Chapter 42: Home, Please

THE SHIPS BROKE FORMATION Sunday morning, leaving some behind to continue to pick up stragglers. Others would return to patrol the South China Sea after they had discharged their current boatload of passengers. I wondered how long people would continue to flee the communist regime. I figured it would depend a lot on how well they were integrated into the society. I didn’t figure much would change for the average person trying to eke out a living on the farm.

Obviously, the wealthy would suffer. Wasn’t that what communism was supposed to do? Redistribute the wealth? I had to wonder whose pocket it would get redistributed to. As far as I could tell, one government was the same as another. American politics taught me to be a cynic.

We’d been informed through the daily ship’s bulletin that the flag of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam had been raised over the presidential palace at the same time the US embassy was being evacuated. I really wished the people of Vietnam well, but I didn’t hold much hope that life there would improve in the next twenty years.

We went up on deck for a while to observe, but there really isn’t a lot to look at when you are just cruising across open water. I checked in with Miss Lim, and she said there wouldn’t be much activity until we docked at Subic Bay.

“You should just go enjoy your honeymoon,” she smirked. “We’ll have a disembarkation strategy session and dinner at 1700. You’ll be expected there. The admiral and the ambassador are working out details with the ambassador to the Philippines and the State Department. We expect to dock mid-morning tomorrow.”

“I guess that gives us our current orders,” I said. “I really need to make phone calls back home as soon as a phone is available. My family doesn’t know where I am and I currently am not sure where they are. I need to call in to the office in Chicago.”

“The time difference to Chicago is thirteen hours. You won’t find anyone in the office until at least nine tomorrow evening.”

“Great. Just great.”

The embassy staff with the executive staff of the fleet met for dinner in the officers’ mess. It was almost elegant. The food was good and there was a lot of self-congratulations around the table for managing the evacuation so successfully.

“Since March 24, we have managed the evacuation of 130,000 souls from Vietnam,” the ambassador said. “There are currently 70,000 aboard the fleet. We should be proud of that.”

“Unfortunately, disembarking 70,000 mostly undocumented souls in Manila will be as much a problem as scooping them out of the sea,” the admiral said. “It will require all of us to manage the process. Just as getting them all fed is creating headaches and a strain on ships’ galleys even as we speak. I can say no one is going hungry on the ships, but they aren’t eating four-star meals like we’re having tonight. Another day at sea and we would have to consider rationing. Hence our decision to get underway when we did.”

“The Navy and the embassy in Manila are setting up kitchens and processing at the base. We’ll disembark flagship staff and consulate employees first,” the ambassador continued. “We will move immediately to our screening stations. Mr. Hart, your equipment will be joined by that of two other teams. The focus will be on visas for those connecting to the US. Supplies are in hand to replenish your station. While management of your station is your business, I will suggest that you turn over the functionality to local personnel. You should retreat then to a separate station where you can review each visa and validate it.”

“Me, sir?”

“None of us are pretending that you cannot seal visas on behalf of the State Department. We’ll have staff to take over coordinating the dependents as you validate the visas. Nor will we need to process everyone. Many, if not most of the refugees, have escaped from the communists in Vietnam. They have not specifically requested immigration to the US. Therefore, the government of the Philippines will also be processing emergency refugee visas for those not expressing an interest in immigrating.”

“What about housing?” Bruce asked.

“Rooms for staff have been confirmed on base. Three refugee camps have been prepared for non-citizens. It isn’t luxury quarters, but most of these people are used to living with extended families in a single dwelling. Sometimes in a single room. They’ll be fed and sheltered,” the ambassador’s aide said. “The biggest tie-up will be US citizens with their non-citizen dependents. They are responsible for what happens next. They will be stamped as admitted to the Philippines, but then they need to make their own lodging and travel arrangements.”

“There will be travel agents available to handle the traffic,” Miss Lim said. “They have direct access to what hotels have rooms available throughout the city. Chartered buses will be moving people from intake at the base to hotels.”

“Once again, that does not apply to people in this room. Essential embassy and consulate staff will be housed on-base,” the ambassador said.

