The Buddha's Diamonds

by Carolyn Marsden

  If there were fish to sell. He had to know about the boat.

  Ma looked up again and, putting her hand on Tinh’s knee, said, “This reminds me of the war. After the soldiers came through, ransacking our village, or after a bombing, we had to rebuild our lives. We had almost nothing, but each time we recovered.”

  Tinh sighed. Ma didn’t know about the boat. Recovering without it would be hard. “I’m going down to the beach,” he said, standing up. “I’ll check on the boat.”

  He walked out of the yard slowly, hands in his pockets. As though nothing was wrong. He didn’t want to worry Ma. But once out of Ma’s sight, he ran.

  He sank ankle-deep in the puddles. At first, he stopped to shake the mud from his sandals, but soon gave up and went on, muddy to the knees.

  He passed houses lying in ruins, leaped over trees fallen across the road. A pig wandered through the remains of the candy stall. Chickens — their feathers bedraggled — roosted in fallen trees. Everything smelled wet.

  Second Aunt and her three children stared at the sky. First Aunt and her husband tugged at the rubble. Tinh heard crying and the sharp bark of angry words. Everywhere, he heard the whoosh of brooms sweeping water.

  Swarms of mosquitoes attacked Tinh’s ankles.

  From far off, he could see the ocean, still restless, yet sparkling again, an innocent blue.

  At the beach, the cay duong trees lay full-length across the sand. Tinh recognized the pink paper of Lan’s kite still caught in the long needles of one tree, now fallen.

  Broken boats lay underneath the trees. Broken boats were scattered over the beach. Flies gathered on the dead fish still caught in the nets. Tinh held his nose.

  He spotted a cluster of boats, jumbled on top of each other. There — could it be? On the bottom? He ran and knelt to touch the golden bamboo, now coated with a layer of white sand. A crack ran through the hull, a wound like that on Lan’s leg. The engine was buried in sand.

  The Bodhisattva was trapped underneath.

  Tinh started to dig with his hands, but with the boats on top, it was no use.

  He tried to lift the uppermost boat off, but it was too heavy.

  He slumped, his face in his hands.

  Just yesterday, his golden boat had glided over the turquoise ocean. Just yesterday, he and Ba had caught fish and all had been well.

  Now everything was lost.

  With a round thud, a coconut fell to the ground.

  “Tinh!” a voice called.

  Tinh looked up to see Trang Ton spinning his soccer ball on one finger.

  The ball gleamed black and white in the sunshine, untouched by the storm.

  “How about a game, Tinh?”

  Tinh gestured toward the rubble covering the beach. “How can I just play?”

  “Why not?” Trang Ton twirled the ball.

  “I need to get my boat out.”

  Trang Ton stepped closer to the pile. “Isn’t that yours on the bottom?”

  Tinh nodded.

  “There are,”— Trang Ton counted — “seven boats on top. You can’t do anything now. You have to wait for the other people to come first.” He paused. “Let’s go.”

  “It’s easy for you to play,” Tinh said. He noticed that Trang Ton was wearing a new striped shirt. “You have a rich uncle.”

  Trang Ton spun the ball again. “That’s true, Tinh. But you’ll still be happier if you come with me.”

  Tinh looked around at the soft blue sea and clear sky.

  Suddenly, he thought of the monk’s talk. It was true that the sun was still in the sky. He even saw a pale moon. He was still breathing. As were Ma and Ba and Lan.

  Maybe Trang Ton and the monk were right. In spite of the storm, Tinh could be happy. He still had a handful of diamonds.

  His heart, knotted in fear, unfolded.

  But how could he leave this spot? Leaving, he’d abandon the boat for a third time.

  “Let’s go,” Trang Ton repeated. “No one is going to do anything with these boats today, Tinh. They have to fix the houses first.”

  Tinh indeed saw no one. He got up and followed Trang Ton, his heart like a boat buried in sand.

  Dong and Anh joined them. They threw the ball back and forth as they walked, dancing to avoid the puddles, daring each other to jump high over fallen trees.

  But Tinh marched with his hands behind his back. What would Ba do when he saw the boat?

  A green snake slipped through the mud, and Tinh jumped back.

