The Mountains Sing

  “How is she? How’s the baby?” she asked as soon as she saw me.

  “Auntie Hoa is still in labor. I haven’t been able to see her yet.” I handed the empty tin containers back to her. How cruel that Uncle Sáng forbade Grandma to come up. He’d said that his colleagues would be visiting and he’d risk losing his job. How ridiculous.

  “Still in labor? But it’s been ages. Do you think she’s all right?”

  I shrugged. Only Uncle Sáng could talk to the doctors. I hadn’t seen him. It was his assistant who’d returned the tin boxes, telling me to bring more of Grandma’s porridge.

  “This is insane!” Grandma’s shout startled me. She lifted the containers. My eyes popped open as she flung her arms in the air, sending the boxes crashing down onto the pavement. “I can’t stand this a minute more.” She walked away.

  “Where’re you going, Grandma?”

  “To see Hoa, and to tell Sáng enough is enough.”

  The corridor was filled with people. No sign of my uncle or his assistant. Grandma stopped a hurrying nurse. “My daughter-in-law is giving birth. Nguyễn Thị Hoa. Where is she, please?”

  “Nguyễn . . . Thị . . . Hoa?” The nurse went through her list. “In the operating room.” She pointed toward the end of the corridor.

  “Operating room? Is there something wrong?” Grandma’s words came out as a yell.

  “It’s an emergency.” The nurse hurried past us.

  I pulled Grandma’s arm. Racing past people who lay and sat in the corridor, we arrived in front of the operating room as three men dressed in white medical gowns emerged. They looked tense, whispering to each other.

  Grandma dashed past the men, toward the closing door.

  “Hey, where do you think you’re going?” someone shouted.

  “I’m her mother-in-law.” Grandma pushed against the door, charging in. I followed her.

  The strong stench of medicine hit my nostrils. Auntie Hoa was on a bed, her hands on her face. Uncle Sáng was standing beside her, his back to us.

  At the sound of our footsteps, my uncle turned. I’d expected him to scorn Grandma, but his face was twisting. “Oh, Mama!” he cried.

  “Is the baby all right?” Grandma ran to the bed.

  Arriving at her side, I cupped my mouth with my hand. Was that a baby next to Auntie Hoa? Its head was at least three times the size of its chest. Its forehead bulged out. It had no arms or legs.

  “No. No. No!” Grandma picked the baby up, holding it against her chest. The baby didn’t move or make a sound. It was lifeless.

  Uncle Sáng wrapped Grandma in his arms. He buried his head in her hair, his muffled cries cutting through my heart.

  I knelt down next to Auntie Hoa. She looked terrified. I took her hand into mine. I wanted to hug her, but she quietly turned away from me.

  Later, in an office where piles of documents were stacked on top of a cluttered desk, an old doctor told Grandma and Uncle Sáng that he was sorry.

  “Where did you fight during the war, Comrade?” he asked my uncle.

  “Mainly in Quảng Trị. Why, Doctor?”

  “Quảng Trị, I see. Were you exposed to Agent Orange?”

  Uncle Sáng stood up, walking to a wall. His shoulders began to shake. Grandma ran to him. When my uncle turned back to the doctor, his face was white.

  “Agent Orange? I felt it many times on my face. It drenched my clothes. That chemical, wasn’t it meant to destroy the trees?”

  The doctor rose up from his chair. “We’re not sure yet how Agent Orange affects people. But many veterans who were exposed to it have had dead or deformed children.”

  Uncle Sáng beat his fists against the wall. Grandma reached for his hands, pulling them back.

  This couldn’t be happening to our family. What about Uncle Đạt and Auntie Nhung? What would happen to their children?

  A few days later, we sat around the dining table. Uncle Sáng looked haggard, a bag of clothes in front of him.

  “Can’t believe she asked you to move out,” said Uncle Đạt.

  “Things hadn’t been going too well between us. And now, whenever she looks at me, she sees the Agent Orange Devil, you know. . . .”

  The bàng scratched its branches against our roof. Would the ghosts of war ever release us from their grip?

  “The areas where I fought were heavily sprayed.” Uncle Đạt sounded like he was about to cry.

