The Buddha's Diamonds

by Carolyn Marsden

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Glossary and Pronunciation Guide

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  In the gloom of the dusty temple, Tinh bowed to the Buddha. Three times he knelt, touching his forehead to the grass mat. Then he stood with his palms joined in front of his heart, regarding the statue: reddish copper beneath the layer of grime.

  The Buddha’s right hand rested in his lap, close to the earth, while the other was raised in the mudra for peace. The Buddha, with his full cheeks and almond eyes, looked something like Ba, Tinh’s father.

  Tinh’s cousins — Trang Ton, Dong, and Anh — also bowed, not so quickly that the adults would make them prostrate again, but with no time wasted. They longed to get outside before the monk began his long talk.

  Several side altars were laden with vases of sweet jasmine and offerings of globular green guavas and waxy star fruit.

  One altar, half-hidden by the donation box, displayed photographs of the village ancestors, including Tinh’s grandparents — Ong Noi and Banoi. Tinh’s gaze lingered on the small faces in the black-and-white photos. Both grandparents had died not long ago, and Tinh missed them.

  Tinh looked out at the temple courtyard shining with morning sunlight. His cousins would soon head for the open field beyond. Trang Ton had just gotten a new soccer ball from his rich uncle in America.

  Yet when Tinh’s cousins finished bowing, he didn’t follow them, but settled himself onto the floor beside Ba and Ma.

  The monks and nuns, with their shaved heads and loose brown robes, waited cross-legged at the front of the temple. A very old monk sat in the middle.

  From outside, Tinh heard the shouts of the little kids fighting their mock battles, using long stems cut from elephant-ear plants and soft old coconut husks that they tossed from behind the temple walls.

  Lifting a wooden baton, a nun invited the temple bell, a large ceramic bowl. The bell vibrated in low, penetrating tones.

  Each week Tinh waited for this moment when the world and his heart settled.

  Even the little soldiers outside silenced their shouts. After the nun invited the bell twice more, women raised their palm-leaf fans, waving them gently.

  The monks and nuns started their chant: “In the precious presence of the Buddha, fragrant with sandalwood incense, we recognize our errors and begin anew. . . .”

  The words entered Tinh like soft rain.

  “The raft of the Buddha carries us over the ocean of sorrows. . . .”

  Tinh sighed, the knots inside him relaxing.

  When the chanting stilled, the old monk began his talk: “Today I offer you a handful of diamonds. Not one diamond, but a handful.”

  Expecting to see real jewels, Tinh looked up. But the monk opened his hand to reveal nothing.

  “You may think we have little in our village,” the monk continued. “You may think that we should be sad to be so poor. But we have the sun.” He pointed overhead. “And the moon, the source of all poetry.” He pointed upward again.

  As the monk talked, Tinh studied pictures depicting the life of the Buddha. The scenes were painted on the eastern wall: the Buddha as a baby taking his seven famous steps, a lotus blooming in each footprint. The Buddha as a young prince. The Buddha reaching enlightenment under the bodhi tree with its green-heart leaves.

  “You have the diamond of your mother. Even if your mother has passed away, you have her within you. You have the diamond of your father. . . .”

  The monk’s voice was like the ocean at low tide. Tinh shut his eyes and let the words paint pictures in his head.

  “The sea full of fish, the fresh winds, the breath flowing in and out of your body — all these things are beautiful diamonds in your life, shining day and night. The Buddha offers you these diamonds of true happiness. . . .”

  “Go look after your sister,” Ma whispered. She leaned over Tinh, her long bangs grazing his forehead.

  “Now?”

  “I’m afraid she’ll be bullied. Or she might get hurt,” Ma insisted.

  Tinh got up and stepped out of the temple, blinking in the bright light.

  “Where have you been?” asked his little sister, Lan. Her legs were thin below her too-short dress.

  “I stayed for the talk.”

  Lan wrinkled her nose. “Make me a kite,” she said. She held out two pieces of bamboo and some pink paper, a bit of string, and a bottle of glue.

  “You brought everything,” he said.

  “I remembered what you needed.”

