“Scenic.” I said, dryly. Orvis ejected the tape, and folded the run sheet into a crisp square, tucking it and the tape into a plastic case. She added the tape to a growing pile and continued,

            “Now, me an’ my baby sister Cee-Cee, we always looked alike, but Mama say we couldn’t have been more different in character. I wasn’t afraid of nothin’, but Cee-Cee, she couldn’t even bear watching a scary movie on tee-vee. She saw some of “Halloween” once, had screaming nightmares for months.” She jerked her chin towards her cot. “Take a look at that picture of us, you’ll see.”

 

            I brought the framed picture to the table where Orvis worked. A handsome, well-dressed bourgeois couple sat framed in silver and children, three stair-step girls, a boy toddler in the lap of the wife, and an older boy standing in back. Orvis’ father, distinguished in be-medaled dress greens, had his arm around the tallest girls’ shoulder.

            “That’s me, in the middle… Mama has Darrell on her lap. That’s Cee-Cee an’Bettina there, “Orvis explained with obvious fondness. “We had that done when Daddy just pinned on Major. We was at Ft. Bragg then. I finished sixth grade before we PCSed to Germany, so I must have been ‘bout twelve.”

            “You look most like your mother,” I said, looking closer at the picture; it was true , they shared the same elegant Nefertiti look, and air of intelligent intensity. The older boy, standing diffidently in back, there was something different about him and not just because his hair was straight. “What about your older brother?” I said, aware that it sounded ridiculous. The older boy was obviously oriental.

            “Oh,” said Orvis, as if she had just been reminded of something she was familiar with, but kept forgetting that others might think it odd. “That’s Liem. He’s not my brother, really. He just lived with us for a while.”

            “Foster child?” I ventured, and Orvis shrugged.

            “Not ‘zactly. He just lived with us after he got out of the refugee camp at Ft. Chaffee.” She popped another tape into her Beta player and neatly dated a new run sheet. “My parents say he’s their Vietnamese son.”

            “Do tell,” I said, and after a moment Orvis did.

 

            “I don’ really remember Veetnam, not the way Mackie ‘n Lee do. When I was little, it was the place my Daddy went to. ‘Bout the first thing I remember was going to Hawaii with Mama ‘cause Daddy was on R & R, playin’ on the beach an’ Daddy tryin’ to put a scare on me, telling me that ol’ Diamond Head was a volcano, ‘bout to bust open an’ spill lava on everyone. Daddy, he did four tours over there, two with Special Forces, never got more’n a scratch on him. Caught malaria, though, An’ jungle rot, too, but he ain’t one of those messed-up vets. He’s a soldier, it was what they paid him to do. An’ he did it. An’ when it was over, he jes’ didn’t talk about it. “Til the summer I was ten. Daddy was stationed at Ft. Bragg.

 

           We had this nice house off-post, in a nice neighborhood full of old trees. We had a big ol’ backyard, an’ a green belt full of trees in back of that, and Mama an’ Daddy would sit on the back porch an’ watch us playin’ with Darrel, he jes’ learning to talk. He was like our real baby doll… well, one morning after school was out, I came downstairs early an’ Daddy was sitting at the kitchen table looking at the newspaper, tears just runnin’ down his face, an’ he say to Mama, “Oh, Del, I can’t stop seeing their faces…” An’ then he sees me, and he gets up and goes out to the porch an’ he sits there on the porch lookin’ out at the green trees with his arms around his knees an’ his shoulders shakin’ ‘sif he was crying. Well, this is scary stuff fo’ me an Mama have this real somber face an’ she tell me, “Saigon fell yesterday an’ all those people your Daddy tried to help are runnin’ away from the Veet-Cong.” An’ I say “Where are they runnin’ to?” An’ Mama say, real grim an’ serious, “Wherever they can get to.” An’ she show me the pictures in the paper; people climbing the embassy gate, people crammed into little boats ‘bout to sink from the weight, all these people runnin’ away. She tol’ me how Daddy had friends there, saw some of ‘em die an’ how he felt he let them down, an’ I say, “But what can you do about it now, Mama?” Mama got this look on her face, like she had an idea but didn’t want to talk about it just yet,

 