With that, the discussion turned to a timetable for when people would be disembarking from each ship, how many citizens and dependents, how many non-citizen immigrants and dependents, and how many non-immigrant refugees and dependents. The passport and visa agents had been hard at work on all the ships ever since the first arrivals.

When Xian and I got back to our cabin, we still found things awkward and a little embarrassing. We were exploring how each other felt, what we expected, and what we wanted.

“Xian, we’ve been pretty open with each other so far, and I want that to continue. Success in any relationship is based on trust and communication. The thing I’m most stressed about is explaining this all to my wives and children,” I said.

“Will they hate me, Nate?” she asked, a little fearfully.

There was one chair in the room—not a particularly comfortable one—but I sat on it and held Xian on my lap.

“No. I have a lot of faith in my family, regarding how they will treat you. It will require a period of adjustment. I’m adding a new member to the family that none of them have met before,” I said. “That’s really the problem point. It’s always been understood that adding another member to the family was a family decision. Trust and communication, remember? But I haven’t been able to communicate with them. They will be taken completely by surprise. I’m about guaranteeing they’ll be shocked.”

“Nate, I will do whatever is necessary to be accepted by them. I, too, have joined a family after knowing only one member. I don’t know how a multiple partner family works. I scarcely know how having only one partner works. I’m so afraid they won’t like me—or that I won’t like them!”

“I think we need to calm our fears a little,” I said. “We can expect some tension at first, but I’m sure we’ll be able to work it out.”

“Though it hurts for me to say it, if it doesn’t work out, I will accept a divorce without complaint. I will never intentionally be the cause of disrupting your family,” Xian said.

“I’m praying that will never be a problem. While the whole marriage thing took me by surprise, it is just the word and legal ramification that is discomforting to me. I am very fond of you, Xian. We have shared something that has brought us together unlike anything else ever could have,” I said. “Waking up in the middle of the night, both startled by the vibration, was a sign of that. But what I found in my arms was my wife. And I realized I am more than fond of you. It might be too early in our relationship to declare ourselves forever in love, but it is not too early to tell you I love you.”

“And I love you, though I scarcely know the meaning of the word. I will learn. I have heard—according to popular songs—that love grows. I will let mine grow for you and accept that for neither of us is it what it will become.”

I kissed her and that slightly tentative act soon deepened. Before long, we were naked in bed and things were growing.

We docked a little after dawn on Monday morning. Xian and I had packed up our equipment and loaded it on the trolley. I had my courier bag around my neck and the camera bag slung at my other side. We’d ‘borrowed’ a laundry bag from our cabin to pack our few clothes into and Xian carried that.

We were among the first off the ship and were directed immediately to a customs officer who stamped our passports. Then a local staff person showed us where the other passport technicians had set up the two stations I’d trained them on just a month ago.

“We’ve really been getting a workout on this equipment,” Royce Holland said. He was one of the guys in uniform I’d trained. He was being assisted by Jan Davis. “We’ve been running to the Air Force Base and the airport to meet with refugees flying in. This is the first batch coming in by ship.”

“Are there two more techs we can call in?” I asked. “I’ve been told I’ll be reviewing and validating finished visas. I need someone else to operate the extra equipment.”

“I’ll make a call,” Jan said. She ran to the office in the rather large warehouse-type building we were in. Corridors were roped off to keep people in line. Signs were printed in both English and Vietnamese. It was obvious the crews here in Manila had been preparing for this over the weekend—perhaps all month.

I set the equipment up at the station we’d been given and got a share of supplies from the other stations. We would be putting the bindery to full use with extra pages for the inside of visas and passports. Before people reached our stations, they had to stop to have templates typed from their application documents. Three passport agents from the various consulates were busy typing and reviewing the documents. Then another agent would lead the applicant and his dependents to one of the stations for photographs.

Before we really had a line for photos, two of the other technicians I’d trained had shown up at my station and I left the equipment in their care. I took down the serial numbers and had the techs sign for the equipment as a permanent transfer to the Manila embassy. Then China and I went to the back of the area where the rope lanes converged, and set up shop to validate visas as they were finished.

