A Southern Girl: A Novel

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Flow 349 Again, the nurse shakes her head, taking Allie’s arm in hers as she does so. “I thought of adopting you myself,” and her smile is broad. “I was unmarried then.” “And now?” I ask. “Married to a U.S. Army major I met here. We have two children.” The nurse invites us to lunch the following day, to meet her husband and children, to see her home, to visit. “I will take you to the police station where I first saw you,” she promises. I am explaining our scheduled departure when Allie makes it clear she wants to stay. It makes sense for her to do so. San and Go Quan will hover over her like a possessive uncle and aunt, and Hana will expose her to aspects of Korean life she may never experience otherwise. I spend part of that afternoon rearranging our flights. j 36 i That evening, the evening we leave Allie in the care of San and Go Quan, Mr. Quan and I depart for Vietnam. He and his brother have been discussing the return since we arrived, but San steadfastly refuses to join us. He has never been back, and pledges never to go. I don’t think the younger Quan is surprised, only disappointed. And visibly apprehensive about the trip. A flight attendant distributes blankets and pillows. At altitude, the cabin lights are extinguished, but here and there conical shafts of reading lights project from overhead. Mr. Quan’s light is on, although he has nothing on his tray table to read. He seems trance-like, meditative in the Zen sense, but without its peace. His chair-back is straight, his arms firmly on the rests with his hands cupped over their ends and no slouch to his body, as though he is about to be electrocuted. In the harsh illumination of the reading light, tears glisten on a path downward. Feigning sleep, I watch him closer, unsure of what response to make, if any. He is staring straight ahead, unblinking. A passing attendant pauses, then leans over me to him, whispering. “Sir, may I do anything for you?” A Southern Girl 350 “Yes,” he says quietly, not moving his eyes from their relentless stare forward. “Tea.” The attendant returns, placing a cup on his tray table. He nods faintly. Seconds later he sips. As his eyes maintain their fix on the seat ahead, his face tenses. His brow, smooth enough for a man in his early fifties, meshes into a rutted plain, the muscles of his chin and jowls contract into a perceptible relief sharpened by the overhead lamp so that the entire effect is one of severe stress, advanced aging. Yes, that is it. Whatever storm rages within has transformed him into a man ten years older than the one who boarded the plane. A tear traversing this new landscape is diverted by a canted crevice, invisible before. So dramatic is this mask that I am seized with panic. His body is still, frozen in its rigid uprightness. “How’s the tea?” I ask, sitting up. Nothing I can think of seems appropriate to say. “Good,” he says solemnly, mechanically. “Well, then,” I say with a meek attempt at cheer, “I think I’ll have one.” I hail an attendant, who seems visibly relieved to see me roused, as though I am a doctor arriving on the scene of an accident. “Want to talk?” I ask. “As I said, this trip holds dangers for me. But I have put it off too long.” “Yes,” I say, fumbling my way toward him, “seeing so much change in what you left will be difficult. Do you have family other than your cousin and brother?” For the first time since entering his catatonia, he turns to me, and deep within his eyes I see concentrated despair. “No, no family now.” He brings his drink napkin up, wiping his face and for an instant seemingly surprised at the moisture that is there. The attendant returns with my tea. “I . . . used your bathroom once when Allie and I came to your apartment . All those people in the photographs . . .” “Yes,” he says softly. “That was my family.” “And you in the picture with the bride?” He nods, turning forward again. “Mi Chon was my bride. She was veddy beautiful. I never hoped for a wife as good as her.” His voice is weak, resigned, defeated. “For nineteen years she kept a perfect home, giving us...