Bạc Liêu, his new home, was the cradle of cải lương music—Vietnamese folk opera; it was where the master musician Cao Văn Lầu composed his many well-known songs. Phong fell in love with the music because it mirrored life. In each song he saw the struggles and courage of ordinary working people. He realized that he needed music as much as food and air. He started going to cải lương plays in order to lose himself in the music and performances of traveling troupes. He heard Sister Nhã’s cries and laughter in the voices of the guitar with its carved fretboard, the moon lute, the pear-shaped lute, the two-string fiddle, the sixteen-string zither, and the monochord. During his first year in Bạc Liêu, he learned much of Cao Văn Lầu’s music by heart and started to play the đàn sến, a two-string plucked instrument.

  One day, after attending the cải lương play Phạm Công Cúc Hoa with his Khmer friends, Phong stayed back with them at the Bạc Liêu Park. The night was dark, dimly lit by a street light. He was on the grass playing his đàn sến when a girl, sitting close by in another group of friends, responded with her singing. Her friends sang, too, but the girl’s response stirred something deep inside of Phong. In her voice he could see the rice plants bloom their first flowers; the storks stretching their wings, riding on a sunset; a school of fish dashing through a gushing stream. She breathed hope and life into an ordinary song.

  As he was leaving the park, the girl approached him, saying she needed a đàn sến teacher. He recognized her voice instantly. She said her name was Bình, which he loved, since it meant Peace, just like her voice. Bình was short, shorter than his shoulder. In the dim light, he couldn’t see her face clearly to know her age. He said he wasn’t good enough to be a teacher, but he gave her his address.

  He didn’t think she would actually show up and was surprised when she came two days later, in the late afternoon while he was working in his small garden. He was afraid she would turn away as the daylight exposed his skin color. But Bình behaved as if he was like her: fair and Vietnamese. She walked barefoot between the rows of corn, okra, and eggplant, complimenting how healthy they looked. She squatted down, touching the emerald lettuce heads and the red tomatoes as if to make sure they were real. “Not just a talented musician, you’re a wonderful gardener,” she announced.

  When she left, he felt something had been born between them, like a seed being sown into fresh soil after the rain. He asked his friends about her and was relieved to find out that she was two years younger than him and unmarried. And she worked as a rice farmer, just like him.

  For months afterward, she would visit him, not to learn, but to sing as he played the đàn sến. And to spend time in his garden. In between them, a tree of love started to flourish, gaining new leaves. Full moon after full moon, their music intertwined, growing roots into one another. He revealed his origins to her, and Bình said she admired him even more, knowing how much he’d gone through and how he’d managed to make a life for himself. She ignored the whispers of neighbors and friends. She didn’t care that her parents and brother disliked Phong. She told him he was a good man and she trusted him. She’d previously had a boyfriend who was abusive, and in Phong she found the respect that she needed from a man.

  Phong had had enough experience with women during his years on the street and in the shelter to know that Bình was sincere.

  Their wedding ceremony, hosted by his Khmer friends, was simple but joyful. They sang, laughed, and drank rice wine. That night, on the wedding bed he’d built by himself, Bình kissed his birthmark as she peeled away his clothes. She told him how handsome he was and how attracted she had been to his muscled arms, toned body, and full lips.

  Still, when his children were born, he wanted them to have Bình’s fair skin, straight hair, and flat nose. He didn’t want them to face the prejudice he’d been subject to. But his father’s genes refused to fade, remaining alive in his children. Alive in their skin color, their facial features, the texture of their hair.

  At least his children could have pure Vietnamese names. Tài meant “talent,” fit for a boy, while Diễm meant “elegant,” perfect for a girl. He especially liked it that his son had his middle name, Tấn; and Tấn Tài was also the name of his favorite singer: Lê Tấn Tài, whose vọng cổ songs enchanted Phong.