  Tinh stood on tiptoe and looked toward the soccer field. If there was a soccer game going, he certainly didn’t want to spend time with his sister. But it was probably too late to join the game. Plus his cousins would tease him for staying in the temple.

  Tinh sat down on a low wall and fastened Lan’s bamboo sticks into the shape of a cross. When the sticks were firmly tied, he held the skeleton of the kite to the sky, imagining it floating in the soft blue.

  Lan wiggled in anticipation.

  As Tinh lowered the bamboo to his lap and stretched the pink paper over the cross, he thought of how the next day his sister would run along the beach, flying this kite.

  Last summer, Tinh had also flown kites. But when he’d turned ten at Lunar New Year, he’d left that childhood behind. Now, during the long days of summer vacation, it was his job to help Ba with the fishing.

  “Hold here,” he said to Lan.

  Lan put her small finger on the paper while Tinh glued.

  “You need more string for a tail,” he said when the paper was in place. “And some bits of cloth to tie on to the string.”

  Just then, Tinh heard the shouts of Trang Ton, Dong, and Anh and then someone shushing them. Then, Tinh heard another sound — like a giant mosquito. He stood up to look.

  Zooming ahead of the four boys came a miniature red car. Tinh stepped back. The car drove itself. It ran up the dusty path and across the flagstones of the courtyard as if by magic.

  The little kids stopped their war games to watch.

  Adults leaned out the temple doors, fingers to their lips.

  “Want to try, Tinh?” Trang Ton held out a small gray box. “Here, you just push this button to go forward, this one to go back. These”— he touched two more buttons —“make the car go left and right.”

  Tinh reached for the remote control. It was heavier than it looked. He tapped the button on the left, and the car drove toward a palm tree. He maneuvered the car around the base of the tree. He drove it to the edge of the stone steps, then backed it up. He loved the feeling of power in his hands.

  “Now it’s my turn,” said Phu, one of Trang Ton’s younger cousins.

  Tinh handed over the box. This car was a diamond the monk didn’t know about.

  No one in the village could afford a remote-controlled car. Trang Ton had an uncle who’d escaped by boat to America. That uncle worked in an office and sent back money and gifts like the soccer ball and the car. The uncle’s generosity enabled Trang Ton’s family to live in a brick house instead of a hut made of bamboo.

  The bell sounded three times, and Phu held his finger over the remote control, poised for action. All eyes were on the red car, now half-submerged in a pile of faded bougainvillea flowers.

  The vibrations stopped, and Phu backed the car up.

  The adults emerged from the temple, talking and laughing among themselves.

  As the nuns spread a feast of fruit on a long table set up in the courtyard, Tinh turned his att
ention from Trang Ton’s red car. He loaded his arms with vanilla mangoes, finger bananas, a stick of sugarcane, and a bunch of longan.

  He plucked a round longan fruit from the stem and sunk his teeth into the hard skin. The fruit burst open, white and sweet.

  The next morning, Tinh’s golden boat left the shore, the engine running hard. He watched the village of Hai Nhuan grow smaller and heard the shouts of the little boys playing soccer on the beach grow fainter.

  He saw Lan running with the dogs and other children, flying the kite, a pink triangle against the dark cay duong trees. The trees dropped long needles onto the sand.

  Now, seeing the flashes of bright paper in the sky, he almost longed for his old life of playing all day.

  Though the sky still glowed with early light, the air felt unusually hot and still. The diesel fumes from the boat’s engine lingered, mixing with the smell of salt.

  Circling lazily overhead, some seagulls, chim hai au, waited for fish to be caught in the nets.

  Tinh turned his gaze to the far horizon and the adventures that lay beyond. Every now and then a big wave would surge out of the ocean. Tinh always scrambled to the bow, the most exciting spot, as the boat rode over the wave.

  The golden boat was new. The old one had rotted with the seawater and tropical heat. This one was five times as long as Ba, seven times as long as Tinh. It was so new that the bamboo shone golden against the turquoise water.

  Second Uncle had helped Ba build the boat. When it was finished, Tinh had rubbed sticky water-buffalo manure over the cracks, sealing them. The manure smelled very strong. When he was almost finished and Lan had called him to hunt shells, he’d gone with her.

