“When I saw your group, my heart stopped. How did you find me?”
He doesn’t know I’m hiding my ability to understand, so I’m free to converse. Life is actually much simpler this way. “Plump man angry told. Found house in book he.” I point to the detective.
The guard asks me to repeat my Vietnamese. He must not hear well, leaning forward, listening so hard his facial wrinkles contort like mud patterns at the bottom of a dry creek. Finally, he lets out an “Ah.”
“Correct, Ông Ba tracked me to the house of my cousin, who served the war and the war served him well.”
I understood every word but don’t know what he means. “Too you war go.”
“I did not possess the skills and temperament to turn such an experience into a benefit. In my youth, every man and woman wanted to help rid the country of intruders. I could not have guessed the cost of actually fighting.”
Some words I do not recognize, but I can always spot sadness after years of listening to Bà.
“Choose again war?”
“Good question, my child. I would like to say no, that the human sacrifices were too immense. But Việt Nam is ruling itself, what we all yearned for. And yet who gets to decide what price is bearable?”
I understand every word, but again what is he talking about?
The detective calls us. The guard pats my hand and smiles in a hesitant, regretful way that conveys the world doesn’t make more sense just because you get older.
CHAPTER 26
The detective scared our guides so much they are determined to dump us at Cô Nga’s and be rid of us forever. But Út, talking louder and faster than I’ve ever heard, argues that she’s so so hungry. Still the guides insist we go home. Út counters that if she doesn’t get to eat right now, she would faint in front of Cô Nga, who no doubt would tell Út’s mother. The guides have only heard about Cô Tâm and that’s enough.
Off we go to the open market, with Van again guarding the mopeds. I want him to eat with us but there are rules here I’m not understanding, so it’s best to stay quiet. I get my bills of tens and twenties ready in my pockets. Silent bargaining has become my favorite game.
Right after we eat, Chị BêBê won’t listen to anything else from Út, who babbles that she faked the punctured-cheek incident just so she could visit this lake and look for this one thing that she can’t talk about. No wonder Chị BêBê flicks her hand and says she’s done with us.
In front of Cô Nga’s house, Chị BêBê waves a finger in front of our faces just as the detective had done to her. “Listen,” she whispers in two languages. “If you tell Chị Quỳnh Huyền that we were in an alley in that neighborhood, I will find you! I must remain dedicated and perfect in her eyes. She’s helping me get into a school in the city.”
She looks so worried her threat is almost funny. Now the backstories come out. Chị BêBê is working up to asking Chị QH to write a recommendation letter that she’s sure will get her into the same dental hygienist program that Chị QH graduated from last year.
“So why are you working as a Honda Ôm?” All three shoot me a “hush” look.
“Do you think I run errands and babysit for anyone else?” Chị BêBê is so disgusted with me she’s kind of spitting. “It was my only way to get to know her. Besides, my parents and I have to pay for this ourselves. I was two points from a scholarship.”
Everything and everybody get so entangled here.
Chị BêBê keeps going. “And do you think Chị Quỳnh Huyền likes running all over the city for supplies? She wants to practice her profession. But Cô Nga already has two hygienists, who are both waiting to hear from dental schools overseas. Cô Nga herself is waiting for a replacement at the clinic, so she can devote herself to her home office.”
On and on she talks about who’s waiting for what by doing what favors for whom. I try to listen then realize Út isn’t listening. She’s whispering to Văn, or the international Van, and is obviously pleased with herself. I’m worried.
The siblings wave ta-ta and off they go.
Cô Nga pauses long enough to tell us she has canceled the van again and we are to wait here for further word, grumbling that she had originally agreed to one afternoon, one night, and the next morning, but family . . . how they make her head buzz like a beehive.
She hands us over to Chị QH, still dusty from her supply runs. Chị QH puts us to bed. It’s 4:30 in the afternoon.
“But I’m not tired and it’s past nap time,” I logically point out.
“Then lie still and rest.”
I expect some biting indignation from Út, but she bargains that if we could have our old clothes back, we’ll go right to sleep. Chị QH claps her hands and says, “You better be snoring when I return with them.”
