Then he saw the statue of the Bodhisattva still lashed to her shrine. Tinh untied her and, cradling her in his arms, ran to the ocean. He bathed the statue and dried her with his shirt. He set Phat Ba Quan Ahm in the shade, smoothing the sand around her.
Tinh made a sling of his shirt and carried water to wash the boat.
Ba looked over at Trang Ton’s green boat, and Tinh followed his gaze. Trang Ton and an uncle were pushing it into the waves.
“Go fish with Trang Ton if you like,” said Ba. “He could use your help.”
It would be fun to go with Trang Ton. They could have a fish-catching contest. They could tell ghost stories.
But Tinh needed to work on the boat with Ba. He needed to be a man. “I’ll stay with you,” he said to Ba, meeting his eyes.
Ba gave a tiny nod. A pulse of cool air from the ocean caressed Tinh’s cheek.
After Ba cut away the damaged bamboo, Tinh helped to fit in new pieces. Tinh drilled holes with the hand drill. Ba pounded short lengths of bamboo into the holes. Tinh sawed the bamboo nails even with the surface.
Ba drained the diesel from the engine into coconut shells. He handed Tinh a screwdriver to take apart the engine. Tinh laid each piece carefully on a length of cloth. Together, they cleaned off the sand, using rags soaked in diesel.
When all the parts shone, Tinh’s breathing softened.
“The boat will never be as beautiful again, but at least it’ll be whole,” Ba said as Tinh glued on the conch-shell eyes.
“Yes,” said Tinh, daring to smile at Ba. “Our boat is a diamond.”
Ba grunted, but also smiled.
“Where’s the propeller?” Ba suddenly asked.
The propeller was no longer attached to the engine. Tinh glanced around the beach. He saw a bit of metal poking through the sand where the boat had lain. “Maybe here,” he said to Ba, and began digging.
The propeller revealed itself little by little.
Ba dug, too, but it was Tinh who cut himself on the jagged edge. When he lifted the propeller free, blood ran down his wrist.
Ba grabbed Tinh’s hand. “Careful this doesn’t get infected like Lan’s leg.”
But to Tinh, only the boat mattered now.
The propeller looked like a huge metal flower, one petal twisted, another gashed.
Ba turned the propeller around and around. “We can’t fix this.”
Tinh’s lower lip trembled. The repairs had gone well. And now a problem . . .
“In Phong Chuong there’s a machine shop,” Ba said. “The propeller will cost precious money to repair, but there’s no other way. I can’t go tomorrow because I need to take Lan to Dien Hai to be checked again by the doctor.”
Phong Chuong lay on the other side of the sand dunes. Tinh had never gone so far all by himself. A trip to Phong Chuong would have been fun with Ba at his side. But alone?
Tinh sucked his cut finger. He’d been careless enough to injure himself. How could he travel so far as Phong Chuong without Ba?
And yet if he got the propeller repaired tomorrow, he and Ba could be out fishing one day sooner. They’d be able to feed Ma and Lan. Ba would be proud of him.
Tinh took the propeller from Ba. “I’ll go to Phong Chuong. I’ll take the propeller to the men to fix.”
“Alone?” Ba asked. “That’s a long walk for a boy your age.”
Tinh sat up taller. “I’m growing up now. If I’m old enough to fish on the boat, I’m old enough to get it repaired.”
That evening, Tinh handed the red car to Phu. “It doesn’t drive by itself anymore,” he said, “but if you want it, it’s yours.”
Phu’s eyes grew wide. He took the toy with both hands and cradled it close.
“I’m too old for it now,” Tinh explained. “I have a fishing boat to take care of.”
The next morning, Tinh set off for the village of Phong Chuong. He wore his cone-shaped straw hat and carried a bag containing two pink sweet potatoes wrapped in banana leaves, water in an old soda bottle, and the propeller. Deep in one pocket was the money Ba had given him. Deep in the other was First Uncle’s green Buddha.
As he left Hai Nhuan, Tinh passed the cemetery in back of the village. Banoi and Ong Noi were buried here. He’d been sad when they’d died. But by now they’d turned into trees or stars, or maybe ocean waves. Knowing that, Tinh felt better.