  As the boys approached the temple, Tinh saw that the soccer field was clear. No trees had blown across it. The hot sun had almost dried it. The place lay ready, like an invitation.

  But Tinh wasn’t ready. How could he play soccer? What would Ba think to see him kicking the American ball while their boat lay at the bottom of the pile?

  Tinh noticed that a tree had crashed over the temple, smashing the clay-tile roof.

  Had the inside of the temple been damaged by the storm?

  Tinh thought of the monks and nuns chanting “From the mud of adversity grows the lotus of joy. . . .” Could the Buddha lighten Tinh’s heavy heart?

  “Where are you going, Tinh?” Trang Ton called. “We’re starting the game.”

  “Play without me,” Tinh called back.

  He mounted the temple steps, climbing between the stone dragons still standing on guard, their stone fire unquenched.

  No one was in the temple.

  Rain and wind had scoured the paint from the plaster of the eastern wall, so that Tinh saw only fragments of the Buddha’s life.

  He stepped onto a floor covered with crushed fruit and flowers, small branches, leaves, and mud mixed with the ashes of burned incense. As he leaned down to pick up the pictures of Banoi and Ong Noi, an incense holder rolled toward him.

  Tinh placed the photographs of his grandparents back on the altar and set a wilting blue passionflower in front of them.

  The donation box lay on its side in a corner, coins spilling onto the floor.

  The once-dim temple was now flooded with light streaming through the broken roof.

  Tinh’s gaze lifted to the statue of the Buddha towering over him.

  The Buddha sat solidly, his eyes half-closed, undisturbed by the night’s storm. In fact, he’d been washed clean by the rain and was now lit by fresh sunshine.

  Although Tinh’s boat had been buried and the village lay in ruins, the Buddha smiled serenely.

  Although Tinh’s guava tree was down, the Buddha didn’t care that his own offerings lay scattered.

  All had gone wrong, but the Buddha was still happy.

  For a moment, Tinh perceived that happiness as a soft golden aura, the light of the sun itself expanding from the Buddha’s body.

  He even felt the beginnings of a glow around his own heart.

  But, thought Tinh, that was only his imagination. The Buddha was only a statue created by a sculptor many years ago. His chiseled smile meant nothing.

  He listened to his cousins kick the American ball, calling to each other. They and the Buddha were wrong to be happy today. Wrong. Tinh refused to look at the Buddha’s face. He turned away from happiness and started home.

  At the house, Tinh heard crying from the kitchen. He followed the sound to find Ma sitting by the earthen rice jar.

  She held up a handful. “The lid blew off. Our rice is ruined! How will I feed you children?” She faced him, her cheeks wet with tears.

  Tinh wanted to hold his nose against the smell of the wet rice that had rotted so quickly in the heat.

  “At least we have the guavas, Ma,” said Tinh, kneeling beside her. His belly rumbled with hunger.

  “Our dear tree,” Ma cried harder.

  “And we always have sweet potatoes.” Tinh laid a hand on Ma’s arm.

  Ma wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.

  Had Phat Ba Quan Ahm forsaken them? Had her thousand arms been busy elsewhere?

  Ba would expect Tinh to be the man until he retur
ned. “I’ll find food for us,” Tinh said to Ma. “I’ll take care of us.” If he found food, it would help make up for his cowardice with the boat.

  He took a bowl from the shelf in the kitchen. “Don’t worry,” he said, leaving the yard.

  With the sun higher in the sky, the air had grown steamy. Tinh wiped his forehead with the hem of his shirt.

  He went to Third Aunt’s house. The leaves of the banana trees had been torn into ribbons. All was silent. Was no one home?

  “Third Aunt, it’s me, Tinh,” he called out. “Do you have any dry rice?”

  Third Aunt came to the door, her hair loose from its tight bun. “I’m sorry, Tinh. Our rice was knocked over by the wind. I borrowed from your father’s uncle.”

  She stared at his empty bowl. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

  Tinh set off for First Uncle’s house, tapping the bowl against the side of his leg. He passed the school. Chickens pecked in the puddles, and two white dogs scrounged for food.

  In the tall palms, birds sang as though the storm had never happened.

