1968

Chapter Seven: June 16th 1968

Lorelei's point of view:

Throughout dinner I found myself thinking more and more about the instance where Mihn sounded American. At first, I thought it was just my mind playing a trick on me, but then it kept kicking at me. Why would he be American? That didn't make sense. He lived here, his name was Vietnamese, and his family lived here. He spoke the language fluently and always had a pretty impressive accent down. With all those contradictions to my theory, it was still on my mind.

"So, Mihn, is it just you and your mother? No wife, or anything like that?" My mother asked. I sat at the same chair I always did, the opposite head as my father sat. I remained quiet, eyeing Mihn as my suspicions began to grow.

"No. I haven't found the time," Mihn replied. I had to admit, I was glad to know Mihn wasn't married. Why, I wasn't sure. But something twanged in my stomach when I realized he was not seeing anyone.

"I understand that. I was lucky to've found Hilda during the war. It's a busy time," my father replied. Mihn nodded and everything went rather quiet again. I didn't know what to do but just sit there, studying Mihn until he noticed. When he did, it seemed he knew I was suspicious, but ignored it until the end of dinner.

"I should go. Thank you for having me," Mihn said after dinner. I didn't want him to leave I needed to make sure that my suspicions were either true or false. His somewhat clandestine mumblings hammered deep within my mind, and I needed to know the truth before he left for good. So I thought of a plan, one that seemed utterly foolproof of my mind.

"Mihn, I forgot to show you the study, did you want to see you before you left? I remember you took a liking to the rest of the house," I asked. I didn't remember if I had shown him the study or not, yet I prayed that he would've gotten the hint that I needed to talk with him. Based on his mysterious expression, I already knew that he caught what I was trying to say.

"I suppose I could, if that's alright with everyone else. If I've overstayed my welcome, I don't mind leaving," he replied. My mother shook her head, the same smile she always had still on her pale face.

"You're always welcome here as long as you need. Please, Lorelei, show him the remainder of the house before he leaves," my mother said. I nodded and motioned for him to come with me. He hesitated for a moment, but then followed me without another word. When we entered the study, I made sure to close the door to make sure no one could hear us.

"I have to speak with you," I said. He nodded and leaned against the wall, his Herculean arms crossing around his chest as he listened.

"When we were talking in my room, you mumbled something. It doesn't matter to me what you said, but it was the way you said it. Excuse me for saying this, but it didn't sound Vietnamese to me. It sounded like it came right out of an American," I said to him, not bothering to sugar coat what needed to be put bluntly.

"I'm not American," he said to me. I stood a few feet away from him, and I was trying to seem like I was a force to be reckoned with. He didn't seem to be phased by it at all, remaining against the wall nonchalantly with his arms around his chest.

"One doesn't have to be American to have an American accent. Look, it could have been my imagination, but it was vivid. At first I ignored it, but I want to know. Are you American?" I asked, firmly but not as if I was angry. He sighed and shook his head like I was talking utter nonsense.

"I'm not American," he replied the same thing he said before. It was like it was the only thing he could think to say now. I decided to try a different method of convincing.

"What if you were American? Why would you go back to Vietnam?" I asked, walking closer to him by a few steps to symbolize sociability.

"Again, I'm not American. I have no reason," he replied. I wondered how long it would take. Even though he kept telling me he wasn't American, I wanted to know if he could crack. My father did this to us when we were hiding something. He would soften, say to us that he wouldn't be mad if we told him. He never was. He wasn't one of those parents that said they weren't mad when they were. When he said he wouldn't be upset, he told the truth. My father valued honesty and nobility over anything else. I was trying to apply the same tactic with Mihn, but Mihn wasn't a child. So I was starting to doubt my strategy before I had even set it in.