The story had several versions, each told differently. Mrs. Ba told it with betel leaves in her mouth, recounting her rescue of the American as if it were an involuntary act. Đen acted out in comical gestures, and Philip described it to Diễm Thúy as the way in which he met a little angel. A little angel with sun-bleached hair. A little angel that had lucid eyes and responded to the desperate cries of a neglected body suspended in the lucuma tree with his rattling babble. Fortunately, Philip would never know what that rattling babble meant: “That American screeched like a barn owl.”

  Once Philip came, Đen didn’t have to sit around alone all the time, because Diễm Thúy could come home every day, for a couple of hours at least. Đen was overjoyed. He ran around his mom, then held Philip’s hands to ask him to play catch and chase him around his jeep. She looked at the colossal man chortling with her smiling son.

  The American man never looked at her like the other men in the Starlight, nor did he forget to press some banknotes into the major’s wife’s purse to trade for some free hours with Diễm Thúy. He called her Alice, his ex-girlfriend’s name across the ocean.

  In the shortcut that Diễm Thúy often took home, the American rolled up his sleeves, and bent a huge hole into the barbed wire fence. Those strange, hairy arms brushed against her for a moment, reminding her of the scrawny arms that used to disentangle barbed wire for her, wipe away her tears, and endure bloody wounds to help her. Was the man with those arms still living up on the mountain? Or did he leave the region where a woman, even after she moved to the hilltop, had never forgotten how they held hands?

  Philip didn’t hold Diễm Thúy’s hands. Standing next to a flight of helicopters chuff-chuffing their imminent departure, she responded to his blue, articulate eyes with an embrace, unaware of Major Thọ’s dark face in the distance. She had been paying attention only to Philip’s strong hand stroking her son’s head.

  “Don’t cry. Little angel. Philip will be back. I promise. Soon.”

  Diễm Thúy took Đen from Philip as tears streamed down his face. He had been holding Philip’s legs and crying ever since arriving at the airport and seeing the lines of backpacks and blond heads disappear one after the other into the bellies of the iron birds.

  “Will Philip come back, Mom? He will come back, won’t he?”

  His lips were quivering, and his grip on her hand was shaking when the last helicopter took off with a rumble.

  She watched as it rose into the sky, not answering her son. During the tempestuous whirlwinds of her life, she had failed to follow through on the promise made the first time she held someone’s hands, so how would a promise to a child be any different?

  Major Thọ, the day after Diễm Thúy saw Philip off, came to the wine cellar and repeated an old promise.

  “Sooner or later, I would make you the boss of the Starlight bar!”

  Lying under his sagging belly, she opened her eyes in full astonishment.

  “But how can you do that? You would abandon your wife?”

  Moving off her body, the major didn’t grumble or become riled as he usually did. Staring at the ceiling of the wine cellar, he sighed.

  Not only Major Thọ but also other men who had lain atop her couldn’t hide a secret or withhold sharing some regret when they were with her. Some of them even cried. Some muttered someone’s name or the name of some distant region. Their sorrow mixed with terror that woke them at midnight, sweat trickling down their bodies, leaving them freezing.

  The prostitute’s breasts became a receptacle for the sighs and tears of men who rushed into battle like moths into a candle’s flame.

  The major’s wife didn’t care about that battle, only how many people entered the Starlight. The more tenuous the war became, the more military men flocked to the airport, swarming into the Starlight. Her hands were always busy hoarding profits.

  She hid the cash in iron boxes under her bed. When a grenade suddenly flew in out of nowhere, leaving a big hole in the door of the Starlight, the major’s wife ran to a helicopter, unable to take any possessions with her. Women in the same bar rolled the boxes down the stairs. When the iron lid fell off the boxes, banknotes flew out like rain. Major Thọ drove home from his station, his gun muzzle covered with a green banknote.

  No more grenades flew into the Starlight, but the entire hill was in turmoil. The noise of whirring helicopters mixed with rumbling jeeps, footsteps, and roars from voices cascading down the streets. In the dark, as seen from the gate of the Starlight, lights poured out of the mountain like glistening, glaring rivers. The burning currents flowed into the airport, which erupted in flames and smoke.

  Major Thọ drove down the hill, but then turned back to pull Diễm Thúy out of a roaring crowd and into his jeep.

  “Go get the little boy, hurry up! I’ll save you a seat on the C119.” One of his hands held the steering wheel while the other worked the buckles on his uniform.

  As the jeep raced down the hill, the silver stars on his uniform sparkled on the side of the road. A call came in on the radio: “Tinh Long calls Phoenix. We need help. Come help.”

  The sound couldn’t compete with the jeep, however. The voice simply blended in with the cacophony of engine, wheels, and road as it rumbled, rattled, and thundered down the hill.

  Diễm Thúy raced home beneath the thundering sounds. She stuffed some of her son’s clothes into a bag and tore down the mosquito net before pulling her son to the hibiscus fence.

  “Diễm Thúy, won’t you wait for Bình?” Mrs. Ba’s voice held her back. Yes, there used to be a young man who stood at that door waiting for her. A young man who held her hands right there by the hibiscus. That young man’s eyes retained a longing for her.