  Auntie Nhung reached for his hands, bringing them to her lips. Tears glimmered in her eyes. “We’ll raise our child, regardless of what happens.”

  “Don’t worry, Đạt,” said my mother. “People react to chemical exposure very differently. Many war veterans have had normal, healthy children.” She shifted her gaze to Auntie Nhung. “My hospital is going to import an ultrasound machine. It can let us know about problems before the baby is born.”

  Auntie Nhung took Uncle Đạt’s face into her hands. “Have you heard Sister Ngọc? We’re going to be fine. Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it together, okay?”

  Tears rolled down Uncle Đạt’s cheeks.

  Grandma blew her nose. “Sáng, I’m glad to have you home.”

  “I’ll only trouble you with this one night, Mama. Tomorrow I’ll find somewhere else to stay.”

  “This is your home, Sáng! It’s warmer with you here. You don’t need to go anywhere else.”

  Uncle Sáng cast his eyes around the room. He looked căng như dây đàn—stressed like taut guitar strings. “This lavish lifestyle . . . I can’t.” He lowered his voice. “Please, don’t tell anyone I’m staying here tonight. I’ll leave before dawn tomorrow.”

  My mother shook her head. I’d seen her grieve for Uncle Sáng’s baby, but she hadn’t spoken to him since the argument. She was so right about him: he’d sold us for some political ideology.

  “Fine.” Grandma sighed. “Can I ask you for just one thing, Sáng? You have many connections in the South. Could you use them to find your brother Minh?”

  “There’s no proof that he’s gone south.”

  “If he were still here, he’d have come back to our village by now. Please, do it for me.”

  “Looking for him is like searching for a needle on the ocean’s floor. I can’t promise, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  I no longer trusted Uncle Sáng. If Uncle Minh was found in the South, he would crash the career ladder Uncle Sáng was hoping to climb.

  I was studying when my mother came to my desk, with Uncle Đạt behind her. She combed my hair with her fingers. “Hương, I’d like to ask you something.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “It’s been more than a year since the war ended. I’ve been asking around. There’s just no news about your father. He’d be home now if . . . if he were still alive.”

  I stood up. “He’s alive. I know he is.”

  “Hương, listen to me. Your father loved us too much to not come back. Even if he was injured, he would drag himself back here. Or write, he would at least write to us.”

  “He’ll be home soon. His bird tells me every single day.”

  “I’d like to believe that, too, Darling. But it’s not fair for your father if we don’t call his soul home. Unless we burn incense for him, his soul won’t find its way back.”

  “Mama, incense is for dead people!”

  She gripped my shoulder. “We need to set up an altar for your father, Hương. We need to ask his soul to come home.”

  I pushed her away. “My father is not dead.”

  “Hương,” Uncle Đạt broke in. “There’s something I need to tell you.” He looked at my mother, then back at me. “When I first returned, I told you I’d met your father in the jungle, that we bid good-byes, and two weeks later, the bombings hit. The truth is that . . . your father left not long . . . maybe just half an hour before the bombs arrived. I don’t know how far he could have gotten, but . . .”

  I put my face into my palms and screamed.

  “I’m sorry, Hươn
g. I wanted to go look for him, but I was so sick, I could only crawl. The bombing went on for days. Once I regained my strength, I left the cave to search for him, but vast jungles had been uprooted. I didn’t find anybody among the burnt trees.”

  “You’ve lied to me all this time, Uncle? For what?”

  “Because hope helps to keep us alive, Hương. I’ve tried to hope that your father survived, but now it’s time—”

  “What else did you lie about?” I shouted. “Are you happy to see how much I’ve suffered?”

  “I’m so sorry I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you any sooner.” Tears ran down my uncle’s face as he walked to me.

  I skirted around him. I ran out of the house.

  Streets blurred past me. The air that rushed by my ears sounded like the whizzing of bombs being dropped. The thumps of my footsteps on the ground sent tremors through my body like explosions. I saw my father in the jungle, roasted by flames, I heard him call my name as tongues of fire ate into him, disfigured him. I howled. Around me, people shouted, dashing out of my way. Vehicles beeped, whirling past me.