  When Ba found out that Tinh had left some of the gaps unsealed, he’d shouted, “You’re foolish to be afraid of a bad smell, Tinh. Our boat could sink because of your carelessness!”

  So Tinh had rubbed on more manure until no more light showed through the bamboo.

  Then he’d glued two conch shells on either side of the prow. The shells symbolized the eyes of a dragon, guiding the boat, protecting it from being tipped over by huge fish.

  On the first trips out, Tinh had been seasick, vomiting over the side. But now his body had grown used to the movement of the ocean.

  He was glad he wasn’t seasick anymore. After his mistake with the manure, he wanted to do everything right on the boat. He wanted Ba to be proud of him. Maybe one day Ba would make this boat his.

  Just then, Tinh’s cone-shaped hat blew off and landed in the water.

  With his fishing pole, Ba lifted the hat out of the sea and handed it to Tinh. “You’re daydreaming again,” Ba said. “When the boat is moving, pay attention.”

  “Yes, Ba.” Tinh put on his hat, now dripping, and sat up straighter.

  Soon, the boat had traveled so far out that Tinh couldn’t see the bamboo huts of the village or even the shore. Only water lay around them, shimmering under the sun and the crystal-blue sky.

  Ba shut off the engine. All grew quiet.

  A statue of a woman named the Bodhisattva of Compassion, Phat Ba Quan Ahm, was tied to the bow of the boat. The Bodhisattva had one thousand arms reaching out to all those in need. Tinh hadn’t counted the arms of the statue, but it had many, some hidden behind the others. On the palm of each of those thousand hands, Phat Ba Quan Ahm had an eye to watch over those who suffered.

  While the Buddha felt like a father, the Bodhisattva of Compassion was a mother, nurturing and protecting everyone, including Tinh and Ba and the rest of the fishermen.

  Tinh lit a stick of incense and placed it in front of her smiling face. He pressed his palms together and bowed.

  Tinh helped Ba tie two nets to the boat. The small one, like a hammock, caught ca nuc, tiny silver fish. The large one drifted farther and captured not only ca nuc but also ca kinh, diamond-shaped fish, and ca ngu, gray fish as big as Tinh’s leg.

  They also used fishing lines. Tinh cast his line over the side of the boat and waited. As soon as he and Ba caught a few fish, they’d cook soup and eat it with rice wrapped in fresh banana leaves.

  This evening, Ma and Lan would be waiting on the shore for the return of the boat and its pot of soup.

  Tomorrow, Ma and Lan would load the catch of fish into the ganh hang, a contraption of two baskets tied to each end of a bamboo pole. They’d carry the fish to the village of Phong Chuong to sell. With the money, Ma would get rice, vegetables, and rubber sandals. Just before Lunar New Year, she’d buy cloth to make new clothes.

  Tinh wished he could buy a remote-controlled car like Trang Ton’s. Maybe someday he and Ba would catch so much fish there’d be money not only for necessities, but for such a toy as well.

  If the nets could just haul in a little more, Tinh thought.

  Ba caught a fish and reeled it in. Moments later, Tinh caught a ca kinh. It flashed and twisted, dangling from the end of the line.

  By lunchtime, they had enough fish for the soup. Ba poured diesel over the wood in the round metal stove and lit a fire.

  While Ba cleaned the fish, Tinh put the pot of water on to boil and added fishsauce, salt, hot pepper, and mushroom powder.

  Ba slipped the fish into the pot.

  Tinh cast his line again. A wedge of black clouds had formed on the horizon, far out to sea. A shadow passed over his heart. “Look, Ba. A storm.”

  Ba looked and frowned. “We’ll fill the nets before we turn back,” he said firmly. “Those are only clouds, Tinh. Rest now and relax.”

  Tinh nodded, daydreaming of the way the red car had responded to his every command. He pulled his cone-shaped straw hat over his face and lay back. He listened to the gentle lap of the water, his line drifting.

  The sky was unusually quiet, though. Now no seagulls flew overhead. Tinh slid his hat back and took a peek.