  Alone in the 30/4 Reunification Park now, thinking of the woman he had married, the mother of his children, Phong wished he had his đàn sến instrument, so he could pour his emotions into music. He peered across the darkness, toward the Foreign Affairs Bureau. His eyes were moist, thinking about his Amerasian friends who had gathered with him in front of that office, petitioning their cases to anyone who listened. They’d spent many nights here, sleeping side by side, like fish in a clay pot.

  Where were his friends now? Did they ever find peace?

  The DNA test was faster and easier than Phong had imagined. It didn’t involve any blood taking, just the swabbing of the inside of his cheeks. Mr. Lương, who took his sample, worked for a travel agency. He said a laboratory in America would analyze Phong’s DNA and register his data with an organization called Family Tree. If any of Phong’s relatives, such as his father or mother, had done the same, their DNAs would be matched, and both parties would be informed. Phong learned that Amerasians in the U.S. had been sending free DNA test kits back to Việt Nam to help trẻ lai like him who were left behind.

  “Please help pass along my sincere thanks,” Phong said, sitting at a table in Mr. Lương’s cramped office. “Do you know if many of them have been able to find their fathers?”

  “Very few . . . I just read a statistic, that tens of thousands of con lai like you are still looking for their parents,” Mr. Lương said, and Phong wished the man would call him “trẻ lai” instead of “con lai.”

  “For the few con lai that found their parents,” Mr. Lương pushed a cup of tea toward Phong, “the ending wasn’t always happy. I just want to tell you the truth, so you can prepare yourself.”

  “Please . . . tell me more.” Phong had been in the dark for too long. The world had moved on and left him behind. If he could read and had been able to follow the news, things would have been different.

  “Here’s a story for you,” Mr. Lương poured tea into his cup. “I know this con lai, a beautiful woman . . . around your age. She made it to America. She had her father’s address and photos, so she wrote him long letters. No answer. Finally she got up the courage, traveled to his city, and went to his house. She knocked on the door. When a man opened it, she knew that it was him. She told him who she was and you know what happened?”

  Phong shook his head.

  “The man slammed the door. In her face! He screamed for her to get off his property. He said if she didn’t leave right away, he’d call the police for trespassing.”

  Phong shuddered. The woman had lost her father twice: the first time when he abandoned her, and the second time when he rejected her.

  “She had no choice but leave.” Mr. Lương shook his head. “She swore never to contact her father again. For years she hoped he’d reach out to her. But nothing.”

  Mr. Lương refilled his cup. “Sad stuff like that happens, Phong. So don’t have high hopes.”

  Phong drank his tea. If he didn’t have hope, not just his hands but his heart would be empty. “Do you know why the father didn’t want to accept the daughter in this case?” he asked. Sister Nhã had taught him to always look past people’s actions and try to understand their reasons.

  Mr. Lương shook his head. “A lot of vets just don’t want to accept their kids when they are found. There could be many reasons. For example, some of those men had no idea that they had fathered children in Việt Nam. Or they are traumatized and want nothing to do with their past. Searching for family members is more complicated than people think.” He looked at his watch. “Shit . . . I’m running late for a meeting in town.” He put Phong’s DNA samples into an envelope.

  “But if I find my father via DNA testing, it would mean he’d accept me, right? Because he registered his own DNA test?” There were many more questions Phong wanted to ask.

  “Maybe. But people do these DNA tests for lots of reasons. And your father doesn’t need to do the test himself; you might be able to locate him via the DNA results of one of his relatives, like his siblings or children.” Mr. Lương folded the consent form for Phong’s DNA test, which Phong had signed with his finger prints. “Recently an Amerasian here in Sài Gòn found his father this way; his DNA results matched those of his father’s sisters. I was happy for him at first, but not for long, because shortly after, he learned that the father had already passed away.”

  Phong gazed into his empty cup. Filling it now was the possibility that his father, who must be in his sixties or seventies now, had died. Suddenly he was afraid to learn the truth.

