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Authors: Carolyn Marsden
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napped.
Ba and Anh Hai returned to work. After all, Di Hai was one more mouth to feed.
Third Aunt returned to her tourist shop, taking Cuc with her, commenting, “Even though she’s American, that woman doesn’t know how to be a good guest.”
And Ba said, “Binh, your auntie hasn’t made us rich, after all. Soon you need to return to the fruit cart.”
O ne morning, Di lifted the blue plastic off the fruit cart. “Oh,” she said, “I was hoping to use this tarp, but I see it’s protecting this.”
“Don’t worry,” said Binh. “That old cart will be okay.”
“Then take one end, please.”
Binh held the plastic — what was Auntie up to now? — while Di stretched it out and tied it to the base of the tree.
“Now up here,” Di said, yanking the rope on the other end until it reached the bathroom roof. She tied the corners of the tarp onto the nails that stuck out.
Di stepped inside the new enclosure. Although she had to crouch because of the low ceiling, she said, “This makes a good sleeping room.”
“A sleeping room?” Binh asked as a breeze rippled the blue ceiling. This didn’t look like the rooms that Di had shown in her photographs.
“I need privacy. I’m not used to sleeping with so many people.”
Binh thought of the mats laid side by side. She’d never thought it strange to sleep in the same room as her family. She liked feeling everyone around her. Family kept the ghosts at bay.
Now Di was moving away from them, to live outside like the ducks and dogs. There would be no more whispered late-night stories.
“Do you want me to go away, then?” Binh’s voice trembled.
“Don’t be upset.” Di put an arm around her shoulders. “I’m still close by.”
“You won’t be afraid of the ghosts?” Binh asked.
Di threw back her head and laughed.
“Isn’t our house good enough for her?” Ma asked after Di had retired to her little hut, her
leu.
“Doesn’t she like us?” asked Anh Hai.
“In the photographs, you can see she has a lot more rooms in America,” said Ba Ngoai.
“Enough for all of us,” said Ma.
“Enough for the whole village,” said Ba.
The four voices wound in and out of each other.
“She thinks she is too good for us.”
“But she is sleeping on the
dirt.
”
“She doesn’t like us.” Ma pulled the
non la
frame close to her and prepared to work.
“Let me sew a little, Ma,” Binh said.
Ma made room for Binh. As Binh plunged the sharp needle over and over into the soft straw, she thought of the morning when she’d first laid out Di Thao’s sleeping mat next to her own. She thought of how now, instead of being closer to her auntie, she was farther away.
Why didn’t Di Hai want to be close to them? Binh poked the needle hard and accidentally pricked her finger.
Binh was sweeping the yard, raising small clouds of dust, scooting aside the ducks with the broom.
Anh Hai sat on a bench, digging out the white meat from a coconut shell. “Aren’t you and Cuc close anymore?” he asked.
Binh shrugged and kept on sweeping.
“You’re always chasing her away from Di Hai.”
Binh sent a flurry of dust in Anh Hai’s direction.
“It’s not like there’s much to be jealous of,” Anh Hai continued, ignoring the dust, scooping deeper into the coconut. “If only she’d take us to America. There’s nicer motorcycles there.”
“She still might,” Binh protested. How could Anh Hai give up so easily?
“Don’t count on it. Our auntie didn’t give us much of anything.”
“She still might,” Binh repeated.
“She won’t. She doesn’t understand us.”
Binh leaned on the handle of the broom. “Maybe she’s saving something for later. In her suitcase. That’s why she moved to the
leu
. So we wouldn’t see.”
“I dare you to look then,” Anh Hai said. He tossed a bite of coconut to a duck.
“In her
suitcase
?”
“If that’s where you think the treasure lies.”
“But that’s . . .”
“You’re not brave
Ba and Anh Hai returned to work. After all, Di Hai was one more mouth to feed.
Third Aunt returned to her tourist shop, taking Cuc with her, commenting, “Even though she’s American, that woman doesn’t know how to be a good guest.”
And Ba said, “Binh, your auntie hasn’t made us rich, after all. Soon you need to return to the fruit cart.”
O ne morning, Di lifted the blue plastic off the fruit cart. “Oh,” she said, “I was hoping to use this tarp, but I see it’s protecting this.”
“Don’t worry,” said Binh. “That old cart will be okay.”
“Then take one end, please.”
Binh held the plastic — what was Auntie up to now? — while Di stretched it out and tied it to the base of the tree.
“Now up here,” Di said, yanking the rope on the other end until it reached the bathroom roof. She tied the corners of the tarp onto the nails that stuck out.
Di stepped inside the new enclosure. Although she had to crouch because of the low ceiling, she said, “This makes a good sleeping room.”
“A sleeping room?” Binh asked as a breeze rippled the blue ceiling. This didn’t look like the rooms that Di had shown in her photographs.
“I need privacy. I’m not used to sleeping with so many people.”
Binh thought of the mats laid side by side. She’d never thought it strange to sleep in the same room as her family. She liked feeling everyone around her. Family kept the ghosts at bay.
Now Di was moving away from them, to live outside like the ducks and dogs. There would be no more whispered late-night stories.
“Do you want me to go away, then?” Binh’s voice trembled.
“Don’t be upset.” Di put an arm around her shoulders. “I’m still close by.”
“You won’t be afraid of the ghosts?” Binh asked.
Di threw back her head and laughed.
“Isn’t our house good enough for her?” Ma asked after Di had retired to her little hut, her
leu.
“Doesn’t she like us?” asked Anh Hai.
“In the photographs, you can see she has a lot more rooms in America,” said Ba Ngoai.
“Enough for all of us,” said Ma.
“Enough for the whole village,” said Ba.
The four voices wound in and out of each other.
“She thinks she is too good for us.”
“But she is sleeping on the
dirt.
”
“She doesn’t like us.” Ma pulled the
non la
frame close to her and prepared to work.
“Let me sew a little, Ma,” Binh said.
Ma made room for Binh. As Binh plunged the sharp needle over and over into the soft straw, she thought of the morning when she’d first laid out Di Thao’s sleeping mat next to her own. She thought of how now, instead of being closer to her auntie, she was farther away.
Why didn’t Di Hai want to be close to them? Binh poked the needle hard and accidentally pricked her finger.
Binh was sweeping the yard, raising small clouds of dust, scooting aside the ducks with the broom.
Anh Hai sat on a bench, digging out the white meat from a coconut shell. “Aren’t you and Cuc close anymore?” he asked.
Binh shrugged and kept on sweeping.
“You’re always chasing her away from Di Hai.”
Binh sent a flurry of dust in Anh Hai’s direction.
“It’s not like there’s much to be jealous of,” Anh Hai continued, ignoring the dust, scooping deeper into the coconut. “If only she’d take us to America. There’s nicer motorcycles there.”
“She still might,” Binh protested. How could Anh Hai give up so easily?
“Don’t count on it. Our auntie didn’t give us much of anything.”
“She still might,” Binh repeated.
“She won’t. She doesn’t understand us.”
Binh leaned on the handle of the broom. “Maybe she’s saving something for later. In her suitcase. That’s why she moved to the
leu
. So we wouldn’t see.”
“I dare you to look then,” Anh Hai said. He tossed a bite of coconut to a duck.
“In her
suitcase
?”
“If that’s where you think the treasure lies.”
“But that’s . . .”
“You’re not brave
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