The Mountains Sing(8)

C?ng and I raced inside the house to fetch new cups.

Then my brother and I rolled up our pants and got down to our chores. On the farm, which my father had taken over from his parents, C?ng fed the pigs and I the chickens. My parents had shown us that the greatest joy of being a farmer was to get our hands dirty in the company of plants and animals.

I played with the chicks until my mother’s call rolled toward me. She was carrying a tray heaped with food from our family altar out to the veranda, followed by Mrs. Tú, who lifted another tray.

Surrounded by my family, I held the sweetness of the new rice harvest in my mouth. My teacher and the nine men kept nodding their heads, complimenting Mrs. Tú’s and my mother’s cooking.

After breakfast, my father went with some workers to the fields while my mother worked with the rest in the yard. She’d asked me to go back to bed, but I sat at my desk, opening my books. In the study, Master Th?nh was teaching C?ng. It’d be my turn to learn in the afternoon, and I wanted my teacher to say I was more intelligent than my brother.

A cooling wind gushed through the open window. Outside, sunlight poured gold and silver onto swaying leaves. Through the fence of flowering hibiscus that bordered my house and the village lane, I saw an old man stooping.

He was dragging his feet, guided by a walking cane. The flaps of his white tunic fluttered like butterfly wings. A black headband crowned his silvery hair. I recognized him to be Mr. Túc, the famous fortune-teller of my village.

Like all my friends, I both feared and admired the old man. I often lurked in front of his home, watching crowds of people who’d traveled from faraway places to receive his predictions. Some emerged from his house delirious with happiness, others brimming with tears. Although many people worshiped Mr. Túc, nobody knew exactly where he got his fortune-telling magic. Some whispered that when he was seven years old, Mr. Túc went swimming in the village pond. The greenish Th?y Quái—the Water Devil—caught his legs, pulled him into the mud, and tried to drown him. None of his friends had noticed he’d gone missing until a column of water arose, shooting up a boy who was punching his fists and kicking his legs. They watched in astonishment as Túc plopped back down into the water and swam calmly to shore. When the boy came home, many people rushed to him to ask about his fight with the Water Devil. Later, they would come back again and again for his fortune-telling magic.

What was he doing here, at this time of the day, leaving his customers behind?

I hoisted myself up to the window frame, jumping softly down to the garden beneath. A few grasshoppers sprang up, their rough skin brushing against my calves. Crouching low, I watched as Mr. Túc stopped in front of our gate.

“Chào ?ng Túc.” Delight jumped out of my mother’s mouth as she rushed over to meet him.

“Chào bà. How busy you are! Is the harvest good?”

“It’s not bad, Mr. Túc. At least our rice wasn’t destroyed by storms like last year.” My mother put down her basket, helping the fortune-teller across the bustling yard.

Determined to know the reason for the fortune-teller’s visit, I sneaked into the living room and sat on the wooden ph?n, behind the old man’s back. My mother was pouring tea, offering him a steaming cup.

“Mr. Túc, thanks for coming. With our business growing, we need to build a large storeroom. Perhaps on the front garden.” My mother poured herself a cup. “Do you think the location is auspicious?”

Just then, something scurried in front of me.

“Ahhh!” I leaped away from the ph?n.

“What’s that?” The old man flinched.

“A huge rat.” The animal had vanished, but I still rushed to my mother.

She laughed. “Our harvest is disturbing them, Kitten. They’ll soon go back to their burrows.”

The fortune-teller suddenly straightened his back. “Tell me who this girl is, Madam Tr?n.” He looked me up and down.

“This is Di?u Lan, my daughter.”

I folded my arms in front of my chest, bowing my respect to the old man.

“Come here, little girl.” The fortune-teller knitted his brows. “Something about you is making me very . . . very curious. Sit here, that’s right. Show me your palms. Spread them wide and hold them still.”

I did what I was told. Waves of excitement rolled through me. Surely my friends would be very jealous that Mr. Túc offered to read my future.

The old man leaned back in the wooden armchair with dragon heads carved into the armrests. He squinted, scrutinizing the lines and marks on my palms. All of a sudden, his eyes popped open, as if registering a shock.

“So, Mr. Túc, what do her palms say?” My mother grabbed a paper fan, sending a breeze toward the fortune-teller and me.

“Give me another minute.” Mr. Túc lifted my hands even closer to his eyes. He peered at the lines, touching them with his index finger. It tickled. I would have laughed if he hadn’t looked so serious.

My mother poured more tea.

“So?” she asked when he looked up.

“Madam Tr?n, I don’t think you’d want to know.”

“Why not, Sir?” My mother’s hand and the teapot stopped midair.

“Perhaps it’s better for you not to.”

“In that case, I’m very curious.” My mother leaned over the table, her forehead wrinkled with concern.