The Mountains Sing

  I was stunned. “But . . . I rescued you. I saved your fortune.”

  “Yes, but saved for what? Who knows if you’re planning to take it yourself. My husband is a very successful man. He’d be a fine catch for any woman. Especially for a poor destitute woman, down on her luck.”

  “That’s not true, Madam.” I remained polite but was very angry.

  “Oh, come on, you think I’m stupid? I’ve seen the way he looks at you . . . and who can blame him? Those big eyes of yours, the smooth skin and long legs, those large breasts. I’ve also seen the way you flaunt yourself at him.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Oh yes, of course. Innocent little Diệu Lan. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. But I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I’m sure you know the old saying, ‘Nuôi ong tay áo.’ I can’t raise bees in my shirtsleeve. So, Diệu Lan, I have to let you go.”

  “You’re firing me?”

  “Let’s just say I’m taking care of my family. Here’s your final salary. Take it and never come back, or else I’ll make your life miserable.”

  She threw a tiny cloth bag onto her bed. I bent to pick it up. It was light. What would I do with the few coins she’d given me?

  Mr. Toàn was downstairs serving a customer when I quietly walked past him. I didn’t say good-bye, to avoid more trouble with Mrs. Châu. She was a Hà Đông lion, a woman who’s unreasonably jealous.

  Back at my living quarters, I sat with Sáng on our straw mat. What would I do now, without a job? When would I be able to gather my children into my arms?

  Sáng wriggled away, crawling toward the cloth bag, which I’d thrown onto the mat without any thought. As he pulled it open, some glittering metal coins fell out.

  I held them up, gasping.

  Mr. Giáp the goldsmith stared at me, his face full of questions after I’d showed him the coins. “Where did you get these?”

  “Master Thịnh’s relatives gave them to me, Uncle. Are they real?”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. After asking his wife to look after the shop, he told me to wait outside, picked up the bag, and left in a hurry. I had no idea where he was going, but the furious look on his face stopped me from asking any question.

  Out on the pavement, my insides felt like they were being roasted. If the coins were real gold and silver, my fate would be changed. But what if Mrs. Châu was playing games with me? I looked around. No sight of Mr. Giáp. It was a busy time of the day, people hurrying about.

  Sáng reached for my face. “Mama, Mama,” he babbled.

  The Country Bumpkin Boy

  Hà Nội, 1976

  The shrill of cicadas rolled through the sky. The air swelled with summer blaze. Sweat streamed down my face. My schoolbag was a boulder on my back. I leaned forward, pedaling. I had to get home quick, to avoid the midday heat.

  Grinding noises rang up from under my feet. I pushed against the pedals. An ominous snapping sound.

  I led the bike up onto the pavement, leaning it against a tree. The chain had fallen away from both cogs, exposing jagged metal teeth.

  I wriggled my hands through the frame, reaching for the chain, trying to lift it up. It refused to budge. Black oil clung to my skin. The sun beat relentlessly down on me. I pulled harder. Nothing happened.

  “Need help?” I looked up to see Tâm, his face framed by a red canopy of flamboyant phượng flowers above him. I hadn’t talked to him for months. My heart pounded.

  I hid my black hands behind my back and mumbled my hello.

  “Oh, I see. The chain.” Tâm squatted down next to me and studied the bike.

  Men are bad, a voice in my head said. Don’t let yourself fall for Tâm.

  You can like him, argued another voice. He’s as kind and generous as your father, Uncle Đạt, and Uncle Thuận.

  I stayed glued to the pavement as Tâm stood up, walked away, and came back with a twig. He broke it into two. “Try not to use your fingers next time.” A smile lingered in his eyes. “This oil is hard to get rid of.”

  He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. I found myself gazing at the muscles of his arms. I wondered if he’d gained his muscles by hoeing in the ricefields. In a swift movement, Tâm flipped the bike upside down and lifted the chain with the two halves of the twig. He released the part that was stuck, slipping the chain back onto its cogs.

  “I fix bikes with my uncle in the afternoon.” Tâm spun the pedal. “This chain is much too loose. It’ll give you trouble again.”

  “Happened twice this week.” Heat rushed into my face. The girls in my class had been whispering about Tâm. Quite a few of them had a crush on him. I wondered if he knew.