  She had traveled a long journey. She had abandoned those longing-filled eyes as her life careened along, but the memory of holding his hand remained.

  That hand was holding her from moving forward. That hand now tethered her to the gate as she looked toward the airport and its glaring lights.

  Yes. She had traveled a long journey. She would not travel anymore. She would stay there, waiting.

  She thought about that man who longed for her while burning leaves continued to fill the air with fragrant smoke. Đen had gone inside by the time he arrived.

  “Diễm Thúy, aren’t you leaving?” Looking at the smoke cloud that had enveloped the mountain and the airport in the distance, Philip asked her the same question she heard from her son a few minutes ago.

  She could feel Bình’s eyes searching in the smoke. Those eyes that had never looked into hers, even on the day when they first held hands beside the hibiscus hedge or the times when he went up the hill to get her as she had waited for her mother. Those eyes had never looked straight at her, but Diễm Thúy could intuitively feel the wistful, pensive affection they held.

  That was the reason why she was still sitting there, dawdling in the smoke, even after Philip had shown up out of the blue and stood in front of her amidst the ruins of war.

  “I came to get you both!” The American with fading blond hair was somehow able to say in Vietnamese.

  He had kept the promise he had made to the child.

  Philip tried time and again to persuade Diễm Thúy to follow him. And then Đen joined him in his enthusiasm, urging her to leave the hilltop.

  She had experienced countless promises in her lifetime. The eyes of that man on the other side of the smoke cloud didn’t need to linger. She wanted only to fulfill the promise she had made him, not to try and connect the woman that she was now to the innocent girl that made it so long ago. In her mind, however, Bình remained the same Bình from so many years before. One shouldn’t have to suffer such a feeling of indebtedness.

  “Diễm Thúy, if you need to have your paperwork signed in the commune headquarters, let me do that,” Philip said.

  From the other side of the smoke cloud, where Bình used to get his arms torn by barbed wires, a man rose to his feet, muttering, choking.

  She didn’t mean to look at him. But her eyes followed him as he walked down to the T-junction, his back stooping, his head leaning forward.

  Afternoon sank in. The imposing mountains cast their shadow on his burdened shoulders. He left, carrying the afternoon’s shadows, the shadows of the mountain.

  Before her eyes, the smoke cloud dissipated.

  In its wake, men, one after another, returned.

  Yet her mother and brother never did.

  At the Border:

  Võ Thị Xuân Hà

  Raging floodwaters washed nearly everything away. The entire region became an immense lake with trees, houses, and light poles submerged in turbid water. The stink of rotten fish, dead livestock, and garbage hung over the scene.

  The seasonal floods engulfed riverside villages every year, and thus young women, mostly unmarried, traveled to big cities in search of jobs. No perfume could mask the smell of stale fish and dirt that clung to their clothes.

  But they couldn’t afford perfume anyway. At least none except for those who became “bar girls” in big cities and returned when the work robbed them of their beauty and they were no longer desirable. Normally, these urbanized women painted their fingernails, dyed their hair, and kept a few fancy bottles of perfume in their closets. They returned to their village to live with their parents after realizing that earning money in the big city wasn’t so easy and not worth the price of losing their youth. Dark spots started to appear on their skin, and their bodies lost their soft curves. If they were fortunate they would be able to get married, normally to someone who pretended to come from a good, dignified family. These women, after several years of working, had been able to save a little bit of money, and that was what the men were after. On their wedding days, the brides wore trendy wedding dresses, put on excessive perfume, and strutted in front of the village girls who wore unfashionable clothes and had mud-stained feet and calloused heels.

  However, these former bar girls with blemished skin were not the most admired group in the village.

  The most admired ones were those who had been born under a lucky star and had an American, European, or Taiwanese husband. Right below them were those who were married to Chinese or Korean men. Whenever their families opened huge parcels of gifts that their daughters had sent from abroad, the villagers’ eyes grew wide as they stared in awe at all the foreign luxuries. They envied the parents who had such fortunate and affluent daughters. When these daughters were allowed to come back for a visit, they were viewed as exemplary women for others to emulate.

  Many village girls obsessively wanted to be admired like those ex-pats. They dreamed of going to a big city where opportunities awaited them. They filled out forms at dating agencies that could help them find foreign husbands. The local authorities stamped the forms to verify these girls’ identities, knowing that the girls weren’t applying for actual jobs in the city, but for something else.

  No jobs remained in the village after the flood, and hunger and poverty reigned. So the authorities didn’t question the applicants—everyone needed to feed themselves and survive however they could.

  Three girls packed their clothes in duffel bags and left the village.

  The address of the agency they were given was located down an alley in a beach city that they had heard much about on TV but never had had a chance to visit. They were excited and anxious. The city’s air pollution and traffic noise made them dizzy and nauseated.

