Early in the morning, she heard a knock on the door. Half-asleep, she peeked through the window. The neighborhood leader squinted and smiled at her, “Are you up yet? Did you move all the stuff up last night?” “Yes, but we don’t have much. Just two bicycles, which I placed on the wooden platform bed* and slept with them all night. My dad moved the bookshelf to the upper floor.” “Good! The radio says there’s heavy rain upstream, so the water will rise more. Our area is low-lying and near the river, so it floods worse than other places. If you go outside, be careful.” He added, “There are relief teams at the community center. This morning, they’re distributing essential supplies. Go get some to last for a few meals.”
She watched him walk away, hunched over in his rain poncho, moving as if swimming through the vast, waterlogged landscape. She felt deeply grateful. Their house was the most elevated in this neighborhood because it had an upper floor. Her maternal grandmother, a wealthy merchant, built them a spacious, solid house out of love for her daughter, who had married a poor intellectual in this flood-prone area. After her grandmother passed away, life became more difficult. Her mother had to take the older children to the South (Vietnam) to make a living. Thanks to her grandmother’s large house, the neighbors had a place to seek refuge during the years of severe floods. Her father wrote poems and newspaper articles, but the royalties were very little. Despite his meager earnings, he often helped others. As a result, their house lacked not books and literature, but essentials. After the neighborhood leader left, she waded back to the wooden platform bed.
Yesterday, she scraped the bottom of the rice urn and found enough for over a cup. She and her father had a delicious lunch with rice and lemongrass salt. She saved two bowls of rice, one for her father’s dinner, telling him she had already eaten at a friend’s house. Now, she fumbled to light the oil stove and reheat the rice for her father’s breakfast. After much effort, she finally got the damp stove going, in smelly acrid black smoke. Having reheated the rice, she brought the bowl of rice upstairs. Her father had been up early writing, working on the introduction for a book soon to be published. In a soft voice, she said, “The neighborhood leader stopped by earlier and said there are some relief supplies available, Dad.” Her father paused, placed his hand on her shoulder, and replied, “My child, relief supplies are often limited. Let’s leave them for those in greater need.” She remained silent for a moment, then cheerfully said, “Dad, go ahead and eat. I’ve already eaten. I’m going to head out and see if anyone is selling anything.” Her father responded, “Go quickly, the water is rising.”
She waded out of the alley, the water now reaching her waist. At this point, she felt a deep hunger pang and realized she hadn’t eaten since the night before. Her body began to feel cold, and she occasionally experienced dizziness, like seeing shooting stars. She tried to steady herself, both physically and mentally, and continued wading, thinking about scientists who said humans could survive without food for 30 days. She thought, “Maybe those scientists were lying down and waiting to die, but if you had to wade through water like this, you wouldn’t make it past three days without food.” She waded to a high step where an elderly lady was selling a pot of fragrant sticky rice with peanuts. She paused to rest, mainly to inhale the delightful aroma of the freshly steamed sticky rice, hoping it would momentarily satisfy her hunger. Her pockets were empty. Her mother was struggling in the South, working hard to send a little money for her education, though it was never enough. On a typical day, she would attend school in the morning and tutor local elementary school children in the afternoon. In the evening, she volunteered to teach younger kids who lived in the slums under the bridge or on boats. Although she was only in high school and not particularly brilliant, she eagerly shared what little she knew with those children.
As she waded through the crowded area where relief supplies were being distributed, the atmosphere was lively. Both those truly in need and others not as desperate were leaving with a few kilograms of rice and packs of instant noodles, joyfully chatting. At the three-way crossroads, the murky water began to flow faster, with debris floating everywhere. Across the street stood an old bakery. The owner, who had lost a leg for unknown reasons, worked swiftly on his crutch — kneading, shaping dough, baking, and selling. His wooden crutch moved like a shuttle, back and forth. She watched, captivated by his skill. She instinctively tapped her foot, realizing her legs were whole. Raising her hands, she noted that none of her fingers were missing either. At that moment, she made a clear decision: she would work to avoid starving.
The bakery owner was kind but strict. He agreed to let her help in exchange for bread. “First, eat these bánh lọc (Vietnamese tapioca dumplings)**. I don’t want a helper working on an empty stomach” he said. It was probably the best meal she’d ever had. He continued, “Before starting any work, observe. Cleanliness is essential, and speed is a skill worth developing.” She followed his advice and tried her best to perform her tasks. By noon, he gave her five freshly baked loaves, telling her, “If you want more, come back tomorrow to help.” She thanked him in a whispering voice, feeling overjoyed. As she waded back home, the relief area was mostly deserted. She spotted a little boy from her alley, the son of a lady who sells pull taffy, looking despondent. Seeing her, he cried, “This morning, when the neighborhood leader called, I was boiling water for my mom, who fell ill after spending the entire night cleaning in the floodwater. I missed the distribution, and now there’s nothing left for her to eat.” He wiped his sooty hands across his eyes. She couldn’t bear to see him upset, so she handed him two loaves. “Take these home and share them with your mom. I’ll talk to the neighborhood leader and find help.” The boy immediately brightened. He removed his soaked pants, wrung them out, tied them around his chest, and tucked the bread into his coat. “Now the bread won’t get wet, and I’ll stay warm!” he said, giggling. She laughed too, admiring his cleverness, and they waded through the water together, hand in hand.
* A large, sturdy wooden surface, often placed in living rooms or bedrooms, where it functions as a surface for resting, sitting, or even dining.
** A transparent chewy dumpling originating from the central region of Vietnam, particularly in Huế. It is typically made from tapioca starch, giving it a translucent and chewy texture. The filling usually consists of shrimp and pork, seasoned with fish sauce, pepper, and other spices. The dumplings are often wrapped in banana
* A large, sturdy wooden surface, often placed in living rooms or bedrooms, where it functions as a surface for resting, sitting, or even dining.
** A transparent chewy dumpling originating from the central region of Vietnam, particularly in Huế. It is typically made from tapioca starch, giving it a translucent and chewy texture. The filling usually consists of shrimp and pork, seasoned with fish sauce, pepper, and other spices. The dumplings are often wrapped in banana leaves and steamed, although some versions are boiled without the leaf wrapping.
Phong Châu Essays, October 2016
Source: Nguyen Dinh Phong Chau Facebook
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