by Julia Legian
After school Nguyet and I played hop skip, jump rope and hide and seek with the other kids. We finished school at noon every day. We only needed to attend lessons for four hours, either mornings or afternoons.
My troubles began several weeks after starting school. “What is happening Mrs Mai? Why is there human poo everywhere in our classroom?” I asked.
Mrs Mai pulled a face. “Go and find some dry leaves and sticks to clean it up,” she said.
We went straight to work like good little soldiers. We scraped the waste off the benches onto the floor then flicked it with sticks out into the yard.
“Mrs Mai, the ones that are stuck in the gaps won’t come off. It’s not possible to clean the desks,” I complained.
“Ignore those, just go back to your study.”
Filthy villagers kept coming to our school and did their dirty business and we had to clean up after them almost every day. The kids adapted to the putrid environment and some didn’t bother to clean it up; they just sat right on the dried poop. I was hopping mad about it and chose not to deal with it. I kept on whining to Mrs Mai until one day she lost her composure.
“Loan, shut the bloody hell up! Go over to that corner and do your work,” she shouted.
I lost what little self control I had. “I can’t do my work,” I shouted back at her. “I have to keep my eyes on the creepy giant flies. Argh, go away!” I screamed like a maniac as flies landed on me.
“Loan what in Heaven’s name is wrong with you?” Mrs Mai shouted back at me.
“I don’t want the flies to touch me. They are gross – they were eating the poo minutes ago.”
“Calm down, stop disturbing everyone. Go outside to the yard and kneel there until I say you can come back.” She made me kneel for half a day.
Later that day Mrs Mai came to our house and she reported to Mum that I refused to obey her. She said I had fallen behind with my school work. My sister Phuong on the other hand was Miss Perfect, and good at everything; an outstanding student who came first in all subjects.
Mum was furious and gave me an almighty slap across my face. From that day Mum expected me to be like Phuong. My main chore was learning how to write the alphabet in calligraphy style. I spent every evening practising writing while both Mum and Dad circled me. They were like great white sharks waiting for me to slip up so they could tear me to bits, which they often did. Mum would hit me with a bamboo stick and Dad would kick me.
It didn’t matter how well or how neatly I wrote, they always found a reason to beat me. “You dumb, hopeless bitch,” Dad said, kicking me in my shins as I tried to do my homework.
Mum joined in, whacking my hands with an ultrathin bamboo stick until they turned red and puffy. She then told me to kiss Phuong’s private part so that maybe I could get some brains. I was clueless about what Mum meant, and I ignored her. “Don’t you dare ignore me,” she screamed, smacking every inch of my body as hard as she could with the stick. I begged her to stop and promised to try harder but she kept on going as if she was possessed by a dark force.
Mum only stopped when she ran out of steam. Then Dad took over where she left off. He forbade me to cry as he beat the heck out of me and threatened to kill me if he saw any tears. “You dumb girl! I want you to be like your sister from this day on, do you hear me? Look at her - she’s a good girl, smart, beautiful and talented, unlike you!” Dad shouted. “Where the hell did you come from? You ugly and useless piece of rubbish,” Dad shouted.
I bawled my eyes out. “Please stop hurting me, Daddy. I promise I’ll be like Phuong.”
Phuong and I were like chalk and cheese. I was a curious, dark and ugly little child. I always asked dumb questions non-stop according to Mum, unlike Phuong. She was the total opposite. She was beautiful, her skin was as white as snow. She was very obedient and would do anything to please my parents.
I felt lost and helpless and I wanted my sweet, petite Granny back. I missed her gentle touch, her kisses, her serene smile and her kind hazel eyes. Most of all, I missed helping her put coconut oil on her beautiful long black hair that cascaded all the way to her knees, to keep it smooth and shiny. Grandma loved me for who I was. She told me I was special and her precious little princess. Grandma was happy to answer my stupid questions and always encouraged me to ask more and more. I hated school and I wanted my Grandma back. I chanted and prayed every moment of the day for the school to disappear and for Grandma to come back.
