“No kissing, sorry,” she says, reaching for the door handle. “Come, I want to show you something inside.”
My face is either hot from embarrassment or from the wet blanket of heat that greets me outside of the air conditioned car. I start to say something when a lone motorbike enters the alley from the steady mass of traffic passing by the opening. It’s not a man wearing a blue shirt, dark sunglasses, and armed with a pointy finger, but a young woman, her black hair blowing behind her. She smiles at me as she passes and continues down the alley.
“Many pretty girls in Saigon,” Mai says. “They think you pretty handsome.”
“Not one of them is as pretty as you,” I say.
“Good answer, soldier.” She points with her chin toward a small door under the scaffolding. “We enter over there.” She slips a card into the door’s card lock and it clicks open. “Follow me,” she says, leading me down a hallway illuminated only by outside light coming in through a high window. “I think you might enjoy what I will show you.” We stop at what looks like a service elevator.
“An elevator! Awesome!”
“Funny. I am laughing on my insides.” She slips her card into a slot. “I think I understand what you are feeling right now. Like I said, it was hard for me to readjust to Vietnam after Paris and Portland. I think life is more intense here: so many people, the noise. I think it might be hard for you to make the transition.”
We step onto the elevator and she inserts her card into another slot. She pokes the eighth floor button and turns toward me. She drops her chin a little and looks up at me. “I will help you.”
“Nah, I’m good.”
She smiles. “Same Sam as before. Always joke.” She looks at the digital numbers on the panel. “Our friend loan me this key card so I can show you something. I hope you will like it.”
“What is it?” The elevator stops.
She makes a dramatic, sweeping gesture with both hands as the doors swoosh open. “It is… Saigon. Ho Chi Minh City.”
The open and empty floor is at least a hundred feet wide by a hundred fifty feet long, with the smell of freshly laid carpet. Beige. There are four-foot thick cement pillars here and there, and floor-to-ceiling windows on all the outer walls, creating a sense that we’re floating in the sky.
“Wow! And wow again! What a magnificent view, Mai,” I say, as we cross the floor to the windows. Large rolls of beige carpet lay off to the side. “Saigon is huge! It goes on and on in all directions.”
“Yes,” she says, her voice pleased at my reaction. “Nine million of us. That cluster of tall buildings way over there is the center of the city. That is the Ho Chi Minh River beyond that. To the right, way over there by that small river, that is –Cholon where many Chinese people live. There to the left, maybe five miles away, you can see the top part of the Reunification Palace. That used to be Presidential Palace during the war. Maybe you have seen the famous film of the North Vietnamese tanks smashing through the gates.”
“I have. In fact, the only image I’ve ever had of Vietnam is the Vietnam at war. You know that I thought my father had died here. I compulsively watched all the movies that came out, and lots and lots of documentaries, The History Channel and The Learning Channel. The only image I had was of exploding rockets, rolling tanks, and street battles. But this… this is just incredible. Magnificent.”
Mai nods. “Yes. If this building were here during that time, this would be a different view. My mother said that every night, beginning when the sun went down until it came up again, there were flashes in the distance and the rumble of artillery. Most people who live here now were born after the war. So they do not know. They do not even think about it much.”
“It’s just magnificent,” I say, scanning the panoramic view.
“The sun will be setting in a few minutes and it is even more beautiful then with all the lights. But we cannot watch it tonight because we must go to see Father. We can come another evening.” She is looking out the widow but I can tell she is watching me in her peripheral. “Maybe we will bring a bottle of wine and glasses.”
That doubled the ol’ heart rate, and I barely manage to wheeze, “That sounds fantastic.”
“Good,” she says, watching a plane descend in the far distance. “Since our friend gave me the key card I have come up here many times. I sit on those rolls of carpet or on this window ledge and just look out at the view. I like watching the sunset. It makes me feel special, but at the same time it makes me feel… humble, I think.”
“I look forward to watching it with you.”
“Yes,” she says softly, turning toward me. “I imagined you up here looking out the window with me.” She looks into my eyes and I get that wheezy feeling again. “We can kiss now, if you still want to.”
I do, for a profoundly long time.
“Hi,” she breathes, when we finally separate.
“Back at yuh,” I manage. “You got to change your no kissing and hugging rule at the airport.”
“I knoooow, right? Some things are much better in America.” We’re embracing, our lips whispering against one another’s ears. “Like sushi. USA has good sushi. Vietnam, no sushi.”
“Technically, sushi really isn’t American,” I say, nipping her earlobe, making her inhale sharply. “It’s Japanese. In Portland, most sushi is made by Hispanics. My favorite sushi place is owned by a Korean guy who hires Hispanics to make the Japanese sushi.”
Mai chuckles. “Well, I will take you to a good phở street cart that is owned by a German man.”
“Sounds delicious. Will there be sauerkraut and mmrthmm—”
Mai’s lips smother my words. Seconds pass and I no longer remember what I was babbling about. Somewhere the Star Spangled Banner plays.
“Whoops,” Mai says against my lips. “That might be Father.”
Not again, I think, turning quickly toward the elevator. He was constantly walking in on us in Portland.
“The phone, silly,” she says, launching that dragon-slaying smile at me as she pries her cell out of her pants pocket. “It is. Hello, Father. Did I pick up Sam? Sam who?” She winks at me. She laughs at something he says. “Yes, I have him. He has put on about fifty pounds. He is very fat now.” She listens, laughs, and says, “I am sure you will. You want to talk to him? Okay. We will be there in a short while. I am showing him the view from Mister Troung’s building. Yes. Okay. Good bye.” She flips her phone shut. “He will talk to you at our house. He will explain to you why he could not come.”
“Sounds good. So I have gotten fat, eh?” I say with a chuckle.
“He says not to worry. He will work it off you. He is excited about training with you and introducing you to his teacher, Sifu Shen Lang Rui.”
“I am excited to see Samuel. And a little nervous.”
She smiles. “He can make people nervous. But you are his son. You should not be.” Mai takes my hand and we sit next to each other on the window ledge, our legs touching. “Have you thought much about him?”
“Not as much as I would have liked. I had to put important parts of my life into compartments so that I could deal with the grand jury for my… shooting. I wasn’t worried about shooting the abductor… but the…”
Mai takes my hand in both of hers. “You are not at fault. The ju… judgment says that it is not your fault. I know that does not make you feel better. But I think… what is the expression?