by Thuy Da Lam
“I love trains,” Na said. “Where are they going?”
“What are they looking for?” Maia asked.
JP shrugged. “Before traveling to the city, the fruit boy carved the camel with a single cut. He knew exactly where the joints were, and his knife slithered along the seams.” JP vigorously sliced the thin air between them with an imagined butcher knife to punctuate his story.
The outdoor café had been transformed into a scene of gong tapping and incense burning, sedating everyone except No-No, who prowled the garden, investigating the division of labor. Not only Uncle Mao, but also the entire Mekong cast, plus the extras from Ox Alley, were there. Mama Mao, Auntie Mao, and the neighborhood women clustered near the well by the guava tree. Uncle Mao, Xuan, and the Public Security Trio assembled beside the man-made fishpond. Under the starfruit tree, the travelers set their wooden crate, pitched their motley tents, and built a hearty campfire.
JP led them to the fire, where the man with the carved serpent staff poured Maia and Na steaming cups of dark lumpy tea.
Remembering Charlee towing her grandmother’s hearse upstream, Maia wanted to express her sympathy, but the man hushed her.
“The camel no longer carries the burden.” He swung his walking stick to and fro and tapped the ground, raising a cloud of dust to attract No-No’s attention. The man watched intently as the orange kitten leaped upon the serpent’s tail and growled from deep within.
“What are you looking for?” Maia asked.
The man eyed her. “Mirrors for my teaching of the eternal return.”
“What does that mean?”
“To affirm life in all its spectacles, to shout at the end, da capo!”
“How do you do that?”
“Self-creation! Compose life, guess its riddles, and redeem its coincidences.” He searched her face. “Is your mirror clear and smooth?”10
Just then the fruit boy appeared before them. He twirled the stolen rearview mirror from Xuan’s red Honda Dream. Light reflected from the campfire.
“No, no. Not that shifty child.” The man squinted as if distracted by the glare.
JP whispered in Maia’s ear, “Maybe Old Seeker is not seeking anything but himself.”
Na walked up to the water-damaged crate. “Who’ll cart the box, then? What’s in it?” She snapped off a piece of decayed wood and peeked inside. “It’s empty!” No-No followed, sniffed, and poked a paw between the crack.
“I’m told it’s a stolen spirit from Bangalang,” JP said. “You communicate with spirits, don’t you?”
“Only if they want to talk. Maia carries her father’s ashes. I see him—a big black man.”
“Big Al from Love City who works in passport?”
Maia left the bantering between JP and Na to look for her Uncle Mao. When she passed the group of women sitting on their haunches around the well, she heard someone call out, “Our helper!”
Mama Mao motioned Maia to join them among the baskets of foodstuffs, spread out as if the vendors from the market had gathered at the café to sell their produce. There were baskets of lotus seeds, leaves, and roots, sacks of lily bulbs, chrysanthemums, and dandelions, boxes of black and white fungus, jars of dried figs and red dates, and some vessels of strange ingredients that Maia did not recognize. Mama Mao handed her a large bamboo sieve of fresh mixed herbs and asked, “Con còn biết lặt rau không?”
Sitting down with the women, Maia realized what sounded like the tapping of a wooden gong from afar was Auntie Mao pounding a pestle into a mortar. She had not looked up but continued to smash the mixture of spices, turning it into a saffron pulp that hinted at cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg, and cloves.
“Camel, seven styles!” Mama Mao announced and then listed the seven dishes:
wolfberry, lily bulb, and fungus salad with camel for sleepless nights
for strength, five-element soup of eye, ear, tongue, tail, and hoof
chrysanthemums and camel blood pudding feed the yin
camel stewed with lily flowers and cloud ears feed the yang
eight treasures of camel in lotus leaves rid toxins
tuckahoe with camel dumplings calm the mind
glutinous rice wine and camel balls bring unity
Mama Mao concluded, “The seven courses will regulate the Qi: clear fire, invigorate blood, brighten eyes, soften hardness, dispel wind, and promote elimination.”
