Inside Out and Back Again

1975: Year of the Cat. It’s February 11, Tet, the first day of the lunar new year. Every Tet, people eat sweet lotus seeds and rice cakes, and everyone gets new clothes—even underwear. Mother insists that how they act on Tet foretells the whole year, so everyone has to smile regardless of how they feel. Nobody can sweep or splash in water, as they might sweep hope away or “splash away joy.” Everyone celebrates their birthday today, so now the narrator is 10. As a 10-year-old, she can learn embroidery and can watch her papaya tree bear fruit. She was mad last night when Mother insisted that one of the narrator’s brothers had to be the first one up in the morning because only men can bless the house with good luck. The narrator woke up before dawn and sneakily touched the floor herself.

Inside Out. Every new year, Mother visits a fortuneteller. This year, the fortuneteller predicted that the narrator’s family’s lives will “twist inside out.” The narrator wonders if this means that the soldiers who patrol her neighborhood might go away, and that maybe then she can jump rope after sunset. Maybe the sirens that mean everyone must hide under the bed will stop going off. But the narrator has also heard that bánh chung, special food eaten only during Tet, “will be smeared in blood.” The war is getting closer.

Kim Hà. The narrator introduces herself as Hà. Brother Quang remembers that the first time he saw Hà, she was red and fat like a hippopotamus—so he calls her Hà Mā, or “River Horse.” Brother Vū startles Hà every time he shouts, “Hà, Ya” and breaks wood to imitate Bruce Lee. Brother Khôi, meanwhile, calls Hà “Mother’s Tail” because Hà sticks so close to Mother. Hà can’t get rid of her brothers, so she hides their sandals instead so the hot ground burns their feet. Mother always tell Hà to ignore her brothers and remember that she and Father named Hà after the Golden River. Hà’s parents have no idea how much Hà’s brothers torment her, but Hà adores her mother anyway. When Hà’s papaya tree bears fruit, she’ll give Mother first pick of the papayas.

Papaya Tree. Hà’s papaya tree grew from a black seed. Now, it’s twice as tall as Hà. Brother Khôi, who’s 14 and taller than Hà, spotted its first flower. Brother Vū was the first to notice a fist-sized baby papaya on the trunk. He’s 18 and can see higher than Brother Khôi. Brother Quang is the oldest at 21; he’s studying engineering. He’ll no doubt see something important before Hà does. Hà vows to get up first thing every morning to study her papaya tree. She wants to be the first to see the fruit get ripe. It’s now mid-February.

TiTi Waves Good-bye. It’s now early March, and Hà watches as her best friend TiTi sobs in the car next to her two brothers. The car is packed with suitcases. TiTi gives Hà a tin of flower seeds and waves as she drives away. Hà would still be standing and looking into the distance if Brother Khôi hadn’t led Hà away. He explains that TiTi’s family is traveling to Vūng Tau, where rich Vietnamese leave the country on cruise ships. Hà is happy her family is poor now, because that means they can stay.

Missing in Action. Hà explains that nine years ago on this day, March 10, Father left on a navy mission. He was captured, and that’s all the family knows. Today, Mother prepares an altar and chants for him to return. She offers fruit, incense, and sweet foods, and she pulls out the photo taken the year he disappeared. In the photo, he’s peaceful and smiling. Everyone in the family prays and hopes. Mother leaves the altar up all day, but she puts the photo away early. She can’t stand looking at Father longer than necessary.

Mother’s Days. During the week, Mother works as a secretary in a navy office. At night, she designs baby clothes and hires seamstresses to sew the garments. A few years ago, she had enough money to think about buying a car. On the weekends, Hà accompanies Mother to the market, where Mother drops off new garments and collects profits from the last week. She laments that nobody buys the clothes anymore, since food is so expensive. But Mother still keeps trying.

Eggs. It’s March 17, and Brother Khôi is mad at Mother for taking the eggs his hen provides. The hen only lays an egg every day and a half, and the family members take turns eating them. When it’s his turn, Brother Khôi puts his egg under a lamp in the hopes it will hatch. Hà knows she should support her “most tolerable brother,” but she loves dipping bread in a soft yolk. Mother insists that if everything wasn’t so expensive—if gasoline didn’t cost as much as gold, and if rice didn’t cost as much as gasoline—Brother Khôi could keep trying to hatch eggs.