  Cries choked my chest as I slumped down onto the pavement.

  My mother arrived at my side. She knelt, opened her arms, and enfolded me into her. “I’m sorry, my darling daughter,” she panted. “We won’t set up the altar if you don’t want to. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. . . .”

  She rubbed my back until my sobs eased, then pushed me gently away from her. She caressed my cheek. “Look at you. You’re taller than me now. Smarter, more beautiful. Your father is proud of you.”

  “I miss him, Mama.”

  “He’s right here with us. He’s never far away.” She put her hand on her heart.

  Later that night, Tâm rode me away on his bike. “Where would you like to go?” he asked.

  “Wherever.” I leaned my face against his back.

  “To a lake where it’s cool, okay?”

  I closed my eyes and saw my father’s face. He was smiling at me across the distance of eight years and sixty-five days.

  Above us, the moon was floating on a dome of darkness, surrounded by glittering stars. If paradise was up there, perhaps my father was free from all the pain of this world.

  Ngọc Khánh Lake unfurled itself in front of us. Oil lamps lit by tea sellers glowed on the water’s surface, like floating lanterns. Tâm waited for me to get off the bike before leading it up to the pavement. We crossed a large patch of grass and arrived at the lakeside. Tiny waves rode on moonlight, rippling toward us.

  “Thanks for being here, Tâm. I love my father too much to let him go.”

  “He lives on in you, Hương. He’ll live on in your children and grandchildren.”

  He embraced me. The scent of his body sweetened the air around me, his heart beating inside my chest.

  I raised my face to meet his. We kissed under the speechless sky.

  The Way to Happiness

  Hà Nội–Nghệ An–Hà Nội, 1956–1965

  After Mr. Giáp the goldsmith had disappeared into the crowd, my stomach burned and flipped.

  As I waited, I helped Sáng practice his baby steps on the pavement. When he was bored, I bought him an ice cream. Only when Sáng had finished eating it did Mr. Giáp come back. He apologized for thinking that I’d stolen the silver and gold from my employers. Mr. Toàn had explained to him that they would’ve gone bankrupt without my help, and the payment was just a gesture of gratitude.

  Even today, I can’t believe how those coins had changed my fate. Right away I bought a tiny hut in the outskirts of Hà Nội and a travel permit. Master Văn helped me rent a car and a driver—someone he knew and I could trust.

  But the happiest day of my life was also the most frightening. It was the third of March, 1956, when I left Hà Nội to look for Minh, Đạt, Ngọc, Thuận, and Hạnh. It had been nearly five months since I last saw them, and time was a bird wrestling to flee from me, taking on its wings the possibility that I’d never see my children again.

  “Trâu.” Sáng pointed out a water buffalo that rose like a hillock above a patch of grass. Beyond, the sun was spreading its blaze across rice fields.

  “Water buffalo,” I echoed Sáng’s voice, holding him against me.

  The driver had rolled down the windows, and the scent of lush countryside filled my nostrils. I stared at every face that came into view, hoping to see Minh.

  It was midday when our car approached Kỳ Đồng Village, Thanh Hóa Province. I asked the driver to wait a distance away from the village as I carried Sáng, venturing inside. The car made me look rich, hence trouble.

  I’d come back to this village many times in my mind. Now, memory led us through winding lanes. Arriving under a tree, I looked across to a house with a thick fence made of leafy plants. Do you know where I was, Guava?

  Yes . . . I was in front of the house where your mother had stayed.

  I listened but heard no noise. I waited, but no one came out. There seemed to be thousands of ants biting my skin.

  “Ngọc ơi?” I called.

  “Ngọc,” Sáng babbled.

  No answer. I walked through the open gate and into the yard.

  An unhappy grunt made me jump. A rough-looking man appeared behind the door’s frame. He reminded me of the robbers I’d encountered in Hà Nội.

  “What do you want?” he barked, holding his palm above his eyes.

  “My daughter Ngọc . . . Is she here?”

  “Why would she be in my home?” He bared his crooked teeth. “You crazy woman, get out.”