Wilted flowers lay strewn around the gravestones. Everyone was too busy attending to the living to tend the dead.
Coming home tonight, he’d have to go by this cemetery again. Ghosts would be out. Unhappy, hungry ghosts who hadn’t been cared for. Tinh shivered at the thought. Silently, he chanted: “Phat Ba Quan Ahm, watch over me. Phat Ba Quan Ahm . . .”
He entered the region of the sand dunes. The light brown sand was flecked with gold shining in the sunlight.
Before Tinh was big enough to go to market with Ma, he’d waited here in the sand dunes for her return in the evening. When he saw her, he’d run to check the buckets of her ganh hang for a special treat: a lump of brown-sugar candy, a mango or banana, or maybe an ear of roasted corn.
Now as Tinh walked to the top of a dune, his feet crunched in the dry sand. In the damp of the dune valleys, mosquitoes bit his ankles.
With every step, he felt the slap of the pendant in one pocket and the rustle of money in the other. What if someone tried to take the money from him? He held the propeller like a shield.
Behind him, his dark shadow slipped over the sand.
During the war, soldiers had fought here. They’d hidden behind the dunes, firing their rifles. They’d thrown grenades and planted land mines.
The land mines still lay underneath the sand. Sometimes, when the sun shone on them, they exploded from the heat. If someone stepped on a land mine, it tore off his legs. First Uncle had lost his leg that way.
Tinh examined the ground as he walked. What would buried land mines look like? Bumps in the sand? Rough patches? His palms sweated.
He stopped and tilted the soda bottle up to his mouth. He drank all his water.
At last the sand dunes tapered down into the village. The storm had hit here, too. Tinh passed downed trees, damaged houses. As in Hai Nhuan, he saw people working together to clean up.
When a man rode by on a bicycle carrying long sticks of brown-sugar candy, Tinh’s mouth watered.
Finally, he spotted the brick hut of the machine shop, smoke rising from the chimney. Tinh approached and peered inside.
Men wearing thick glasses and masks were gathered around a hot charcoal fire.
One man looked up at Tinh. Walking over, he took the propeller. He touched the sharp, broken edges with his fingertip. “Wait outside,” he said, gesturing to a bench. “The storm has brought us a lot of work.”
Tinh sat down on the bench, his back against the wall. Even if he had to wait a long time, he’d made it to the machine shop. He’d walked by himself to Phong Chuong and had delivered the propeller.
Tinh felt the heat from the open doorway. Soon, he heard the sound of pounding. He unwrapped his sweet potatoes and peeled them carefully. The pink flesh was soft and sugary. He ate the peelings, then licked his fingers. By the side of the building, he found a large jar of water and refilled his soda bottle.
Tinh lay down on the bench. He fell asleep to the songs of the birds in the trees overhead.
“Boy,” he heard from the air above him. The man was holding the propeller with a pair of tongs. It glowed a dull red. The man laid it on the ground. All three petals were now complete. “Don’t touch this yet. It’s still hot.”
Tinh handed the man the money.
The man gave back a small bill in change.
Tinh watched as the propeller cooled, slowly losing its red tinge. He touched the edge of a blade, then laid his hand on the shaft, now barely warm. He lifted the propeller into his lap and sat with it. This last piece would make the boat whole. This propeller would spin in the water, carrying him and Ba out to the fish.
; Now he had to get home.
Just as the town gave way to the sand dunes, Tinh found a small purple flower growing in the shade. He picked it, and gathered bamboo leaves to keep it company. He wrapped the small bouquet with a blade of thin grass.
As he climbed the first sand dune, his heart quickened. Ahead lay a twilight filled with ghosts and unexploded land mines. He began to chant: “Phat Ba Quan Ahm, see me. . . .” Balancing the propeller first in one hand, then the other, he wiped his palms on his shirt.
Tinh stopped and stood still. He thought of making the tray of sweet offerings with Banoi at Lunar New Year. He imagined the weight of the tray on his head. He felt Banoi’s hand in his as she’d led him to the center of the yard.
While Tinh had held the tray, Banoi sat smiling like the Buddha.
