Now we’re getting ready for a good-bye lunch at Cô Hạnh’s. I will hand out presents, and email Mom to discuss travel plans. I don’t know whether to leave or stay.
Right now, Bà and I are working on getting to Cô Hạnh’s, my ninja gear fully on. It’s slow going. Halfway there, Bà stops in the village center to rest on a bench under cây đa.
Bà hasn’t been talking much, which is understandable. Years and years of waiting finally ended with a clump of clay and pieces of blue tile. I hope that’s enough.
We sit facing the tree, and Bà leans into me, bony and light. She reaches out and traces the tiny crevices in the bark. Her translucent finger glows against the dark trunk. She’s smiling a slow, quiet smile.
“Ông có đây,” she says, meaning Ông was here, had touched the same bark, years ago.
I reach out and trace the bark with her. Ông exists all over this village. I have a feeling Bà is not ready to say bye. She’s not sad though, holding her quiet smile; her other hand holds a piece of blue tile.
“At first the weight of loss was thrust upon me so harshly I could only take a short breath, just enough to endure the next few seconds, only to find I must inhale again. Every person in turmoil thinks the boulder on her chest will never lift. Yet the same boulder awakens an equally strong urge to live. The wind and the rain will wear the boulder down to manageable rocks, and those rocks will dwindle to pebbles, which will become sand and will grind yet smaller until it becomes dust and enters the blood. Yet it’s far from done. The cycle will recirculate, boulder to dust then dust to boulder. Sometimes taking years, other times in a matter of minutes. From the outside, there might be no trace of a wound but I still remember because the memories have become as necessary as blood.
“I tell you of loss, my child, so you will listen, slowly, and know that in life every emotion is fated to rear itself within your being. Don’t judge it proper or ugly. It’s simply there and yours. When you should happen to cry, then cry, knowing that just as easily you will laugh again and cry again. Your feelings will enter the currents of your core and there they shall remain.”
I nod even though I’m just as confused by her talk as I was by Dad’s. Did they plan this? Why all this talk of life? Is there something different about me?
Just then, Út comes running up, lifting her ninja mask to say everyone is waiting for us. She takes one side and I take the other and we get Bà to where we all need to go.
Cô Hạnh has everything planned down to Bà’s every bite and sip of tea. Wonderful, I can take a break from caretaking.
Not just Bà, Cô Hạnh has planned everyone else’s minutes too. The older villagers eat at their own tables with chairs that have back support. The detective sits here, with his notebook that I’ve returned, reading to Bà. No doubt he can go on for days and days.
The middle-agers are drinking cognac mixed with 7UP. Even I know that’s a very weird mix, but everyone seems to like it.
The young-adult tables get the most meat because they’re growing. The boys are back from shrimp camp and they can eat. Cô Hạnh seats Anh Minh and Chị Lan together, and I hear them call each other “anh em,” so their triangle has cemented down to a solid pair. Don’t fear for Con Ngọc. Cô Hạnh has her sitting with a muscular man/boy and their story is about to be set too. She’s wearing that fluffy pink skirt, and I hope something less surprising underneath. She would do very well in Laguna, BTW.
I wish Cô Hạnh would come to Laguna and arrange my life. No doubt, I would be going to spring dances, homecoming, and prom with Kevin. It feels okay to let his name escape now that he’s messaged me. Maybe that means something, maybe I won’t need Cô Hạnh after all.
Út and I are at a table with teens who would rather be elsewhere. Everyone eats quickly and off each goes. Út and I escape to the back porch.
I thought for sure I’d be spending the afternoon watching Froggy sleep, oh the joy. But to my surprise, Cô Hạnh has hooked up a mosquito net on the back porch and hung a double hammock inside. How cool is that? We get in and before we settle into the hammock I give Út the book I got for her, wrapped in a banana leaf because, I don’t know, just because.
Út flips through the pages, looking at each illustration. She is so slow. Finally, she gets to the section on North Vietnam and to the chapter on paa frogs (Genus Paa). She breaks into a huge smile and proceeds to read it in incomprehensible French-accented English.
I can’t handle it and take over: “Species in the genus Paa go by a variety of common names in English, including paa frogs, spiny frogs, and mountain bullfrogs.” Út listens enraptured. So we lie in the hammock with our heads in opposite directions and I read the rest of the chapter.
“Very good,” Út says. Let it register that she has complimented me, out loud, in English. Who knew such a thing was possible?
“Do . . . you . . . understand?”
“No, but I listen.”
“I could . . . teach . . . you . . . to . . . pronounce,” I say before thinking.
“Yes, now.”
What have I gotten myself into?
She doesn’t know yet, that Bà and I might be leaving in a day or two. But Út should have guessed because we’re at a good-bye party, hello. Út is Út, so she probably didn’t care to find out. What if I stayed another twelve days and flew home with Dad? He’d love it because he wouldn’t have to pay three hundred dollars, or four bicycles, to alter the return date for me and Bà. Four of Dad’s patients would be getting new bicycles. That’s something.