I pulled the seal from my courier bag and got the first visa to look at. This was different than what I’d been doing earlier. I depended on the agents to have the right information entered and to keep the clients together. In this setting, validating the visa took longer than actually manufacturing it. I had to check the information on the document, with Xian reading over my shoulder to verify any print in Vietnamese. After the visa was validated, then we checked the applicant’s affidavits to be sure there was one properly signed and witnessed for each member of his party.

To relieve some of the growing physical stress, I swapped hands for squeezing the crimper every so often, and even used one hand to hold it steady while I leaned on it with my other forearm to crimp the seal. Between that and some aspirin, I somehow managed to keep going. After my aching arms sealed the document, an agent conducted the visa-holder and his family to customs where he got his passport and all the affidavits stamped by the Philippines’ passport control. Beyond that station, the family was loaded onto one of the charter buses with whatever belongings they had, and they were taken to one of the three refugee camps.

It was a long and tedious process. We’d managed several hundred documents by the time the line dwindled at about eight in the evening. All I’d had since breakfast was coffee and I was getting hungry and testy, and with all of that and the aspirin my stomach was complaining on multiple levels. It was going to take days to get everyone processed.

We were shown to our room and then to the mess on base. After a basic meal, I managed to find a phone and place my call to the home office.

“Passport Technician Training and Support. This is Josie Wallis.”

“Josie! Thank God I’m finally in touch with someone who can help me. It’s Nate.”

“Nate! You’re safe! When are you coming home?”

“When you get my flights arranged. I need to stay in Manila another two days to get all the refugees processed. Where’s my family?” I demanded.

“Oh, God! If my information is correct, they are still in England, but should be headed home this week.”

“England?”

“Miss May was taken seriously ill. The nurse in Muscat tentatively diagnosed meningitis and said she didn’t have anything but antibiotics to treat it with. She said Miss May needed to be hospitalized. Miss Marx swept into action and got your plane to fly them direct to London. Or as direct as they could. I understand they refueled in Italy. Miss May was hospitalized immediately. The diagnosis was changed to encephalitis, still serious but not as critical as meningitis.”

“Is she still in the hospital?”

“No. She called on Friday the twenty-fifth to say she was being released. The rest of the family had joined her and she planned to spend a week recovering there before returning home.”

“That’s been ten days ago. Did she say where she was staying or when she was returning?” I asked.

“No. At that time, the only information we had on you was that you were still in Saigon. Then this week everything fell apart. We got your telex indicating you were safe, but had no way to forward the information to your family. I’ve been staying through full business hours in London to make sure I could receive a call when it came in.”

“You know, I think I’m done with international travel. I don’t plan to ever be out of the same time zone as my family again. Please get me a late flight out of Manila to Chicago on Wednesday. When the family calls, tell them I’m on my way home.”

“I can do that.”

“And, Josie, there will be two returning from Manila.” I gave her Xian’s passport information and told her I’d signed an affidavit of support for her, so she was coming to the US under my sponsorship. I decided against telling her we were married. Let her assume what she wanted from the name. I wanted to give that information to my family directly, not through a third party.

On Tuesday, the day started earlier and was more organized than the previous day had been. About noon, the Manila consul general showed up with a stamp so he could split the work of validating visas with me. He did ask for procedures regarding the affidavits and checked his first few approvals with me, but then he was off and operating with a Vietnamese interpreter at his elbow. That was good. We were processing over a hundred visas an hour all day long.

When we closed the line that evening, it was early enough to go off-base for some food. I took Xian shopping. We bought a suitcase and several other articles of clothing so we weren’t wearing the same thing day after day and washing out our underwear every night. Later that night I called Josie again and took down our flight information. Still no word from the family.

The next morning, I informed the consul general that I would be leaving that afternoon. He made a call and before Xian and I left for the airport, another official from the Manila embassy showed up and took over. I packed my seal in the courier bag and Xian and I caught a cab to the airport.

The flight was at eight in the evening. We’d have a five-hour layover in Tokyo, and then straight to Chicago. With the International Dateline, we’d arrive around four or five o’clock Thursday morning. It was about twenty-two hours.