            The long an’ short of it is, Mama got involved in this group at church we went to in Charlottesville, they had a plan to sponsor refugees. All those people got outta Veet-Nam, they needed someone to help ‘em find a place to live, get a job, get on their feet. Big job… Mama’s Church couldn’t do it alone, they clubbed together with some other churches an’ the Lions Club ‘n the Rotary… Garden Club too, for all I know, an’ they signed up to sponsor a big family ‘cause they heard most Veetnamese families were big, uncles an’ cousins an’ grandmothers an’ all, and most folk couldn’t sponsor a big family. (Orvis laughed a little at that.) What they decided to send Mama’s group was three little families an’ three young men! Mama’s group buckled down, they found three lil apartments an’ had no money for one more! So they decided mebbe it would be better fo’ the young men to be farmed out to American families, that way they could get adjusted faster. Mama called Daddy from the church meeting, ast if we could take one of ‘em. Daddy’s brigade was heading out to the field next day, he so hassled he say OK. So, Mama got this ol’ book of Daddy’s ‘bout Veetnam, started readin’ it, an’ set Bettina an’me to move Cee-Cee into our bedroom so’s this Veetnamese boy could have hers.”

 

            “What was so funny about your father’s old book?” I asked, as Orvis giggled reminiscently.

             “Well, Mama read that they ate fish sup for breakfast an’ rice every day all day, an’ most Veetnamese were farmers living in villages… she showed us pictures… an’ we begin to think we’d be getting someone who planted rice all day an’ never seen a flush john. We did have rice every day, sometimes twice, but the first morning she dished up a plate of fish soup at breakfast, Liem gave her such a look! Not much inscrutable ‘bout him, even at first. Daddy’s book was right about rice, but everthing else….” Orvis shrugged. “Mama left me at home to mind the little ‘uns, an’ she and some other church ladies went to the airport, Daddy bein’ in the field an’ all. The resettlement agency tole us the three boys ‘ud be on such an’ such a flight, they’d sent copies of their files so we knew their names an’ ages. Bettina an’ I, we were all real excited, kinda thinking it would be like when Darrel was born only grown-up, more like a real brother. We ran out to the car, soon as Mama drove up, an’ soon as she got out we could see she was real flustered.

 

“I dunno his name, “ she was sayin’, “They sent us three, but he isn’t one of the three we were supposed to get an’ I can’t even make out his name, he don’t speak English at-hall!” This boy got out of the car, soon as Mama stopped the engine; oh, he didn’t look mor’n fourteen, but quick enough, he was lookin’ around, you could see he wuz thinking ‘bout a mile a minute. He belonged with us, sure ‘nuff, he had a tag hanging from a string ‘round his neck, saying “Church Social Services” an’ the address of Mama’s refugee group, jus’ like you’d slap a label on a suitcase. All he had was this little ruck, like what kids use for school books, an’ we all stood starin’ at each other, ‘til Darrell came runnin’ up, reachin’ up his arms to be picked up, an’ this boy sorta smiled and leaned down an’ picked him up. You could see right away he was used to little kids. Mama sort of sighed, said ‘You take him up, show him the room… then take him outside whiles I try’n find out who he is. Your Daddy gon’ have conniption fits, we can’t put a name to him.’ We could hear Mama on the phone but it was Cee-Cee figured it out. She went an’ got a piece paper an’ a pencil an’ we all sat down on the back step. She wrote “Cecile” on it, showed it to him, an’ said her name and pointed to herself. Then she gave the pencil to Bettina, an’ Betinna wrote her name an’ said it an’ pointed to herself, an’ I did the same an’ for Darrel ‘cause he was a baby, an’ then we gave the pencil an’ paper to him, an’ waited while we wrote his name. He wrote “Liem Nguyen Vo” an’ said it out loud, real careful, an’ Bettina ran inside with it saying “Oh, Mama, we know his name, it’s Liem”. We spent the rest of that day showing him around, telling him the English of things.”

 

            “He must have been quite overwhelmed,” I said, feelingly, “Dropped into a foreign country like that, not speaking a word of English.”

            “Oh, he did know some English,” Orvis said, “He understood some, not well enough to talk it at first. He told us later--- you gotta understand how someone like Liem saw Americans. We were all tall an’ rich and powerful, like someone you only see on the tee-vee--- an’ suddenly this family just picks him up an’ takes him home, treats him like one of they own. It was my Mama’s way. Her sister Irenie came for Thanksgiving once an’ stayed for two years, ‘til she married Daddy’s First-sergeant, an’ they didn’t know if Daddy would be best man or give the bride away! That’s just how my fam’ly is. Daddy came back from the field that night, an’ we were gladder’n glad to see him. He hugged us all an’ asked what we were up to with him being away an’ all, an’ Mama said, ‘This is Liem, that boy I ast you about’ an Daddy looked at him an’ started talking in Veet-namese! Daddy, he wasn’t real good at firs’ you could tell he was rusty, been a long time, but Liem’s face lit right up. He’n Daddy talked, an’ then Daddy tol’ us…” Orvis looked down at the blank run-sheet in front of her. “You know, it was the firs’ time I ever saw Daddy as a person,” She said thoughtfully. “Up ‘til then, he was always jus’ Daddy. I never knew he spoke Veet-namese. Never knew he knew all those things, never thought about what he was when he was a soldier, but there he was, talking to Liem and Liem’s face… oh, but he worshipped Daddy from that moment. Made me think ‘bout what Daddy looked to other people, those bits of his life had nothin’ to do with us.”