“Please put them at my feet.”
“Be asleep.”
Chị QH leaves. I poke Út. “What’s . . . wrong . . . with you?”
“Shhh.” She sighs and reaches for her notebook. “Sleep now. This night we cannot.”
She moves to a mat all the way across the room. There are seven to choose from. I roll around and against reason fall asleep.
Út shakes me awake. I’m starving. What time is it? It’s totally dark. All around us are breathing bodies, where did they come from? I can make out the shape of Chị QH, efficient even in her sleep, taking up just a sliver on the mat. Út puts a finger across my lips and I follow her shadow out of the room. She had grabbed the bag of our old clothes and we change downstairs in the room that smells of pain.
We tiptoe out the front door by sliding a flimsy lock sideways. That’s it? Even in Laguna, we have bolts. Is it safe or not safe here? In the dark, I hear buzzers, maddened I’m sure by the smell of sugar in my every pore. Three cane juices may have been excessive, but how was I to know I’d be gallivanting around during the height of bloodsucking hours? I start jiggling like I have a medical condition, which raises the buzzing level. I swat the grayness. Út sighs. Her shadow walks to a plot of dirt that should be a flower garden and picks something. Then she she smashes long leaves between her palms and rubs my arms and legs and face and neck. It smells grassy and flowery and peppery.
I sneeze.
“Shhh.”
Like I planned it! I yank the leaves from her and rub rub rub. No bites. I even stick out my arm to tease the buzzers. No bites. I can hear them going insane surrounding me.
“What . . . is . . . this?”
“Ssshhh.”
Van appears, all casual, like he often strolls around at this hour with a flashlight. Út follows him. Me too. I’ve got to get more of these magical leaves. We follow him down the street, around the corner, down another street. It’s dark and steamy, but not hot hot, and so quiet I hear crickets and frogs and whatever else that thrive in the dark. We stop at two Hondas guarded by a new girl, called Lulu. What is it about girls and pet-ish names? But I know better than to insult my huggy ride. Lulu looks younger than I do, so I’m definitely not calling her Chị. She’s holding a box and net with a long handle. I’m half panicking but can’t make eye contact with Út in the dark.
Hà Nội is a different city late at night. We can see the dotted lines on the road, clearly marking two sides of opposing traffic. Other drivers are out too, but not to the point of congestion, so we all follow the rules. Our first stop is at a stand selling bánh ít, which is so cheap even Út doesn’t bargain.
We’re off. As soon as we come near a gigantic pond I’m megapanicky. I try to get Út’s attention on the other moped, but she’s pretending to enjoy the night while holding on to the net. The box is sitting on the gas tank, protected by the driver’s extended arms.
Út is looking way too happy. We stop in a dark area behind the pond, which is otherwise really well lit. No doubt, Út is up to something illegal, ignoring me on purpose.
“Be back in one hour or we must leave you,” Van says in two languages. “Dangerous to be out.”
Út shakes her head. “I need you to s
coop with the net.”
“Can’t. I must guard our Hondas with my cousin.”
“Like children!” Út scolds them, then looks at me. “Ði.”
“Where?”
She marches forth, carrying the net and a box with lidded glass jars carefully separated by towels and plastic bags. Someone has poked holes in the lids. This much premeditation is never a good sign.
“Not . . . going,” I yell.
Út marches back and jabs me all over the place with one pointy finger. “Lá!” leaf, she yells. I know she means the mosquito-proof leaves, which I must have so I’m forced to play nice.
We walk toward tall reeds that look like a dream breeding site for mosquitoes. But even more disturbing are these glowing dots in the water and the unmistakable ribbits.
“Go in,” Út says.
“Lá,” I counter.
We realize we each just spoke each other’s first language.
“Nói tiếng Anh.” I tell her to speak English.
“No.”
If she wanted to, she could. But it’s pointless to make her. So I’m back to asking where the leaves are. “Lá đâu?”
She reaches out and picks some, having put down the box. Everywhere are shadows of leaves, smelling of pepper.
“What . . . are . . . they?”