  As Tinh rounded the bend in the path, he came to First Uncle’s house. One wall had fallen in. Leaning on his cane with one hand, First Uncle pulled at pieces of bamboo and palm fronds with his free hand. He moved unsteadily, having lost a leg when he’d stepped on a land mine after the war.

  Tinh walked into the yard, carrying his bowl in front of him.

  First Uncle glanced at the bowl and shook his head. “I just gave my last rice away, Tinh.”

  “I hope you saved some for yourself.”

  “No, children need food more than I do.” First Uncle stroked his long, narrow beard. “Ask your aunt who lives in the brick house.”

  He meant Trang Ton’s mother.

  As Tinh walked on, he wondered if Trang Ton and the others were still playing soccer.

  Fourth Aunt’s beautiful brick house was splashed with mud. Clay roof tiles lay on the ground. Sticks floated in the brown sea flooding the yard.

  Trang Ton’s older brother, Linh, appeared in the doorway.

  Recalling the small green snake of the morning, Tinh stopped before the mud. “Do you have dry rice?” he asked, gesturing with the bowl.

  “We can give you a little.” Linh eyed the huge puddle. “Come around to the window.”

  Tinh stepped lightly over the wet ground. His family would eat after all.

  He held the bowl to the open window while Linh scooped in rice. At the sound of the dry grains, Tinh’s stomach clenched. When a few grains dropped into the mud below, he almost sank to his knees to gather them.

  On the way home, Tinh stopped off at First Uncle’s house. “I have rice now, Uncle. Let me give you some.”

  First Uncle held out a coconut shell while Tinh poured in a few spoonfuls.

  “Keep this for yourself,” Tinh cautioned. “Don’t give it away.”

  “Thank you, Tinh,” said First Uncle. “This reminds me of how we used to share during the war.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a pendant of green stone, a tiny Buddha. “Here, take this.” He laid the pendant on top of the rice. “The Buddha will bless you, Tinh.”

  “Thank you very much, Uncle.”

  Tinh carried his bowl of rice with both hands, balancing his family’s food and the image. He looked ahead and stepped carefully around debris fallen across the road.

  Once he stopped to gaze at the Buddha, sea green against the white grains. The Buddha was seated on a lotus throne, the soft petals supporting him. Tinh thought of how the lotus grew only in thick, dank mud.

  In the distance, Tinh saw Lan and Ba walking toward him. He squinted — Lan had a new bandage on her leg.

  “The doctor gave me a shot!” she called out when they drew closer.

  “Did it hurt?”

  “A little. But now I feel better.”

  A wisp of breeze touched Tinh’s cheek. “I’m so glad, Lan,” he said.

  “I see you found rice,” Ba commented. “And the Buddha besides.”

  Tinh lifted the bowl proudly and smiled. But then he remembered. He lowered the rice and looked at the ground. “Our boat . . .” The rice in his hands suddenly seemed insignificant.

  “I’ve seen it,” Ba said. He sighed, and Tinh felt as though the storm was hitting all over again. “Go on ahead, Lan,” said Ba. Then, as Lan limped off, he said to Tinh, “Why didn’t you tie it?”

  Tinh clutched the bowl. He had to tell Ba the truth. “I didn’t ask anyone to help me bring the boat onto the beach,” he began. “I . . .” He swallowed hard. “I ran away. A big wave came and I got scared.” He didn’t mention the red car. He kept his eyes on a line of ants crossing a log. He wished he were an ant.

  “That boat is our only way of making a living. . . .”

  Tinh drew a circle in the damp ground with his toe. “I know.”

  “Then why didn’t you make sure it was safe?”

  “The waves were so big, Ba. . . .” His father hadn’t seen those waves.

  Ba just squinted, as though trying to see something in the distance.

  “Everyone’s boat was damaged,” Tinh continued. “None was safe.”

  Ba grunted and said nothing.

  Tinh felt smaller than an ant.

  That evening as the smell of cooking rice filled the yard, Tinh took the red car from the bush. It was splattered with mud but otherwise seemed unhurt.

  Tinh rolled each wheel against his palm. He needed to give the car to Trang Ton, but not yet.

  He hid it back in the bush.

  The next day, Tinh and Ba mended the roof. First they untied the sandbags and loosened the ropes over the thatch. “Without these ropes,” Ba said, “we might have lost our whole house.”

