Twin Cities Noir

She slammed the receiver so hard against the cradle that Benito was sure she had destroyed her phone. A moment later Mai-Nu reappeared, her face flushed with anger. She guzzled her vodka and orange juice, made another drink, and guzzled that.

Benito wished she would not drink so much.

The next morning, Benito found Mai-Nu at the foot of her front steps, stretching her long legs. She was wearing blue jogging shorts and a tight white half-T that emphasized her chest—at least that is what he noticed first. He was startled when she spoke to him.

“Benito,” she said. “Nyob zoo sawv ntyov.”

“Huh?”

“It means ‘good morning.’”

“Oh. ¡Buenos días! ”

“I’m probably going to melt in this heat, but I really need to exercise.”

“It is hot.”

“Well, I will see you…”

“Mai-Nu?”

“Yes?”

Benito was curious about the phone call the evening before, but knew he couldn’t ask about it. Instead, he said, “Your name. What does it mean?”

“My name? It means ‘gentle sun.’”

“That’s beautiful.”

Mai-Nu smiled at the compliment. Suddenly, she seemed interested in him.

“And Cheng Song?” Benito asked.

“Cheng, his first name means ‘important’ and my brother certainly wishes he were. Song is our clan name. The Hmong did not have last names until the West insisted on it in the 1950s and many of us took our clan names. I am Mai-Nu Song.”

“What about Pa Chou?”

“Where did you hear my uncle’s name?”

Benito shrugged. “You must have told me.”

“Hmm,” Mai-Nu said. “Chou means ‘rice steamer.’”

“Oh yeah?”

She nodded. “‘Pa’ is a salutation of respect, like calling someone ‘mister’ or ‘sir.’”

“Why does he have a salutation of respect?”

“Pa Chou is the leader of the Song clan in St. Paul. What that means—leaders are called upon to give advice and settle arguments within the clan.”

“Like a patrón. A godfather.”

“Yes. Also”—Mai-Nu’s eyes grew dark and her voice became still—“also they arrange marriages and decide how much a groom’s family must pay his bride’s family to have her. Usually it is between $6,000 and $10,000.”

“Arranged marriages? Do you still do that?”

“The older community, my parents’ generation, they really value the old Hmong culture. That is why they settled here in St. Paul. It has the largest urban Hmong population in the world. Close to 25,000 of us. They come because they can still be Hmong here. Do you understand?”

“I think so.”

Benito attended a high school where thirty percent of the student body was considered a minority—African-Americans, Native-Americans, Asians, Somali, Indians, Latinos—all of them striving to maintain their identity in a community that was dominated by the Northern Europeans that first settled here.

“It is changing,” said Mai-Nu. “The second generation, my generation, we are becoming American. But it is hard. Hard for the old ones to give up their traditions. Hard for the young ones, too, caught between cultures. My brother—he likes to have his freedom. I asked him, my uncle asked him, where do you go? What do you do? He says he is American so he can do whatever he likes. You cannot tell him anything. Now he is a gangster. He brings disgrace to the clan. Maybe if my parents were still alive…”

Mai-Nu shook her head, her ponytail shifting from one shoulder to the other.

Benito said, “What about you?”

“Me? I am bringing disgrace to the clan, too.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“In my culture, a woman can only lead from behind. To be out front, to have a high profile, to be a lawyer—the old people, the clan leaders do not tolerate it. My uncle is very upset. He is afraid of losing power as the young people become more Americanized. Keeping me in my place, it is important to him. It proves that he is still in charge. That is why he wants me to marry.”

“He arranged your marriage?”

“He is attempting to. He says…Pa Chou and my brother hate each other, but Pa Chou says he will leave all his wealth—my parents’ wealth—to Cheng unless I agree to marry.” She grinned then, an odd thing, Benito thought. “My bride price—the last bid was $22,000. If they wait until after I get my law degree, the bidding will top $25,000.”

“You are worth much more than that,” Benito blurted.

Mai-Nu smiled at him. “You are very sweet,” she said. And then, “I have to run if I am going to have time to get cleaned up before class.”

A moment later she was moving at a steady pace down the street. Benito watched her.

“Gentle Sun,” he said.

It was nearly 10 p.m. when Mai-Nu went from her bedroom to her tiny bathroom—Benito saw her only for a moment.

She was naked, but the rose-colored nightshirt she carried in front of her hid most of her body.

“¡Chingado!” Benito cursed.