Tinh thought of the Buddha sitting in the temple, now flooded with light. If the real Buddha were here now, he wouldn’t be afraid. He’d be walking with his relaxed half smile.
The Buddha knew how to be happy no matter what. Even confronted with danger. Even with the villages and countryside in ruins.
Yet Tinh had turned away from happiness. Why hadn’t he stayed and learned the secret of the Buddha’s smile?
The sun rode lower.
Tinh took the green pendant from his pocket. As it grew warm in his hand, he imagined the Buddha walking beside him, taking slow, deliberate steps.
Tinh’s own steps calmed. His foot landed — heel, then toe — on the copper-colored sand. Then the other foot arrived. The sand closed over the footprints behind him.
By tomorrow the boat would be ready for the ocean once again. But for now, he was just walking over the sand. The repaired propeller and the flower bouquet firmly in his hands, Tinh began to smile.
He was ready to accept the Buddha’s diamonds: the first stars, the dome of the sky overhead, the birds hurrying to nest, his own heart beating.
Steadily, Tinh crossed the sand dunes. No ghosts came to torture him. No land mines exploded.
He reached the cemetery as the light faded. He found the gravestones of Banoi and Ong Noi. Kneeling, he laid down his tiny bouquet for his beloved ancestors. Beside it, he laid the pendant. Taking a last look at the Buddha’s smile, Tinh walked into the night.
The next morning, Lan and Ma came to the beach with Tinh and Ba.
Lan wore only a thin bandage now and walked easily, holding Tinh’s hand. “Tomorrow we’ll build a kite together,” he told her.
“A pink one?” she asked.
“That’ll depend on what color paper you can find.”
“Pink. I have some pink.”
Lan and Ma had spent many hours removing the dead fish from the net and mending the holes. Now the nets lay ready in the boat.
As Ba attached the propeller to the engine, he said, “No one could tell that this propeller was once broken.”
Tinh smiled.
Ma and Lan lashed the slim statue to the bow, along with a sprig of leaves and sticks of incense.
The four of them — Third Uncle helping with the final shove — pushed the boat down the sand and into the waves. It floated out, reflected in the water, no longer golden, but a pearly gray.
The storm had changed the boat, Tinh thought. And it had changed him, too.
Ba pulled on the cord, and the engine sprang to life.
As they shoved off — Ma and Lan and Third Uncle waving — Tinh’s heart felt as large as the huge blue ocean. He saw Phu on the shore, the red car in his arms. This bamboo boat, he suddenly realized, was better than one hundred remote-controlled cars.
As they made for the open sea, Tinh lit a stick of incense. The smoke drifted in the light breeze.
When Hai Nhuan was out of sight, Ba silenced the engine.
He and Tinh threw out the nets, then cast the lines.
Tinh waved to Trang Ton in his green boat across the water.
Ba caught a small brown fish and Tinh a huge ca ngu, which he pulled in without Ba’s help.
“You’ve caught a bigger fish than I have,” Ba said. “You’re growing up, Tinh.”
Tinh smiled.
When the sun was high overhead, Ba poured diesel into the stove and lit the wood fire.
Tinh put on the pot of water and added the flavorings. Soon, steam rose, hot and fragrant.
“Someday, Tinh, this will be yours.” Ba patted the boat.
“Oh, Ba . . .” Tinh leaned forward. “I’ll take good care of it. I promise.”
When they headed home in the middle of the afternoon, Tinh steered the boat to shore all by himself.
Standing side by side, Ma and Lan waited on the beach, wearing their cone-shaped hats.
When the boat drew close, Tinh ran to the bow and shouted, “There’s soup! We have soup!”
Late in the afternoon, Tinh visited the temple.
He tiptoed in.
Although the sky still showed through the gaping roof and the wall of paintings was still damaged, the temple had been cleaned. The photographs of the ancestors were lined neatly on the ancestral altar. The donation box stood upright again.
Someone had laid out dry matches and incense.
Tinh lit a stick of incense and placed it in the bowl of sand in front of the Buddha. As the sweet smoke spiraled, Tinh peeked up.
The spot where people left offerings remained empty. No fruit, no flowers. Yet the Buddha was still at peace, smiling as though he knew a beautiful secret.