  Tinh smiled a little. Was Ba saying he’d done a good job with the ropes? Did he feel bad about his harshness the day before?

  As though to make up for its own destructiveness, the wind had blown down some palm fronds they could use to repair the roof. Tinh dragged them like huge feathers across the yard.

  This time there was no guava tree for Tinh to climb. Ba stood on a coconut tree stump and helped Tinh reach the roof.

  From high up, Tinh had a view of the jungle and the ruined bamboo houses tangling together.

  He leaned down while Ba handed up the palm fronds.

  Tinh lashed the fronds, one by one, with rope made from palm leaves. He tied each knot tight against the next storm.

  A day later, a crowd gathered at the beach to repair the boats. People carried a collection of hand tools: drills, screwdrivers, saws. Trang Ton’s grandparents came to watch, sitting in the shade of the coconut palms.

  Trang Ton and Linh tossed the soccer ball back and forth. Trang Ton hit it once with his head.

  The waves caressed the beach as though to soothe it. When Tinh looked out at the glinting turquoise ocean, it seemed to wink at him with a thousand eyes. He could hardly imagine it rearing up against them all, a ferocious green dragon.

  When Trang Ton tucked the soccer ball under a bush, Tinh thought of the red car. “I rescued your remote-controlled car from the beach,” he said.

  Trang Ton shrugged. “It won’t work anymore. The batteries in the remote got wet.”

  “You can’t dry them out?” Tinh asked.

  Trang Ton shrugged. “The inside of the remote is green and corroded. You can have the car if you want.”

  “I can have it?” Tinh asked. Was the diamond falling into his hands so easily?

  Trang Ton nodded.

  Tinh gave a low whistle. But then he quickly realized that without the remote, the car wouldn’t run. It would be just a child’s toy. He might as well give it to Trang Ton’s little cousin Phu.

  Tinh helped Trang Ton, Linh, Fourth Uncle, and Ba lift off the top boat. Though the paint was peeling and the shrine had fallen off, the body seemed undamaged.

  Tinh watched as the boat was carried to the ocean. Fourth Uncle tugged at the line of the engine. The engine sputtered once, then roar
ed, letting out a cloud of black smoke. Everyone cheered.

  If only it were so simple with his boat, Tinh thought. He scratched away at the nest of sand it lay in.

  Fourth Uncle and Linh took off aboard the first boat. “We’ll catch fish for all of you,” Linh shouted over the sound of the engine.

  Another cheer went up from the beach. Tinh’s mouth suddenly watered. The supplies of rice in the village were almost gone.

  The next boat needed more work. The engine had broken off. Dong used the hand drill while Trang Ton dug out the accumulation of sand in the bottom of the boat.

  Tinh searched for lost bolts in the sand.

  “We’re missing all but two,” Dong said, and Tinh searched deeper until he found five bolts, the threads gritty with sand.

  He wouldn’t rest until his own boat was floating on the ocean again. It would be a while before he’d be able to work on it. To distract himself, he pulled the remnants of Lan’s pink kite from the fallen tree. One piece of the bamboo frame was broken. He tore the paper loose from the other piece and laid it aside. When Lan’s leg healed, they’d build another kite.

  Soon the second boat was also launched. It, too, would bring fish for the village.

  Up and down the beach as far as Tinh could see, more boats were taking to the water.

  Finally Tinh’s bamboo boat lay alone, half buried in sand. Everyone else was either already at sea or repairing other boats, so Tinh and Ba worked alone.

  In any case, Tinh thought, with some people already fishing, everyone’s stomachs would be full tonight.

  At first, Tinh used a stick, while Ba used the shovel. But when the boat was almost freed, they dug with their hands so they wouldn’t damage the bamboo. Sand lodged deep under Tinh’s fingernails.

  They yanked the boat from its bed of sand and stood back to survey the damage: the once-golden bamboo was gray. The hull was fractured. The engine was packed with sand.

  Ba kicked at a rock and said a bad word.

  Tinh clenched his fists so the fingernails bit into the palms. How could he and Ba repair all this?

  They flipped the boat over. Fish, rotting in the nets, stared at Tinh. They’d died for nothing. If he’d set them free when the storm hit, the Buddha might have blessed him with better fortune.