  The Secret

  Hồ Chí Minh City, 2016

  Dan wanted to scream at Linda but kept his voice down. It was nearly midnight and he had no idea why she was acting like this. His head throbbed, as if reminding him that it could never fully heal from the injuries suffered from the crash. When the medics were airlifting him from that stinking jungle, one of them said it was a miracle he was alive, let alone conscious, after suffering such a serious head injury.

  Linda pulled the closet open. She’d hung up all her dresses neatly, as if they were being displayed in a shop, together with a large, white hat she’d ordered online. Now she yanked them from their hangers, dumping the clothes onto the bed. In her pajamas, she looked disheveled.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. “You scared the hell out of me by disappearing like that.”

  She opened the safe and took out her passport.

  “Linda.” As he raised his voice, pain sprang up inside his brain. “What’s going on?”

  She threw her clothes into her suitcase.

  “Talk to me, damn it!”

  “I’m so stupid,” she said, tears glistening in her eyes.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “How did you become such a good liar, huh?” she retorted. “We’ve come here for a holiday, and you snuck behind my back looking for your ex-girlfriend. Or should I say girlfriends?”

  “What ex-girlfriend?” His heart raced. He shouldn’t panic. Linda was just guessing.

  “How many girls did you sleep with when you were here? How many kids did you father?”

  Dan turned away. He tried to think. She’d made a phone call downstairs. Fuck! Thiên must have told her about his search for Kim.

  “I should’ve known from the day you came back.” Linda threw her guidebook into her suitcase. “You called her name in your sleep, remember? You called her goddamn name and when I asked you, you said it was your fucking Korean comrade.”

  “What name?” He threw his arms into the air. “It was a lifetime ago and I don’t know why you’re bringing this up. And don’t forget it was your idea to come here. I didn’t want to be back. It was your own damn idea!” He despised himself for blaming Linda, but it was true that he’d said no to this trip. She’d believed it would help him heal and improve their marriage. And now his marriage was in deeper trouble.

  She went into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. He heard the tap running and Linda blowing her nose.

  He clenched and unclenched his fists. He wanted to punch Thiên in the face.

  He dug into his pocket for the guy’s business card while reaching for the hotel phone.

  “Helloooo.” Thiên said after the first ring, his voice almost drowned out by the noises of people cheering and glasses clinking in the background.

  “What the hell did you tell Linda?” He kept his voice low so Linda wouldn’t hear him.

  “Oh, is that . . . Mister . . . Mister . . . Mister . . . Dan?”

  “What the fuck did you tell my wife?”

  “Oh . . . she was very . . . very upset.” Thiên’s speech was so slurred Dan had to press the phone tight against his ear to be able to hear him. “She wanted to know where you went. She said if . . . if I didn’t tell her everything, she’d hire another tour guide. So I said . . . we tried to find the Hollywood Bar.”

  “You son of a bitch. You promised to keep things between us.” The water was still running in the bathroom, but he watched out for Linda.

  “Hey, don’t be angry, Mister.” Thiên hiccupped. “I told her it’s your friend Larry.” Men in the background started singing, banging on a table. “I know that it’s you and Kim, but I didn’t tell her.”

  Dan slammed the receiver down. For sure Thiên had told Linda on purpose. They’d behaved like the best of friends at dinner. “Selfish and ignorant” were Thiên’s exact words when he talked about American vets. Telling Linda was his revenge.

  Dan paced back and forth. The humming of the air-conditioning was too loud, rumbling in his head. The pain blurred his eyes. He wanted to lie down, but he needed to convince Linda that he had been faithful to her since Việt Nam.

  Linda walked past him. She tossed her toiletries bag into her suitcase, zipping it up. She gathered her shoes, sliding her feet into them.

  “Damn it. Can’t you just sit down for a minute and talk? Thien told you some bullshit, and you believe him?”

  She pulled the suitcase toward the door.

  He blocked her way. “Where the hell are you going?”

  “I’m getting myself another room. And you know what I hate most in my life? Liars!”

