“Come this way, sir.”
She clapped her hands at the dog. He ran ahead of us growlin’ over his dog shoulder. My hands went into my back pockets and covered both cheeks until he parked himself under a bush. We walked on the path, and suddenly I was in a completely different place in the world. The Lam Lee Hahn front yard and shop was nothin’. The backyard was an experience. Everywhere people walked around busy. Some were pickin’ bitter melons and veggies from vines wrapped around wooden frames erected in the yard. Others were cookin’ in aluminum pots, and behind them there were rice fields that stretched almost out to the mangroves in the pass.
Lam Lee Hahn was on L-Island, but a long fence separated them from us. I reckon their rice fields was in line with Pa Campbell’s sugar cane on the other side of the red wooden fence, though. That fence went all the way around the property ’cept for the back, which faced the lake and the Gulf. I couldn’t tell if the people in the rice field were men or women, cos they all had these huge cone-shaped straw hats on their heads. They all sang a Vietnamese song as they bent down and stuck little plants into the water. I didn’t want to know the English lyrics, cos that would just spoil the sweetness of it. One guy was flooding the rice field with a desalination pump. Mai looked at my eyes and asked if I was excited. Well hell yes, I was excited... about all the money they must have been makin’ in the swamps! But I wasn’t going to say that last part. My moms taught me better than that. When I thought I’d seen everything, Mai, she walked away and motioned with her head for me to follow.
“Want to see where we grow the shrimp?”
Now look, these people had ponds – not small pools – ponds full of juicy shrimp and prawns and mud crabs. And beyond the ponds you could see the fishermen. Some takin’ off in boats across the lake headed for the Gulf and others landin’ and haulin’ out big baskets of sea fish. Still others hauled produce into boats to take around the swamp and sell from what they called a Vietnamese “Floatin’ Market”.
Mai put her hands together and spoke to one of the men in Vietnamese, and he brought us some big ol’ prawns that he roasted on an open fire. Mine was hot and burned my mouth. Mai laughed at me, and that’s when I knew she wasn’t mad any more. She grabbed my arm and, runnin’, she pulled me into the buildin’. I couldn’t see, on account of just jumpin’ out of the light, so Mai led me through a long corridor, stop-pin’ as soon as we were safely in the dark to pull me towards her with both hands. My first kiss tasted like seafood with some shell in it.
We stood there winded, not from runnin’, but from borrowin’ each other’s breath. I saw the white of her eyes close up. She had the softest stare – the kindest eyes – and she didn’t know it. Then she told me to close mine. I waited for the second kiss, but she slapped me lightly on the cheek and said we were in a temple, for godssake. I chased her through the corridor. Up ahead there was light reflecting off a big brass gong, and the whole way down the hall there was this smell – extra sweet and warm, but sooty – like perfume on fire.
We walked into a dimly lit room with more dragons. But this time the dragons were carved into wooden walls of deep red, like dried roses. Those dragons had the same beautiful broken pieces of pottery for scales and eyes. Vietnamese words were everywhere, but I’m sure all of them said “silence”.
“Quiet, now,” Mai was whisperin’.
She took off her shoes and tiptoed across the floor. I did the same and followed her, happy that I was bandwagonin’ Frico’s clean, new sweat socks that didn’t have holes in ’em. The perfume smell was stronger now. Incense. I really wanted to know what kind. I sniffed the air.
“What’s that?”
Out of the dimness, a man’s voice boomed: “Your nose!” “Who’s that?”
“Your ears!”
Mai sounded apologetic. “Thay Samadh, tôi...”
“Englis’!”
“Master Samadh. I didn’t know you were in here.”
“I know you not know I here.”
It was the old Vietnamese man. That’s the exact same voice I saw in his eyebrows. Funny how it made me think of a big block of cracked ice.
A lamp in the corner slowly became brighter.
