The Time Keepers

Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12 Vietnam, 1976

A NH WATCHED HER SISTER PREPARE B ?O ’ S LUNCH BOX BEFORE he set off for school, adding a small amount of fish sauce to make the modest rice gruel more flavorful and then artfully placing three sweet potato leaves on top. She’d been waiting for the right time to share her good news, but she could see how preoccupied Linh was in making sure B?o’s modest meal reflected her heart. Her sister believed that even with the barest ingredients, one could still show great care and love.

Her nephew had been struggling in school. The child always left each morning with a strained smile on his face, but Linh told Anh that he was constantly being bullied by his classmates who called him “a son of a traitor.” With so few opportunities to socialize, B?o spent most of his time with a stray dog he had named Bibo who was so starved for nourishment, he spent most of his days sleeping on the ground. But the child was devoted to him, nuzzling next to him during the hot afternoons and keeping his fur brushed and clean. Several times Linh had caught the boy taking what little food he had on his plate and slipping it into his pocket so he could later offer it to the dog.

In an effort to give his son another outlet, Chung had recently found an old bicycle with no rubber on the tires for B?o, and the boy—despite a tremendous amount of falling and wobbling at first—miraculously learned to ride it just on the wire rims. But then one day, one of his classmates smashed the front wheel and slashed the old vinyl seat. Linh didn’t need Anh to tell her that mean-spirited acts and torments were committed by the same children whose fathers harassed Minh and Chung at the cooperative farm. How many times had Minh been blamed for a crop failure or accused of sabotaging the plantings when they didn’t grow? In the poverty and widespread hunger that affected the community, everyone—adults and children alike—was looking for places to unleash their frustration.

“One more thing, bé tí,” Linh said to B?o before he departed, her voice lifting in an attempt to provide him some cheer. She reached into her apron and pulled out a small mango she’d miraculously found on the path that morning, the skin not quite golden. Despite its modest size, it was nearly perfect. She took her knife and quickly peeled off the skin and cut the flesh off the pith. “I saved this one just for you.”

That afternoon, Anh confided in her sister that finally, after so many years of trying with no luck, she had missed her monthly cycle.

“Sister!” Linh rejoiced at the news. “Our ancestors have heard your prayers.”

Anh beamed. It had taken a painfully long time for them to hear it, but she was now so grateful, her heart was bursting.

“No more lifting. No more pulling the cart.…” Linh insisted. “I will cover for you so the others don’t know you’re not doing as much physical labor.”

“B?o will finally have a little one to play with,” she said, smiling. She had herself wished for another child, but they barely had enough food to feed B?o.

“My sister is going to be a mother!” She threw her arms around Anh’s neck and kissed her.

Over the next few months, Linh cared for Anh with renewed energy. She grated ginger root into hot water to fight any nausea. She collected betel leaves to ensure her sister had extra vitamins and massaged her feet when they became tired and swollen.

Then one morning, men in Communist uniforms arrived looking for Minh.

“There’ve been complaints made against your husband!” one of the men shouted at Anh. “Where is he? He needs to know that if he doesn’t work harder, we’ll send him up north!”

Anh froze. She knew if her husband was taken to a camp again, it would be far harsher than the one he’d been sent to the last time.

In an effort to distract the soldiers, she began evoking the protection of their ancestors very loudly, a signal to Minh to let him know there was danger and he should run.

“Tell us where your husband is!” one of the soldiers barked again. He pushed the rifle into her ribs.

“My husband isn’t here,” she whimpered, hoping he’d had enough time to flee from the backyard.

The men, infuriated by her answer, shook their heads and shouted at each other. They kicked over metal pails and tore down the hammocks strung outside. They found a small sack of rice and emptied it onto the dirt floor. They searched the house, throwing pots down from the kitchen shelves and laundry from the clothesline. Most painful to Anh was the destruction of the family’s altar; the men shattered the small ceramic vase with its pale white flower and the plate with the mound of salt, burning incense, and piece of fruit.

