The Mountains Sing(77)

I wondered whether Mr. Toàn knew. Not once did he ask any questions. I think he was afraid of knowing the truth. I didn’t blame him.

So, the days passed. As I did the chores, sang for and laughed with my employers’ children, I ached. Sleep no longer came when the night arrived. I just lay there in darkness, thinking about Minh, Ng?c, ??t, Thu?n, and H?nh, praying that they were okay, and that they were surviving. Fearful that I wouldn’t be able to find my children again, I mapped out the locations where I’d left them on a piece of paper. I learned the map by heart and talked to Sáng every night about it, so maybe one day he could find his brothers and sisters if something happened to me.

Whenever I could, I wandered Hà N?i, looking for Minh. There were many times I ran after men on the street because they looked like him from behind. But my search only brought me sadness. If Minh wasn’t here in Hà N?i, how could I ever find him again?

“Stay calm. Your fate will change. Be patient,” I told myself, recalling what Nun Hi?n had said. The star that predicted my fortune had been shifting, and soon I’d find a way.

When I returned to Kim Ngan Temple to thank Mr. V?n, I found out that he taught a self-defense class, for free.

I must tell you, Guava, that I detest violence. But life taught me that I must build up my inner strength and physical skills to defend not just myself, but also those around me.

So every Sunday afternoon I walked with Sáng to the temple, my baby practicing his steps along the way. Arriving at the temple yard, where the perfume of plumeria flowers lingered, I’d devote my full attention to being a student. Sáng would play happily on the verandah with the children of my classmates, or under the shades of tall plumeria trees.

My self-defense class turned out to be a great blessing. Having won many martial arts contests, Master V?n had developed a method of self-defense called Kick-Poke-Chop. The main idea is that when a man tries to punch you and harm you seriously, you back away, block his punches with your arms, gather your momentum, and then kick him straight in his groin. While he crouches down in pain, you grab his hair, knee him in his face, then use your arm to deliver a thundering chop to his neck.

Guava, here, let me show you. Yes, kick like that, but it has to be hard. Harder. Straight. Use the balls of your feet. There, good. Don’t laugh. Do it again. Good! Now I’m crouching down in pain, what do you do? Yes, yes, grab my hair, pull my head down, and chop my neck. Like that. Yes, but it has to be hard. Let me teach you later properly, okay?

Master V?n’s class helped my classmates and me toughen our arm muscles. We hit our arms against each other’s repeatedly, and against tree trunks. We meditated to improve our ability to focus and stay calm during emergencies. We learned to think and act quickly.

Master V?n also taught us ways to deal with situations when our attackers had weapons. He showed us how to disarm those attackers and bring them to the ground. He made us practice so hard, we sweated furiously, our muscles screaming with pain. When he was confident I was good enough, he asked the men in my class to attack me with real knives and mock guns.

My mother used to say, “Good luck hides inside bad luck.” That is so true. The robbers had stolen all my money, but it was the injury they caused that led me to Master V?n, and it was Master V?n who would help change my fate.

IT HAPPENED AROUND the end of February, 1956, nearly three months after my arrival in Hà N?i. I was cleaning the house of Mr. Toàn and Mrs. Chau. It was lunchtime, and the street was quiet. Coming out into the shop to sweep the floor, I saw a bulky man with his back to me. He was holding Mrs. Chau with one hand, his other hand pressing a knife against her neck.

“All your gold and silver. Into the bag. Quick! Make a noise and I’ll slice her throat.”

Behind the counter, Mr. Toàn looked as pale as a ghost.

“Fill the bag, hurry.” The man pressed the knife harder against Mrs. Chau’s neck. She screeched, but he brought his hand to her mouth. “Want to die, bitch?”

A brown bag had been left on the counter. Mr. Toàn started shoving jewelry into it.

As quiet as a cat, I moved to the robber’s side. My fingers became powerful claws that clutched the robber’s wrist, pulling it away from Mrs. Chau’s neck, twisting it hard. My hours of training had given me tremendous power. The knife clattered to the floor.

The robber turned around to face me, just in time for me to poke my fingers into his eyes. Howling, he released Mrs. Chau, who ran to her husband. As the robber brought his hands to his face, I kicked straight into his groin, grabbed his hair, and delivered a thundering chop to his neck, sending him crashing to the floor.

Mrs. Chau was hysterical while I held the robber’s hands behind his back, my knee pinning him down. I shouted for Mr. Toàn to find some rope. Blood had drained from the robber’s face. He was lucky I hadn’t used my full force to attack his eyes. I knew they hurt, but he wouldn’t lose them.

The neighbors called the police, who took the robber away. Mr. Toàn and Mrs. Chau were so shocked, they closed their shop for the rest of the day. The next morning, when I came back to work, Mrs. Chau called me into her bedroom.

“Close the door,” she told me. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“From Master V?n, the temple keeper, Madam.”

“I see.” She studied my face. “You’re quite a fighter, Di?u Lan. There’s no telling what somebody with your skills might be capable of. If you can bring down a big man like that, who’s to say that you might not think of overpowering me in the same way? If you took it into your head to do it, you could probably beat me senseless.”