The Mountains Sing(16)

“Mother, we know how terrible you must feel. But we assure you your son didn’t die in vain. We, as his comrades, will wipe out the enemy.”

Grandma shook her head as if not wanting to hear more. “Did you . . . did you know Thu?n well?”

“We belonged to the same unit, Mother. Comrade Thu?n was a brother to us. He was kind to everyone.”

Grandma ran her fingers over the letters, tracing the handwriting of her son.

“There’s one more.” The older soldier held out another letter. “For his girlfriend, Miss Thu.”

Grandma cupped the letter in her palms. She swallowed hard. “Thu?n wanted to marry her. I was already saving for their happy day. Our happy day.”

“We know, Mother. Thu?n told us he couldn’t wait to hear you sing at his wedding.”

“I’ll go see Thu tomorrow,” Grandma said. “Would you . . . would you like something to eat?”

“Thank you, but we need to go.” The older man smiled weakly. “We’re here on a training course, Mother. Our commander asked us to see you first.”

Grandma nodded. “Stay safe . . . so you can see your families again.”

The soldiers bent their heads. Outside, a strong gust of wind ripped through the air, clashing against our tin roof. On the neighborhood lane, a young boy called for his mother, his cries fading into the distance.

I turned back to the fire. It had dwindled, leaving behind half-burned, smoldering twigs. I could hear nothing now, and felt nothing except for the tightening grip of winter.

GRANDMA AND I set up an altar for Uncle Thu?n. We no longer had a photo of him. His knapsack and clothes sat in front of his incense bowl. Grandma stayed up three nights to pray for my uncle’s soul to reach Heaven. Her murmurs, the wooden bell’s rhythmic chime, and incense smoke filled our hut.

I woke up after the third night to see Grandma in front of our home, gazing up at the sky, Uncle Thu?n’s letters in her hands—letters I’d learned by heart. I only needed to close my eyes for his words to appear before me, leading me into Tr??ng S?n jungles where he journeyed under tall trees, where butterflies flittered and monkeys jumped from one branch to the next, where his laughter rose as he caught fish from streams and picked tàu bay plants to eat. There was no fear, no fighting, no death in his letters. Only hope, love of life, and the longing for home. He was just a young man who believed his future was ahead of him.

I went to Grandma, embracing her. The sky was as clear as a mirror, and I sensed Uncle Thu?n was up there with my ancestors, watching over us.

We’d hoped for the war to end, but it continued. If Grandma was sorrowful and fearful, she never let me see it again. One day, after looking long and hard at my thin body, our cold kitchen, and our ragged home, she told me she wanted to quit her teaching job, which paid next to nothing. At first I thought I’d heard it wrong, but then her students started appearing, pleading with Grandma to change her mind.

“Please, Grandma, don’t quit!” I insisted the next day as she picked me up from school.

“Shh.” She put a finger to her lip, eyeing the teachers who stood close by.

At home, she lowered herself onto the straw mat. “Now we can talk. But let’s keep our voices low.”

“You can’t quit teaching, Grandma. Don’t you see how much your students love you?”

She reached for our comb, running it through my hair. “Yes, I’ll miss my students. But I can’t stand brainwashing their innocent minds with propaganda. We aren’t just teachers, we’re servants of the Party.”

“But where will you work, Grandma?”

“Can you keep a secret?” She brought her mouth to my ear. “I’m going to trade on the black market, to buy us food and rebuild our home. To save for the return of your parents and uncles. And I’ll be free, no longer somebody’s servant.”

“You’ll become a con bu?n—a trader? But that’s . . . that’s bad. . . .” My eyes widened, the words of my ethics teacher ringing in my ears: “As a socialist country, we honor workers and farmers. We must sweep bourgeoisie and traders away from our society. They are leeches living on people’s blood.”

“Ha, it seems you’ve been brainwashed, too.” Grandma snorted. “There’s nothing wrong with being a trader, and you can bet I’m going to become one. In fact, I’ve already traded my gold earrings for some stuff to sell.”

I reached for her ears and gasped. Her only valuable belonging, which she’d saved for Uncle Thu?n’s wedding, had disappeared.

“You traded the earrings for what, Grandma?”

“Let me see.” She counted her fingers. “Sandals, towels, batteries, soap, bicycle tires. Best-selling items on the black market.”

“But where are they?” I looked around our empty shack.

“At a friend’s house. In the Old Quarter. They’d be confiscated if I carried them around.”

“But isn’t it illegal, Grandma? I heard only government stores are supposed to trade—”

“Guava.” She interrupted me, taking my face into her hands. “I’m not going to do something bad, believe me.”

I looked into Grandma’s eyes and saw determination. But would her new job get us into trouble?

“We need food,” Grandma told me. “People need these items. Besides, we have to prepare for the future, for the return of your parents and uncles. We can’t live forever like this.” She patted our bed, the straw mat. It looked miserable, glued to the earthen floor.