Ba, who had suppressed her bitterness and anger for a long time, suddenly burst out, “I’m glad you said that, because it only proves that you’re a hypocrite! Don’t try to hide the truth: you pretended to be sick so you could stay home in comfort and peace while your younger brother—my husband—had to join the military in your place!”
Mai’s father seemed taken aback.
“Please don’t say that,” he said to Ba. “He was your husband, but my own flesh-and-blood brother. Since his death, I’ve tried to take care of the family as best I can.”
“Oh, bullshit!” Ba screamed. “In Party meetings you voted to approve the committee’s disciplinary decision on my case. You know perfectly well that Cun is your son. Here—take him and raise him as your own!”
Although Ba had said this, she still clung to Cun as if she feared someone would actually try to take him away from her. She began to sob. “Son, I’m a terrible woman …”
Mai’s father seemed shocked. “Ba must be crazy,” he said uncomfortably. Then he got on his motorbike and drove away.
May went to comfort Ba. “All women suffer,” she said. “We just need to put up with this fate. We must find a way to show only the good and hide the bad.”
“It’s all my fault,” Ba continued, still sobbing. “I’m not a good person.” She wiped away her tears only when she noticed Mai watching them.
“Go away,” Ba said to Mai. “Children shouldn’t eavesdrop on adult conversations.”
Mai sprinted home as if she were being chased by a ghost. She didn’t understand exactly what had just happened among Ba, May, and her father, but tears were running down her face. She felt angry with her father for acting so impulsively.
She had a vivid memory of something that had happened a few days after Aunt May’s return. Grandpa wanted to give the family’s “The Country Is Grateful for Your Sacrifice” certificate back to the local authorities. While he was dusting the frame, Mai’s father had asked, “Will they also take back the war pension we’ve been getting?” Grandpa had gotten suddenly furious. He’d thrown the feather duster down on the ground, put the framed certificate in a bag, and headed right away for the community hall. Mai’s mother had cried.
March arrived in the village. Hibiscus flowers covered the path to the river. Grandpa had grown physically weak and begun to cough regularly. On the far side of the river were piles of construction materials. Mai’s father said, “They’re going to build a bridge over the river, and then there will be no need for boats to transport people across.”
Mai felt suddenly sad as she realized Grandpa would have to give up his job. She knew he was getting older and weaker. She wondered to herself whom Aunt May would live with if Grandpa died.
“Whatever you’re thinking about,” Mai’s father shouted, “I hope it doesn’t have to do with those construction workers. Stay away from the construction area. If you get a crush on one of them, you’ll get pregnant and bring us shame.”
She didn’t understand why her father had such negative thoughts. It seemed like he was always skeptical of everyone and constantly on the alert, as if anticipating an attack.
One day Mr. Ninh, the commander of the construction battalion, came to discuss logistics with Mai’s father, who was in charge of the local militia. They negotiated an agreement: Mai’s father would ask the militia to help secure the area around the river while the construction battalion cleared unexploded bombs from the water.
“But you will be responsible for providing our militia members with something to eat,” Mai’s father insisted.
They were talking inside the family’s house. Suddenly, Mr. Ninh noticed the photo of May hanging on the wall and seemed startled. He stared at the photo closely, as if he recognized the female soldier pictured in it wearing a combat helmet.
“That’s my sister-in-law,” Mai’s father said. “They told us she had died shortly before the liberation of the South, but it turns out she survived.”
Mr. Ninh blinked his eyes, stunned. Then he got up and left.
The construction workers searched for bombs in the river all day. Their skin turned dark from being in the sun and mud. Mai’s classmates often teased them. One day, while Mai was at home studying, her mother came running into the house. She looked terrified.
“You’re a sacred spirit …” her mother mumbled, as if in a daze.
“What’s going on?” Mai’s father yelled. “Tell me, don’t just stand there crying!”
“It’s Ba,” her mother started. “They said while she was out catching crabs she stepped on a cluster bomb.”
Mai ran with her father to the river. A big crowd had gathered. They stepped aside to let Mai’s father through as he approached. Aunt May was sitting quietly next to Ba on the ground. May’s hair was untied, and her eyes looked soulless as they stared off into the distance. Ba was dead. Her body had been torn apart by bits of bomb shrapnel. Blood ran from her chest and limbs. A fishing net floated out on the water of the river.
After Ba’s funeral, Mai’s father started to lose weight and look haggard. At night he would wander restlessly around the garden. One morning he said to May, “I know that Ba wanted you to take care of her son, Cun. I’m not sure if this is appropriate, but why don’t you let him live with me?”
But May rejected this suggestion. “Let me raise him. We can discuss the details later.”
“Okay,” Mai’s father said. “I appreciate that.”
The weather turned chilly at the end of autumn. In the gray sky, flocks of cranes flew in v-shaped formations to escape the coming cold of winter. People in the village started knitting sweaters. Grandpa now put on warm clothes when