She pats her pocket for the notebook. Not there. It must have dropped off somewhere during our ride. She shrugs and pulls me near the water.
“No, absolutely no!”
“Shhh. You are baby!”
Taking the net and one unlidded jar, she wades in, as in into the pond, as in up to her ankles. So this is why she wanted her old clothes. No doubt pond creatures will flock right to her, recognizing their own scent. She makes sure I see her scoop the net into the water then pantomimes reaching into the net and putting whatever she scooped up into a jar.
OMG, I really am in PBS Nature.
“NO!”
“Now!” she hisses back.
“I’m not going in there. Remember my last adventure in a pond? No, no. Leeches are not meant to suck on human blood. I shouldn’t have to explain this. I’ll stand here and keep a lookout but I’m not going in there.”
I’m talking just to talk because she’s too busy huffing and complaining as she wades deeper into the water. “What a spoiled, city have-it-all, useless monkey! Why did I think she would appreciate this? I’m still capturing ten of them.” I can barely hear her talking to herself, spitting out saliva in her fury. Fine! I grab two plastic bags, put them over my sandals, hold the bags up, and wade in up to my ankles to listen.
“These are the frogs she should want, if she’s so scared of mosquitoes. They lived in the village pond before the fungus that one year. If she would listen, she would know that they eat thousands of mosquitoes plus the larvae every night and they reproduce slowly, five to ten eggs per female per rainy season, so they won’t compete with Froggy’s kind. They are great hiders, so even if Froggy and his friends fight them, they would hide until everyone gets used to one another.”
I pull the plastic bags as high as they’ll go, halfway up my shins, and wade in deeper. Please, leeches, go to her, she has homemade yummy salty blood.
“Good friends should do this for each other. I would never have left for Hà Nội if know-it-all couldn’t go too. Useless to help her with the cheekbone scheme because she’s too precious to get wet. I can’t hold everything by myself. All those days when she was with Bà, I left Froggy alone to bring hot food twice a day. Now to think I’ve chosen the wrong good friend.”
I’m right next to her. She looks so upset I think she might cry or hit me with her net. I snatch it just in case. That leaves me with one hand to pull up both bags. I’m wobbling.
“Mày là bạn tao,” you are my friend. (Notice I used “mày tao,” reserved for good friends.)
“You understand me?”
“Not . . . really.”
“You understand me right now?”
“Maybe.”
She’s yanking back the net. So predictable. “Why did you not tell your friend?”
“You . . . write . . . so . . . funny!!!”
Her shadow stares at me; angry lasers sear through me. She could push me with one finger and I’d topple into leech land. But I hear something build in her gut, gurgling up her chest into her throat, then out comes the longest laugh. She tilts her face toward the moon and I’m so relieved her cheeks are reaching for the sky. I laugh too.
I hold the net high and she gets her jar ready. Except the glowing lumps are gone.
“They are hiding. We were loud.” She turns back to the bank. Yes!
My good friend is stubborn, stubborn, stubborn. She thinks if we stay quiet enough for long enough the glowing globs will return. So we’re squatting on the bank, our bottoms inches above mud, like two gigantic, displaced frogs. Tiny needle pricks are crawling through my nearly dead legs. To think, I could be lounging on a mat right this minute and be ASLEEP! The things I do in the name of friendship.
I poke and repoke various parts of my legs double-checking for leeches, although Út whispered they don’t live in city ponds. Another universal fact I’m supposed to know. My luck, the one leech in this pond would find me. I recheck for lumps again and again before allowing myself to believe I’m safe.
My body is half asleep, so after a while my brain is too, sinking into a night that belongs to the unseeables. They announce themselves, though, by screaming joys or sadnesses into the grayness at such a high decibel that all the noises coalesce into a soothing lull. If I weren’t human, I’d probably never want to leave this place.
The air breathes out hot and muggy, as always, but after a while hot is just hot. It’s true, a constant sticky film envelops my skin, but people have lived here for forever and they’ve managed to thrive. The world smells of mud and rot and nectar and grass . . . familiar. I can imagine maybe living here, not here in the pond, but somewhere near Út, not forever, but maybe for a summer. Vietnam might be home too.