I tried to lock the wonderful memories I spent with her in my heart. I ached and longed to go back to her simple cosy one-room home, made from palm leaves on the Mekong River in Cau Di. I missed the tropical fruit trees that surrounded the place and the majestic cerise, orange, red and yellow bougainvillea flowers that blanketed her home. I missed her walking us to school and back; dressing us in our finest clothes. I closed my eyes, recalling the good times I had with her, especially when she served us an abundant amount of food every day after school.
I missed the times after our meal when we walked across the small bridge to the side of the road with the many left-overs to feed the crippled, homeless people. Grandma told us to call these poor people uncles and aunties as they crawled around the yucky open air market begging for food. Many hot steamy nights she sat up fanning us, making sure we got a good night’s sleep, while going without precious rest herself.
Now she had left us here with next to nothing, with two demented people who we had never met before and in this disgusting place. I was devastated and messed up because Grandma had abandoned us.
I tried hard to rethink the journey to this horrid place. I couldn’t clearly remember it and I only vaguely recalled how we got here. I remembered the three of us being pushed into a moving bus – a zoo that stank to high heaven, just before sunrise. The bus did not stop for anybody. It would simply slow down and the bus assistant would jump out and push everyone on board as quickly as he could. We were squeezed like tuna in between the humans, ducks, chickens and piglets. About 12 hours later the driver ordered us to get off the bus.
We reached our stop, but not our final destination which was so remote that no car or bus could go there. We were told we must travel on foot from now on. We passed hundreds upon hundreds of rice fields, then narrow alleys. As the sun went down we zigzagged through the dark alleys, passing house after house.
“Grandma, where are we going, are we there yet? I’m tired. I don’t want to walk any more,” I complained.
“We’re in Ben Nha Tho, my little princess. Just walk for a little longer and we’ll be there soon,” Grandma replied. We walked until the sun was gone.
“Grandma, I don’t want to walk any more! I’m tired,” I cried.
“Hop on my back my little princess. I will carry you.”
I was exhausted and blissfully fell asleep on Grandma’s back. The rest of the journey was a blank.
One day, a savage storm lashed the village and it blew the school away. It almost took our hut with it. Hallelujah! That meant half my prayer fulfilled, so Grandma should come back to me! She had been my rock.
At first I thought she wasn’t coming as I waited in vain for her to return. It happened late one afternoon as I sat by the door playing with the thin bamboo stick Mum used to hit me with. As I tapped it against a small piece of wood, I listened for Grandma’s footsteps as usual.
“Grandma!” I ran at her and wrapped my thin arms around her small body. She dropped a huge red and white striped plastic bag to embrace me.
“Grandma, where have you been?” I sobbed. “I missed you so much. I’m so happy to see you. I love you, Grandma.”
Her eyes filled with tears. She picked up her bag and struggled into the house with me hanging off her. Phuong lit up when she saw her. We both hung off her like leeches.
Hanh and Tien shied away, but with her serene smile and gentle tender touch they soon came around. To my absolute joy, Grandma moved in with us.
Chapter 3
“Grandma, I’m all packed; let’s g
o home!” I dragged her to the door. She refused to go and my heart sank.
“We can’t go yet my little princess. Your sister Hanh is sick. We have to stay here to help her to get well.”
“Grandma, I don’t like Hanh. She’s not like any of us. She looks evil and I’m scared of her. She stares at people; she eats raw rice and sniffs kerosene. She’s not normal. I don’t like staying here with her. One day she’s going to eat us all,” I said, my voice wavering hysterically.
“We must stay, my darling. She will die if we leave her. We have to stay. Just for a bit longer and then we will go home. I promise.”
I walked away with a long face.
Sadly, what Grandma forgot to mention was that my parents were flat broke. Dad couldn’t hold down a job. Mum was depressed and she had no energy to take care of Hanh. Hanh was sick but nobody knew what was wrong so there was no way to cure her. The doctors kept giving her useless medicine. Out of desperation my parents had asked Grandma to move in with them and help take care of Hanh. Grandma detested Dad but she agreed for Hanh’s sake because she was the only person who knew what was wrong with Hanh and she would be the one that could save her.