Current News. On Fridays, Miss Xinh’s class talks about current events. But as they keep talking about the same things, like how close the Communists are to Saigon, how many bombs they’ve heard, or how expensive things are now that the Americans are gone, Miss Xinh refuses to talk anymore about current events. She insists they talk about “happy news” on Fridays, but nobody has anything to say.

Feel Smart. Hà has afternoon and Saturday classes this year. Since she has the mornings free, Mother sends her to shop in the market. Since last September, Hà has been buying just a little bit less of everything that Mother asks for, and using the extra cash to buy sugary treats for herself. But in September, it took 100 dong to buy groceries, and now groceries cost twice that. Hà still buys a bit less than Mother asks for. Nobody knows about her trick, and it makes Hà feel smart.

Two More Papayas. At the beginning of April, Hà spots two more papayas on her tree. They’re “Two green thumbs” that by summer will be sweet and orangey yellow. Ripe papayas are soft as yams and barely need to be chewed.

Unknown Father. All Hà knows about Father comes from the little things that Mother occasionally slips into conversation. He loved stewed eels and his children—so much that he’d cry watching them sleep. Sometimes, Brother Quang tells Hà about how Father would say “Tuyet sút,” the Vietnamese way to say “toute de suite” (French for “right away”) and follow Mother around the kitchen, asking for stewed eel tuyet sút. It made Mother laugh. Sometimes, Hà says “tuyet sút” to herself quietly, just to pretend she knows Father. She’d never say it in front of Mother, so as to not make Mother any sadder.

TV News. Brother Quang hurries home on his bike (he can’t afford gas for his moped anymore) and angrily turns on the TV. A South Vietnamese pilot bombed the presidential palace earlier and then flew north to accept a medal. Apparently, the pilot has been a Communist spy for years. Hà doesn’t understand—the Communists captured Father, so why would a pilot work with them? Brother Quang flaunts how smart he’s become since starting college by saying that “One cannot justify war / unless each side / flaunts its own / blind conviction.” Hà starts to tell him he’s being pretentious, but Mother gives Hà their silent signal to calm down.

Birthday. Since Hà is the youngest in the family, she gets to celebrate her actual birthday. She usually gets a variety of sweets and special foods on her birthday, but this year Mother only makes banana tapioca and Hà’s favorite black sesame candy. Hà asks for stories for her birthday. It’s never easy to convince Mother to talk about her childhood in the North, but Mother gives in today. Mother’s only duties as a girl were to look pretty and write poetry. She was promised to Father when she was five, and they married at age 16. Everything changed when people learned the name Ho Chi Minh. People lost their houses—they suddenly belonged to the government.

The country split in half, and Mother and Father came south to escape Communism. Mother’s father was supposed to follow them, as soon as his daughter-in-law gave birth. But before the baby was born and he could travel, the North and the South cut all contact and closed the border. At this point in the story, Mother closes her eyes. Her eyes are like no one else’s: they’re almond-shaped, like Hà’s, but they’re deeper like Westerners’. Hà has always wanted her mother’s eyes, but Mother encourages Hà to not think like that. Mother’s eyes have always carried great sadness. Hà begs to hear more about Mother’s childhood, but Mother refuses to open her eyes or say anything more.

Birthday Wishes. Later that night, Hà makes secret wishes. She wishes she could be like the boys and get a tan and scars on her knees. She wishes Mother would let Hà grow her hair out. She wishes she could stay calm and ignore her brothers’ taunts, and that Mother would stop encouraging Hà to be calm. Hà wishes she had a sister, and she wishes Father would come home. Mostly, though, Hà wishes Father would come home so that Mother could smile instead of frowning all the time.

A Day Downtown. Every year in the spring, President Thieu puts on a long ceremony for “war wives.” Mother takes Hà to the ceremony because after President Thieu is done talking about winning the war, democracy, or soldiers’ bravery, he gives out food to each family. As they cross the bridge leading to downtown, Hà studies Mother. Though Mother is worried, she’s beautiful—even her sunken eyes.