“They won’t come out,” says a boy’s voice near us. We jump and knock over the jars. Út holds up the net as a weapon.
Another boy calls out, “Don’t worry, we’re not stupid enough to bother a foreigner. The police treat them like crisp money.”
A girl, “Don’t be scared. We can catch them for you.”
Figures walk out of the shadows. We are taller than they are. It’s dark, but surely they’re kids, grade school even.
Út admonishes them, “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
The second boy laughs. “This girl is funny.”
Why is Út funny, exactly? But I stay quiet.
The girl again, “Five each. How many do you want?”
“One each,” Út counters. My friend is bargaining with street kids over the equivalent of a few cents.
Second boy, “Ten frogs for forty.”
I squeeze Út’s arm to make her say yes. It works. We get to stay on land while the kids wade all the way to the reeds and shake them and make noises. The glowing lumps hop out and the net goes down. So the trick is to shoo the frogs from their hiding spots. Who knew?
Just then we hear mopeds screeching to a stop. Van jumps down and screams, “Do not touch my clients.”
Frogs and kids disappear.
Will this froggish night never end? I’m pretty sure capturing them is illegal, but no one is asking me. I saw on PBS you can’t relocate things. Look what the Burmese pythons are doing to the Florida Everglades. But didn’t Út say the village pond used to have glowing frogs? It was hard to listen to her soliloquy while on leech alert.
Út has words with spit for Van, who finally calls into the darkness for the kids to come out. But before they can round up more frogs, they have to fish for the sunken net. Before they can fish for the sunken net, they have to renegotiate their price. Annoying but admirable. Finally, ten frogs sit in ten jars, lids on. A glow illuminates from the jars like captured moonbeams. Hey, that’s somethin
g Bà would say and I thought of it all by myself. When Út puts her face close, the glow reveals the soft gaze and melty grin of true love.
Út pays the kids right before we jump on the revved Hondas, which broke all kinds of park laws by riding near the pond. Van complained until I slipped him a fifty. Right before we take off, I jump off my ride and run over to the kids, pretending to thank them but slipping each twenty dollars, as in the bill that might get me followed. Dad would want me to take the risk.
CHAPTER 27
In the morning, Anh Minh belongs to us again. With him in charge, we can yawn and relax and be brainless. He has bargained for Van and LuLu to take us around, plus a Honda for himself to ride. He has a list of tourist attractions, numbered in order of cultural significance. As for masks, he has bought us our own, so we can return Chị QH’s. She doesn’t want them back.
After breakfast, we go to Hồ Hoàn Kiếm or Lake of the Restored Sword, a national treasure. It looks totally different in daylight, a tourist trap full of flags and souvenirs. Út and I play well our starring roles as gushing, first-time visitors. Anh Minh blabs on and on about the legend of a turtle swimming to the surface with a sword that a Vietnamese king used to beat the Chinese. The turtle is immortalized in a stone statue in the middle of the pond, complete with a sword in its mouth. No one can go near the statue or even the water. Oops.
Why does every story in Vietnam’s four-thousand-year history involve a fight against some intruder? The Mongolians, the Chinese, the Japanese, the French, the Americans. Anh Minh is telling me why but I’m very sleepy.
Next, we visit a pagoda that sits on a tree trunk. Really cool actually. Then we zip through the French Quarter, where houses look like mansions, not stacked rectangles. I think I like the stacked rectangles better—they’re very Vietnamese.
We stop to snack every hour, which tremendously helps Út and me stay awake. Anh Minh thinks of everything, always picking a stand where we could eat sitting on the Hondas. That way no one has to be the moped watcher.
We eat grilled squid as big as my chest and as tender as . . . a rope. It stinks like dried fish and you have to chew, chew, chew, but it’s so good dipped in a hot, tangy, sweet sauce. We stop for chè ba màu, a dessert that even Montana is addicted to. It’s sold in every corner in Little Saigon. Sugar, fresh coconut milk, tapioca strings, three kinds of beans. Don’t go by the description, just try it.