Life was magic when Grandma came back. We had plenty of food, candies and nice clothes to wear just like the good old days. It was so glorious that we didn’t have to eat the revolting salty, runny porridge made with muoi quet (salt, sugar and fish sauce cooked until the salt turned solid) that Mum used as a substitute for meat.
“Grandma, where were you all this time?” I asked.
“I’ll tell you when you grow older, my precious princess.”
“You always say that when you don’t want to tell me things. I don’t think you’ll ever tell.”
With the good life Grandma provided, my parents became more relaxed and argued less. They still fought every now and then but they were not as vicious as before. During this time Mum fell pregnant again. Dad was determined to have a son to carry on his family name.
Several months went by and then, for some unexplained reason, Dad became extremely brutal and cruel, like never before. He punched and kicked Mum’s pregnant belly as if he was beating his worst enemy. My anger and hatred of the way he treated Mum grew with each blow he inflicted on her. It broke my heart to see Grandma put her thin body in his way to take many of Dad’s deadly blows for Mum, hopelessly trying to prevent Dad from killing the unborn child. Dad kept pounding Mum.
“Please Inh, stop kicking her. Please leave her alone. You’ll kill the baby if you keep punching her in the stomach,” Grandma shouted at Dad.
“Shut up, old witch, or I’ll kill you too. I don’t give a damn. Why, God, why? What did I ever do to you? Why punish me by giving me these useless girls? All I ever wanted is a boy and you give me one bitch after another. Please don’t let it be another one. Is it really too much to ask for a son?” He looked at us with loathing. “I wish you’d all go to hell.” He left the room yelling more curses as he walked away.
After the latest battle, Mum started having contractions. She asked Dad if he would borrow the neighbour’s motorbike to take her to the midwife’s house in Ben Nha Tho, a short drive away.
I watched as Dad’s handsome face transformed into that of a beast.
“It’s only a bloody contraction,” he growled. “What’s the big deal? Find your own way there, take one of these useless idiots with you.” He pointed to Phuong and me.
I put my hand up. “I’ll go with you.”
I’d do anything to get away from the whacko and a chance to see how the baby would come out from Mum’s huge tummy.
We walked for half a day, a long, excruciating trip, stopping every time a pain gripped her body.
“You stupid demon, why are you giving me so much grief?” Mum yelled at the unborn child.
By this time I regretted going with her. I hated the fact that we had to walk so far with Mum in great pain. As we made our way to the cruddy village, I saw the alleys scattered with rubbish, the stench of rotten seafood filling our lungs with every exhausting step we took. I thought it was supposed to be a fun trip but I was flat out wrong.
For the last leg of the journey Mum turned me into her walking stick. We made our way past the open market. We had to fight our way through the crowd; disorganised, restless strangers squatted and squeezed together trying to sell their usual produce, oblivious to and uncaring about my Mum’s ordeal.
Relieved to be there, we arrived at the midwife’s house, me with painful shoulders and arms from Mum’s strong grip. The midwife assisted Mum into the house and helped her onto a see-through bamboo bed. She ordered me to leave the room.
“Children are not allowed to watch because it will make them stupid forever,” she said, “and there’s no cure for stupidity.”
I couldn’t stop myself from laughing at her ridiculous comment. However, she was not kidding about me leaving the room. She grabbed me by my ears, squashed them like a lemon then shoved me into another room.
While waiting on the other side of the partition, I started eavesdropping, listening to their conversation. The midwife didn’t like me laughing at her and she was complaining to Mum that I was a wild and disrespectful child. I stuck my tongue out and pulled a face at the wall, thinking that this was the meanest, most superstitious woman I’d ever met.
