By sunrise, Mai and Tâm were on the river paddling the sampan, Tâm in the stern, Mai the bow. Tâm told her to row quickly at first in case anyone saw them steal the boat.
“What happens when the man who owns the boat finds it gone?” Mai said. “Isn’t stealing wrong?”
Tâm didn’t answer for a minute. Then: “Yes. It is wrong. But so was the massacre that destroyed our home and killed our family. Which is the greater evil?”
Mai pondered it. Could a sin be forgiven if it was committed in response to a bigger one? Yesterday she wouldn’t have thought so. But today? Perhaps.
Twenty minutes later, Mai’s hands and shoulders ached. She wasn’t used to rigorous physical activity. “My hands are blistering,” she said.
“We can slow down for now,” Tâm said.
Grateful, Mai rolled her shoulders and wiggled her fingers. Had the massacre not occurred, it might have been a pleasant journey. But she was beginning to see the world through a new lens of caution and fear. Occasionally they passed other boats and people on the shore. Yesterday she would have offered a friendly wave, but now she kept her head down. Chị Tâm said it was too risky to acknowledge them.
A few minutes later, several large black helicopters materialized overhead, hovering low. Mai’s heart thumped in her chest. She twisted around to Chị Tâm.
“Are they coming for us?” Her voice spiked in fear.
Tâm studied them. “No. Look.”
Mai looked up. The helicopters spewed trails of what looked like orange smoke from their bellies. As the smoke drifted toward the ground, it dissipated into mist. “What is that?” Panic tightened Mai’s stomach.
Tâm’s eyes flashed with anger, not fear. “It’s poison. They call it Agent Orange. It destroys everything that grows on the land and contaminates it for years.”
“Why?”
“Without the cover of brush, the enemy can find villages like ours more easily.”
“But why do they want to find us?”
“Mai, do—did you never listen to Papa’s radio when the news came on?”
Mai shook her head.
Tâm sighed. “There are many villagers in the South who hate this war and what the Americans are doing. So they secretly help the guerrillas fighting for the North by feeding them at night when they come out of the brush. And giving them weapons.”
“You mean the Viet Cong?”
“So you do know.”
“Dung told me her parents helped. She made me swear not to tell.”
“Ah. I am sorry your friend was killed.”
Mai tightened her lips.
Tâm went on. “I think that is why the Americans attacked. They were looking for Viet Cong and assumed we were.”
“Are—were we?”
“Papa perhaps.” She paused. “Yes, I would say so. Mama, no. She was not political. And yet she would prepare food for Papa to give them once you were asleep.”
Mai looked up at the helicopters again. “What if they spot us? Will they poison us too?”
“We are just two peasant girls looking for a place to fish, right?” Tâm dug her oar into the water. “I see a cove over there. Let’s head over.”
As they beached the sampan, the hull crunched on the sand. Mai looked up. The helicopters had moved on. She breathed a sigh of relief.
Tâm pulled out the fishing rod. “Have you fished before?”
Mai shook her head. She didn’t know a fishing line from a laundry line.
“Then today you’re going to learn. Take this.” She held out the rod. “Get us some catfish.”
Mai peered at the rod as if it was a snake that would curl up at any second and bite her.
“Take it. It won’t hurt you.”
Mai stood still. “What should I do with it?”
“What do you think?” The exasperation that ignited whenever Tâm was displeased with Mai appeared. Tâm bent over the sampan. “Hold on.”
She explored the bottom of the boat. A moment later she let out a grunt of satisfaction. “Here.” She straightened up. In her hand was a fishhook. Mai had never seen one at close range before. It looked like part of a thin curved earring, with a tiny eye on top and a sharp point on the curved end. She took it from Tâm warily. Tâm found a handheld net in the boat, which she also handed to Mai.
“You need to loop the line through the eye at the top of the fishhook, then drop it into the water and wait.” She pointed to a large flat rock that jutted out over the river. “Over there is a perfect spot. I’ll find bugs you can use for bait.”
Mai gazed at the rock, then back at Tâm. When she didn’t move, Tâm repeated, “Go.” Mai opened her mouth, about to say something, but stopped. Tâm wasn’t going to change her mind. She trudged over to the rock with the pole. Tâm waited until Mai had climbed onto the rock, then disappeared into the brush.
Tâm returned a few minutes later with a couple of grasshoppers in her hand. The bugs lay on their backs, their revolting tiny tentacles waving in all directions. Mai jerked back.
Tâm ignored her distress. “I will show you how to bait the hook this time. Next time you do it.” Tâm threaded the hook onto the line, took one of the insects, and stabbed it with the fishhook. The grasshopper was dead, but its legs still squirmed.
“Now, drop the line into the water. When you feel a tug, pull it out and drop the fish into the net. Be patient and don’t give up.”
“Why?” Mai’s gut twisted. “Where are you going?”
“To get more fruit.” Tâm climbed off the rock and disappeared into the bush again.
Mai cautiously dropped her fishing line into the water. Yesterday her world had been normal. It was a world she could understand. She had her place in it. Today, she had no idea where they were or where they were going, and she was stuck with a fishing rod in her hands. Her parents and Sáng were dead, they had stolen a sampan, and all she had in the world was Tâm. While they were sisters, they were so different. She tried to imagine sharing a funny incident with Chị Tâm, as she did with Dung. Or her mother. She couldn’t.
Mai wore her nón lá, but the sun, lazy and languid at dawn, was now fiery hot. The rock sizzled like a simmering cauldron, and Mai couldn’t move without burning her skin. She had to stay where she was. She felt as if she was in a prison without walls. All because of a damn fish. She wanted shade, and she didn’t want to keep going in the sampan. But Chị Tâm would say they had to eat, and they had to get to Saigon. She teared up in frustration and blinked quickly. Maybe this was all a bad dream. When she woke up, everything would be the way it had been before.
She wasn’t sure how long she had been sitting, steeped in misery, when she felt a tiny tug on the line. She straightened. “Chị Tâm, Chị Tâm, I think I have a fish. What do I do?”
There was no answer. What had Tâm told her to do? Pull it up. Catch it in the net. She pulled up the line. Amazingly, a fish dangled, flopping on the hook. She had caught a fish! She knew she had to get the fish into the net, but the line was too long to do it deftly. Was she supposed to grab the fish with her hands? She looked for the spool on the rod that fishermen used to reel in their catch, but there was nothing. She was going to have to pull the line in another way. Fumbling with the rod, she managed to pull it in until the line was in front of her. The fish still struggled. She was afraid it would plop back into the river. Despite the heat on the rock, she got to her knees, leaned forward, and grabbed the line with one hand. With the other she grasped the line higher up. She repeated what she had done. It was working! The line and the fish were coming closer. She grabbed the line twice more.
The fish was now within reach. Mai picked up the net with one hand and grabbed the fish with the other. A sharp pain shot through her wrist, and she cried out. She had stabbed herself with the fishhook. She tried to pull it out, but it was embedded in her skin and wouldn’t budge. Panicking, she pulled harder. The pain was excruciating. She let out a piercing scream. Finally, she was able to pull out the hook. Blood gushed down her forearm. Her skin was torn. She burst into tears.