When I returned to the bedroom with the tea and a cool towel for his head, Hùng’s breathing was ragged and rapid. He drank the tea but asked for water. I brought him a large cup. He gulped it down.

“Would you like some more?” I asked, alarmed.

He shook his head, his fever warming the towel in my hand.

“Let me go get Mr. Nguyên.” I stood up, ready to race out to find the healer.

“No need.” Hùng looked up at me. His eyes were strange. The pupils were small, too small. “I’ll . . . I’ll be fine. Just need a good sleep.” The muscles on his face started to twitch.

“We need Mr. Nguyên.” I ran out of the room, shouting.

Mrs. Tú hobbled toward me. “What’s wrong, Di?u Lan?”

“Anh Hùng is very ill. Please watch him, Auntie. I’ll be back soon.” I would’ve liked to stay with my husband, but Mrs. Tú had twisted her ankle the day before.

I dashed out to the village road, praying while running. When I reached the healer’s house, he wasn’t there.

“Are you all right?” his son, Vi?t, asked. “My father is out with his friends.”

I told Vi?t about Hùng.

“Let’s go find him.” Vi?t grabbed the wooden box his father always carried while visiting patients. We raced out into the village, running from one house to the next.

It took us a long time to find Mr. Nguyên and rush him to my house.

Entering the front yard, I heard Mrs. Tú’s voice. “Hùng ?i, con ?i!” she was wailing. My feet started to give way beneath me.

Vi?t snatched my arm, pulling me along. We burst into the bedroom. Hùng was convulsing violently under the grip of Mrs. Tú. His eyes rolled back in their sockets. Foam bubbled at his mouth.

“Stay calm, women! Stop screaming.” Mr. Nguyên ordered Vi?t to loosen Hùng’s clothing. We held him down so he wouldn’t hurt himself or fall out of bed.

The healer checked Hùng’s breathing, eyes, and chest. He clutched Hùng’s hand, turning the palm up, listening to the pulse. Through my tears, I saw his eyes widen.

“Poison. Don’t touch the foam,” he shouted. “Make him vomit. Turn him!” He hurried to wrap his hands with a cloth. “Mrs. Tú, go wash your hands with soap. Get me some warm water.”

Vi?t and I turned Hùng onto his stomach, tilting his head down to the floor. The healer forced open Hùng’s mouth, trying to induce him to vomit. Not much came out.

Mrs. Tú rushed into the room with a jug of water. We returned Hùng to his back. I wiped his mouth and caressed him with my voice. By now his tremors were easing, but he felt limp in my hands. His eyes had stopped rolling, and I caught the flicker of desperation in his eyes.

“Hold on, anh Hùng. Look at me. Talk to me!” I commanded, yet he didn’t reply. His eyes were closing.

“Mr. Nguyên, please . . . ,” I begged. The healer had opened the wooden box, scooped powders into a bowl and mixed them with water.

We sat Hùng up. Mr. Nguyên fed him the concoction, but it flowed back out. Hùng could no longer swallow. He could no longer respond.

Wrapping our hands with cloths, we opened Hùng’s mouth, trying to force the medicine down, but it didn’t work. Mr. Nguyên shook his head. “Di?u Lan. I’m sorry. I’m afraid we are too late.”

I got down on my knees. “Please save him, Mr. Nguyên. I beg you!”

The healer pulled me up, his eyes sorrowful. “It’s too strong, the poison Hùng took.”

“No! Please save him. Save him!”

I lay my face on Hùng’s heart. But he was silent. Silent as a piece of paper that had been erased of all its words.

C?ng was miserable and furious when he got back. He beat his fists against his chest, talking about revenge. He tracked down those people who were with Hùng at their meeting. They denied any responsibility and threatened to put C?ng in prison if he didn’t stop making accusations.

I should have pursued it further, Guava. I should’ve tried to find the one who killed your grandpa and bring him to justice, but I was a coward. I was fearful for C?ng’s safety, as well as my children’s.

But C?ng was stubborn. He went to the authorities. I had to come with him, to make sure he wouldn’t be arrested.

“Nobody killed your brother-in-law,” one official told C?ng, eyeing me. “Perhaps he took his own life.”

“That healer Nguyên is crazy,” snarled another official. “What proof do you have? Pursue it further and we’ll put you and that insane healer of yours in prison. Defamation against the Party is a serious crime.”

I begged C?ng to go home. I knew it wasn’t true that Hùng had committed suicide. He loved us, Guava, and he loved his life.

Soon, we heard plenty of rumors that the Vi?t Minh was getting rid of its anticommunist members, as well as intellectuals and the rich. The Party had to belong to farmers and workers, not to a member of the bourgeoisie like Hùng.

I don’t know whether these rumors were true, but I do know that politics is as dirty as sewage. I don’t ever want to set my foot near it again.

I can’t tell you how wrecked we were by your grandpa’s death. Your Uncle Minh, seventeen by then, had been very close to him. So were your mother, your Uncle ??t, Uncle Thu?n, and Auntie H?nh. Sáng was the only one who didn’t know what was going on. He was just four months old.