Soon, Hà hears the noise and bustle of downtown. She and Mother stop at an open market, where they go to a bánh cuon stand. Hà watches the vendor seemingly magically make crepes that they then fill with shrimp, cucumber, and bean sprouts. As Hà savors her treat, the noise of the market seems to disappear. Then, Mother leads Hà to the presidential palace, where they stand in line and then sit on hot benches in the beating afternoon sun. Hà is so thirsty that she’s dizzy; the fish sauce from the báhn cuon was salty. She sucks on a tamarind candy from Mother until President Thieu appears. He thanks the wives for their suffering and then sobs into the cameras. Mother mutters, “tears of an ugly fish.” Hà knows Mother thinks the president’s tears are fake.

Twisting Twisting. Mother measures the rice left in the bin and discovers there’s not enough to feed the family until she’s paid at the end of the month. Her twisting brows are “like laundry / being wrung dry.” But Mother smiles and says they can mix the rice with yam and manioc. Hà knows how the poor eat; Mother isn’t fooling her.

Closed Too Soon. In the middle of Miss Xinh’s lesson on President Ford, a siren goes off. This signals that school is closed—a month early. Hà is so mad that she pinches her desk mate, Tram, who’s tiny and nervous. Mother is friends with Tram’s mother, and Hà knows that Tram will tell on her and that Mother will scold Hà for being mean. But Hà needs time to figure out this word problem asking how much the wind will slow down a man on a bike. The first person to solve it will get the sweet potato plant in the window, and Hà wants it so it can climb her papaya tree. She pinches Tram again; Tram is the teacher’s pet and will get the plant.

Promises. There are now five papayas on the tree. Some of them are as big as Hà’s head; others are as big as a knee or her thumb. They’re all green, but they’re all promising.

Bridge to the Sea. Father’s best friend, Uncle Son, visits Hà’s family. He’s short and always smiles, unlike Father, who was tall and serious. Sometimes, when people ask about Father, Hà thinks of him as “short and smiley” first. Uncle Son goes to the kitchen and studies the door, which opens into an alley. He notes that this is lucky: it’ll allow them to skip the navy checkpoint and head straight to the port. Mother argues that she won’t risk her children’s lives on a boat, but Uncle Son asks how she feels about a navy ship. Mother is incredulous—she doesn’t think the navy will abandon the country—but Uncle Son insists that “There won’t be a South Vietnam / left to abandon.” This house, he says, will be their “bridge to the sea.”

Should We? Mother calls a family meeting and explains that several neighbors have bought airplane tickets out of the country or have a van ready to leave. She asks if they should go. Brother Quang insists they must stay to help rebuild the country, and Brother Khôi asks what will happen if Father comes back and they’re gone. Brother Vū says they have to go, but Hà knows he just wants to go to where Bruce Lee lived. Mother’s eyebrows twist as she says that after living in the North, she knows how things will go. At first, nothing will happen—but then Quang will leave college and chant Ho Chi Minh’s slogans, and Khôi will be praised for telling his teacher what his family talks about.

Sssshhhhhhh. Just before dawn on April 18, Brother Khôi shakes Hà awake and leads her to the back garden. He shows her a tiny, fuzzy, just-hatched chick. He murmurs that they can’t leave, no matter what Mother says: he has to protect his chick, and Hà must protect her papayas. They hook pinkies.

Quiet Decision. The next evening, Hà helps Mother peel sweet potatoes to mix with the rice. As she goes to chop off a thumbnail-size end of a potato, she decides instead to chop off just a sliver. She’s proud; she can save. But then, Hà notices Mother crying. Mother says that Hà deserves to grow up without worrying about half a bite of sweet potato.

Early Monsoon. Hà’s family pretends that the monsoon came early. They can hear bombs, which sound like thunder; and gunfire sounds like rain. It’s still distant, but they can hear the sounds and see the flashes. It’s not that far away.

The President Resigns. Hà watches the TV. On it, President Thieu looks shockingly “sad and yellow.” He cries and says that he can’t be the president anymore. He promises to never leave the country. Mother raises an eyebrow. She usually does this when she thinks Hà is lying.

