The Mountains Sing(94)

I flinched when he threw the pen and the notebook onto the bed. He struggled to sit up, then crawled toward Grandma. He kowtowed to her, his head touching her feet. “Mama . . . forgive this useless son.”

“Minh.” Grandma reached for his shoulders, pulling him to sit up. “If someone is to blame, it’s me. I failed to keep our family together.”

“But I haven’t—” Violent coughing interrupted my uncle. He clutched his chest as my mother patted his back. Once the coughing eased, she gave him some water.

My uncle nodded his thanks. He peeled away a corner of his straw mat. Underneath was a swollen envelope. With both hands, he gave it to Grandma.

I leaned forward, catching a glimpse. “G?i M? Tr?n Di?u Lan, 173 Ph? Kham Thiên, Hà N?i.” The envelope was addressed to Grandma. There was no sender’s name.

Uncle Minh picked up the pen. “I wanted to send it by post, but feared it’d fall into the wrong hands. Please, read it together,” he wrote.

“We’ll do that as soon as you’ve drunk your medicine.” My mother looked at her watch.

As Uncle ??t adjusted the pillows behind Uncle Minh’s back to help him sit up straighter, Grandma stared at the envelope without opening it.

My mother returned, in her hands a bowl of black liquid. I winced at its smell. She fanned the liquid to cool and brought it to Uncle Minh’s lips. “It’s bitter but it will help.”

He took a sip, then shuddered. He drew his head back, sticking out his tongue, shaking his head.

“Brother, please, you have to drink all of it,” said Uncle ??t. “Ng?c’s treatments did wonders for me. I drank at least fifty pots of her brew and look how strong I am.” He flexed his upper arms, which bulged with muscles.

Uncle Minh chuckled, coughed, then took a deep breath. He pinched his nose, swallowing the medicine in small gulps. Finally, he finished the bowl. We clapped.

“Now, you must rest.” My mother helped my uncle lie down. “Sleep. We’ll talk when you feel better.”

WE SAT IN a circle on the floor, far away from the bed. “Keep your voices low,” my mother said.

The envelope stayed still in Grandma’s hands. Auntie H?nh reached for it. As she opened the flap, pulling out the pages, an old-looking envelope slipped out.

A smaller letter. It was also addressed to Grandma, but bore the sender’s name: Nguy?n Hoàng Thu?n—my dead uncle.

Grandma’s eyes flew open. “It’s Thu?n’s handwriting. Oh, my son, my son!”

My mother held on to Grandma’s shoulders as I became dizzy.

“How the hell did he get this?” Auntie H?nh voiced the question that was running wild in my mind. Uncle ??t eyed the bed. Uncle Minh had turned away from us, his skin sagging from the bones of his back.

My mother took Uncle Thu?n’s letter from Grandma and read it aloud to all of us.

??ng Hà, Qu?ng Tr?, 15/2/1972,

Dear Mama,

On the doorstep of this New Year of the Mouse, I think about you. Oh how I long to be with you, and with my brothers and sisters. How I long to sit next to the bubbling pot of bánh ch?ng, the perfume of those sticky rice cakes warming our home.

How are you, my dear Mama? How are H??ng, Sister Ng?c and Sister H?nh? Have you received news from Brother ??t, Brother Sáng, and Brother Hoàng? If you haven’t, don’t worry. They’re strong and skillful. Soon they’ll join me in returning home.

Mama, I heard the bombings in Hà N?i are getting worse. Please take good care and stay in underground shelters. If you can, leave. Go to a village where it’s safe.

I dream about the day when I can come home to you, Mama. All over Vi?t Nam, hundreds of thousands of mothers are waiting for their sons and daughters to return from the war. Tonight, I see the eyes of those mothers and yours lighting up Heaven above my head.

How are you celebrating T?t this year, Mama? Could you manage to buy sticky rice and pork to make bánh ch?ng? Do people still sell cherry blossom branches on the streets? Oh I miss watching those red and pink flowers bursting out from bamboo baskets or on the back of peddlers’ bikes.

You would have loved our New Year celebration here in the jungle, Mama. We had a feast today, with fresh fish caught from a stream. You’d have enjoyed the tàu bay wild vegetable I cooked. And can you guess what I found yesterday on my trek? A branch of a yellow mai. Its budding flowers tell me this war will end, that I will soon come back to you. Come back to you and be your child again.

I miss you, Mama.

Your son,

Thu?n.

P.S. My comrade is heading for the North on an assignment so I’m giving this to him. Please tell H??ng, Ng?c, and H?nh I’m halfway through my letter to them. I hope to be able to send it soon.

Tears stung my eyes. Uncle Thu?n had loved bánh ch?ng cakes so much that he always insisted that Grandma make them for T?t. With him gone, Grandma had never made them again.

“My poor baby brother. He loved us and he loved his life,” said Auntie H?nh. She bent forward as if someone had punched her in the stomach. “It’s people like him who killed Thu?n.” She pointed at Uncle Minh.

“H?nh!” Uncle ??t grabbed her arm, pulling it down. He eyed Grandma, who was cupping Uncle Thu?n’s letter to her face.

“He fought for the Southern Army,” my aunt hissed. “I learnt this from his neighbors. So there’s only one explanation, how the letter fell into his hands.”