“And now he’s here?”
“He’s here.”
“And you haven’t taken him home yet? Why?”
“Now, wouldn’t you know if I did? I’m preparing them.”
“So where is he, then?”
“In back. Helping me unload stuff.”
“Stuff? Where?”
“Jeez! Yes, stuff—drives, belts, shoes. He’s going to come into business with me. He’ll do that end. You’ll see. And they’ll be happy.”
“I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t trust this.”
She should be feeling elated, happy for her parents, happy for their life, she thought. She should be hugging Binh. She should at least be shocked and pleased that Binh had found Quy, but all she felt was a tingling of things coming apart.
Her mother would be vindicated. She cannot imagine the look of utter pleasure that would spread over her mother’s face—the nights of sleep Cam would finally get, the change that would come over their lives, how her sisters would be released from their shame of not watching, of not witnessing, of surviving. How her father would stop the intense self-punishment he had undertaken ever since Quy’s loss. And how, finally, a brother who was lost would find his people, his home, would hear all of the sorrow that loss had given, would be told of the frantic searches for him, of how not a piece of bread was eaten without the taste of his absence, how life had been limped through since his departure.
All this Tuyen knew she should have felt—instead, there was a sense of foreboding rather than relief. Was she afraid that she would no longer be the centre of attention; that she would be replaced? Binh obviously didn’t feel that, so in the end was he a better person than she? These thoughts tumbled through her mind—she felt slightly ashamed and now expectant. Quy was fifty feet away, and she wanted to flee. She should be bursting out the back door, welcoming her brother; instead, she felt like bolting. She suddenly realized what she had heard.
“He’s out back?”
“I’m here,” someone said behind her.
She turned to see the boyish face of the photograph. The man smiled through it, giving the face a ferocious look. Tuyen was frozen. Her fingers twitched to her mouth. He had been standing in the recess of the blinds near the dressing rooms. For how long?
“Sister?” he asked.
Binh was beside Tuyen, pushing her toward the man. “Yes, big brother, this is our little sister.”
She felt small and speechless.
“Good, good,” the man said in a thick accent. He bowed to her. Binh pushed her closer.
“She’s shocked,” he said to the man. Then to Tuyen, “Is that how you greet your brother? Go.”
Tuyen was propelled by Binh’s hand and an ineffable dread toward the man. She reached involuntarily for his shoulders. He felt like nothing, a ghost. She sensed something malevolent and withdrew her arms.
“She’s in shock,” Binh said again. The pressure of his hand increased on her back, urging her forward, willing her to be nice.
“Much time to know my little sister,” the man said haltingly, the words sounding like new stones on his tongue.
“When … when did you arrive?” Tuyen managed.
“Not long. Not long. Brother Binh is caring for me gratefully.”
“When …” She began another question, but Binh jumped in.
“Well, we’ll go later today. I’ve told them that I have good news for us. They have no idea that he’s here. I only told Bo that I may have found our brother. I didn’t want to tell Ma in case. But now, now everything is fine.”
“Today?” She seemed only able to deliver one or two words, like a child. No coherent thoughts came to her except that something was wrong. Her brother couldn’t be this man. This man had a contained tightness, a light presence; this man she was sure could harm you coolly, arbitrarily. But what had she expected? Why shouldn’t he be such a man? After all he had been through? Why shouldn’t he be ferine and cold? He was entitled. He could not simply live in their imagination perpetually innocent, perpetually pure. Things had happened to him. Probably bad things. She—they were all transfixed in the past, but he had been living. Living out their distress as well as his own. What leads people into certain lives; what molecules of air and senses and events make them veer this way or that? Of course it was her brother Quy. Of course it wasn’t. What difference would it make? This man had arrived in their orbit, and he was therefore theirs. What had she expected? A boy poised on a boat, waiting to be picked up and led back to his real life? She wanted to ask him, Where have you been? She wanted to ask him, Who are you? She was tongue-tied.
“Today?” She turned to Binh, aware of the man as one is aware of a gecko, a spider, a shadow.
“Yes, today. I’m going to find him a suit.”
“A suit? What for?”
“To wear.” Does a shadow wear a suit? How could Binh think of these things now? A suit. “You can come up with us. That’ll make things nice for them.”
“When?” She was hating this inability to compose a sentence with a verb in front of this man, Quy. And had he overheard their whole conversation? She had the feeling that he had, and she knew she didn’t like the idea of that.
“This evening. I’m looking forward most sweetly to meeting my mother and father.” His voice only gave Tuyen more to worry about. There, there in that sentence it was over-something. Overweaning, overconfident, overly formal. Then the quality of it—like someone trying to hide a self, a more ravenous side.
“Binh, it’s going to be such a shock. Did you talk to Bo about it, at least?” She turned to Binh, suddenly wanting what they had never had—cooperation.
“Yes, yes—no, look, I wanted it to be a great surprise for everyone.” He was opening another box, pulling
