The Mountains Sing(100)

I looked out to the road, hoping to see Auntie H?nh, but only emptiness met my gaze.

Standing behind Uncle Sáng, I noticed his white hair for the first time. I wondered which strands had turned white grieving for his dead daughter, which ones lost their youth due to his marriage’s breakdown, and which ones changed color due to his fear of the Agent Orange Devil. I hadn’t cared before, but now I wanted to know. And it was time I got to know the undercurrents of Auntie H?nh’s life, the undercurrents that threatened to pull her away from us.

When Uncle Minh died, I took my notebook to the back of the house. Squatting on the ground, I wrote for an uncle I’d been robbed of, who was a leaf pushed away from its tree, but at its last moment still struggled to fall back to its roots. I wrote for Grandma, who’d hoped for the fire of war to be extinguished, only for its embers to keep burning her. I wrote for my uncles, my aunt, and my parents, who were helpless in the fight of brother against brother, and whose war went on, regardless of whether they were alive, or dead.





Facing the Enemy

Ngh? An, 1980

I sank into the softness of dry rice straws, the rice straws of V?nh Phúc Village. They unfurled around me. I inhaled their faint fragrance and understood why Grandma, when she’d told me her life story, called it the perfume of her sleep.

Grandma, my mother, and I had arrived in the village of my ancestors earlier this evening. Mr. H?i, his wife, his children, and his grandchildren were having dinner when our buffalo cart pulled up at their gate. They rejoiced and made us join their simple meal. As Mr. H?i scooped rice into my bowl, I was overcome. How could I ever thank him enough for rescuing Grandma from the hands of Wicked Ghost and for saving her life from angry villagers?

We talked late into the night. Grandma told Mr. H?i about our trip to Nha Trang and about Uncle Minh.

“I’m sorry.” Mr. H?i’s voice trembled. “I should’ve done more . . . so that Minh could have met up with you somewhere along the way when you escaped.”

I bit my lip. The turbulent events of our history had not just ripped people apart, they’d imprinted on them a sense of guilt about things over which they had no control.

“Uncle, you did your best,” said Grandma. “You saved our lives. One day, Minh’s wife and children will return. They’ll come here to thank you.”

We hadn’t heard any news about Auntie Linh, Thi?n, and Nhan, but Grandma believed they’d survived their rough trip at sea, that they would try to find us. I hadn’t told Grandma yet, but Tam and I were looking into ways to search for them, using their pictures. I wanted to be like Grandma: Never give up hope.

Grandma had hoped Uncle Sáng would change, and he didn’t disappoint her. Now, he visited our home from time to time. He joined Grandma, my mother, and me in visiting Auntie H?nh in Sài Gòn. During the last Mid-Autumn Festival, he taught me how to make a star lantern for the Light Parade.

I held up the S?n ca, listening to its silent songs. I wished my father could be here right now, to join us in visiting Tam’s family tomorrow. Wherever my father was, I knew he loved Tam, too.

From the living room, the murmurs of Grandma, my mother, and Mr. H?i flowed toward me. “Tam’s uncle visited me a few weeks ago,” said Grandma. “He told me Tam would like to marry H??ng next spring.”

Heat rose to my face. We were young, Tam and I. We still had to finish our education but didn’t want to wait. In Tam, I knew I’d found the love of my life.

“That’s excellent news,” said Mr. H?i.

“I haven’t said yes since we must know more about his family,” Grandma whispered.

“I have no worries though,” said my mother. “He’s a nice boy, so he must come from a good family.”

Like my mother, I had no doubt. I could hardly wait to meet Tam’s parents and sister. I felt anxious about his grandfather, though. I hoped he would come out of his room to meet me and that he’d approve of me.

“How can he not like you? Everyone does.” Tam had raised his eyebrows when I told him my concern. “Besides, if he has a problem, he’ll have to live with it. He’s a stranger to me anyway.” Tam pulled me close, his lips on my ear. “I love you, and you’ll soon be my wife.”

Closing my eyes, I saw myself drifting down a river on a sampan boat, Tam beside me. The boat rocked and swayed against the fast current. There were rocks and whirlpools ahead of us, but I felt safe. I knew whatever perils awaited us, we would face them, together.

A ROOSTER’S CROW pierced the earthen walls, pulling me away from the last flicker of my dream. I opened my eyes. I had fallen asleep on the straw nest, but now I was on a bamboo bed, empty but for two sunken pillows. Grandma and my mother must have carried me up here, but where were they?

Lifting the mosquito netting, I crawled out, changed my clothes, and hurried outside. The night had faded into gray. The air, cold and fresh, glided against my skin.

A layer of mist lingered in the front yard. On tree branches, birds gossiped back and forth.

My mother, Grandma, and Mr. H?i were sitting on a straw mat on the floor of the veranda, steaming cups of tea in their hands.

“What were you doing, H??ng? You slept in the straw nest,” Grandma said.

“I was searching for the perfume of your sleep,” I said, smiling, receiving a cup from Mr. H?i. The tea tasted as fresh as the country air.