  I stepped closer. “Sir, a few months ago a fifteen-year-old girl came here, looking for a job. I believe—”

  Just then, the little girl who’d played hide and seek with Ngọc emerged behind the man, mouthing something, her hand waving frantically to one side.

  The man turned. “What’re you doing here, Stupid?”

  She darted away.

  “But she knows my daughter.” I protested.

  “You crazy woman. Get the hell out.”

  I was standing on the road, Sáng crying in my arms, the worries for Ngọc a ball of jumbled threads inside my head, when a small figure burst out from behind the thick fence. The little girl raced toward us. I met her halfway.

  “Sister Ngọc ran away from Daddy,” she said, breathless.

  I gritted my teeth. “Do you know where she is?”

  She started crying. “I saw her begging at the village market a few days ago. Please . . . please find Sister Ngọc.” She dashed back to her house.

  I hurried forward.

  The market was empty. Everyone had gone home to avoid noon’s heat. There was nothing left except a barren patch of earth.

  And a ragged bundle. Lying under a desolate tree, it looked like a human figure, wrapped in a tattered blanket. Could it be my Ngọc?

  I raced faster than my heartbeat toward the tree. Kneeling down, I lifted the blanket to find the face that had filled my dreams, the lips that had called my name, the feet that had taken their baby steps at my clapping.

  “Ngọc, oh my darling daughter.” I put Sáng down and scooped her up.

  “Mama. Mama!” Ngọc buried her face in my chest, her quivering sending tremors through my heart.

  We cried and laughed. Then we laughed and cried.

  Ngọc insisted on holding Sáng as we made our way to the pagoda. I had my arm around her waist, afraid this was only an illusion.

  “How long have you been living out on the street, my darling?” I asked.

  “A couple of weeks, Mama.”

  “I’m sorry. Did that man do something to you?”

  “He tried. I didn’t let him. I fought him and ran away.”

  I clenched my fists. I wanted to hurt the man, and I knew how. But that would surely put us in danger. And I trusted Heaven to punish him. Không ai trốn khỏi lưới trời—No evil act escapes Heaven’s net.

  I hugged Ngọc tighter, promising myself that I had to take better c
are of her and make up for what she’d been through.

  We reached the pagoda, which looked like it had aged years, not months. The moss-laden roof was sagging; many tiles had fallen, revealing the roof’s flimsy skeleton.

  In the front yard, the children gathered around us, bones protruding from their bodies, their naked feet filthy. I searched their faces. Thuận wasn’t among them.

  “Over there, Auntie,” one of them said, pointing toward the garden, which had become a brown, punctured patch of dirt. Two boys were squatting and digging.

  “Thuận,” I called, and a boy turned. His face was smeared with soil. His mouth opened and twisted. I stumbled over to him.

  Thuận’s body was warm against mine. My flesh and blood, my life. I held him to my heart. Kissing his tears away, I knew I would die any day for my son to live on.

  Nun Hiền was inside the room, sitting beside a sick child, rubbing his back, humming a lullaby.

  As I walked through the half-open door, her thin face lit up in the afternoon light. “Diệu Lan?”

  Out in the yard, she apologized for the state of the children. The government had further tightened its control over religious beliefs. Most people had stopped coming to pagodas to pray. Without their donations, she and the children had to survive on begging.

  I learned then that your mother had been bringing food to feed Thuận and the other children.

  “I’m so thankful for your help.” Nun Hiền squeezed Ngọc’s hand. “I’m sorry you couldn’t stay here with us.”

  I pulled Nun Hiền aside, giving her some money. “My small contribution, Madam.” She tried to refuse, but I insisted that it was for the children.

  “Then you must receive something in return.” Nun Hiền led me into the pagoda. She burned incense, praying for my blessings.

  I knelt next to her. “Madam, please read my future again.”

  Nun Hiền took my hands, only to cup my fingers into my palms. “It’s senseless to know, my child. Our challenges are there for a purpose. Those who can overcome challenges and remain kind to others will be able to join Buddha in Nirvana. You’re a strong woman, Diệu Lan. You’ll triumph over whatever life throws at you.” She smiled and gave me her wooden bell. “My gift to you. Buddha will hear your prayers. Let Him come to you and give you peace.”