“Teach me,” Út says. “I will be taking an examination to qualify to study with a scientist who lives deep in the jungle to collect data on frogs. I have to say the scientific names in English.”
I read another chapter to test my level of interest. Could I really spend twelve days reading about frogs and salamanders and newts? Út would love it. Bà too would love to have more time to spend with the tangible objects Ông had touched. I have a feeling she would be visiting his little spot in the family plot and watering the mound holding the clump of clay and the chip of blue tile.
Maybe I can stay and maybe I would enjoy it. What’s in Laguna that’s so urgent? Mom is exhausted with her trial and I will see Kevin when I see him. As for Montana, I can wait.
Út shakes the book in my hand. “Read.”
“Why? . . . You . . . don’t . . . understand.”
“That’s why I must listen.”
“Identification of all paa frogs remains challenging because the spines are both seasonal and restricted to mature males (though some adult female Yunnan paa frogs also have spines on their fingers). Complicating matters, the current taxonomy . . .”
I look up and Út has her eyes half closed, dreaming. She’s going to want me to pronounce every word in this dense, thick book. Maybe I can’t do this.
“Keep reading, why have you stopped?”
“I . . . can’t . . . stay . . . all . . . summer.”
“Everybody knows. Twelve more days, twelve more good-bye parties.”
“For . . . real?” I have to admit, I’m flattered. Cô Hạnh has planned twelve parties for us. I wonder what we’re eating next.
“Read.”
Can I deal with bossy Út in two languages for twelve days?
“If I . . . read . . . what . . . do . . . I get?”
Út sits up, rocking the balance of the hammock. I’m sure she’s searching high and low for something to counterbargain with. I mean, I’m reading a textbook about frogs and other slimy stuff, what does she have?
“You name one of my glowing frogs.”
Hmm, Út just spoke in half English, half Vietnamese and her offer is not bad.
“Mày có, what else?” I too can speak half and half. Notice how I used “mày” for good friends.
“I let you open quả sung and feed my frog.”
Hmm, that is intriguing. I could video the episode and entertain Mom. Her case is not going any better.
“What
else?”
Út looks at me, twisty browed, then lies back down to think. I lie back too. Each of us has a leg off the hammock, and when one pushes, the other lifts her leg, then vice versa. A rhythm happens, push, rest, push, rest, and soon Út starts talking in Vietnamese to herself about how it’s her dream, like dream dream, to go into the jungle and study frogs. I have to admit it’s soothing and sweet just lying here listening. The hammock keeps swinging, Út keeps talking, and soon half asleep, I start talking in English about the first time I heard Kevin speak.
“We were discussing this poem that ended with the line, ‘Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands,’ and Kevin out of nowhere said maybe he loved her so much that—”
Út interrupts, “e.e. cummings.”
I shoot up and stare at her. “Mày know?”
“Good poem. We heard a recording of it over and over in class.”
How can she possibly have memorized a poem I just read last year, with help in English class?
“If I . . . pronounce . . . every . . . word . . . in the entire . . . book, mày có teach . . . me to read . . . in Vietnamese?”
Út knits her brows, no doubt plotting the precise steps for my language acquisition. She stares hard, perhaps assessing my brain’s potential, then announces, “Eel.” I know she means “deal.”
Right then, I decide to stay.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To Tara Weikum, who knows all editing things,
to Rosemary Stimola, who knows all things in general,
to Janine and Caden Robinson for Laguna Beach tidbits,
to Amy Wilson, Chris Schmidt, Jonna White, Suzanne Weeks, Lori Ganz, Kara McCormick-Lyons, and Diggy Moneypenny Cockerham, who kept my daughter busy during deadlines,
to Brianna Lai for letting me ask too many questions,
to my An, who inspired this novel,
to my mother, whose sentences really do land in drops of bells, and of course, to my Henri, who makes a writing life, and thus life, possible,
thank you.
BACK AD
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by An Lại-Omar
THANHHÀ LẠI was born in Việt Nam and now lives with her family in New York.
Like the father in Listen, Slowly, Thanhhà has been buying bicycles for poor children in Viêt Nam since 2005. To learn more about Thanhhà and her charity, Việt Kids Inc., visit www.thanhhalai.com.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
BOOKS BY THANHHÀ LẠI
Inside Out & Back Again
CREDITS
Cover art © 2015 Zdenko Bašić
Cover design by Ray Shappell
COPYRIGHT
LISTEN, SLOWLY. Copyright © 2015 by Thanhhà Lại. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
The lines quoted here and here are from Vietnam: A Natural History by Eleanor Jane Sterling, Martha Maud Hurley, and Le Duc Minh.
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ISBN 978-0-06-222918-2 (trade bdg.)
EPub Edition © January 2015 ISBN 9780062229205
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Map illustration © 2015 by Rodica Prato
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FIRST EDITION
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Thanhha Lai, Listen, Slowly
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