Grandma and I saved as much as we could. Each night, I helped her count the coins and wrinkled notes she’d brought home. Each was black with the sweat of her labor.

One early evening, Grandma came home with a bicycle. Running my hands over its rusty handlebars, I laughed. In my neighborhood, only Mr. L??ng owned a bicycle, and he was a Party official. I hoped Grandma would let me use her bike sometimes; Th?y would faint from being jealous. She still wouldn’t talk to me, and I’d tried not to look her way. My friends were now Laura the American girl, Pinocchio the wooden boy, and Mèn the cricket.

Grandma showed me a certificate issued by the Hà N?i Department of Public Security that said she was the bike’s rightful owner. On the bike frame dangled a number plate made of metal, which read 3R-3953. We hugged each other, jumping up and down. To celebrate, Grandma took the evening off and rode me to Silk Street. The moon, round and bright, followed us. We rejoiced at the sight of the five-section wooden house. Under moonlight, it stood ancient and dreamlike—the wooden doors that bore exquisite carvings of flowers and birds, the ceramic dragons and phoenixes that soared atop the roof’s curving ends. Did the home of my ancestors survive the bombings, too? When would I be able to go there and touch the remnants of Grandma’s childhood?

Now Grandma could get around faster and serve more customers. She expanded her business to sell winter jackets, raincoats, and radios. Some of those were even imported from China and Russia.

Her trading job helped Grandma learn news about the war. She told me the Northern Army was advancing further south and winning battles. Yet I feared my parents would never come home. We’d heard nothing from or about them. Out of my remaining uncles, only Uncle ??t had managed to send back a letter, saying how much he missed us. He was okay and heading to Sài Gòn. I wondered how hard it was for Miss Nhung, his girlfriend. She’d been together with my uncle since high school and worked as an accountant. She was one of the few who didn’t care about Grandma being a trader. Miss Nhung visited us often, and when Grandma wasn’t home, she taught me to ride her bike. I hoped Uncle ??t would soon come back and marry her.

Months passed. I turned fourteen. Grandma worked and worked. One night, she pulled me close. “I think we have enough to build ourselves a very simple brick house.”

My eyes grew large. By now, our shack could barely stand against a strong wind. The tin sheets became blazing heaters during hot days and leaked whenever it rained.

“I might need to borrow, but we’ll be able to repay,” said Grandma. “Let’s plan for three bedrooms.”

“On this?” I looked around our small shack.

“We’ll build into the backyard. We need one room for your parents, one for ??t and Nhung, and one for you and me, you see.” She smiled at me. “Do you want to draw a plan for our house? Just a simple one. What do you think we need?”

“A bomb shelter!”

“Oh yes, it’s most important. Shall we have it at the entrance of our bedroom?”

“But we need three, Grandma.”

“Ah, for the three bedrooms. Such a thinker you are. How about a living and dining room where we can eat and talk?”

“And a kitchen and a washroom?”

“And the best corner, somewhere light and airy, for your study desk?”

“That could be next to our bedroom window.”

Just like that, the two of us made the plan for our house. I sketched it and each night, Grandma and I refined it together. We made sure our windows were high up, to avoid spying eyes. Once our drawing was complete, Grandma brought it to the Old Quarter, where an architect drew a more complex plan based on ours. He added details for electric wiring and plumbing, even though we rarely had electricity, and no water could reach our house.

I couldn’t wait for it to be built. Th?y was still living in her shack, for sure she’d want to pay a visit.

A few weeks later, Grandma came back from work, grinning. “Found a team of construction workers. Got the permits to buy cement and bricks.”

“We need permits, Grandma?”

“Without them, materials would be confiscated on their way here.” She brought her mouth to my ear, her breath tickling me. “We need to build very quickly. The neighbors will be very curious. If anyone asks anything, tell them to come to me.”

I nodded.

“I’ve been to the People’s Committee Unit to get us the clearance to rebuild.” Grandma showed me a document with a fiery red stamp. “Had to beg for it. They wanted to know where the money came from. As they were grilling me, Tr??ng—Thu?n’s former classmate—walked in. Tr??ng told his comrades to give me a break. He said I’d sent my four children to war to protect this country from the American invaders, and I should be allowed to rebuild my home.”

I looked up at Uncle Thu?n’s altar. Perhaps his spirit had blessed us.

“Tr??ng was helpful,” sighed Grandma, “but I should’ve told him he was wrong.”

“Wrong? What do you mean, Grandma?”

“I didn’t send your uncles and mother to war, Guava. I nearly lost them when they were little. I didn’t want them out of my sight. Ever!”

I squeezed Grandma’s hands. We looked out to our neighborhood, where shanties sat silent in the dark.

“There’s a hurdle we have to cross. Tr??ng told me, in private, that to ease the jealousy of those around us, we should do something for the neighborhood.”