Read Online The Reeducation of Cherry Truong by Aimee Phan - Free Book Online Page B

the rest of the night. Hoa observed the hill, not moving. She didn’t feel tired. She should only go in when she felt ready to fall asleep.
    â€œExcuse me,” Bac Nhut said, suddenly standing next to her, a bobbing flashlight in hand.
    Hoa forced the scream back into her throat. “Hello,” she said. “Good evening, sir.”
    â€œAre you walking up?” he asked. He wore a thin blue cotton shirt and wrinkled brown pants.
    She turned her head to the inky sky, looking at nothing, anything. “No, sir. Thank you for the offer, it is very kind of you.”
    He didn’t leave. Instead, he crossed his arms, wiry black hair matted on dark, cracked skin. His portable light bounced along the hillside. Where were his children? Why was he creeping around the island alone so late at night?
    â€œYour youngest son is going to America,” Bac Nhut said.
    â€œYes, he is,” Hoa said, smoothly hiding her surprise.
    â€œHe is on the same flight as my family. We are leaving tomorrow, too.”
    Hoa smiled politely. “I’m glad my son and his family will have friends in America. You can look after each other.”
    Bac Nhut wasn’t as tall as Hung. He had more pockmarks on his face. Hoa’s mother once said they indicated prosperity.
    He stared at her. “Your husband is wrong about the United States. The Vietnamese will be better there.”
    â€œI hope so.”
    â€œWhy would you want to go somewhere so cold? Your daughter’s hats will not be enough. Don’t you want to be somewhere more like home?”
    â€œI want to be with my family.”
    â€œSo where they go, you go? Why don’t they follow you where you want to go?”
    â€œWould you have followed your wife?” Hoa asked.
    â€œWe would have discussed it. I listened to her. I respected my wife.”
    His face was inches away from her. She inhaled and looked away. “You’ve been drinking.”
    His face spread open into a ridiculous smile. “Even after drinking, dear Ba Truong, I would never humiliate my wife. I wouldn’t hit her in front of strangers.”
    Hoa shook her head and began walking away. “Stay away from the guards,” she warned. “You don’t want to be locked away your final night.”
    â€œBest of fortune, Ba Truong,” Bac Nhut said, staggering into an exaggerated bow. “I hope your husband’s choice makes you happy.”
    *   *   *
    They would take a boat to the Malaysian mainland, a bus to the Kuala Lumpur airport, and then an airplane to the Philippines. And then another airplane to Paris.
    Despite all their preparation, they still scrambled to make the boat off the island. Trinh and Xuan hadn’t finished packing when they came by. Ngoan couldn’t find Cam’s jewelry box, which she’d hidden in their shelter months ago. Still, Hung blamed Hoa several times for lagging behind.
    â€œI can’t do this all myself,” Hung said. “Why did you have to bring so much junk?”
    The boat captain loudly grumbled as their family finally boarded, the last to arrive. All the interior seats were occupied, so they had to sit out on the deck. Hoa searched the faces of all the passengers on board, half-hoping to be surprised. But they weren’t there. The America group would take a separate boat to the mainland.
    At the harbor, a group of UN volunteers saw their boat off, while most of the remaining refugees, including Sanh’s family, stayed away. Cam happily waved to anyone she could ( Good-bye! Good-bye! I’ll never see you again! ), while Xuan wept in his mother’s arms.
    â€œFoolish boy,” Hung said, an amused smile on his face. “Doesn’t he know he’s finally going home?”
    The last time they had seen Bidong Island from a boat was when they arrived. Back then, all they paid attention to was the land, the creamy expanse of the beach, the other Vietnamese