It was Xian’s first time on an airplane. The plane from Manila to Tokyo was a 737. It was comfortable, but nothing real special. It was night, so there wasn’t much to see out the window. We arrived in Tokyo at one-thirty in the morning and had to check our luggage through customs and have our passports stamped again. We just sat in the lounge, cuddled up and sleeping, until our flight was called at four-thirty.

This time, we were on a 747. First class was typically luxurious and we had a great breakfast before holding each other through a very short day over the ocean and into the night. After a twelve-hour flight, we arrived in Chicago just before we took off from Tokyo.

We had very little with us. I had my courier bag, minimal camera bag, and our small suitcase. I felt bad about not giving Xian a chance to freshen up, but I really needed to get to the office and find out where the hell my family was. We caught a cab and were downtown in forty minutes. We both displayed our department badges and had no difficulty getting in and heading to the ninth floor office. I hadn’t used the time clock since we returned from the Caribbean in January of ‘73. I just hadn’t been in this office that much, so we walked right past the clock and to my office. Ronda’s and my office. Our names were still on the door, but the job title had been changed from Passport Technicians to Senior Foreign Service Specialist, Passports and Visas. Not much had changed in our absence. Josie had kept our map up, though, and now there were pins with colored flags across the world. Xian stopped to stare at it.

“You’ve really traveled a lot,” she said. “I feel like an infant just discovering a new world.”

“I hope you aren’t too eager to explore it,” I said. “If I can get back to my family, I don’t think I’ll travel again for a long time.”

“Are they here? In Chicago?”

“I doubt it, but as soon as I get Josie in here, we’ll find out the latest.” I dialed 413 and Josie picked up immediately. She squealed as soon as she heard my voice in the office and in a minute was standing in the doorway.

“You’re here! You made it!” she yelled. Then in a very uncharacteristic Josie moment, she rushed me and wrapped me in a hug. She quickly backed up, covering her embarrassment with a laugh.

“Josie, this is Xian,” I announced. Josie shook her hand and welcomed her. “Now, what have you heard? Where is Ronda and the rest of my family?”

“She called in last night,” Josie said. “Finally! The family is well and they are flying to Detroit on Saturday.”

“Detroit? Oh! Yes! We don’t need to be in Chicago! We can go home. Where have they been?”

“They spent Miss May’s recovery time with your friend, the Countess of Plympford. Apparently, they thought we had the contact information. They were very excited to find that you were on your way home.”

“We will be shortly,” I said. “If the family is headed for Stratford, we should be, too. I’ll call my father and ask him to come and pick us up this afternoon. Then we can drive to Stratford tomorrow. Get me on Mr. Martin’s calendar as quickly as possible, please.”

“Done. He’s in DC but will be in the office at three o’clock. I scheduled you for as soon as he gets back,” Josie said.

“Josie, you’ve always been an incredible lifeline here at the office for us. I’ll miss you.”

“Miss me? Oh, Nate! You’re not quitting, are you?”

“My alternative service ended five weeks ago. I took this last assignment voluntarily and it’s the last time I’ll ever volunteer for anything. As soon as I hand in my badge and camera, I’m gone.”

“There’s so much yet to be done! I don’t know how we’ll handle it.”

“I have at least twenty trainees I can recommend to take over,” I said. “I’m not going to stay a minute longer than I have to. It’s not because we don’t love you, and I’m not speaking for Ronda. She might want to stay with the department. I’m through.”

“I understand. Um ... You might want to get a haircut before you meet with Mr. Martin. I’m sure you don’t have other responsibilities here in the office and it would seem to be a waste to just sit here.”

I laughed at her. Yes, I should get a haircut and get my beard trimmed if I was going to take Xian to meet my parents.

“I’ll do that as soon as I call Mom and Dad.”

I locked my courier bag in my desk and took Xian out to do some shopping in Chicago. Dad said he’d plan to pick me up at four. He had our family’s Suburban, so we’d go back to Camp Otterbein for the night and then Xian and I would drive to Stratford on Friday. I wanted to be home when the family arrived. I’d pick them all up at the airport Saturday. I was going to see my wives and daughters again. At last!