 

            “They say that’s the first part of growing up, “ I said, “When you see your parents as they really are, not just as your parents.”

            “Well, Daddy talked to Liem an’ listened, an’ told us what he said. Told us he was four days past his eighteenth birthday an’ that he had nine brothers and sisters an’ his own Daddy owned a trucking line in Chorwan. Thas’ just outside Saigon, Daddy said. Liem’s Daddy had three trucks an’ an ol’ bus, and his older brothers were all soldiers. His next older brother was a “tiger” he said, an’ Daddy said ‘Veet-namese Special Forces… damn good soldiers, ever’ one’, an’ Liem had been a Veet-namese Air Force security po-liceman for three years. Draft age in Veet-nam was fourteen, fiteen, something like that. His sisters was all nurses an’ teachers, most of ‘em married with children, thas’ where he knew about little ‘uns. An his whole family was all back in Veet-nam, he didn’t dare let them know he’d got out, was safe and’ alive. He was that afraid of the Veet-Cong.”

            “How did he get out?” I asked. I had bad, bad memories of the last flight out of Danang.

 

           “He was stationed at Tah Son Nhut, just outside Saigon where the airport was. It wus just a hair-trigger away from a riot as the Veet-Cong got closer an’ closer. On the last day before the city fell, they began shelling the runways. Fixed-wing aircraft couldn’t take off no more, an’ folk began mobbing the helicopters. Liem was workin’ crowd control, he’n the others were doin’ their best, but he got caught up in a rush for one of them big muthas, damn near knocked off his feet. He tol’ Daddy he threw away his weapon an’ got in, jus’ on impulse. I think he was a lil ashamed of deserting his post like that. He said he hadn’t meant to try an’ escape, but when he had that chance--- he jus’ took it. Like that. He came away with nothin’ more than what he stood up in an’ what he had in his pockets when he went on duty that day.”

            “He was lucky for all that,” I said. My chest hurt, remembering the crazed mob in Danang, running for the air stair, how they fought and trampled each other. “If he stayed until only helicopters were left, he was a braver man than most.”

            “He told us the helicopter flew straight out to sea, to the American fllet offshore. There was an aircraft carrier there…”

            “The Hancock,” I said.

 

            “The helicopter landed on it…an’ soon as everyone got off, the deck crew pushed it overboard. It was like that, Liem said. So many helicopters, they were landing them as fast as they could, taking off the people, pushing the helicopter overboard ‘caus there was a hundred more tryin’ to land, crammed with people all scared to death an’ running away from the Veet-Cong. ‘Bout the first joke I ever heard Liem say, was ‘bout six months after that, one night when we was watching some Jock Cousteau special ‘bout salvaging underwater treasure, an’ he got this little grin on his face an’ say he knew where there wus a lot of helicopters on the bottom of the ocean! Anyway, there was this whole fleet standing offshore takin’ up refugees. Liem, he got sent to the PI… thas’ the Philippine Islands. They took away his uniform there, gave him an ol’ pair of blue jeans. (Orvis shook her head.) All he had of his own was his wallet. He showed it too us; got a license for a motorbike, his ID card, some pictures of his family an’ five hundred piasters. Which was worth about as much as some toilet paper. Less n’ that, actually.”

            “So what happened?” I asked, intrigued. “How did he fit in? I imagine he had a right good case of culture shock, then and there.”

 

           “Not so much as all that,” Orvis answered, thoughtfully. “Yeah, he was Veet-namese all right. But he did know about flush johns an’ running water. His family was city folk, working people. In a way they had the same values. You know, make an honest living, you respect the ol’ folk, you be polite to everyone. Go to school, serve you country, get a job that helps ever’one, be a credit to yo’ folks. That summer, Mama said it was out project to teach him English and get him accustomed to livin’ a regular life. She said he deserved a chance at being a reg’lar kid after ever-thing that had happened. Cee-Cee, she sat down with her picture books, used to make him read, correct ever wrong word. Bettina an’ I, we took him to the pool, taught him to swim. Darrel, he just a baby, I think he played with Darrel when he got tired out from learnin’ all that English. An’ Daddy… well, Daddy had this old Plymouth he was restorin’, he worked on it in the evenings. Turned out Liem worked with his Daddy on his Daddy’s vehicles. Daddy an’ Liem took that ol’ Plymouth apart an’ built it back up again, talking; Veet-namese ten to the dozen, after dinner every evening. Then come fall, Mama found out that since Liem had jus’ turned eighteen, he could still go to high school.

