EN ROUTE TO Vung Tau, Xuan informed the group that they would make a quick stop at Ox Pagoda, where Uncle Mao said Maia’s mother often visited. When the white Lada Samara, borrowed from Uncle Mao for the trip, arrived at the pagoda’s gate, street hawkers crowded around the car and peered through its open windows at the curious group: Xuan at the steering wheel, Maia in the front passenger seat, and JP, Na, and No-No in the backseat. The tawny kitten wore a fresh camel leather harness attached to a leash looped around Na’s wrist.
“Ồ, sư tử con!” exclaimed the bird merchant. The street vendors were more interested in the tethered lion-like cub than selling their carved oxen, caged birds, joss papers and sticks.
“Where are you from?” the fruit lady asked in English.
“Ở đây chứ ở đâu.” Na’s clear Saigonese accent startled the vendors, who proceeded to hawk their goods.
“Five fruits for the altar.”
“Paper money for the afterlife.”
“Birds to free your karma.”
“Wooden oxen to transport the dead.”
On the pagoda’s wide steps, Xuan spoke privately with a woman and then deposited a sum in the contribution box. The woman directed them to leave their footwear and belongings outside before entering the softly illuminated inside.
Smoke from incense hung from the ceiling descended the narrow hall in preparation for the morning ceremony. Barefoot women in white garb bore offerings of fruits and glutinous rice for the altar that stood before a calligraphic mural depicting ox herding in an open field. The women met the visitors’ eyes briefly, then lowered their heads and stepped around them.
When the metal gong was struck, saffron-robed nuns filed in. The visitors and the tethered creature were guided to the front and told to kneel before the altar. JP on his knees stared straight ahead. He wore the beige khaki pants and now-wrinkled white dress shirt he’d had on the first time they met at the airport. He had not dressed formally since, until today. Na wore a traditional loose-fitting Vietnamese outfit, her hair gathered in a thick braid. Xuan appeared more solemn than usual. Something about her three companions made Maia uneasy. She sensed they had agreed on a plan in which she was the focus yet had no say in the decision.
The plump aging abbess settled into a lotus position next to the altar, and an elder nun knelt beside Maia. More people shuffled in. From the corner of her eye, Maia saw the Public Security Trio kowtowing in unison in a row directly behind her. The echoes of the gong faded, and everyone was in place.
For the next hour, the abbess recited rambling incantations. The monotonous light tapping of the wooden fishshaped gong lulled Maia into a sleepy trance. Every few minutes, the giant round metal gong was struck with the heavy padded mallet, and the nun prompted her to clasp her palms and bow three times. The abbess’s chanting, the reverberations of wooden and metal gongs, and the whispering rustle of their obeisance filled the smoky altar hall.
Maia looked around at the vibrant walls and columns of the pagoda, adorned with dragons, phoenixes, turtles, and unicorns. From her folklore reading, she remembered that the dragon stood for strength, the phoenix for peace, the turtle for longevity, and the unicorn for wisdom. The painted animals stared back at her with steady gazes. Strength, peace, longevity, and wisdom: are these my desires for myself and for others? The metal gong sounded again and the nun tapped her to bow.
The morning ceremony ended, the smoke dissipated, and a fragrance of jasmine permeated the air. The elderly nun whispered, “Come with me.” She led Maia through the dimly lit pagoda to the sunny backyard, where a calf was grazing beside a dilapidated brick well. The nun nudged the young animal toward the dirt path leading to a field overgrown with vegetation.
“Your mother often spoke of your father.”
“You met my parents?”
“Only your mother.”
The calf wandered off to forage under the shade of a blossoming flame tree. Its tail swung and swatted at the flies on its back.
“She often said she loved your father not for wealth, status, or fame but for his wish to protect others. He wasn’t always successful.” The nun smiled ruefully. “Those were her exact words. But during the war, his men trusted he’d keep them alive. Their motto was ‘locate and evade.’”
Maia’s head spun with confusion. She tried to make sense of what the nun said. The expatriates’ homage in America rang hollow in her ears. Your father fought with courage against the Communists. For his service and sacrifice, he will be remembered.
Who was she to believe?
The overseas tribute was a star that guided her, a shining light on a single course of action. Its brightness now turned gray. Shadows obscured her path.
“We had family on both sides,” the nun explained.
After a long pause, she changed the subject. “I read your mother’s oracle ten years ago.”
“What did the oracle say?”
“It was over ten years ago, and it was for your mother, but for you—”
I don’t believe in prophecy! Maia thought but stopped herself from blurting out the words. She wanted to hear what the nun had to say. What she had just learned about her father lodged in her heart; she needed to sort it out in her head. She watched the calf, roaming from the flame tree toward the stream, shaded by willows under which Xuan and the Public Security Trio stood smoking.
“For you,” the nun warned, “there’s trouble at the beginning, but the confusion will clear up, and all things will breathe freely again. You must choose your helpers wisely.”