  Tâm returned the bike to its wheels. “Let’s get it fixed then.” He looked straight ahead, his face suddenly brightened. “See over there?”

  Squinting, I saw a man a distance away from us. He was squatting on the pavement, hunching over something that looked like a tin basin. “A bicycle repairman?”

  Tâm grinned and nodded. He pushed my bike. We walked side by side. A cool breeze rushed at us, unfolding a sweet fragrance. Across the road, giant leaves and pink flowers brimmed a pond. Lotus. Why hadn’t I noticed them before?

  “You seem to have settled down well.” I tucked a hair lock behind my ear, hating myself for trying to charm Tâm.

  “I really like it here. Can’t believe it’s already five months.”

  Five months. It’d been that long since I guided him around our school. We may not have talked but I’d seen him watching me.

  “I’m glad your mother returned to her job as a doctor at Bạch Mai, and your Uncle Đạt is getting better,” Tâm said.

  “But how . . . how do you know?”

  “I’ve been asking about you, of course. Any news from your father?”

  I shook my head.

  “You know . . . I was hoping to run into you, so we could talk.”

  “About what?”

  “Well, you don’t remember the many things we talked about?”

  I turned away, hiding my smile. I couldn’t tell him that everything we’d said to each other was like a song that kept rolling over and over in my mind.

  The repairman was an elderly person whose hair looked like a puff of cloud that had fallen down from the sky. He was holding the pumped-up inner tube of a bicycle tire, dipping it into a water basin. A lady sat next to him, watching. She gasped when a stream of bubbles popped up from the tube, rising to the surface.

  “That’s a big hole, no wonder you got a flat tire,” the man told the lady. He pushed a toothpick against the bubbles and into the tube. “I’m just marking the hole and will fix it later. Let’s see if there’s another one.”

  I’d expected to wait for the repairman, but Tâm asked whether he could borrow some of his tools.

  “Help yourself.” The man gestured toward a metal box.

  Tâm dropped his school bag onto the pavement. Sweat rolled down his face as he peeled the chain away, shortened it, and put it back. He turned the pedal, listening to the smooth sound the bike now made, his head nodding. He tightened the brakes, checked the tires and gave them some air with a hand pump.

  “He looks like an expert. Where did you find him?” the repairman asked me. He’d started a fire and was using a pair of metal chopsticks to heat up a piece of rubber.

  “Tâm is my classmate.” I felt my face getting redder.

  “You two look like a fine couple.” The lady winked.

  “Couldn’t agree more,” the repairman said as he placed the tube, which was now empty of air, onto a wooden board. He removed the toothpick, sealing the hole with the heated rubber patch. Placing a piece of flat metal on top, he hammered it down a few times before dipping the tube into the basin. The water sizzled, sending a curl of smoke and steam upward.

  I pretended to watch him, hoping Tâm hadn’t heard what the lady had said about us being a couple.

  “Done.” Tâm let my bike rest on its kickstand. He returned the tools to the repairma
n and helped him put the tire back on the lady’s bicycle.

  “Thank you, young man.” The repairman looked impressed.

  “What a nice boy.” The lady leaned toward me. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

  The repairman lifted his water can, but it appeared to be empty. “Over there.” He gestured toward the lotus pond. “Plenty of water to wash your hands.”

  I wished I could pick up Tâm’s bag. With my black hands, I stood there like an idiot as the lady looped the bag strap around his shoulder. He thanked her and turned to me. “Shall we?”

  With Tâm leading my bike, we crossed the road to reach the pond’s bank. A distance away from us, behind a ring of rippling water, the lotus stretched out, their flowers opening to the wind.

  Tâm leaned my bike against an ancient tree. Dropping his bag onto the grass, he squatted on the bank, which rose high above the pond’s surface. He bent forward, scooping up some water to wash his hands.

  I let go of my bag, too, wishing I could follow Tâm but fearing I’d fall into the pond. It looked deep, and I didn’t know how to swim.

  “Come, wash your hands,” Tâm said. Before I could answer, he splashed a handful of water at me.

  I took a few steps back. “Don’t . . .”

  Tâm chuckled, bent down and scooped up another handful. I ran—and tripped on a large, protruding tree root.

