The Mountains Sing(82)

“He repaired my bike, Mama.”

“Ah. A handyman, like your father.”

“That’s why I like him, I think. Just like Papa, he knows how to make me laugh.”

“Tell me more about him then.”

“Well . . . he’s the same age as me. Sixteen. His name is Tam.” I liked how Tam’s name sounded on my lips. “Mama, please, don’t tell anyone.”

“Sure, I promise.” My mother pulled me into her arms. “It’s a wonderful secret. I’m so glad you told me.”

WHEN I WENT to school the next day, I was hoping to talk to Tam, but some of my classmates had seen him helping me with the bike, and everyone was making fun of us.

“Tam and H??ng are a couple. H??ng and Tam are a couple,” they chanted. They whispered and laughed. I felt awkward. Tam must have been embarrassed, too. After class, he walked home with a group of boys. For several days, I cycled past them, longing to stop and talk to him but didn’t dare to.

I tried to focus on my end-of-year exams. No matter what I did, Tam’s face still appeared in my mind; so did his deep voice and his laughter. I realized that I missed him. As the days dragged on, I resented him, for making my mind wander, for creating this big hole of emptiness inside of me, the hole I didn’t know how to fill.

Time crawled by. A week passed; the lotus flower had withered; I gathered the fallen petals, dumping them into the trash. I changed my route going home, to avoid seeing Tam and his friends.

Tonight, at my desk, I opened my notebook. In front of me was a difficult math question I had to crack.

A knock at the door. Miss Nhung came in. “H??ng, a boy is here to see you. Said his name is Tam.”

“Oh.” I jumped to my feet. “Tell him to wait, Auntie.”

I leaned against the door, dizzy. Hurrying to my closet, I pulled out my favorite shirts. I picked one up, tossed it aside and chose another one. I put it on, only to change my mind.

I went out to the living room. Tam wasn’t there. Perhaps I’d taken such a long time that he left? Uncle ??t and Miss Nhung sat in our oil lamp’s light, talking and working on the sandals, looking like lovebirds.

Grandma came to me. “He’s outside.”

“Did you give him a hard time?” I stared at her.

“No, but please—”

I raised my hand and headed for the door.

Under the bàng tree, Tam stood, his hands behind his back. He was tall, taller than I’d remembered. Moonlight scattered around him, glowing on his face.

“Hi, H??ng,” he said.

“Hello.” I stepped toward him, my arms and legs too clumsy, I didn’t quite know what to do with them.

“Yours.” On his palm was my handkerchief, clean and folded into a rectangle. “It still smells like the lotus . . .”

“Keep it if you like,” I said, surprised at my offer.

“A gift?” Tam grinned. “Then in return, I need to give you something.” He drew his other hand out from behind his back. Lotus flowers. A bunch of them, magnificent and half-opened. “Had to go back to the boatman. Bought these in exchange for his forgiveness.”

“You’re incredible.” I laughed. The lotus nestled their budding promises against me. I forgave Tam, too, for not talking to me during the entire week.

We stood in silence. I looked down at the flowers, admiring them.

“You said I could borrow some books.” Tam smiled at me.

I nodded, glad that he remembered. The more he borrowed, the more reasons I’d have to talk to him again. “Come inside. I have quite a few for you to choose from.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll just wait out here. . . . How about lending me three of your favorites?”

“What if you’ve read them before?”

“Then I’ll read them again.”

Indoors, I handed Grandma the lotus. “He gave me these so I’d loan him some books. You may not know him, but he’s an avid reader.”

She arched her eyebrows.

I ran to the bookshelf.

“War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy?” Tam said when I gave him the first. “I’ve heard so much about this.”

“Tell me what you think when you finish reading. It’s long.” I showed him the other two. “Not sure you’ll like these though.”

“Oh, love poems by Xuan Qu?nh and Nguy?n Bính? They’re my favorite poets.”

“Now . . . don’t try so hard to be nice. Not everybody likes poetry, I know. I can change them for fiction if you want.”

“No, no.” Tam’s eyes were sincere. “I like poetry, really. Love poems suit my mood for now.”

“Oh.” Heat rushed to my face, and I had to look away.

“Sorry, H??ng,” Tam whispered. “Our classmates . . . I want to talk to you every day in class but don’t want to embarrass you.”

“You won’t embarrass me.” I gazed up at him, dazed. “I’m glad you’re my friend.”

“Me, too.” Tam smiled.

“I think you should know something.” I bit my lip. “My grandma is a trader.”

“So our classmates said.”

“Did they warn you against visiting me, too?” Bitterness rose up in my throat.