reminded him. Half an hour later, the pain pills in effect and Helen resting, the old woman got up to leave. Linh offered her money, which she refused.
Helen turned her head, sleepy. “Cam on ba. Chao.” Thank you, Grandmother. Good-bye.
The old woman broke out into a black-toothed smile and asked Linh, “Co ay biet noi tieng Viet khong?” Can she speak Vietnamese?
“Da biet, nhung khong kha lam,” Helen answered. Yes, but not too well.
Grandmother shook her head in amazement and told her nephew to go run for some tea. “I have to read your fortune, daughter.”
Linh frowned. He wanted to be alone with his new feelings, not stuck with some superstitious old woman. “Not now. She’s tired. Anyway, she doesn’t believe in that hocus-pocus.”
“It’s okay,” Helen said. “Let her.”
Grandmother looked at him in triumph. “She might be a foreigner, but she is wiser than some who were born here.” She stared around the bedroom as she waited, and saw a plate on the dresser that held earrings and necklaces.
After the tea had been poured, Helen watched as the old woman took her cup and studied the insides, frowning, then went to the window and threw the contents into the courtyard below. “There is someone who loves you. You must be careful his love doesn’t cause this person harm.”
Helen, her mind drifting, said nothing.
“I told you it’s all nonsense,” Linh said. He turned to Grandmother. “Let’s give her some quiet to sleep now.”
“No, she’s right,” Helen said. “Maybe for Westerners their fortune is only clear after the fact. Backward.”
“This nonsense keeps this country backward.”
“Toi di.” I’m going. She glared at Linh. He was a tricky one, but she wasn’t afraid of him in spite of the rumors of powerful connections with both Viet Cong and the drug lord Bao.
“Xin loi ba,” Helen called. “Ten ba la gi?” What is your name?
“Thua, ten toi la Suong. Ba Suong.” Grandmother said something to Linh that Helen couldn’t understand, and he chuckled, exasperated, as he shepherded her out the door.
“What did she say?”
“She said she is Grandmother Suong, who will bring your pho every day so you won’t break your neck going down the stairs.”
Each day after that, true to her word, Grandmother made the journey down the alley and up the stairs herself; her nephew carried a lidded container of soup while she carried a newspaper sleeve of flowers she got from a niece who worked in the market. Everyone heard the story of the American woman who risked her life for a bowl of Suong’s pho, and no matter how long she took visiting, there would be a line of people waiting for her return. Business had never been better. Some fool had even started the rumor that the pho had a medicinal herb that returned fertility and that was why the American had wanted it so badly. Business was booming, so much so that she considered opening another stall a few blocks away to handle the overflow. Fate worked in mysterious ways.
She sat for a moment in the chair by the open window, her legs spread far apart in their loose pajamas, her calloused feet dusty in sandals. Helen and she exchanged the same few sentences that they shared, always receiving them as if new. Grandmother was insulted by tips above the price of the soup but was not averse to occasional gifts of packs of American cigarettes.
She fingered the necklaces on the plate on the dresser, holding them against her neck in the mirror. Once, when Helen was looking away, the old woman considered pocketing a thin gold chain, but at that moment Helen turned and offered her the necklace if she liked it. Perhaps this one was only American on the outside, Vietnamese on the inside, like people said. Grandmother quickly put the necklace down, almost ashamed. It was a reflex, mostly, a bad habit, taking advantage of foreigners.
On the days when Linh was away, Grandmother heated up water for a pot of tea, poured the cup, and allowed Helen to handle it. Each time she frowned over the contents, the fortune always the same.
“No, no, I want to know the future, not the past,” Helen said.
Grandmother nodded. “Will be.”
“But the man who loved me died.”
The old woman shrugged and got up to leave. “Is. Now.”
When Linh returned to the apartment and found Grandmother’s flowers, his face froze. He grabbed them up out of their vase and threw them out the window.
“What are you doing?” Helen asked.
“Makes me sneeze.”
Helen said nothing. The next day when Grandmother came, she stopped and stared at the scattered flowers on the courtyard brick. The day after, she brought yellow paper flowers, which Helen stuck in a bottle next to her bed. Linh spotted them as soon as he walked in. He grabbed the blossoms, crushing the paper, and then tossed them in the coal brazier and set them on fire with matches.
“Don’t tell me you’re allergic to paper,” she said.
“Tell her to stop bringing them,” he said, his face grim. “Never mind, I’ll tell her myself.”
“Give me a hint what’s going on? What’s wrong with flowers?”
He stubbed out the last of the ashes. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s a Vietnamese thing.”
“That’s what you always say.”
“Ask me something else.”
Helen sat back in bed and thought. Her face lit up with a sly smile. “There are jokes about you working with Ho Chi Minh. That you are some kind of spy and that’s where you disappear to. That horrible man I’ve seen you with, Mr. Bao. Where do you go?”
“It’s complicated,” he finally answered.
“Make it simple.”
“Sometimes one’s past makes it harder to understand the present. I love Americans, but I don’t know if they are good for the Vietnam people. I want them to stay and to leave at the same time.” Linh took a deep breath, then shook his head. How could he make her see? His relationship with her, with all the Americans, genuine and false. He had wanted her to leave and had lured her to come back. That division inside him the same as his father’s uneasy relationship with the French. How could she understand? Even through all her hardship, she still saw the world through privilege. How could she know how it felt to be on the outside? Especially in one’s own country? That the Americans, in their optimism, had backed the wrong side. A side that could not hold without them.
After Helen recovered enough to return to work, Gary assigned her to do another follow-up on Lan, who had been sent back to her family. She had avoided seeing the girl, but now bought bolts of cloth and cooking pots, the most valuable commodities other than food, for the family. She pushed away the thought that these were bribes. For Lan, she got a simple automatic camera with lots of film. The plan started to form in Helen’s mind of bringing the child to live in the crooked apartment in order to be close to medical services and schools. During the war, it was common for families to farm out children to those who could offer help.
Linh didn’t approve of her traveling in the countryside; he worried it would be too difficult physically. He argued with Gary about the assignment, and Gary looked at him in surprise but said nothing. He had not realized Linh was so far gone. “You’re not responsible for her anymore. It’s up to her to go or not. You or her, doesn’t matter to me who covers it. People made donations, they want follow-up.” When Helen was determined to go, Linh gave in.
He sulked on the plane ride. “You answer a question now. Why do you push to do this?”
Helen was tired of his interrogating her. “It gives me a reason to get up in the morning, are you satisfied? And yes, it has to be me. A woman sees war differently.”
They made their way to the family’s village in Quang Nam province, only to find it had been burned down. The military didn’t have records of the clearing. Linh discovered the village’s name only by accident, walking through the charred remains of houses when he stumbled upon a small wooden sign in Vietnamese staked into the ground-THIS IS WHERE QUANG BA VILLAGE WAS.