 

            Nothin’ contented Mama until she got him registered proper an’ sent him off to school! Dunno what Liem really thought ‘bout all that, he didn’ speak English all that good. I think Mama fixed it so he mostly took metal shop an’ auto shop. Don’t know that he made all that many friends. I think he was about a hundred years ahead of the other kids, when you come right down to it. But it was what Mama and Daddy wanted for him an’ he worshipped the ground they walked on, so he did what they wanted. For Mama, it was like having another kid, she used to say the difference between four an’ five wasn’t hardly nothin’ ‘tall. Daddy, now, I think to Daddy it was a way to make it up to people he let down, in Veet-Nam. Like if he could help Liem make a good life for hisself, it ‘ud make up for the mess we left ‘em in over there.”

            “Did you learn much from having a Vietnamese brother?” I asked, and Orvis nodded, firmly.

 

            “I learnt I didn’t never want my folks an’ the people I loved to leave their homes, their country, chased out at th’ point of a gun. I learned if you did have to leave ever-thing an’ run for your life, take your jewelry ‘cause you can always sell it, an’ take your family pictures ‘cause you can’t never get those replaced. Ever-thing else in the world you can get back, or something close to it, but you cain’t get back old pictures. I learned to eat fish sauce on rice, an’ how t’play some weird-ass Veet-Namese game called ‘domino’ where you fill out the suits from sevens… an’ that most people, anywhere you go want the same things, an’ are more alike underneath than they might look on the surface at fu’st glance. Liem, he played poker, too. I don’ think the Veet-namese SPs did much ‘cept stand guard an’ play cards, Gran-Maw Cee-Cee, Mama’s Mama, she play cards too. Canasta, hearts, poker… ain’t none of us ever beat Gran-Maw Cee-Cee, she were a shark with them cards! She an’ Daddy an’ Liem an some other kin, on Christmas they sat down after dinner. I never saw someone playin’ for blood like Liem an Gran-Maw, like two gamblers in an’ ol’ Western. Skinny lil’ Veet-namese kid an’ Gran-Maw, playin’ for pennies. Ever’body else caved, it was only them an’ finally Liem won… an Gran-Maw wanted to deal again! She liked him, said he was the only one ‘could give her a respectable game.” Orvis’ face saddened, and she looked at the run sheet in front of her for a long, long moment. “By next Christmas, Gran-Maw had a stroke, died in hospital. An’ Liem, he was gone, too.”    

 

            “What happened to him?” I asked, fearful of some kind of tragedy.

            “Well, he finished a year of high school, an’ could speak English well enough to get a job, hired on as mechanic, part-time. He seemed to be real quiet, ‘round Thanksgiving time, an’ Mama thought it was something about the job, She got worried something was wrong, an’ ast some questions an’ he finally tole Mama he’s heard from his kinfolk. Not in Veet-Nam, but in Houston, Texas. Turned out his mama’s brother managed to escape with his whole family. An’ they’d got settled an’ were doing real well. They’d wrote an’ ast if he wanted to come live with them, an’ he kept quiet ‘cause he couldn’t make up his mind. Wanted to say with us, wanted to go to Houston. Well, Mama said straight out he should be with his blood kinfolk, it was just the right thing, an’ besides which, Daddy was going to get orders for Germany soon, an’ she didn’t think he’d really like snow at’haul! I think Liem was flat-out relieved by Mama making up his mind for him. It was real hard, sayin’ goodbye, though. Darrel cried for days. Even Daddy didn’t relish workin’ on the old Plymouth for a long while.”

            “Did you ever hear from him again?” I asked, and Orvis looked at me straight.

            “Yeah, all the time. I tol’ you, he’s like my parent’s other son. Every year, he calls at Christmas, sends us letters, pictures of his family. Mama jus’ wrote, she talked to him this year an’ sent us pictures of his children. Funniest thing, though, “ she added solemnly, “He’s Veet-namese to look at all right, but he sure talks black!”

            “Well, of course, “ I said, “After all, he is your Vietnamese brother.”