Watch Over Us. Uncle Son comes back and insists they must be ready to leave at any moment. He also says they can’t tell anyone, or everyone in Saigon will storm the port. Hà explains that Uncle Son and Father were in the same graduating navy class, and it’s just luck that Uncle Son wasn’t on the mission where Father was captured. Mother pulls Hà close and says that even if Father isn’t here, he’s watching over them. She explains that she and Father made a pact. They decided that if they’re separated, they’ll find each other at Father’s ancestral home in the North.

Crisscrossed Packs. Mother pushes her sewing machine as fast as it can go as she sews packs with crisscrossed straps to go across a person’s chest. But as the hours pass, she sews more and more slowly. When she finishes the first of five bags, Brother Khôi tells her to just make three. At this, Mother grabs Father’s portrait off a shelf and says either they all stay or they all go—it’s up to Brother Khôi. She knows Brother Khôi can’t stand hurting anyone. Mother tells him that he can make Father proud by obeying. Hà looks at her toes, but she knows her brother is staring at her. Finally, though, he nods. It’s impossible to go against Mother.

Choice. Everyone packs clothes, toiletries, and rice in their packs. For their last item, it’s their choice what they want to bring. Hà chooses her doll. She once let a neighbor borrow the doll, and the neighbor left it outside. The mice bit the doll’s cheek and thumb, but Hà loves her doll more with her “scars.” Hà dresses her doll in a matching dress, hat, and booties that Mother knitted.

Left Behind. Mother leaves behind a set of 10 gold-rimmed glasses Father brought back from America, Brother Quang’s report cards, and blooming bougainvillea and jasmine vines. They leave behind the cowboy belt Brother Vū sewed when he still liked Johnny Cash more than Bruce Lee. Brother Khôi leaves behind the glass jars in which he raised fighting fish, and Hà leaves her hammock. Mother chooses 10 family photographs and burns the rest—they can’t leave any evidence of Father. It might hurt him.

Wet and Crying. Hà’s biggest papaya is light yellow flecked with green. Brother Vū wants to cut it down so the Communists can’t eat it, and Mother says yellow papaya is wonderful dipped in chili salt. She warns her children that they should eat fresh fruit now, while they still can. Brother Vū chops down the papaya, and black seeds spill out. The seeds are like “clusters of eyes, / wet and crying.”

Sour Backs. When Hà and her family get to the port on the afternoon of April 29, they realize there are no secrets among the Vietnamese: thousands of people are there to board navy ships. Uncle Son sticks his elbows out to protect his kids, but Hà’s family “sticks together / like wet pages.” Brother Vū guides Mother in front of him, lifts Hà onto his shoulders, and then presses Brother Quang and Brother Khôi forward. Hà decides she’ll never make fun of Bruce Lee again.

One Mat Each. Hà’s family boards a ship and settles on two straw mats below deck. But by sunset, they’re huddled on a single mat. The ship is packed, on deck and below—there are so many people that the ship could sink. And yet, people keep boarding the ship. Nobody tells anyone to not board, though. That would be heartless.

In the Dark. Uncle Son appears and leads Mother, Hà, and Hà’s brothers off the ship. Apparently the next ship over is better equipped with water, food, and fuel. Uncle Son and Mother linger on the dock as people mill around and bombs explode nearby. The port is dark, so it doesn’t become a target. Finally, Hà follows Uncle Son and her family back onto the first ship, where they reclaim their original two mats. In the pitch darkness, near midnight and with half the original number of passengers, the ship heads for the sea.

Saigon Is Gone. Hà listens to Mother’s swishing fan, whispering adults, and faraway bombs. The commander told everyone to go below deck, even though the ship is taking a safe route on a river. This means they’ll avoid going through Vūng Tau, which is where the Communists are dropping bombs. Hopefully TiTi is safe. Even though the ship is barely moving, Mother is very seasick. Hà listens to a nearby helicopter circling, and people start to scream, “Communists!” The ship rocks as passengers run from one side to the other. The commander tells people the helicopter is on their side as the pilot leaps into the water. Soon after, the pilot appears below deck. He announces that at noon, the Communists drove tanks into the presidential palace and planted their flag on the roof. He says it’s all over—“Saigon is gone.”