  The blue sky had grown murky yellow as though coated with a film of diesel smoke. Tinh sat up. The wedge of clouds had advanced, becoming darker, bigger.

  He peered overboard, searching for the nets. Would Ba decide to go home soon? If there were big waves, Tinh might be sick again. Besides, Ma and Lan would worry. Many afternoons Tinh had stood on the shore while storms were brewing, anxiously watching for the return of Ba and his boat.

  Tinh checked the soup, lifting a bit of fish onto the spoon.

  Gusts of wind swept across the water, rocking the boat back and forth. Water sloshed in.

  Tinh held the pot steady on the stove. Lan would be disappointed if the soup tipped over.

  Shielding his eyes, Tinh scanned the ocean. What were the other fishermen doing? Were his uncles and cousins heading for shore?

  He spotted Trang Ton’s green boat. Trang Ton’s nets rose and fell over the waves.

  Tinh studied the boats carrying the divers who searched for shellfish on the ocean bottom. The body of each diver was covered with tattoos to scare away the big fish. The divers stood together, as if talking. One pointed to the sky.

  “Let’s reel in the lines,” Ba said. But he didn’t turn the boat around.

  Tinh eyed the storm clouds curling like black dragon breath over the ocean.

  The boat rose over a huge swell. But this time, Tinh didn’t run to the bow for the ride. His stomach churned with seasickness. He thought of a long-ago storm that people still talked about in which many boats, many men and boys, had been completely lost.

  Tinh sat low and chanted the name of the Bodhisattva: “Phat Ba Quan Ahm, Phat Ba . . .” He prayed that she would reach out one of her thousand arms to protect the bamboo boat.

  Ba gripped the edge of the boat and stared at the clouds. He wet his finger and held it up, testing the direction of the wind. “Let’s bring in the nets,” he finally said.

  Together, they pulled the nets from the sea into the boat. The nets were half empty and light. Out of the water, the fish flopped, their eyes wide.

  Tinh felt like a fish himself, tossed and confused. For a moment, he was sorry for the fish and considered throwing them back
.

  Starting the engine, Ba said, “Steer us toward shore, Tinh.”

  Tinh held the tiller, but with the waves slapping the sides of the boat, his thin arms couldn’t hold the course. Ba had to sit on the other side and help.

  The water was dense green. By now the clouds had climbed over the sky. They blocked the sun. Tinh saw all the fishing boats turning back.

  In the afternoon darkness, oil lamps were being lit along the shore.

  Suddenly, the ocean heaved up, knocking over the pot of soup, dousing the fire. Oh, thought Tinh, his mother and sister would go hungry!

  Another wave loomed — a small shark silhouetted in the glassy curve — and slammed Tinh against the side of the boat.

  Ba reached out to yank him upright.

  The wind screamed as it carried sheets of water back and forth across the ocean.

  As the boat was swept closer to shore, Tinh saw the beach crowded with families — including Tinh’s many aunts, uncles, and cousins — scanning the wild sea for returning boats.

  Lan’s pink kite was caught in a cay duong tree.

  A thick green wave reared up behind them. Steering the boat was nothing like driving a remote-controlled car!

  “Ba!” Tinh cried.

  Like a rampaging dragon, the water hurled the bamboo boat onto the sand.

  A second wave knocked the boat sideways, and Tinh fell onto the beach.

  “Get up,” Ma said, shaking Tinh’s arm.

  He spit sand from his mouth, blinked sand from his eyes. He heard shouting. He wanted to get up, but felt heavy, as though completely filled with sand.

  “More big waves are coming,” Ma insisted.

  “Hurry,” said Lan, leaning over him, her thin eyebrows pinched together.

  Tinh sat up. He saw whirlwinds of paper and leaves crossing the beach. The tall coconut palms swayed. The ocean was full of pieces of wood, old coconut husks, and other trash.

  More boats arrived. Some dragged their nets behind them. People yelled to one another. Trang Ton and his older brother, Linh, yanked on the nets, trying to keep them from tangling.

  “Please stand,” said Lan, pulling on Tinh’s hand. “Please!” Her voice rose.