The Mountains Sing(102)

As we turned to go, I looked back at the white-haired woman squatting on the ground, a cloud of flies her company. “Heaven has eyes,” I said. “Cruelty dispensed, cruelty returned.”

A BUFFALO CART arrived. Grandma loaded it with bundles of flowers, bags of fruits, and incense sticks. Mr. H?i got onto the cart, pulling us up. We waved good-bye to his family, then moved off in silence.

Nam ?àn Forest opened its green arms to receive me as we got off the cart. Grandma found a bush where flowers were showing off their petals. “Sim berries.” She handed me a couple of the purple fruit. I put one on my tongue; its sweetness melted into my mouth.

The deeper we walked into the forest, the lighter I felt. The path became narrower, surrounded by tall, swaying trees. We pushed through a thicket, and I found myself in an open area ringed by shrubs. Wildflowers spread out their red, yellow, white, and purple petals, leading my eyes to five mounds of earth—the graves of my great grandparents, Grandpa Hùng, Great Uncle C?ng, and Mrs. Tú. Grandma had moved all of them here, so they could be together in death.

Grandma knelt, her palms in front of her chest. She brought her head to touch the ground and stayed there for a long while. I followed her, tears warming my eyes.

My mother and I arranged the flowers in front of the graves. We unpacked the bags, heaping the fruits on large plates.

Mr. H?i lit a bunch of incense. Receiving smoldering sticks, I raised them high. Their smoke unfurled toward Heaven, bringing my prayers to my ancestors. Their death and suffering taught me about love and sacrifice.

“Please help us find my father,” I whispered. Whether he was alive or dead, I needed to know.

WHEN WE REACHED Tam’s village in Hà T?nh, we found him standing outside the lane of his house, waiting for us. He was wearing a shirt I’d sewn for him, using some of the skills I’d learned from my n? c?ng gia chánh—homemaking class. His face lit up when he saw me, and I knew why I loved him. Over the years we’d known each other, he’d grown into a tall man. The sight of him still made my knees go weak.

He helped everyone else off the cart, then turned to me, picked me up, twirling me around. As heat rose to my face, he whispered, “I’ve missed you.”

I begged him to let me down. Children had gathered around us, their hands over their mouths, giggling.

Tam guided us through the winding lane. “My parents are so excited to see you.” He squeezed my hand. A man and a woman appeared under the bursting colors of bougainvillea outside a brick house. “Chào bà, chào bác,” they greeted Grandma and Mr. H?i.

Tam’s mother reached out to my mother and embraced her. “I’m so happy you could come, Sister. Your daughter has your beautiful features.” Her eyes shifted to my face, and I blushed.

“Come in, please come in,” Tam’s father told us.

“Thank you for the gifts you sent us,” said Grandma. “I’m glad to meet you at last.”

The coolness of Tam’s house welcomed me in. It was a friendly home. Plants flowered next to sunlit windows; tasteful paintings adorned the walls.

“Lành, the trouble maker,” Tam introduced me to his sister. I liked her smile instantly. On her hair was the pink headband I’d sewn, as a gift for Tam to give his sister. She looked to be of my size, and perhaps I could try to make a skirt for her.

In the kitchen, pots were steaming; pans were sizzling. Tam’s mother returned to her stove. I rolled up my sleeves and joined Lành in washing vegetables. Surprisingly, I wasn’t nervous at all. It was pleasant to talk to Tam’s mother and his sister. Their laughter relaxed me, and I found myself laughing, too.

After the food was ready, we first offered it to Tam’s ancestors. We arranged plates on a copper tray, decorating them with red roses and white lotus etched out of tomatoes and onions. Tam carried the tray to the living room where his father was serving tea to my mother, Grandma, and Mr. H?i.

I helped Tam put the food on the table in front of his family altar. He edged next to me. “Today I’ll ask my ancestors to accept you as my wife. I can’t wait until next spring.”

I pinched him. “Don’t be so impatient.”

He pinched me back. “Be a good wife.”

As we tried to hide our giggles, Tam’s mother walked past us, arm in arm with an elderly man. He was stooped, his hands and legs trembling. He looked to be in great pain.

“My father,” Tam’s mother introduced him to Grandma, my mother, and Mr. H?i.

Grandma looked up. Her lips parted. “?i tr?i ??t ?i!” She called for Heaven and Earth. She looked terrified. More terrified than I’d ever seen her.

“?i tr?i ??t ?i!” Mr. H?i exclaimed, and the next thing I knew, Grandma had collapsed onto the floor.

ON TM’S BED, my mother massaged Grandma’s forehead.

“Wake up, please,” I begged.

Grandma’s eyelashes fluttered. But what was happening? Why was she crying?

Her body shook. “No, it can’t be true,” she whimpered.

I wanted to reach out for her hands, but Mr. H?i pulled me away from the bed. “H??ng, give her some time.”

I stood shivering next to the wall, watching my mother trying desperately to comfort Grandma.

Mr. H?i paced back and forth.

“Great Uncle, what’s going on?” I asked him.