The Book

He held the package suspiciously. The brown tattered bundle neatly folded into a rectangle. One lone string strapping the edges down. The previous owner taking great care in wrapping the package, despite the reused and crumpled brown paper bag. He held it with both hands, not heavy, but felt solid. The return address showed foreign characters with the stamp “international” shining bright red against the dingy brown.

Who had sent him this package and why? He stuck it under his arm as he walked up his front porch steps, trying to recall any orders that would account for this surprise package. He set his mail down, walking over to his old favorite recliner. His aging body and hips feeling the twinges of pain as he let his body slump into his chair. The house was still and quiet. Empty. He sighed; the echo carried his sigh beyond the front room. It had been years since his wife had passed and the emptiness and loneliness only increased with each passing day.

He pulled on the long brown lever of the recliner, allowing his body to situate itself perfectly as he felt his muscles slowly relax. He looked at the package again. Unsure of what it could be and almost hesitant to open it. He pulled out his pocketknife, he smiled at it. Reliable. He had this pocketknife since the war, it still held an edge despite many sharpening sessions.

He cut the string holding the package together and carefully opened the brown tattered wrapping. Beneath the layers, he found a black, Moleskine notebook. He lifted it delicately out of the brown paper. He thumbed through the pages. The Moleskine was slightly worn, but still strong and crisp. He smiled at this. Moleskine notebooks were all he used for school and work. Like his pocketknife, reliable. A strong protection against the elements. As he thumbed through the pages, a check slipped out onto his lap. It had his name written on it. The amount was twenty thousand dollars. His heart began to race. Who sent him this? He couldn’t make out the signature on the check, again foreign characters.

He looked in the wrapping for any notes about where this notebook had come from. No letter, nothing. He opened the book to its first page and found it was a diary. He found it peculiar that this diary was sent to him, especially with no note and a substantial amount of money. He felt intrusive to even it read it, not knowing where it came from or who it belonged to. The symbols on the packaging appeared to be Asian characters, he was sure of that, but where in Asia, he had no idea.

He lifted the crumpled paper wrapping and shook it, half expecting something more to fall out, some explanation. Again, nothing. Curiosity got the best of him and he opened to the first page. He had to find out why this had been sent to him. He opened the moleskin cover hesitantly, half suspecting someone would catch him in the act of reading someone’s inner most thoughts and feelings.

January 6, 1963

I have met someone today. He is a very kind man from the United States. He is very handsome with blue eyes and light hair. He was surprised I knew English. My parents insisted I learn both English and Vietnamese. They believed I would go to America someday. He is here for the War. There are lots of Americans here now. I believe they are here to help us. Some people believe they are not. They say it’s not a good war, but the American seems very nice to me. This man, John, is very nice. He has kind eyes. I look forward to seeing him again.

John read the entry and felt his heart race even faster. He remembered her. Mai. He had not seen her in 40 years. His mind flashed back to his time in Vietnam. He was only 20 years old. He’d left his home for war and was stationed in Saigon, where he met her.

His mind reeled back to his first memory of her. Skin like porcelain. Blue eyes. Rare he found out later. Her almond shaped eyes and long eye lashes batting quickly at his approach. She was magnificent, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

It was the most magical summer of his life. He had spent all his free time with her. Mai was fun and full of life. He didn’t want to leave her when the time came. He wanted to marry her, but when he went to ask her, she was gone. The city had been evacuated and he didn’t know how to find her. He had looked everywhere. He came back to America after the War, brokenhearted.

He teared up, reading her words now. Where had she been? How did she find him? He immersed himself in her diary, searching for answers.

Several hours later, many tears shed, he had nearly completed her diary. Forty years of intermittent entries about life since he knew her. She had found a husband who had since passed away and life had just gone on, rather unremarkably. He got to the last several entries when her tone seemed to change. She had cancer. Regrets and a life not fully lived became the message of her diary. She regretted not saying good-bye to John.

As he read her last few entries, tears continued to pour out. In the few final pages, he discovered an entry addressed to him.

December 21, 2000

Dear John,

I am writing my last entry to you. I am dying. I have thought about you often over the years and the wonderous summer we spent together. I have kept this secret my whole life and now I must reveal everything. We had a child. When I left, I didn’t know I was expecting, but it became clear after a few weeks. My parents would not let me keep her. She was placed in the orphanage in Saigon. I have tried to find her, but without success. Now, I have become too sick to travel. I need you to find her. Find our daughter. Reach out to her. I have given you the remainder of my money to help you. I have asked that this diary be delivered to you so you can do what I could not.

