The Mountains Sing(36)

My heart jumped as I caught sight of two guards, their armbands bright red. I pressed the brake, gripping the handle, about to turn around when one of the guards pointed at me. “You! Come here.”

I got down from my bike, leading it toward him. “Hello, Uncle.” I held my breath, hoping my face wasn’t red with fright.

“Papers,” the guard shouted, towering above me.

I opened my bag, giving him the bike’s ownership paper and my ID.

The other guard, short and chubby, edged closer and had a look. “So you’re rich, eh, Younger Sister, having this bike in your name.”

“Where did you get it?” demanded the tall guard, looking me up and down.

“My grandma brought it for me, Uncle.”

The chubby guard winked at me. “Call us Brother.” He eyed my chest.

The tall guard frowned. “Your grandma, huh? How the hell could she afford this?” He kicked the bike. It shook and rattled. I gripped the handle, hanging on, feeling like he’d kicked me in the stomach.

“She’s a teacher, Uncle. She works hard.” I was polite, yet the Kick-Poke-Chop moves flashed through my mind.

“Look.” The chubby guard elbowed the tall guard, gesturing toward a middle-aged woman who was struggling on her bicycle. “Take that bike if it’s not in her name. I’ll handle this one.”

As the tall guard jumped out on to the road, shouting at the woman, the chubby one studied my papers. He caressed my picture on the ID, his fingernails black with dirt. “Pretty, but prettier in real life.”

“Uncle, can I please go now? I’m late for class.”

“Ah, I see, 173 Kham Thiên Street,” he read my address aloud and looked me straight in the eyes. “Be home tonight. I’ll come by for a visit.”

“Visit? Why, Uncle?”

“I said call me Brother,” he hissed, then lowered his voice. “Let’s just say I’m doing you a favor. You’ll be safe, going out with me.”

I avoided his eyes while putting the papers back into my bag. Calm your mind, I told myself, repeating Grandma’s words as I cycled away. Build your inner strength.

Finding a lane, I turned into it. My legs wobbled as if they were mud. I parked the bike near an older woman who was squatting on the pavement, a bamboo basket in front of her.

“Green tea, green tea. Would you like some green tea?” she called out to me.

“Yes, please, but not too strong, Grandma.” I studied the bike. Luckily, the kick didn’t do much damage. I unbent the chain’s metal cover.

“Better lock it.” The lady lifted the cloth that covered her basket, pouring steaming tea into a cup. “Thieves lurk around every corner these days.”

She gave me a low stool, handing me the cup. The softness in her eyes told me that she was kind, and could be trusted. Leaning over to her, I whispered, “I’m H??ng, I’m looking for my grandmother. She trades around here.”

“What’s her name?” the lady whispered back, then asked in a loud voice, “Should I add water to your tea? It’s strong.”

“Yes, please,” I said aloud, then lowered my voice. “Her name is Di?u Lan.”

She studied my face and looked away. “Green tea, green tea,” she called out to a passer-by.

I took a sip. The tea scalded my mouth. “If you know where she is, please tell me. It’s urgent,” I begged.

“Green tea, green tea,” she called louder, then lifted her nón lá, pretending to fan herself so she could hide her mouth. “How do I know you’re her granddaughter?”

I reached into my school bag. “Here . . . a letter from my aunt.”

She sneaked a look. “Wait here.” Picking up her basket, she hoisted it against her waist, disappearing around the corner. After I’d finished my cup, she came back, gathering her stool. Without being told, I pushed my bike, following her. Salt Street was quiet when we got there. The tea seller chose a corner. I sat down opposite her.

“Guava, you all right?”

I turned to see Grandma’s face and wrinkled forehead.

I stood up. “Auntie H?nh sent you a letter.”

Grandma sat down, tearing the envelope open. She scanned the pages, a sigh of relief escaping her.

“What does it say, Grandma?”

“Why don’t you read it aloud? I’m sure Mrs. Uyên here wants to hear it.”

“Read here?” I glanced around. A few people were walking nearby. A man sat a few houses away, smoking a bamboo pipe; streaks of whiteness untangling themselves above his head, before vanishing into the air.

“Why not? Go ahead.” Grandma stretched her legs, sipping her tea.

I cleared my voice.

Dear Mama, Sister Ng?c, and H??ng,

Sorry I didn’t have the chance to tell you about our moving to Sài Gòn. Tu?n returned from the war and was sent back to the South again, this time to manage a factory. He asked us to join him, and I had to quickly sell our land and house and pack as much as I could. With Thanh and Chau and my parents-in-law, I boarded the train, traveling for three days. I had to pinch myself when we arrived at the city once called Pearl of the Far East.

I had expected Sài Gòn to be rich, but oh my, it was beyond my imagination. Avenues as big as rice fields, buildings taller than the tallest trees I’d ever seen in my life. The people here, their fashionable clothes and southern accents make me feel such a country bumpkin.