He was seated on the floor in a pumpkin-coloured robe. It had a sparklin’ embroidered collar that had all the colours of the mosaic walkway. The collar looped around his neck, curved down across his chest and disappeared under one arm. His eyes were closed, but he moved a string of big brown beads between his fingers, like he was learnin’ to count.
“Skid, this is Master Samadh – Master Samadh...”
“Yes, I know, Skeed. What that name is... Englis’?”
I swallowed, wonderin’ if the guy could see us with his eyes closed. “Yes, sir.”
“Sounds funny... Skeed.”
I think it was a good opportunity to use his phrase back on him. But when I said “Your ears”, I realized it didn’t make sense in the same way he said it. Mai looked at me and rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders and opened her palms and mouthed at me silently as if to say, “What the hell was that?”
Samadh opened his eyes and caught her mid-what-the-hell.
“Why ahh you here?” he asked me.
“I came to see Mai.”
Mai rolled her eyes again. “He came to see Kuan Am, Master Sam.”
“Ah! Then we do not keep Kuan Am waiting... Skeed.”
“Skid.” Pause.
“Yes.” His eyes shut down again.
I wondered about his kung fu. All guys like him in the movies can fight kung fu. I asked Mai, and she said stupid questions are worse than kissin’ in the temple.
We walked between two columns, and there in front of us, sittin’ cross-legged under a slice of sunlight through the roof, was a big bronze statue, about seven feet tall. Fruits were laid out in bowls in front of it. The feet were covered in chrysanthemums – those fluffy yellow flowers with petals folding over each other. Orange tongues came up from candles and licked at the shadows in the room, revealin’ family faces in gold frames. The photos were sittin’ on two low tables to the right. Mai said one was of her father, who died when she was three. Around the pictures, burnin’ incense sticks scribbled a strange language on thin air. A wooden screen with floral designs was folded out behind the statue, and you could see the red wall of the room and two paper lanterns through the cuts. Funny how a heavy wooden thing could look like lace – or as if it was crocheted instead of carved. Mai sat on a fancy carpet on the floor and rested back on her heels. I did the same, uncomfortably, and looked around.
“So where’s Kuan?”
“Keep your voice down.” She pointed at the bronze statue with her entire hand. “This is Kuan Am.”
“This is Kuan?” I repeated out of disbelief.
“Yes. Kuan Am the Compassionate is very important goddess in Vietnam. We’re Catholic now. But this was my family shrine-room statue when I was baby. She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
I couldn’t believe I washed my face and got dressed and braved her dragon dog to meet a statue. Mai was on a roll.
“In Asian custom, she’s a person who – how you say in English? – oh, delays her own happiness to help other people. She tries to help everybody in the world, even if that’s impossible. That’s why she has so many hands.” That’s when I saw that Kuan Am had about twenty-eight arms, and I was happy she wasn’t a flesh-and-blood person, cos the handshakin’ alone would have taken us a little while.
“Kuan Am has a thousand arms.”
I tried, but I couldn’t make out the rest of them. All I saw was what looked like a vertical halo behind her. Then Mai really started whisperin’.
“Master Samadh was a monk in Vietnam. Now he’s just homesick. So I’m happy the statue is here to remind him of it.”
I asked her about her family, just to be polite.
“I was baby, but I hear Master Samadh helped my family leave Vietnam – and then, at the last minute, he decided to come here with us. I call him m
y grandpa sometimes, but he’s not. And still, even though he isn’t family, he did everything he could do for us.”
I just shook my head. I knew a guy that could help many people with one left hand and he wasn’t doin’ nothin’.
“Kuan is very nice,” I told her. And I meant it.
Then I felt somethin’ in my pocket and remembered that I had picked the last tamarinds from the tree and taken them as a peace offerin’ for Mai. She liked that kind of tangy thing more than I did. I told her I didn’t have any more, cos Moms said we climbed that tamarind tree too often and shook off the little blossoms, so the tree can’t catch a break. Right about when I was imitatin’ Moms’ voice sayin’ “And it’s a shame when something doesn’t come to full fruit”, Samadh told me to shut up.