I know this is a shock. I can’t imagine what you must be thinking. I never told my husband. I pray that you will find her and let her know you love her, that you loved me. Her name is Kim-Ly born April 10, 1964. I tracked her as far as Hanoi. I don’t know what happened to her after that. Find her. She had blue eyes just like me, like you.

I pray you forgive me for not finding you and telling you sooner. I pray she forgives me for not keeping her. My biggest regret is losing her and losing you. Time passes so quickly. Don’t let too much time pass before you find her. I want you to know I don’t regret our love and I will remember you forever. Pray for me as I have for you. Please, find our baby.

With love forever,

Mai

John wiped his eyes. He didn’t know, he never realized. He was a young foolish twenty-year-old boy who had not thought about what a few nights of passion could have meant. He had a daughter, and he knew he needed to find her.

He rose from his old chair. He clutched the notebook tightly in his hand, he had a trip to take, far from home.

He arrived in Hanoi in the Spring of 2003. It had taken years for the notebook he now clutched to his being to find its way into his possession. He spent weeks following dead ends in Hanoi. As he read and re-read Mai’s diary, he felt drawn to the Orphanage. He needed to go there.

The Orphanage was old and austere, with bits and pieces crumbling in ruin. He was uncertain they would help but had felt compelled to come. He walked into the Orphanage with some hesitation. Would this be another dead end? Would he ever find her?

The young woman at the front desk was very polite. Her English limited, but she understood the gist of what he was saying. She pointed him to the Orphanage Director’s office at the end of a long hallway. He knocked on the door timidly and she called for him to come in.

“Xin Chao,” She greeted him as he entered.

“Hello,” He replied. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Vietnamese.”

She smiled, “That’s okay. I speak English. How can I help you?”

He returned her smile, “I’m looking for a young woman that was adopted from your orphanage. She is my daughter. I recently found out about her and I am trying to find her. Do you think you could help me?”

Her eyebrows furrowed a bit, “Perhaps. What do you know about her?”

“Her name is Kim-Ly, she was born April 10, 1964.”

He saw her swallow deeply and her eyes closed for a moment. He saw a tear stream down her cheek. Why would she be crying?

“Did you know her? Why are you crying?” His voice urgent and cracking.

“She was here. I’m sorry to tell you that she passed away about eighteen months ago.” She looked up at him, her eyes wet with tears.

“Wait. What? How do you know? I’m sure you have seen thousands of kids come through here. How do you know that without checking!”

She wiped away her tears and gave a small smile. “Let me tell you a story about Kim-Ly. She was a very special child. Eyes bluer than blue. Bright. Sparkled when she smiled. She was a joy and a gift to everyone that knew her. When she turned five, she was adopted by a young family from Hanoi. She was so happy to have a family. I never understood why she stayed with us so long, she was very beautiful. I believe it was the War and she had blond hair with blue eyes, many knew she was a GI baby. There were still some hard feelings after the war. I was sad when she left us, but so happy for her. I thought that was the end of her story until three years ago. Mai, her mother, came looking for Kim-Ly and I tried to help her find her, but we never did find her while Mai was still alive.”

He listened intently, his throat catching as sobs tried to manifest themselves.

“You see, one day Kim-Ly came to see us. She was as beautiful as I remembered her. Her long blonde locks and bright blue eyes still sparkled. She was in some trouble and came looking for help.” She paused. “Maybe it would be better if I showed you what happened.”

The Director stood up from her desk and motioned for him to follow her. He walked down the long corridor towards the playroom. She opened the door and motioned for him to go inside.

Sitting on the ground was a toddler, wispy blond hair. She was playing with blocks on the floor. She looked up at him with bright blue eyes as he entered.

John looked at her and then at the director.

“You see, Kim-Ly was pregnant. She came here to have the baby. Kim-Ly didn’t survive the delivery, but her baby did.” Her eyes smiled as John looked at her and back at his grandbaby.

“Her name is Mai and I believe she belongs with you.”

John leaned over to pick her up. She smiled at him, her brilliant blue eyes sparkling. He grinned back at her. She instantly hugged him tightly.

“Mai,” he whispered, smiling through tears, “Let’s go home.”