  They entered a narrow, filthy alley. At the end of the alley, they saw a huge house protected by high red-brick walls. One of the girls reached up and pressed the doorbell. Dogs barked loudly behind the gate and the girls peered in nervously. The heavy iron gate opened a crack, and a skinny man surrounded by several fierce dogs asked in a rude tone, “Who are you looking for?”

  The girls handed him their folders, which contained their application forms and ID cards. The man’s frigid face showed no emotion. He signaled for the girls to come in and shut the gate immediately behind them. The dogs stopped barking and lay down. Another man led the girls into the living room where they sat on a red couch and looked around, admiring the glamorous furniture and decor. Contrasting images of villagers clinging to trees and crying for help on rooftops entered their minds. They shuddered.

  A few minutes later, a woman walked into the room. She was beautiful in her elegant purple dress. When she smiled, her straight, white teeth mesmerized them.

  “I’m Mai Lan. Was it difficult to find this place?”

  “Not really. By the way, you’re so beautiful!” one girl replied.

  “Thank you,” she said softly and gently. “Now, let me show you the photos and personal information of the men. Then, tell me which one catches your attention the most.”

  The girls’ faces turned red, and they looked at each other shyly.

  The woman turned her head around and called loudly, “Hùng, please bring me the folders from the desk in my office.” Then, she said to the girls, “Now, let me see your dossiers.”

  “Hùng, these girls are so cute and pretty,” she said after receiving the files from him.

  Then, she said to the girls, “Give me a few minutes. We have to sign some paperwork, and then you are welcome to stay for lunch. In the afternoon, when you have decided on the men you want, my company will contact them. No worries! These men want to marry Vietnamese women and they are affluent, so your life will never be the same again. They’ll take care of your visa-application fees and plane tickets.”

  A maid brought in a tray of fruit and apple juice, placed it on the table, and invited the guests to have some.

  “You’ll have plenty of time this afternoon to look at the files carefully,” Mai Lan said.

  “Choosing the right husband will secure your future, so be certain to make a wise decision. And now, follow Hùng to the steam room, and then take a shower. I’ve prepared some new clothes for you to wear.”

  The girls sat in the steam room for about half an hour. A fresh citrus fragrance aided in relieving their fatigue and headaches. Then, a maid showed them where to take their showers and handed them each an ultra sheer dress but no underwear.

  Walking around in the sheer dresses, the girls felt like they were dreaming. They wished everyone in their villages could see how beautiful they looked in the new clothes. They wished that they had discovered their hidden beauty much earlier, but years of working in the rice paddy had covered it with mud. They looked down at the way the fabric accentuated their round, firm breasts and slender thighs and they smiled with satisfaction.

  From inside a dark room, a man who must be the owner of the opulent mansion looked out his window and saw the alluring new recruits. He said to himself, I must have my way with the prettiest one first.

  A small, squat house stood alone in a dreary forest. A few young women with a dour expression sat on the floor inside.

  “Sisters, where am I?” asked the prettiest girl, who earlier had caught the attention of the lascivious man, as soon as she was pushed inside.

  “Where do you think you are?” a woman asked and laughed. “Your husband’s house? Did your boyfriend sell you off, or did he trick you?”

  “I can’t remember whom I met the other day,” the pretty girl replied. “I was thrown into a room and locked inside. I don’t remember anything after that.” She looked around, bewildered. Apprehension filled her at the mysterious disappearance of her two companions.

  “Let me tell you then,” another woman said in a hoarse voice. “This is a border area. Remote. Only gangsters, criminals, prison escapees, drug addicts, and gamblers live here. If you want to survive, listen to us. And don’t ever try to commit suicide. We don’t help suicidal cowards.”

  The young girl got up, exhausted, and walked into the bathroom. She stood staring at the drops of water spilling down from a rusted showerhead onto the cold stone floor. She sobbed as she took a shower.

  The house’s front door flung open. A trafficker walked in.

  She cowered in fear in the shower. She craned her neck to look through the bathroom’s tiny window. The ancient woods stretched into the distance endlessly.

  “Where’s the new girl? Come out here now!” the man shouted. “And all of you! Get ready to cross the border tomorrow to start a new life.”

  “Oh gosh! I’m in hell,” the young girl said. She covered her breasts with her hands and walked out of the bathroom, trembling with fear. She looked down at her naked feet. The human trafficker felt her breasts as if he were examining livestock. His hands were those of a headless devil. He was heartless and fearless. She cowered when his calloused, disgusting fingers groped her body.

  When the man left, the women discussed among themselves how to escape. They drew a simple map.

  “This place is right next to the border,” one woman said. “The paths in the woods are very dangerous. If we travel along the creek, we might find a way out.”

  That night, three women fled. They ran down an empty path in the woods and then sprinted in different directions.

  The young girl struggled to find her way out of the dark woods that night. Thorns scratched her face and body. She arrived at a large creek and began to wade across it, remembering that they had crossed it on the way to the isolated house. She felt lucky when she saw the creek, but didn’t understand that it was still flood season. While it had stopped raining in the forest, the downpours continued in the higher regions upstream. The water rose rapidly, and the swirling current tugged her to the bottom of the creek where she drowned.