Asian Fusion.

She had avoided capture by lying facedown in the sea and pretending she was dead until the soldiers left. She had lived in a large beautiful home, had boxes of jewelry and cash and being that her husband was an important man, she lived a life of luxury. She had escaped on a boat with hundreds of other people, with no place to lie down, no place to go to the bathroom, no water, and no food. And now, here she was in America, cleaning our house.



I don't know who was taking care of her kids while she was taking care of us, but I know she had kids around our ages; a little younger, even. I remember meeting them once, but I don't ever remember ever socializing. They never came to play and we never went to their house.

Her name was Bachtu. I don't even know if that's how she spelled it. I don't remember ever having to spell it, even though I know I was reading and writing by then. She was polite, as Vietnamese always are, and kind to us. I think she had genuine affection for us although I don't remember giving her any reason to do so. Her English was sketchy at best and I remember ignoring her demands and running away from her.

My father was working for FIFE, a manufacturing company that made guidance systems for printing presses. My mother had turned her small ballet and gymnastics school into a full-blown school with students that ranged from 3 years old, to college cheerleaders. There was a ballet studio, with mirror covered walls, as well as a large gymnastics arena that included all the basic equipment like tumbling mats, uneven bars, balance beam, rings, etc.

So during the day, when my parents were at work, Bachtu came and took care of us. I'm not sure how long this went on, but I don't think it was long. We only lived in this house for two years and I remember that later she got a job at the high school cafeteria. I also remember that one of her sons lost an eye in an accident with a B-B gun that ricocheted off the sidewalk.

For the most part, Bachtu came to our house, watched over us while she vacuumed and cleaned the house, then left when my mother came home. But on a few occasions, my mother was going to be late, and Bachtu offered to cook dinner as well, so that when my parents got home, everything would be ready.

The first time this happened, she cooked us a traditional Vietnamese meal. There were some stringy noodles that tastes like they were made out of plastic, some sort of eggroll, and a rather large pot of rice.

In the Midwest, where my parents grew up, rice was not a staple on the dining room table. In fact, it was rarely offered, because if you were going to have a starch with your meal it was most certainly going to be potatoes. If you did happen to have rice, it was considered a side and you might get a cup of rice on one corner of your plate that you would soak with butter to make it palatable.

This was enough rice to last us a few weeks. I'd personally never seen so much rice at one time. Of course I was in the first grade, so what did I know, but I don't believe my parents had ever seen a quantity of rice like this either.

"Now that's a lot of rice," my father said.

Bachtu gave my mother a worried look, and my mother quickly added that everything looked wonderful, thanking Bachtu again for making dinner, which made Bachtu smile.

We used to laugh about it. Not in a mean way. We just didn't know any better then. We'd never seen anyone eat a plate of rice. Even potatoes were just a side, with meat, or at least fish, being the main component of the meal. It had never occurred to us that rice might be the main ingredient.

Even before our diets were so influenced by Asian cuisine, my father was eating large bowls of rice. I'd think back to Bachtu and wonder what she'd started.

Later, after we had moved to Pennsylvania and my father was working for the Seminary and we were poor again, I'd think back to the time when we had a maid. It was strange to think that there had been a time when such things happened. And I'd wonder what Bachtu was doing.

Bachtu eventually started some small company along with her husband, and I'm sure they were successful, but like many immigrant families, their main concern was building a better life for their children. I don't know about Bachtu, but her children all went on to very good colleges, and became successful doctors, engineers and lawyers. It's the American way, after all.