As the soldiers’ rampage continued, Linh—who’d heard her sister’s cries—rushed to her side, grateful that B?o had already left for school and her husband had already departed for the farm.

Suddenly, the terrible sound of a man screaming pierced through the air.

Two men in uniform emerged from the woods, dragging Minh on the ground.

The men wouldn’t listen to his protests of innocence. They pulled him by his hair into the small courtyard in front of their hut.

They began kicking him in the ribs, chanting, “Capitalist traitor” until his blood soaked the parched soil. “You are lazy. You should be ashamed,” another one said as he kicked Minh’s head.

Linh held Anh back as they both begged the men to stop. But the beating was relentless. It took no more than five minutes of their boots striking her husband’s body for the life to drain from him.

“Let’s go!” the head soldier finally commanded. The men walked toward the jeep. All but one soldier, who stepped over a sobbing Anh and pushed his face close to Linh’s. “Tell your husband he’s next!” he hissed with narrow eyes before making sure the two sisters saw him spit inches away from Minh’s body.

Anh did not remember what happened in the hours that followed. She had a vague sensation of her sister silently washing Minh’s body, her hands moving deftly to remove any trace of dirt or blood from his skin. She recalled B?o’s wide eyes as his father dug a crude grave, the boy clutching the fruit his mother had given him for the spiritual offering, and finally the long incantation of prayers. But Anh had gone through the steps of the burial as though she were in a trance.

“You must eat something,” Linh tried to insist after the funeral, but Anh could do nothing beyond finding a mat on the floor and curling herself into a tight ball.

“A little rice gruel—please.” She held a ladle of watery liquid near Anh’s lips. Each grain used to make it had been scooped up and cleaned after the attack.

Anh shook her head and refused. But when B?o came the next morning with a small wooden bowl full of porridge, she managed to take in a few spoonfuls.

“You’re a good boy,” she said, her eyes full of tears. The sight of him both warmed her heart and pained her. How lucky he was to still have his father, while she would now be forced to raise her baby on her own.

Three days later, Anh awoke with terrible cramps. She pulled off the blanket and discovered her cotton pants were soaked through with blood. The child who had begun to grow inside her, the manifestation of her and Minh’s love, had untethered itself from her womb while she was sleeping. As she reached between her legs, her fingers touching the crimson, clotting mass, Anh couldn’t believe the gods could be so cruel. First her husband, now the baby. The two things she loved most in this world were suddenly gone.

Her despair overtook her. What had she done to deserve such a punishment?

Anh shuddered. Part of her had always been superstitious, the belief that evil spirits could inhabit a body and cause it harm. And only days earlier, just after they’d buried Minh, she’d felt a pang of resentment that her baby would not have the protection of its father, like B?o enjoyed. Now Anh wondered if she’d caused her miscarriage by having such terrible, selfish thoughts. Had she brought about her own misfortune by jealously yearning to be more like Linh? Had she poisoned her womb with her envy?

When Linh came in carrying a cold compress for her head and some warm broth, Anh turned away from her and only groaned.

Over the next week, Linh ignored Anh’s efforts to keep her at a distance. “The baby will now be with Minh,” Linh said, trying again to offer some comfort to her sister.

“I wish the gods had taken me instead,” Anh wept. “You are so fortunate. You still have your husband and son,” she murmured to Linh. “But I’ve lost everything.”

“Nonsense.” Linh waved away such dark thoughts. “You also have Chung and me. You have B?o.” She clutched Anh’s hands in hers.

“But we all must be careful now,” Linh said quietly. “Your losses are terrible and unfair, but we mustn’t draw any more attention to ourselves.”

That night Linh held B?o extra close, his little body curled next to hers. When her husband approached her the following morning with fear in his eyes, revealing his concern that the soldiers would come for him next, she listened intently. And when he whispered to her that he thought they should try to escape, she did not protest.