  “Hương!” Tâm cried. He rushed to me. “Are you hurt?”

  I giggled, trying to get back to my feet. Tâm held out his hands and pulled me up. His strength caused me to almost crash into him. His scent made my heart miss a beat. We were so close now. I could feel his breath on my face.

  “It’s my turn,” I said. Tâm’s eyes flew open as my hands smeared the oil onto his cheeks. I swirled around and started running. Tâm caught me by my waist, holding me back.

  I laughed. Tâm pulled me toward him, his chest brushing against my back.

  We faced each other. I lowered my gaze to avoid his eyes. A new and powerful sensation swept through me. We stood in silence, the wind above our heads.

  “I . . . I have to go.” I pulled myself away from him, my whole body tingling. “It must be late and I must . . .”

  “Come wash your hands.” Tâm took my arm, leading me back to the pond. There, he scooped up water and rubbed the oil away from my skin. When he was done, I bent, dipping my handkerchief into the water. With Tâm next to me, I was no longer afraid of falling.

  Tâm closed his eyes as I brought the handkerchief to his face. Tenderly, I wiped away the black marks.

  He opened one eye to look at me, his mouth lifting into a radiant smile. “Help me with something?”

  “What?” I tried to avoid staring at his long eyelashes and his full lips.

  “Hold my hand?”

  “Huh?”

  He pointed at a lotus flower just away from our reach. Then he gestured at the protruding root of the ancient tree. “And hold on to that?”

  “But . . . are you sure it’s allowed?”

  He shrugged, smiled, and gave me his hand.

  I grabbed the root. My other hand clutched Tâm’s hand. “Be careful.”

  Holding tight to me, Tâm stretched his body out to the water. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see him fall. I didn’t think he could reach the flower, but when I sneaked a look, the pink petals were trembling against his chest.

  He offered the flower to me. “For the most charming and most intelligent girl.”

  I hid my smile behind the lotus, its fragrance stealing my breath.

  “Hey. You thieves!” Angry shouts sprang up somewhere out on the water. I turned to see a man in frantic motions. He was rowing a sampan toward us. “My flowers!”

  “Oops.” Tâm pulled me up. As I hurried to grab our bags, slinging them over my shoulder, Tâm picked up my handkerchief. He rushed my bike across the grass and onto the road.

  “Sorry, Uncle,” Tâm called over to the boatman. “This flower, it’s the first one I ever picked for a girl. Forgive me, please.”

  I wasn’t sure if the boatman heard Tâm. He was still rowing furiously, shouting along the way. Tâm hopped onto my bike. I jumped on behind him.

  Holding on to his waist, my fingers burned as they felt the muscles through his shirt. Tâm raced us through the streets, navigating through traffic. “You alright?”

  “Sure.” I giggled, the flower nesting against my chest.

  Our laughter rose up together. Around me, summer was in full bloom. Something blossomed inside me, too.

  “So now . . . where to?” Tâm asked.

  “Oh, no! What time is it?” How could I have forgotten that Uncle Đạt was alone and needed my help? “I should hurry home.”

  “I’ll take you there.”

  Tâm already knew the maze that made up the roads of Hà Nội. He found a shortcut that took us to Khâm Thiên.

  It had been a long time since a friend visited my home. Wanting to show Tâm off to Thủy, I looked hard when we passed her house. No sight of her. She’d dropped out of school and taken a job stringing bamboo curtains for a cooperative.

  I opened our door to see Grandma standing there. “Where have you been?” Wrinkles deepened on her face.

  “Chào bà.” Tâm bowed his greeting.

  She nodded, eyeing him, not a single word escaping her lips.

  Tâm turned to me. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Who’s that?” Grandma asked as I pushed my bike inside.

  “I wish you were more friendly, Grandma. Couldn’t you have invited him in?”

  “I don’t know who he is. And where did you go?”

  “Can’t I have friends?” I threw my schoolbag onto the floor, holding on to the lotus. For sure Tâm disliked me now.

  “Hương is right, Mama,” Uncle Đạt said from his wheelchair. “She’s a big girl. Give her some freedom.” He smiled at me. “That’s a nice flower.”

  “Glad someone noticed.” I gave it to him.

