The Mountains Sing(59)

The village was bare of trees and bushes. Nowhere for me to hide. Entering through a dirt road, I found a chaotic scene packed with loud cheers, drumbeats, and threatening shouts. People were rushing about. The Land Reform was very much alive here.

I hid my face under the wrecked nón lá, scuttling deeper into the village. My heart pounded when I confronted an approaching crowd. Catching a glimpse of large sticks in their hands, I squatted on the roadside. Letting Thu?n lean against me, I opened my palms. “Sir, Madam, take pity on us. We’re hungry.”

Glancing up from under the rim of my hat, I saw a woman with a large protruding forehead and teeth that looked like those of a rabbit. The butcher-woman! I couldn’t believe that she was still out looking for me. Much later, I found out that our village had been chosen as a model for the Land Reform implementation. Important officials were going to travel all the way from Hà N?i to our village to oversee the tribunal. The local authorities would be in trouble if they couldn’t find Minh and me. So they had sent many groups of people hunting for us.

Together with angry men and women, the butcher-woman marched, studying the faces of those who passed. She didn’t expect that I—a rich landowner who had sat in cool shadows and eaten from golden bowls—had been reduced to pitiful begging, squatting with a very sick boy, instead of six healthy children.

As soon as the crowd moved past, I got to my feet. Turning into a lane to avoid flocks of people, I found an old, stooping woman. Her back was so bent that the upper part of her body was parallel to the road. She was inching forward with the help of a bamboo cane.

“Grandma,” I called. “Please, my son is sick. Would you know a healer?”

The lady turned her face sideways and looked up at me. “What’s wrong with your boy?” she asked.

“I don’t know, Grandma. Bad fever and terrible rash.”

I lowered Thu?n. The lady’s wrinkled hand stayed awhile on his forehead.

“He’s really ill.” She grimaced. “But I’m afraid our village no longer has a healer. He was condemned as a rich landlord and executed. Shot in the head. The kind man, poor him.” She sighed and turned back to the road. The cane clicked as she moved forward.

Sensing sympathy in her voice, I followed her. Finally, she stopped and looked sideways at me again. “Go to the end of this lane, turn left, then right. The village pagoda behind the Bodhi tree . . . The nun there is kind.”

I thanked her and hurried away.

The pagoda looked like another old and stooping person. With a roof laden with moss, it stood almost hidden behind the hundreds of roots hanging from a gigantic Bodhi tree. Stepping closer, I was enveloped by a fragrant wreath of incense smoke.

The chatter of young children met me. Some of them were sitting on the floor, playing with stones and sticks; some were munching on green guavas; others were kicking a featherball high.

Through the open doorway, I saw a nun kneeling in front of a large Buddha. Her murmurs and the rhythmic sounds of her wooden bell rippled calmness into the air. I gazed at Buddha’s earlobes, so long they touched his shoulders. My mother had told me that with those ears, Buddha could hear our cries of suffering. Perhaps today he would hear mine. With Thu?n in my arms, I knelt down.

The children had dropped whatever they were doing. They stood behind my back, whispering. Inside the pagoda, the nun reached up to clink a metal bell. She bowed to Buddha, her forehead touching the floor.

“Nun Hi?n, someone’s looking for you,” a child called as soon as she stood up.

The nun made her way to us.

“Nam M? A Di ?à Ph?t,” she said, a Buddhist prayer in place of a greeting.

“Nam M? A Di ?à Ph?t,” I answered as she studied my face and Thu?n’s.

She turned to the children. “Go back to your games, Darlings.”

“Come, come with me.” She pulled my arm and hurried to the side of the building. Passing a garden filled with vegetables and flowers, she took me into a room. She closed the door and gestured toward a bed. I laid Thu?n down. He writhed in pain.

Nun Hi?n listened to what I had to say about how Thu?n got ill. She examined him. “It’s dengue fever,” she said. “Dangerous if the patient doesn’t drink enough. Plenty of good rest and good nutrition will do him good.”

I recalled a dengue outbreak in my village many years before. Some children had died. But I didn’t have any experience with this type of illness. We’d always been careful with mosquitoes.

“I’ll get him something to drink.” The nun stood up, closing the door behind her.

I massaged Thu?n’s legs and arms, soothing him with my voice.

Nun Hi?n came back, but she wasn’t alone. A boy was with her. She pointed at the bowl of brown liquid he was holding. “Juice made from roasted rice grains,” she told me. “I’ve added some salt. L?c will feed your boy.”

As I was mumbling my thanks, Nun Hi?n pulled me into the darkest corner of the room. “You are Di?u Lan, aren’t you?” she asked.

My heart jumped to my mouth.

“Some people were here looking for you. Said you exploited poor farmers and have to pay for it with your blood.”

“But Madam . . . how did you know it’s me?” My words tumbled out unbidden.

“Ha!” The nun’s eyes flickered. “It’s not difficult. Middle-region accent. Long hair. White teeth. Running away with children.”