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Authors: Andrew X. Pham
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whispered.
“It is for people of our parents’ generation,” I said.
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“When I first met Tat through Ha in high school, I asked Tat why his hair was so curly. We were riding our bicycles. Tat kicked my bike so hard I fell over. I would have punched him right then, but Ha stepped in and calmed us down. We almost became enemies from the start.” I took a deep breath, still not sure if Tat had forgiven me for that unintentional slight. “I didn’t know Tat’s mother had given up a half-French son for adoption.”
“Tat’s younger brother is very handsome. The first time I met him, I thought he was European.”
“We are free now, but the older generations had to live under colonial rule. It was common for French bosses to have affairs with the wives of their Vietnamese subordinates. Sometimes, it was coerced. Sometimes, men offered their wives or even their daughters to their bosses to advance their careers.”
Talking about it made me sad for our country and our people. It stirred up a slew of old feelings and made me feel dirty. How had generations of colonialism reduced us? How had we reduced ourselves? Are we doing that still?
Anh fell silent. She curled into me, drawing her legs over mine. The hems of her
ao dai
draped us like a blanket. The cyclo lurched over a small pothole. The night felt tender, fragile. I couldn’t help but hope for a better future.
She rested her head on my shoulder, eyes lulled closed by the cyclo’s gentle rocking. I was intensely aware of the warmth of her body. I wondered what she saw in me. Anh had many suitors more wealthy and accomplished than me, but she chose to wait patiently throughout our long courtship, six months of ice cream parlors, cafés, and dance halls. It was not customary for a woman to initiate talk of commitment or of a future together. To venture beyond cuddles and kisses was to enter the realm of matrimony—something unimaginably irresponsible for a college student, so far from success, working several jobs to help support his family.
I held her hands. She had long fingers, the palms coarse, hands unafraid of work. Anh opened her eyes and smiled the same smile that won me from the first moment. I knew then I would not give her up, that when the time was right I would ask for her hand. With the decision came a liberating sensation, that of falling.
The sky was dark, but you could feel the shift toward dawn even before the eastern horizon changed. Downwind from the
pho
shop, the cool air was laced with the reassuring aroma of beef soup.
THE NORTH
1941–1943
9. C RICKET F IGHT
F rom the time of the Japanese invasion to the onset of the Great Famine, the country reeled through a period of escalating turmoil. A pervading lawlessness spread across the land. Opportunists thrived in the cities, availing themselves of monopolies and commissions—the largess that once was the sole purview of the French. Bandits plagued the highways. Peasant uprisings were common in the countryside. Underground, Communists and Nationalists were vying for power. The former gained popularity among the commoners. The latter had promoted the Japanese promise of liberating Vietnam, but the Japanese proved themselves even crueler masters than the French. The populace staggered under new taxes and outrageous rice requisitions. Young men found themselves conscripted and taken away to work as coolies. In its drive to conquer Asia, the Japanese army was quickly draining the country’s resources and setting the stage for a famine that would decimate a fifth of the population.
It was the grand prelude to disaster and, for me, the happiest years of my life.
I had the blessings of a privileged childhood, though, naturally, I was not oblivious to war. I’d seen guns and soldiers and heard of battles—it was all the adults ever talked about. But these things served as mere passing curiosities and random facts, because I was at that early age of
“It is for people of our parents’ generation,” I said.
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“When I first met Tat through Ha in high school, I asked Tat why his hair was so curly. We were riding our bicycles. Tat kicked my bike so hard I fell over. I would have punched him right then, but Ha stepped in and calmed us down. We almost became enemies from the start.” I took a deep breath, still not sure if Tat had forgiven me for that unintentional slight. “I didn’t know Tat’s mother had given up a half-French son for adoption.”
“Tat’s younger brother is very handsome. The first time I met him, I thought he was European.”
“We are free now, but the older generations had to live under colonial rule. It was common for French bosses to have affairs with the wives of their Vietnamese subordinates. Sometimes, it was coerced. Sometimes, men offered their wives or even their daughters to their bosses to advance their careers.”
Talking about it made me sad for our country and our people. It stirred up a slew of old feelings and made me feel dirty. How had generations of colonialism reduced us? How had we reduced ourselves? Are we doing that still?
Anh fell silent. She curled into me, drawing her legs over mine. The hems of her
ao dai
draped us like a blanket. The cyclo lurched over a small pothole. The night felt tender, fragile. I couldn’t help but hope for a better future.
She rested her head on my shoulder, eyes lulled closed by the cyclo’s gentle rocking. I was intensely aware of the warmth of her body. I wondered what she saw in me. Anh had many suitors more wealthy and accomplished than me, but she chose to wait patiently throughout our long courtship, six months of ice cream parlors, cafés, and dance halls. It was not customary for a woman to initiate talk of commitment or of a future together. To venture beyond cuddles and kisses was to enter the realm of matrimony—something unimaginably irresponsible for a college student, so far from success, working several jobs to help support his family.
I held her hands. She had long fingers, the palms coarse, hands unafraid of work. Anh opened her eyes and smiled the same smile that won me from the first moment. I knew then I would not give her up, that when the time was right I would ask for her hand. With the decision came a liberating sensation, that of falling.
The sky was dark, but you could feel the shift toward dawn even before the eastern horizon changed. Downwind from the
pho
shop, the cool air was laced with the reassuring aroma of beef soup.
THE NORTH
1941–1943
9. C RICKET F IGHT
F rom the time of the Japanese invasion to the onset of the Great Famine, the country reeled through a period of escalating turmoil. A pervading lawlessness spread across the land. Opportunists thrived in the cities, availing themselves of monopolies and commissions—the largess that once was the sole purview of the French. Bandits plagued the highways. Peasant uprisings were common in the countryside. Underground, Communists and Nationalists were vying for power. The former gained popularity among the commoners. The latter had promoted the Japanese promise of liberating Vietnam, but the Japanese proved themselves even crueler masters than the French. The populace staggered under new taxes and outrageous rice requisitions. Young men found themselves conscripted and taken away to work as coolies. In its drive to conquer Asia, the Japanese army was quickly draining the country’s resources and setting the stage for a famine that would decimate a fifth of the population.
It was the grand prelude to disaster and, for me, the happiest years of my life.
I had the blessings of a privileged childhood, though, naturally, I was not oblivious to war. I’d seen guns and soldiers and heard of battles—it was all the adults ever talked about. But these things served as mere passing curiosities and random facts, because I was at that early age of
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