Tinh sat down cross-legged on the floor, imitating the position of the Buddha. He placed one hand in the mudra for peace, the other in his lap, close to the earth.
He listened to his breathing. His breath reminded him of waves coming in and out, waves caressing the beach.
He listened to the songs of the birds outside.
The storm-ravaged world settled around Tinh, each part utterly perfect. The sun dropped lower, the rays hitting his back.
Then he heard the sounds of his cousins playing soccer on the field outside.
Tinh stood and bowed three times to the Buddha, pressing his forehead to the earth. After the last bow, he looked into the Buddha’s face. The Buddha was right to smile. Tinh smiled back.
Standing in the doorway of the temple, Tinh watched his cousins play. They played like the birds, full of the happiness of the moment.
Tinh walked down the steps between the two stone dragons, calling, “Trang Ton! Dong! Anh! I’m ready to play!”
He ran onto the green field, free of all but the soccer ball and the bright day, the sun balancing on a cloudless blue horizon.
Ba — father
Banoi — grandmother
bodhisattva — one committed to enlightening oneself and others so that all may be liberated from suffering
ca kinh — diamond-shaped fish
ca ngu — large gray fish
ca nuc — small silver fish
cay duong — trees with long needles, pronounced “cay yuong”
chim hai au — seagulls, literally “birds big ocean”
ganh hang — a contraption consisting of a bamboo pole carried over the shoulders with a flat, round basket hanging from each end of the pole
longan — a fruit that grows in clumps. It has a hard, woody skin and a chewy, white center.
Lunar New Year — celebrated either in late January or in February, according to the Chinese lunisolar calendar, which takes into account both lunar and solar cycles of time. Instead of celebrating individual birthdays, all children are one year older on Lunar New Year.
Ma — mother
mudra — hand gesture used in Buddhist meditation
Ong Noi — grandfather
Phat Ba Quan Ahm — the Vietnamese Bodhisattva of Compassion, who began her life as a princess called Wondrous Goodness. Faced with the suffering of the world, she chose to become a nun in order to relieve suffering. Her father, the king, tried to kill her because of her decision. Later on, Wondrous Goodness sacrificed both her arms and both her eyes to heal her father. This Bod
hisattva is often depicted as having one thousand arms and one thousand eyes because of her limitless commitment to helping others.
More than two thousand five hundred years ago, the Buddha was born as a prince named Siddhartha. When he was just a baby, a wise man predicted that he would become enlightened, free from suffering. Siddhartha’s father was upset at the prediction as he wanted his son to be a powerful ruler. He kept Siddhartha secluded in the palace so he would know nothing of the world.
Nevertheless, as a child, Siddhartha witnessed worms being eaten by birds. He was shocked and saddened by the worms’ pain. He also rescued a swan that his cousin had wounded with an arrow.
The young Siddhartha sat under a rose-apple tree learning to meditate, paying attention to the sensations of his breathing.
In spite of the king’s precautions, as a young man Siddhartha went out of the palace. For the first time, he witnessed old age, illness, and death. The sight of suffering moved him so deeply that he escaped from the palace, going into the world to become a holy man.
For years, Siddhartha lived among the holy men of the forests. These men ate almost nothing and tortured themselves, believing that this lifestyle would lead them to the truth. Siddhartha became known as Gautama.
Gautama grew very weak. One day he heard some girls playing a lute, a musical instrument with strings. Upon hearing the music, he realized that if the strings were too tight or too loose the music wouldn’t be beautiful. He saw that by living the life of self-denial, he’d pulled his own strings too tight. Gautama resolved to live a life of moderation.
Soon after this realization, Gautama was bathing and almost fainted from hunger. A young girl offered him a bowl of rice and milk.
After Gautama had eaten and gained strength, he recalled his childhood meditations under the rose-apple tree. He seated himself under a bodhi tree, resolving not to move until he had found a way to end suffering.
Gautama sat under the tree for forty-nine days. During this time, he experienced many temptations, but overcame all of them. He gained insight into suffering, understanding that it is caused by greed, selfishness, and ignorance.
The Buddha's Diamonds Page 4