“Nope, but I bet he’ll be back before you know it.”

As I sat there, unable to move, Grandma nudged me. “Don’t you want to open it?”

My hands trembled as I peeled away the layers of wrapping.

A bird. An exquisitely carved bird. Chiseled from wood, it stood on a square base, its wings open, its neck craning forward as if ready to burst into a song.

“Your father carved it himself.” Uncle ??t grinned. “This type of bird used to sing for us as we walked for months and months to get to the battlefields.”

“Does it have a name, Uncle?” I brought the bird to my face. It smelled like my father, like his laughter.

“S?n ca.”

“A splendid name.” Grandma smiled at me. “S?n ca means ‘The Mountain Sings.’”

“Believe me, this bird can sing,” said Uncle ??t. “Whenever it did, all the mountains around me seemed to be singing, too. My comrades used to tell tales about the S?n ca. They said the S?n ca’s songs can reach Heaven, and souls of the dead can return in the S?n ca’s singing.”

“What a special bird, Uncle.”

Uncle ??t nodded. “This wooden bird was my travel companion during the last seven years, H??ng. It climbed countless mountains with me, swam through rivers, dived into underground tunnels, and survived the bombs.”

“That’s how it got these watermarks.” Grandma admired the bird’s wings. “I know your father has clever hands, H??ng. I didn’t know he was such an artist.”

“Thank you, Uncle ??t.”

“Come on, H??ng. I’m the thankful one. This S?n ca saved me. I promised your father to bring it back to you in one piece. I had to stay alive, to be able to do this,” he pointed at the bird. “See the words under the base?”

I turned the S?n ca and tears ran down my cheeks. My fingers traced my father’s message: CON GáI, CON Là MáU NóNG TRONG TIM CHA.

“Treasure this bird, H??ng,” said Uncle ??t. “There aren’t many left. I saw plenty of them at first. But then the bombs and the chemical sprayed by the enemy silenced them.”

“Chemical?” asked Grandma.

“Yes, they dumped plenty of it onto our forests and jungles. To make leaves fall off trees, so they could see us soldiers from the North. But whatever they sprayed also killed small living things. I didn’t know what the chemical was called, until after the war. It has a beautiful name: Agent Orange.”

WHEN DINNER WAS ready, I pushed Uncle ??t’s wheelchair to the table. Grandma and I glanced at each other. He sat too low.

“We can move you onto this.” Grandma pulled a dining chair.

“If you two are strong enough.” Uncle ??t tried to laugh.

“You bet.” I stepped to his right, Grandma to his left.

“Now, hold on to these useless pieces of meat.” Uncle ??t gestured toward the remaining parts of his thighs.

Grandma slid her hand under one stump, her other hand supporting Uncle ??t’s back. I followed, shivering when my fingers touched the soft flesh.

“One, two, three.” We counted together, struggled, but managed to shift Uncle ??t.

“Oho, you girls are good.” Uncle ??t clapped his hands.

“It’s not difficult.” I sat down, picking up his bowl.

He waved his hand. “Don’t fill it with rice yet.” He looked around. “You have some liquor, Mama?”

“Liquor? I don’t remember that you drink, ??t.”

“Well . . . you know, sometimes the stuff helps ease things.”

“Sorry, we don’t have any.”

“Hmm, perhaps up there?” My uncle looked up at our family altar. “I’m sure Papa, Uncle C?ng, and Thu?n wouldn’t mind sharing their drinks.”

“They didn’t drink, ??t. I’ve never offered them liquor.”

“Fine.” Uncle ??t’s face drooped. “Go ahead and eat. I can’t without a drink first.”

“Wait.” I stood up. “Perhaps Mrs. Nhan has some. Let me go across the road.”

Thankfully, our neighbor was as helpful as usual. She gave me a bottle of rice liquor, whispering, “My husband brewed it himself, but don’t tell anyone.”

Back at our house, Grandma fetched a small cup. Uncle ??t filled it, emptying it in one gulp. He smacked his lips. “This stuff is good, real good.” He picked up the bottle, sniffed it and filled the cup again. “Can you ask where she bought it?”

“Her husband made it himself,” I blurted out, and regretted it immediately. “Oops, Mrs. Nhan told me not to tell anyone.”

“It’s a secret then,” Uncle ??t chuckled, tossing another cupful down his throat. He leaned toward me. “But I can only keep it a secret if they teach me how to make this.” The pungent smell from his mouth made me grimace.

“Have some food before it gets too cold.” Grandma put a piece of grilled beef into Uncle ??t’s bowl.

He chewed and swallowed. “Mmm, this tastes divine. I haven’t had meat for so long. . . .”

“There’s plenty. Eat all you want.” Grandma rearranged the plates so the beef was in front of Uncle ??t. He picked up another piece, dipping it into salt mixed with lemon juice and ground pepper.