hand. “Do not worry about things. Only rest.”

“Where are you going?” asks Maggie.

“Tomorrow we have appointment with consulate,” Lenka replies. “There we deal with the serious things.”

“What about this afternoon?”

Even as the pain in her foot drags her away, she can see a look of pleasure on Lenka’s face.

“Today we have fun,” says Lenka, sounding gleeful, like someone younger than herself. “Today we take them to see the Niagara Falls.”

Already there are shoots coming up through the mud, green stems starting to dot the barren field that was the cherry orchard, though it’s still March. At the centre of the editing viewer stands a backhoe next to a pile of uprooted, charred stumps. Pauline runs through the frame in a rain slicker and yellow boots, followed by Xang, who wears a bright red toque and wobbles on stubby legs. Yia Pao holds his hand and tells him to slow down. In the next shot the three of them examine a puddle while Elliot appears in the foreground, leaping to swat at a fly. Behind them, moated by a ring of tire tracks, is the concrete foundation of the new house. A pair of bearded men with tool belts move between the upright timbers that form the beginnings of a frame.

When Brid steps into the shot, she positions herself so as not to block out the construction scene. Despite the season, she’s in a short-sleeved blouse, revealing arms that have healed but still look scalded red from wrists to biceps.

“Brid Garland reporting,” she says into the camera. “We’re here with Father Josef of the Francis de Sales Church in Virgil.” Reaching over, she drags him into view. Josef keeps his eyes down and shuffles his feet. “Father, what does Rome have to say about the new farmhouse?”