  He gestured at the table. “Eat, the food’s getting cold.”

  I dived into the plates and bowls, knowing that I should wash my hands first. But Tâm’s touch still felt soft on my skin; I wanted it to stay.

  Grandma rummaged the cupboard for a vase. “A female friend would be better for your age, Hương.”

  “He’s a classmate, Grandma.” I rolled my eyes.

  “How come I haven’t seen him before? And that middle-region accent of his . . .”

  “He moved a couple of months ago from Hà Tĩnh Province.”

  “That’s not too far from our home village.” Uncle Đạt inhaled the lotus’s perfume. “Men from Hà Tĩnh are known to be honest and hard-working.”

  I smiled at my uncle, glad that he was on my side.

  “We’ll see about that.” Grandma put the vase and the lotus onto the table. She poured me a glass of water. “As I was saying, Đạt, I asked Hạnh to rerun the search notice in the newspapers. Hopefully your brother Minh will see it.”

  “You think he’s in the South, Mama?”

  “I’m sure.” Grandma turned to me. “Your aunt ran search notices for your father, too. She’ll let us know as soon as there’s any news.”

  I nodded, reminding myself to write more often to my aunt. Our proverb said “Xa mặt cách lòng—Distant faces, faded hearts,” but Auntie Hạnh had stayed close despite more than a thousand kilometers between us.

  After I’d cleared away the plates and bowls, Grandma put a large basket onto the table, unloading pieces of flattened rubber tires.

  Uncle Đạt struggled but managed to swing himself into a dining chair. For months he’d been training his arms, lifting heavy weights. I wished the artificial legs would arrive soon. Grandma had sold the piglets and gathered all her savings, as well as money from Auntie Hạnh and my mother. My uncle had gone to have his stumps measured, but it was taking longer than we’d hoped for the legs to be ready. With so many injured soldiers, the demand for artificial limbs was too hig
h.

  We pushed the chair closer to the table. Uncle Đạt leaned his upper body forward, reaching into the basket. He held up a pair of large scissors. Grandma picked up a cardboard piece in the shape of a sandal’s base, placing it on top of a rubber chunk.

  “Oh yeah.” Uncle Đạt started cutting.

  “What’s all this?” I asked.

  “Your old uncle got a job.” Uncle Đạt grinned. “Making sandals. Cool, right?”

  “For the Thuận Việt Cooperative,” Grandma added, and I understood. Uncle Đạt’s only pair of rubber sandals had survived his tough six-month walk through the jungles. These sandals were sturdy, cheap, and getting more and more popular.

  “As easy as eating porridge,” he said. “I used to fix them all the time.”

  Uncle Đạt’s breath no longer stank of liquor. Giving it up was not easy for him, though. He’d told us to throw out all of the liquor, only to search the kitchen, screaming when he found none. There had been days when he stayed in bed, refusing to talk. Luckily, Miss Nhung had been there whenever he needed her most. They spent a long time together in his room, and Grandma told me not to disturb them. Sometimes I heard soft moans coming through the closed door and felt myself blushing. I imagined Uncle Đạt and Miss Nhung kissing, the way I wanted to kiss Tâm.

  Thinking about Tâm, my body grew hot. When would I get to talk to him again? I’d had doubts about him, but Uncle Đạt had said that men from Hà Tĩnh were honest. Honesty was what I needed most in a friend.

  “I must get back to work,” said Grandma. “If you make a mistake, Đạt, don’t worry. These tires are cheap.”

  “My sandals will be better than theirs, let me assure you.” Uncle Đạt’s eyes stayed fixed to the scissors.

  “Be careful on the road, Grandma.” I pushed her bike out to the lane. I didn’t like how bossy she was but knew she was watching out for me.

  “I’ll be back late. There’s not much food left, but we still have some dry fish.”

  I tested the bike’s brake. “Dry fish is perfect, Grandma. I’ll cook tonight.”

  A shower blanketed the afternoon. My mother came home, a trembling leaf. I pulled her into our room, where her bed lay next to mine and Grandma’s. I helped dry her and urged her to change; my throat tightened as I watched how her ribs protruded. Her nightmares had come roaring back. During the night, Grandma and I took turns staying by her side, holding her as she shook violently, screaming.