Fire Summer by Thuy Da Lam

Author:Thuy Da Lam
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Red Hen Press
Published: 2019-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

The Bay of Boats

ONCE CALLED CAP Saint Jacques, a seaport for trading ships from Europe, Vung Tau today drew local vacationers, searching for shade under pines or anchoring their umbrellas in the sand and stretching out beneath to catch the breeze. The hotels, motels, and inns were all full, but Uncle Mao had a comrade in the National Oil Company whose villa on the front beach was vacant.

Soft morning rays reflected off the water and pale sand. From the villa’s terrace, Maia could see JP and Na bobbing in the waves and hear their laughter. The lightness of their play distracted her until a group of barefoot women meandering along the shore came into view. The women bore large woven bamboo baskets and wore loose black bottoms and áo bà ba tops, their faces hidden under cone hats.

“People came here to cross the sea,” Xuan said, leaning against the balustrade, “to Hong Kong, the Philippines, Indonesia, Malaysia.” He looked at her. “Your mother came here to leave the country—”

“For a life elsewhere.”

He lit a cigarette. “Mai,” he called her name softly, “if you haven’t heard from your Má after all these years . . .”

She slipped off her sandals, hooked her fingers through the straps, and stepped off the terrace onto the sand. The beach was silky and cool. She then felt the sharp broken shells beneath her bare feet and wanted to put her sandals back on. She kept walking. She did not want to hear his words. She knew he could not let go of his own past, nor could she stop searching without knowing what happened.

The women were gathering shellfish. Every summer, they came from nearby villages with their young children and old parents. They stayed in makeshifts along the back beach, away from the tourists. They did not know much about the Bay of Boats, except that on certain days in certain spots, they could find clams in abundance. They had never met a grown person looking for her mother.

“She left because she knew you could feed yourself.”

Someone tossed a spade on the sand near Maia.

“My child is sick today. Mr. Sky sends you to help.”

The women beckoned Maia to come closer and showed her the tiny holes in the sand where water was squirting up. “Dig here.”

Maia worked alongside the clam pickers. She followed them from one cluster of holes to the next, from the front beach, around Nghinh Phong Point, to the back beach. After hours of bending and digging, her body stiffened and she felt lightheaded from dehydration. She wanted shade and water, but she continued until they stood before the shanties. Erected along the mossy stone wall that separated the boulevard from the sandy shore, the makeshifts were invisible from afar. The low roofs were made from bits and pieces of black moldy tin. The cardboard sides were the color of sand, making the shelters undetectable to those not looking.

The women set the baskets among their scanty belongings and poured Maia a small tin of warm pandan tea.

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