  He reached for her shoulders with both hands. “Linda, listen to me. You’re the only woman I’ve loved throughout my life.” That was the truth as he knew it.

  She stood still, her head bent. “You rented an apartment for Kim, you had a child with her.”

  He dropped his arms. The realization that Linda knew was so shocking, he felt like blood was being drained from his veins.

  A tear slid down Linda’s cheek. “You lived with her while you were engaged to me. And all that time, I supported you. Told everybody you were a hero. I stood by you!”

  In front of his eyes, the foundation of his marriage was crumbling: Linda’s respect for him. He couldn’t let it happen. He would tell her the truth at the right time, when she had calmed down. “I don’t how what Thien told you, but it’s Larry who’s looking for Kim. I haven’t had the chance to tell you about him. He—”

  “Don’t you dare lie! If it’s someone else’s girlfriend you’re looking for, there’s no reason for you to hide it from me, and for you to weep like a baby. Yes . . . I heard you crying in the bathroom after you came back tonight, and that’s why I went downstairs to call Thien. Thien only confirmed what I should have known a long time ago. It’s her who made you leave your shoes outside the house, burn incense for your dead comrades, make an altar with a Buddha head. And all the other weird things you did when you first got back. Tell me the truth. Tell me everything or I’ll go home tomorrow.”

  Heat rose to Dan’s face. Linda was mocking the rituals that had helped calm him when nothing else could.

  She pushed past him.

  “Linda, please . . .”

  With one hand on the suitcase, her other hand yanked at the door.

  Dan hadn’t seen Linda this angry for a long time. But he’d made a grave mistake by looking for Kim behind her back. He had to do something before it was too late.

  “Honey, wait,” he said. “You’re right. I am so, so sorry. Kim . . . I spent time with her in Saigon.”

  Linda grabbed a small bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the minibar. She half-filled a glass, and threw herself down into the armchair.

  Dan got himself a soda water. He should be taking something for his headache but felt he deserved some punishment. He sat on the bed, leaning his tired back against a pillow.

  Linda drank her whiskey.

  Looking at her, he recalled the day they said goodbye as he left for Việt Nam. “Stay alive and come back to me,” she’d whispered, her tears staining his cheek. On the flight to Sài Gòn, he’d kept her picture in his pocket, only to pull it out often, gazing at her beautiful face. He’d believed that as long as he had her photo next to his heart, he’d survive. They’d both been so naïve.

  He gazed at the curtain behind Linda. “Saigon was a mess in 1969 when I landed. I’d been trained for twelve months in the States but nothing could prepare me for the war—”

  “Cut the crap and tell me how you met her.” Linda picked up a red rose from the lacquer vase. She plucked the petals, one by one, throwing them onto the floor.

  “I’m trying to explain the circumstances.”

  “Fuck your war stories. Don’t give me that poor-me veteran bullshit.”

  “I understand you’re upset, but I’m not asking for your pity, nor anyone else’s. I’m the one who must bear the consequences of my actions. But for you to understand these actions, I need to take you back a bit. Can I?”

  She looked away.

  He closed his eyes. “We never talked about this, but I came to Vietnam very ignorant . . . and brainwashed. During my training, I was told that we were fighting people that were subhuman. My instructors called the Vietnamese gooks, dinks, slope heads. On my flight here, the guy I sat next to told me not to worry about killing the Vietnamese, that life was cheap for them, that they’d been at war with other countries for hundreds of years. So I didn’t care about the Vietnamese at all. I figured they weren’t like us.” He shook his head. “Two weeks after my arrival, I went out for the first time. That night, I met a girl.”

  “Where?”

  “At a bar . . . She was shy, very different from other bar girls. We started talking and I realized she was just a normal human being. She made me curious about the Vietnamese. During the next few times that we met, she taught me Vietnamese and I tried to teach her English. I found out that she didn’t want to be a bar girl, but she had to help her parents pay their debts. Her father was very sick.”

  He gauged Linda’s reaction, hoping she would empathize with Kim’s situation.