Hours passed as I sat curled up in the corner waiting for something astonishing to happen. The grumpy midwife came and went from the room but I wasn’t game to go in. I could hear Mum’s screams getting louder and more frequent and I thought the baby must come soon. Finally I decided to sneak in. I waited for the midwife to leave the room again and once she left I grabbed my opportunity. I scurried under the fabric divider on my hands and knees like a rat, scrambling silently under the bed where Mum lay. I positioned my head at the bottom of the bed so I could see my Mum’s rear end. Grandma had told me a while ago the baby would come out from Mum’s bottom.
I lay as still as a statue, hardly daring to breathe in case Mum or the old witch heard me. Mum was too busy moaning. I don’t think she could have heard me if I did make any noise. Another hour passed, still no baby and I was bored and tired of lying on the dirt floor listening to Mum howling. I thought of sneaking back out. In the midst of making my decision to leave, I saw something that looked like a black ball poke out between her legs.
“Push, push!” the midwife yelled. “Come on, push harder woman!”
“Arrrgh, come out you stupid demon, arrrgh, hurry up and get the hell out,” Mum yelled.
The weird black thing moved, it came out a bit further and then the whole thing popped out. I clapped my hands over my mouth, and tried to control my excitement as I realised it was the baby’s head.
The midwife kept pulling its head and then the whole tiny body slipped out, covered with some white stuff that coated all of its skin and matted its hair. A long, fat, bluish cord stuck out of the baby’s belly. I held my breath as the midwife took a pair of scissors and cut this cord, tying a knot near the belly.
She wrapped the baby in a cotton sheet and handed it to Mum. She bent over Mum’s belly again and started pulling something else out. For a moment I thought it was another baby but all of a sudden blood started to pour from Mum’s body. It poured through the mat and onto my face. I screamed. “Mummy, are you all right?” I thought Mum was going to die.
The midwife jumped with fright, she dropped what I now know was the placenta on the bed. Furious, she gave me a powerful kick in the head. She grabbed my legs and dragged me out from under the bed.
“Get lost, you little devil.”
I saw Mum laugh. It was one of the few times I’d ever seen her smile. Mum asked the midwife to let me stay for a little while.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” I asked.
“It’s another girl,” she sighed. The sad expression on her face said it all. “Go tell your Dad,” Mum said.
I hesitated because I knew Dad would not be happy with the fact he had another girl. I was too terri
fied to deliver the news. But then I realised it would be dark soon so I had better start going.
I ran all the way home. On the way back I made a remarkable discovery. I saw an old man sitting in a tiny 4x4 knee-high toilet built from dried coconut leaves. It stood in the middle of a big pond, with thin sticks used as a platform; you’d have to be a champion gymnast to walk on a lanky pole to get to the toilet without falling into the water.
I was so excited I shouted out aloud. “Oh, my God! They have a toilet in this town!” I was dumbstruck to see a half decent toilet around. At first, nothing seemed unusual but as I walked away I heard a loud noise from the water. I turned around and looked but I couldn’t see anything. I was puzzled at the noise. Curious, I stopped and waited to see what the old man was up to. Seconds later, a human brownie dropped into the water below and a feeding frenzy erupted in the water. The fish jumped around in the water, fighting for the old man’s poo.
Wow, this was awesome! I had to tell Phuong and Grandma about it. “Come on old man, drop some more, faster please,” I urged him on. I watched with excitement but nothing happened after that. I was bitterly disappointed.
I sped home, feeling like young Einstein who had just made the biggest discovery that could change the way we live forever. I charged into our house jabbering on about the man and the fish.
Grandma smiled. “That was ca bong lao (cat fish that look like salmon). I made canh chua for you in Cau Di. It was your favourite sweet and sour soup dish. Don’t you remember?”
“What? Are you sure about that Grandma? It’s disgusting! You didn’t say anything about them eating human poop. I’ll never eat your soup, ever again.” I was mad with Grandma for feeding me such a horrible thing.
Grandma cracked up laughing. “How’s your Mum. Did she have the baby? Is it a boy or a girl?” she asked.
I gave her a long face. “It is a little girl.”