“Shhh! n có nhai, nói có ngh!” – or something like that.
“English!” Mai called out. I was happy she gave him a taste of his own medicine.
“Think today, speak tomorrow.”
As soon as I heard the translation, I decided to go. I realized that was a recipe for gettin’ you to shut up for your whole damn life.
“What time is it, Mai?”
“Time for leavin’!” Samadh was shoutin’ now.
We walked back past him. I stopped at the door before steppin’ out into the corridor and reached into my pocket. I was standin’ in front of Mai, holdin’ open one of her jeans pockets and droppin’ the tamarinds in, when Samadh opened his eyes and caught me. The monk stood up so slowly he might as well have floated like the sweet smoke.
“What that is?”
“Uhm, your eyes?”
He ignored my comment, even though I know I used it perfectly, and he just floated closer, his hands behind him, his face set, his eyebrows cursin’, his pumpkin-coloured robe sweepin’ the floor.
Mai took the tamarinds from her pocket and held them out so he could see. Her hands shook a little. He stopped in front of us. He was tall as hell.
“Where you get these?” He spoke slowly as he took them from her hands while lookin’ at me.
“ From where I live... we have a tree.”
“Then you have answered my prayers, Skeed.” He cracked open the fruit. “Do you have more of these?”
“Yes, yes.” I was relieved. “I can get you some.”
“I need lots of it. How you say in English?”
“Tamarind.”
“Ah, well, I need more... tamring... today.”
“Sure. Of course. Gimme half an hour.” Mai was tryin’ to teach me something respectful in Vietnamese to say when talkin’ to him, but I couldn’t catch it. I always learn curse words first.
Anyway, Moms wasn’t home yet, so I went in and did a raid on the tamarind preserves in the cupboard. We weren’t using them anyway. Then, when I was walkin’ back to Lam Lee Hahn, I thought to myself that maybe I should’ve taken all the seeds out, cos Mai, she might start a whole tamarind farm behind your back if you’re not careful. You don’t know that girl. Well, when I got back, Samadh was out of his robe and in his work clothes. I handed the goods to him and he looked at me over his glasses, like he knew there had been a heist of some sort. Maybe he was expectin’ the fruits in their shells and fresh off the tree. Not stewed and in three marmalade glass jars that looked suspect. He shrugged.
“How much?”
I was happy Mai wasn’t there when he asked that, cos I liked her a lot, but she can really muck up negotiations.
“Hmm... let’s see.” I scratched my chin and counted on my fingers, startin’ with my thumb, and I tried to sound real businesslike.
“Well, we have to include the hazard pay for the tree-climbin’, plus labour charges for the reapin’ and the shellin’ and storage fees for the marmalade jars. Outside of that, the tree was damaged with a chainsaw recently, so...”
“Shree dollah!”
The monk was getting that look in his eyebrows again, so I decided that three bucks was OK. He told me that next time I should talk to Mai about money. Great.
He held the jars to his chest and hurried away down the corridor. I followed him, and he went back into that shrine room and sat on the ground. He opened the jar and scooped some tamarind paste out into his hand. Damn. That old monk was really goin’ to sit there in the dark and eat all three bottles by himself. His stomach was goin’ to be so bubbly. Well, that’s what I was thinkin’, until he bowed, then crawled over to Kuan Am and started rubbin’ tamarind on the statue’s face.
“What...”
“Shhh. Look more.”
He took a dust cloth from his pocket and rubbed the face for about a minute. Well, when he moved that cloth, I had to cover my eyes. Kuan Am’s bronze face had turned into pure glistenin’ gold. The shaft of sunlight was bouncin’ around the room from the statue. Samadh’s eyes lit up.
“Tamring polish!” he said triumphantly, and tried to high-five me, but it’s hard to do that when one guy is too tall and you are both stoopin’ down and off-balance.
