The Mountains Sing(99)

“I’m sorry, H?nh,” my mother said. “Why did you never tell us about such things?”

“You’ve been so lost in your own problems, Sister. And what could you do to help, huh? Everyone thinks I have a perfect life, but life is never perfect. Do you know that because of my past, my husband has to prove his loyalty to the Party time and time again? He’s under watchful eyes. If they find out my brother is a Ng?y, there’ll be serious implications.”

“H?nh,” said Uncle ??t. “I understand how you feel. But m?t gi?t máu ?ào h?n ao n??c l?—One drop of familial blood outranks a pond of water. It’s our brother we’re talking about, and he’s dying.”

Auntie H?nh’s shoulders slumped. “As I’ve told you, Tu?n asked me to leave if Brother Minh is a Ng?y. I promised him I would. And I can’t break that promise.”

LYING ON THE mat, I hugged Grandma’s back. She’d cried until exhaustion overtook her. I put my face against her shirt. The trembling of her body made my throat dry. She’d tried so hard to reunite our family, only for it to be torn apart again.

Auntie H?nh must be on the train. Was she still crying as hard as she’d been when she left us? For years I’d both envied her and wished to be like her, but now I knew I wouldn’t want to be in her position: torn in her loyalty between her family and her husband.

Uncle Minh’s chest was rising and falling rhythmically. What had run through his mind as Auntie H?nh said good-bye? I’d expected him to beg her to stay, but he just clutched her hands, smiled, and thanked her. He must have guessed the real reasons for her departure, but didn’t ask.

I’d feared that Uncle Minh fought for the Southern Army, so his letter wasn’t such a big shock to me. Still, I wondered if he’d faced my father in the battlefield, and if he’d set up those land mines that blew up Uncle ??t’s legs.

I wished Tam were here to tell me everything would be all right. If I could lean on his strong shoulder, even for the briefest moment, I wouldn’t feel so shaken.

Tam had always been there for me. He’d unfailingly been the first to read my poems, and he persuaded me to learn English. Under the light of our oil lamp, he’d sat by my side, translating with me the last page of Little House in the Big Woods. And with the book whole again, I could hear Laura’s father sing; somehow her father resembled my own.

“Tam.” I said his name and woke up. Uncle Minh and Grandma were still fast asleep. It was late in the afternoon, yet the air was bursting with heat.

My mother and Uncle ??t had gone out and now they returned. At the back of the shack, they showed me all the food they’d bought. My mother unpacked a paper bag filled with Western medicine. They’d been to the local hospital, trying to persuade the doctors there to readmit Uncle Minh, but no bed was available.

Uncle Minh woke up and vomited blood. My mother listened to his lungs and gave him the pills. Grandma fed him porridge. He pinched his nose and drank another bowl of herbal medicine. Grandma stayed by his side, her voice rising.

“à à ?i, làng t?i có l?y tre xanh, có s?ng T? L?ch u?n quanh xóm làng. . . . à à ?i . . .”

Childhood lullabies. She’d sung them to me.

Uncle ??t sat down on the bed. “Brother, what can I do?”

Uncle Minh touched the wooden legs. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed.

“I’m sorry, too, Brother. I should have run after Uncle C?ng and you. Maybe I could have helped you when you were alone by the river.”

Uncle Minh shook his head. He grabbed Uncle ??t’s hand, putting it on his heart.

The next day, Uncle Minh was particularly alert. He insisted on talking. There was no word of anguish on his lips, just joyful memories about his childhood, being Grandma’s son and the brother of his siblings. And happy memories of his own family in the South. He insisted that all of us sit next to him, hold his hands, and tell us as much as we could about life in the North.

When he showed us the pictures of his wife and children, I wept. I gazed at a photo where my uncle had one arm wrapped around my Auntie Linh, who was laughing, and the other arm around my beautiful cousins, Thi?n and Nhan. Thi?n Nhan meant “good person.” My uncle had tried all his life to retain the goodness he was born with, and I hoped his family succeeded in carrying his hopes and dreams across the ocean and in planting them in the garden of their new home.

Uncle Minh grew tired. His priest came and prayed for him. “Your son has helped shoulder Christ’s cross through the stations of life, and now he’s free to join Him in Heaven,” he told Grandma.

I woke up next morning to the sound of Grandma’s sobs. Uncle Minh lay silent in front of her, his body limp.

I knelt with Uncle ??t and my mother next to the bed, our hands in front of our chests. Grandma closed her eyes, the stick in her hand knocking rhythmically against her prayer bell. “Nam M? A Di ?à Ph?t, Nam M? Quan Th? m B? Tát.” We joined her in the prayer.

A noise. I turned. The tin sheets rattled as the front door opened, letting in a torrent of light. I squinted at a tall, thin shadow.

In an instant, I was on my feet. “Uncle Sáng, you’ve come!”

Grandma enfolded him in her arms.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” said Uncle Sáng, but she pulled him toward the bed.