She imagined her own father sitting in a bar in some other place, perhaps Hanoi or Ho Chi Minh City, nostalgically telling strangers about his history. She lit a cigarette.
The boy, Yen, appeared at her side and said, “I have a bird for you.” He held up a small bamboo cage. “From me to you.”
Ada stepped back. “I don’t want a bird.”
“Yes, you do. It’s good fortune. And besides, the bird is an orphan and needs an owner. Please. It would make me very happy.”
Ada put out her cigarette and began to walk away, following the path along the river.
Yen caught up to her and said, “Just yesterday I saw you at Christy’s. With your brother, playing pool. I said to myself, Yen, Ada is unhappy. What would make her happy? And I thought of a bird. So, I bought him for you and he lives with me at Mr. Minh’s but Minh doesn’t like birds so you must take him. I give him to you, with levity.”
“Who is this Mr. Minh?”
“My uncle. He works at the Chess Hotel. He is an underchef and I know you are interested because you are a chef as well. So was Bac Ho, Ho Chi Minh. It’s perfect, you see. Uncle Ho, Uncle Minh, and Miss Ada. All of you making food. That makes me feel full of fortune. I do not think, Miss Ada, that this was chance. It was planned long ago, our meeting.”
Ada kept walking. She did not argue with Yen.
He said that he wanted her to meet Minh.
She said, “No, I’m tired.”
“He thinks maybe that he met your father. Or saw him.”
Ada stopped walking. “What do you mean? Where?”
“He is not sure. He thinks maybe he saw your father one day in the restaurant. I had a photograph of your father that I procured from a shop owner, one of the shop owners you talked to, and I showed that photograph to my uncle. He recognized something, perhaps the shirt, or the hair. Of course, he might be wrong. This happens.”
Ada, alarmed, said that Yen had no business following her or taking her father’s photograph to show to some uncle of his. She said that she would like that photo back. She began to turn away but Yen shook his head vigorously and said that he meant no harm. No harm at all. “Surely you must want to see what Uncle Minh has to say.”
He beckoned and set off at a quick walk. She followed at a distance. He did not speak as he guided her, birdcage swinging from his hand, through the streets to the rear entrance of the Chess Hotel.
“Come,” he said, “I will introduce you to Minh.” He set the birdcage down by the door. They went down a hallway, past a bathroom with a squat toilet and beyond that a storage area with dry goods and pots and pans. The kitchen was small: a five-foot grill and three gas elements, a fridge and freezer. Yen called Minh’s name. A man appeared; he was not more than twenty-five, maybe younger. He was shirtless, and Ada was aware of his smooth chest and dark nipples. She looked away and then at his face. He shook her hand, said her name, and drew out the last vowel into an expression of surprise.
“He wants to make you onion soup,” Yen said.
Ada said she wasn’t hungry. “When did he see my father?”
Yen spoke to Minh, who folded his arms and said something back, then smiled at Ada.
“How about salad?”
“No, no, thank you.”
Minh left and returned with a glazed pastry that had half a peach at its center. He put it in a box and handed it to Ada.
She said, “My father, you saw my father.”
Yen said, “Minh didn’t make it. Soon, one day, he will know how to make peach pastry. But, not yet.” His voice got softer and he went up on tiptoes and said, “He saw your father, or a man that looked like your father, one afternoon in the restaurant of the Chess Hotel. He was eating peach pastry, just like the one you hold in your hands, with a beautiful woman. This is what Minh knows. And I know the rest.”
He paused, licked his lips, looked up into Ada’s face, and said, “She is American. She is Elaine Gouds and she lives here in
The boy, Yen, appeared at her side and said, “I have a bird for you.” He held up a small bamboo cage. “From me to you.”
Ada stepped back. “I don’t want a bird.”
“Yes, you do. It’s good fortune. And besides, the bird is an orphan and needs an owner. Please. It would make me very happy.”
Ada put out her cigarette and began to walk away, following the path along the river.
Yen caught up to her and said, “Just yesterday I saw you at Christy’s. With your brother, playing pool. I said to myself, Yen, Ada is unhappy. What would make her happy? And I thought of a bird. So, I bought him for you and he lives with me at Mr. Minh’s but Minh doesn’t like birds so you must take him. I give him to you, with levity.”
“Who is this Mr. Minh?”
“My uncle. He works at the Chess Hotel. He is an underchef and I know you are interested because you are a chef as well. So was Bac Ho, Ho Chi Minh. It’s perfect, you see. Uncle Ho, Uncle Minh, and Miss Ada. All of you making food. That makes me feel full of fortune. I do not think, Miss Ada, that this was chance. It was planned long ago, our meeting.”
Ada kept walking. She did not argue with Yen.
He said that he wanted her to meet Minh.
She said, “No, I’m tired.”
“He thinks maybe that he met your father. Or saw him.”
Ada stopped walking. “What do you mean? Where?”
“He is not sure. He thinks maybe he saw your father one day in the restaurant. I had a photograph of your father that I procured from a shop owner, one of the shop owners you talked to, and I showed that photograph to my uncle. He recognized something, perhaps the shirt, or the hair. Of course, he might be wrong. This happens.”
Ada, alarmed, said that Yen had no business following her or taking her father’s photograph to show to some uncle of his. She said that she would like that photo back. She began to turn away but Yen shook his head vigorously and said that he meant no harm. No harm at all. “Surely you must want to see what Uncle Minh has to say.”
He beckoned and set off at a quick walk. She followed at a distance. He did not speak as he guided her, birdcage swinging from his hand, through the streets to the rear entrance of the Chess Hotel.
“Come,” he said, “I will introduce you to Minh.” He set the birdcage down by the door. They went down a hallway, past a bathroom with a squat toilet and beyond that a storage area with dry goods and pots and pans. The kitchen was small: a five-foot grill and three gas elements, a fridge and freezer. Yen called Minh’s name. A man appeared; he was not more than twenty-five, maybe younger. He was shirtless, and Ada was aware of his smooth chest and dark nipples. She looked away and then at his face. He shook her hand, said her name, and drew out the last vowel into an expression of surprise.
“He wants to make you onion soup,” Yen said.
Ada said she wasn’t hungry. “When did he see my father?”
Yen spoke to Minh, who folded his arms and said something back, then smiled at Ada.
“How about salad?”
“No, no, thank you.”
Minh left and returned with a glazed pastry that had half a peach at its center. He put it in a box and handed it to Ada.
She said, “My father, you saw my father.”
Yen said, “Minh didn’t make it. Soon, one day, he will know how to make peach pastry. But, not yet.” His voice got softer and he went up on tiptoes and said, “He saw your father, or a man that looked like your father, one afternoon in the restaurant of the Chess Hotel. He was eating peach pastry, just like the one you hold in your hands, with a beautiful woman. This is what Minh knows. And I know the rest.”
He paused, licked his lips, looked up into Ada’s face, and said, “She is American. She is Elaine Gouds and she lives here in
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