For the next few days after school I had a job helpin’ Master Samadh polish the statue. Well, actually, all I did was hold the “tamring polish” open while he chanted and scrubbed the bronze clean. I reckon I had to demonstrate that I deserved the extra dollars I was goin’ to make that week, so I pointed out that he missed a spot or two around the back of the statue. He shook his head.
“When you clean house, you clean perfec’. OK? Perfec’! But when clean statue, leave dark corners. To make perfec’ places show more better.”
Yeah, right. Nothin’ like a little ancient wisdom to hide your arthritis. Anyway, by Thursday she was gleamin’ bright, and the old man’s English wasn’t too rusty neither. All the fishermen who came into the shrine room said “Ahhh yehs!” and bowed down when they saw Kuan Am glistening under the slice of sun. Friday evenin’, Master Samadh was outside and I was there sittin’ in the dimness of the shrine room when I thought I’d look the statue over. I reckoned I could reach those spots he missed and surprise the old guy. Bad idea. Soon as I slapped on the tamarind and started rubbin’ the halo thing at the back, a whole section of the halo just broke off Kuan Am and fell to the floor. The sound was sickenin’. I was dead. Immediately, in my head, I saw myself handin’ all the money back to Mai to pay for damages. But Frico could fix this, easily. I just had to figure out a way to get him there, into that room and then make him do it...
Master Samadh must have been waitin’ at the door. He stepped in and spoke softly.
“What’s that?”
“I was... she... the statue... somethin’ broke... Master Sam... I can fix it.” It was the first time I called him “Master Sam”, and it felt weird, but somehow I thought it was wise under the circumstances.
“Why did that happen, Skeed?”
“Cos I tried to clean it.”
“Hm.”
Maan, he could call me Skeed all day if he was goin’ to be that calm about me breakin’ beautiful Kuan Am. But as he sat on the floor and closed his eyes and cupped his hands together in his lap, I felt so terrible – I just wished he would get angry and chase me out of Lam Lee Hahn, instead of goin’ into deep breathin’ to keep himself calm. Well, while I was stoopin’ there feelin’ stupid with Valerie Beaumont’s tamarind polish in one hand and the cleanin’ cloth crumpled in the other, Mai’s mother walked in. She bowed to Master Samadh, then took one look at the statue and spoke softly but firmly.
“Oh, that fell off again Master Sam? I don’t know why after all these years we don’t just leave that broken part on the floor, where it belongs. It makes too much noise when it falls off!”
And the old monk opened one eye, and he and his eyebrows laughed at me. Loudly. I didn’t mind.
Mai walked with me to the train tracks. She was wearin’ one of those cone-shaped straw hats to block the sun. It was so huge I could only see her mouth. ‘Sam Pan hat’ she called it. We stopped and looked across to where the Benets used to live. Flatbeds and tow trucks had come and hauled away the few remaining ol
d cars from Backhoe’s scrap-metal junkyard. I used to like those old, rustin’ cars and junk. After school, when I walked into the swamp, as soon as I saw the cracked windshields and the old Esso gas-station sign, I knew I was home, although it was all just broken stuff collecting rainwater and makin’ mosquitoes, and I had to be gettin’ ready to run from Broadway and Squash. All that junk was there for so many years – I never thought the day would come when I would only see burnt-out rectangles and odd shapes on the nut grass, like those empty spaces inside my house where my father use to fit.
“What’s happenin’ to your face?” Mai was lookin’ at my lower cheek, her eyes concerned. Damn that Frico.
I laughed it off. “I guess I turn thirteen this year!”
“Hmm. Guess I need to give your mother some things to balance you out... Skeed.”
“Oh, please don’t destroy my name like Master Sam. And don’t gang up on me with my moms and all that balancin’-my-energy stuff.”
“Too late.” Mai stood on tiptoes. She took off the Sam Pan hat and put it on my head and laughed at me. Then she held my chin and smooched me right above where the pimples had started to show.
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