Mama Mao chanted the dishes and their functions, and Auntie Mao pounded out her hypnotic rhythm. When Mama Mao fell into a meditative silence, the pestle and mortar beat continued.
“How did you meet Uncle Mao?” Maia asked Auntie Mao.
Her aunt kept pounding the pestle into mortar.
Beside the man-dug fishpond, Uncle Mao, Xuan, and the Public Security Trio sat on low wooden stools and plucked hair off the camel hide spread out on the ground. The five men drank, smoked, and argued about the contents of the mysterious crate.
“Smugglers and contrabands,” Comrade Ty said. The Public Security Trio made up their minds and urged Chief Mao to confiscate the box and escort the foreigners from the country.
“You knew my mother.” Maia interrupted the debate.
Uncle Mao looked up from the putrid camel hide. “You’re almost the exact replica of her.”
Xuan and the Public Security Trio stopped plucking. The pestle and mortar sound continued, filling the silence.
“Your mother was well taken care of,” Uncle Mao said. “But she couldn’t wait. I would’ve taken care of her.”
“Like the birds?” she asked.
Xuan recited a parable he had heard:
The marsh pheasant has to take ten steps for a peck of food
and a hundred steps for a drink,
but it does not want to be fed in a cage.
Although it might live well in a cage,
it would not wish to be confined.11
Uncle Mao’s face was expressionless. “After liberation in 1975, we had the responsibility to rebuild our country. Your mother wished she’d been born earlier or later, but she was caught in between. We met when she was only a few years older than you are now.” He paused and studied Maia as if weighing whether he should say more.
She stood her ground.
“She suspected the boat with the men wouldn’t sail out to sea,” he said. “And it didn’t. Anyone who didn’t escape was captured and interned in Song Be.”
“There’s no prison somewhere before the Be River empties into Lake Waterfall Dreams,” Maia said, repeating Auntie Mao’s vague direction. She felt the men’s stares. She suppressed the turmoil of emotions that rose from each new detail of her mother’s life. She observed the man before her—Uncle Mao, Chief Public Security Mao, and Warden Mao—all the same man. She knew she would have to sift through his story, but for that moment, she listened.
“I helped her in prison,” he said. “I helped her after she was out. I arranged her passage to Vung Tau because that was her last wish.”
Ox Pagoda
EN ROUTE TO Vung Tau, Xuan informed the group that they would make a quick stop at Ox Pagoda, where Uncle Mao said Maia’s mother often visited. When the white Lada Samara, borrowed from Uncle Mao for the trip, arrived at the pagoda’s gate, street hawkers crowded around the car and peered through its open windows at the curious group: Xuan at the steering wheel, Maia in the front passenger seat, and JP, Na, and No-No in the backseat. The tawny kitten wore a fresh camel leather harness attached to a leash looped around Na’s wrist.
“Ồ, sư tử con!” exclaimed the bird merchant. The street vendors were more interested in the tethered lion-like cub than selling their carved oxen, caged birds, joss papers and sticks.
“Where are you from?” the fruit lady asked in English.
“Ở đây chứ ở đâu.” Na’s clear Saigonese accent startled the vendors, who proceeded to hawk their goods.
“Five fruits for the altar.”
“Paper money for the afterlife.”
“Birds to free your karma.”
“Wooden oxen to transport the dead.”
On the pagoda’s wide steps, Xuan spoke privately with a woman and then deposited a sum in the contribution box. The woman directed them to leave their footwear and belongings outside before entering the softly illuminated inside.
Smoke from incense hung from the ceiling descended the narrow hall in preparation for the morning ceremony. Barefoot women in white garb bore offerings of fruits and glutinous rice for the altar that stood before a calligraphic mural depicting ox herding in an open field. The women met the visitors’ eyes briefly, then lowered their heads and stepped around them.
