Mai didn’t want to think of Aunt May on this day, so tried to force the thought from her mind. She had been tasked with helping her grandfather transport guests to the wedding in his boat. San was getting married to Thanh, a schoolteacher from the village of Bai located on the other side of the river. San was still unemployed and had only recently returned from an apprenticeship abroad. He wore a shirt and tie and stood at the front of the boat. The young women, in shirts with lotus leaf-shaped collars, sat along the sides of the boat, chatting among themselves, while the elderly wedding guests wore simple brown outfits and sat down in the cabin, silently chewing betel nut. San looked happy; he smiled, showing a set of shiny teeth.
Whenever Mai’s thoughts turned to Aunt May, she had the sudden urge to sink the boat. An evil thought! But mostly she just felt extremely anxious.
Mai lifted her head and, not trying to hide the disrespect in her voice, said to San, “It seems like there are many guests attending your wedding. You should have rented a dragon boat.”
San frowned. “Don’t say that. We don’t want to upset your grandpa.”
Mai looked at her grandfather rowing slowly and steadily. He seemed to be sulking, with his chin held in the air and his long gray beard flapping in the wind. He had been given a peculiar job on this particular day: transporting his daughter’s former fiancé to the house of his new bride. But the old man revealed neither joy nor sadness as he sat there rowing the wedding party across the river. If you looked into his eyes it seemed like waves were gently lapping against his pupils. It wasn’t until the last wedding guest had debarked from the boat that he finally wiped away his tears with the sleeve of his shirt. Then he went to lie down in his hut while Mai anchored the boat to the pier.
Aunt May arrived at the village after the wedding ceremony had begun. She wore a faded old army uniform and had a soldier’s rucksack slung over one shoulder. She stood on the Bai side of the river and called to her father. Amid the sounds of lapping waves and the blowing wind, she heard some buffalo boys nearby saying to her, “Ma’am, you missed the boat.”
In the hut, Mai thought she was dreaming. When she got up from the bed, she saw that Grandpa had untied the boat and was already rowing across the middle of the river.
On the bank, Aunt May stepped onto the pier as she saw her father rowing toward her. He had started rowing faster. He was teary-eyed. His boat bounced on the waves as it reached the pier. When he finally embraced May, his shoulders trembled as he muttered in a broken voice, “Oh, May! Why has it taken you so long to come back? My dear child … I thought …”
Mai stood there speechless, watching this scene. Tears rolled down her cheeks. The boat floated freely down the river. The old man and his daughter held each other tightly. Their shadows were reflected in the red water of the river. Mai ran along the riverbank calling their names.
It was getting dark and the wind had picked up. The leaves on the banana trees behind the hut flapped violently in the wind. The river continued to flow off into the distance and a few parrots, returning from their late-day search for food, made strange noises.
Mai secured the boat to the pier while Aunt May limped behind her father toward the house where Mai’s family lived. Mai’s younger sisters didn’t know Aunt May, so they looked at her with wide eyes. Grandpa took down the black-and-white picture of May and the family’s “The Country Is Grateful for Your Sacrifice” certificate and stored them in a closet. Aunt May meanwhile stood in front of her mother’s altar, leaned her head against a bowl of incense, and began to sob.
“Mom, Mom! When I left for the war, you said you would pray for me. You said you wanted to see me return with a husband, that you wanted to hold your grandchild.”
Grandpa lit three incense sticks and placed them in May’s hands. He stood next to her, muttering quietly to the dead.
Soon Mai’s father and then her mother came home, and they were both shocked to find Aunt May in the hut. Mai’s father stared at his sister-in-law in disbelief. While Mai’s mother assumed that May was a ghost.
“I beg you, little sister,” she mumbled. “You are a sacred spirit. Please don’t haunt my children. Dad and I have never forgotten your death anniversary.”
Aunt May stood up and approached her sister. The lights from the altar flickered behind her and incense smoke enveloped her body.
“It’s me!” May said. “Your sister.”
Mai’s mother seemed to snap out of it. She and May embraced each other tightly. The older sister looked May up and down as if examining her body, and when she realized that May had lost a leg, she began to sob.
“I grieved for you until my tears ran dry,” Mai’s mother said. “It is thanks to the blessing of our ancestors that we are able to be reunited today. But you scared me, standing there like a statue surrounded by incense smoke. I thought …”
Mai’s father interrupted. “That’s enough,” he said. “Let her get some rest.”
Aunt May went and sat on the porch in front of the house. San’s house was right next door—the properties were separated only by a row of hibiscus shrubs—and the wedding party was still going on. A banner