When the metal gong was struck, saffron-robed nuns filed in. The visitors and the tethered creature were guided to the front and told to kneel before the altar. JP on his knees stared straight ahead. He wore the beige khaki pants and now-wrinkled white dress shirt he’d had on the first time they met at the airport. He had not dressed formally since, until today. Na wore a traditional loose-fitting Vietnamese outfit, her hair gathered in a thick braid. Xuan appeared more solemn than usual. Something about her three companions made Maia uneasy. She sensed they had agreed on a plan in which she was the focus yet had no say in the decision.
The plump aging abbess settled into a lotus position next to the altar, and an elder nun knelt beside Maia. More people shuffled in. From the corner of her eye, Maia saw the Public Security Trio kowtowing in unison in a row directly behind her. The echoes of the gong faded, and everyone was in place.
For the next hour, the abbess recited rambling incantations. The monotonous light tapping of the wooden fishshaped gong lulled Maia into a sleepy trance. Every few minutes, the giant round metal gong was struck with the heavy padded mallet, and the nun prompted her to clasp her palms and bow three times. The abbess’s chanting, the reverberations of wooden and metal gongs, and the whispering rustle of their obeisance filled the smoky altar hall.
Maia looked around at the vibrant walls and columns of the pagoda, adorned with dragons, phoenixes, turtles, and unicorns. From her folklore reading, she remembered that the dragon stood for strength, the phoenix for peace, the turtle for longevity, and the unicorn for wisdom. The painted animals stared back at her with steady gazes. Strength, peace, longevity, and wisdom: are these my desires for myself and for others? The metal gong sounded again and the nun tapped her to bow.
The morning ceremony ended, the smoke dissipated, and a fragrance of jasmine permeated the air. The elderly nun whispered, “Come with me.” She led Maia through the dimly lit pagoda to the sunny backyard, where a calf was grazing beside a dilapidated brick well. The nun nudged the young animal toward the dirt path leading to a field overgrown with vegetation.
“Your mother often spoke of your father.”
“You met my parents?”
“Only your mother.”
The calf wandered off to forage under the shade of a blossoming flame tree. Its tail swung and swatted at the flies on its back.
“She often said she loved your father not for wealth, status, or fame but for his wish to protect others. He wasn’t always successful.” The nun smiled ruefully. “Those were her exact words. But during the war, his men trusted he’d keep them alive. Their motto was ‘locate and evade.’”
Maia’s head spun with confusion. She tried to make sense of what the nun said. The expatriates’ homage in America rang hollow in her ears. Your father fought with courage against the Communists. For his service and sacrifice, he will be remembered.
Who was she to believe?
The overseas tribute was a star that guided her, a shining light on a single course of action. Its brightness now turned gray. Shadows obscured her path.
“We had family on both sides,” the nun explained.
After a long pause, she changed the subject. “I read your mother’s oracle ten years ago.”
“What did the oracle say?”
“It was over ten years ago, and it was for your mother, but for you—”
I don’t believe in prophecy! Maia thought but stopped herself from blurting out the words. She wanted to hear what the nun had to say. What she had just learned about her father lodged in her heart; she needed to sort it out in her head. She watched the calf, roaming from the flame tree toward the stream, shaded by willows under which Xuan and the Public Security Trio stood smoking.
“For you,” the nun warned, “there’s trouble at the beginning, but the confusion will clear up, and all things will breathe freely again. You must choose your helpers wisely.”
Helping Hands Ranch
SMOKING UNFILTERED CAMELS triggered a yearning in Kai that lingered long after the last cigarette. Whether a yearning for someone he had lost or something he never had, he could not say.
“How was I found?” he asked Lee yet again.
“I found you curled up in the ruins of a burning village,” Lee repeated. “I dropped the things I carried, placed you in my duffle bag, and walked away.”
“Westward?”
“Along a great winding river with many tributaries.”
Kai confided in Vinnie, and they set out before daybreak with two gourds of moonshine they promised Cook Cu they would barter. They traveled eastward. When they came to a great river that bent northward, they followed it into the Central Highlands.
“We crossed the border!” Vinnie picked up the pace.
“It’s still one jungle.” Kai trailed behind, clearing the underbrush with his machete and marking the path for their return.
They walked uphill along the watercourse through the evergreen forest without seeing another human. Clouds floated through treetops like filmy white cloths. In the late afternoon, they reached a savanna-like plateau and came upon a clearing. The clouds were now at their feet. The barren area was cultivated but not fenced in. Undeveloped fruit trees, bushes, and vines formed a perimeter. Wildflowers, medicinal herbs, and root vegetables grew in a field adjacent to the river. They picked and ate red berries from a vine they did not recognize. They washed their faces and drank the cool water. They heard birds and a distinct high-pitched whistling beyond the field.
“Wild dogs on the hunt,” Kai said.
The boys trotted upstream toward the whistling. Where the river widened into a lake surrounded by flat boulders and young pines, they saw a group of scantily clad children. The children were washing their clothes on the boulders. Some were cleaning vegetables, and others were fishing with bamboo poles and nets, all the while twittering like birds.
Kai and Vinnie hid behind the pines. When an elfin girl passed near them, they could almost touch her long flowing hair. She smelled of pomelo flowers and sandalwood. Kai sucked in his breath and Vinnie slipped out a low wolf whistle. The girl turned. They ducked behind the pines but continued to watch through the gaps.
“Sweet Jesus,” Vinnie breathed.
When the girl took several steps in their direction, the boys froze. Her downcast gaze made her look as if she were sleeping. She tilted her head, turned an ear toward them, and listened for a moment before rejoining the children.
“Vin, she didn’t see us, did she?”
“No. Sleeping Beauty can’t see with them eyes.”
They watched the children from behind the pines. As the sun crimsoned in the western sky, the children left the lake, chirping like a flock of birds. Some dragged themselves over the ground, others helped a few along, and the rest carried baskets of the things washed or caught in the water. They traveled close to the riverside with the girl at the lead, now and then whistling.
“Wild dogs?” Vinnie looked at Kai.
“That’s the whistling of a wild dog.”
Leaving the shore, the children continued through the pine forest.
“Let’s see where they’re going,” Kai said.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Something’s in the water . . . in the soil.” Vinnie’s voice was quiet. He suddenly stuck a finger down his throat and
forced himself to gag. His stomach convulsed violently for what seemed like a long time until he threw up a foamy red berry mush. Wiping his mouth, he said weakly, “Let’s get back.”
“No,” Kai said.
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“You’re one of them,” Vinnie said again. “That night I shot into the bush, everyone thought I was trigger-happy, but when I saw you, I thought I saw a . . . a . . . I don’t know what I saw. Let’s go.”
Kai seemed not to hear.
Night came.
They followed the flickering yellow light in the direction the children had disappeared. They cut through the dark forest, crossed a hilly open field, and entered a young bamboo grove. They found a footpath leading to a fence and a thatched longhouse with square windows through which the light shone.
“Wait here,” Kai said.
Before Vinnie could stop him, Kai jumped the fence and vanished into the stretch of darkness with a gourd of moonshine. Appearing outside a lit window, Kai paused and then slipped through the bright light. Vinnie watched for move ments and listened for a commotion inside the house but only became more aware of the wind rustling through the pine forest, the river rushing over stones, and nocturnal animals grunting in the distance.
He was startled by a sudden burst of sounds in unison, followed by back and forth calls from different directions. He could not tell whether they were human or animal. He thought they came from inside the shelter. He waited, enclosed in the night. He wanted to make a run for the square of light but froze when he heard hissing near his ear. Trembling, he slowly turned toward the sinister sound.
Kai was standing beside him, grinning like an imp and shaking a bamboo tube filled with sand. “I traded the moonshine!”
When they trekked back to the campground under the starlit sky, Kai asked Vinnie why he had called the girl Sleeping Beauty.
“If a true love kissed her, she’d wake up, and they’d live happily ever after.” Vinnie looked at Kai. “Are you true love?”
