Believe me, Guava, your Uncle ??t was a charming boy.

Thu?n picked up my bowl, slurping down the last droplets of soup. He smacked his lips so loud, everyone had to laugh.

We moved back into the tree’s shadow. Sitting there, I hoped we wouldn’t run into trouble. The man with the bamboo rod was browsing the market. He’d chased away a couple of other beggars, not just by his words; his rod had rained blows down onto them.

Holding Sáng, I leaned my back against the tree, my legs pillows for the children who had lain down. I looked up at the tree trunk, at its hundreds of hanging roots, and realized it was a Bodhi tree. Buddha had meditated and became enlightened under the Bodhi tree. I felt his blessing on a cool wind that caressed my face.

My eyes were heavy as lead. I told myself to stay awake to watch over the children, but sleep drifted me away.

A delicious smell woke me up. ??t had squatted down, a bowl in his hand. As his siblings shared the soup, he told me he’d gotten the job.

“How much will she pay you, Son?” I asked.

“Ten cents each day.”

“That’s only two bowls of ph?. That’s pure exploitation!”

“But it can buy us food.” ??t pulled bits of dry leaves from Thu?n and H?nh’s hair. “Mama, we need a short rest. Let me give this a try. We’ll see in a couple of days.”

The children begged me with their eyes. My aching body begged me, too. I nodded.

“I have some bad news, though,” said ??t. “Even though I tried, she only wants to take me. And she allows only me to sleep in her shop.”

“What about us?” Ng?c looked at me. She shrugged. “I guess there’re plenty of bushes around.”

“??t, are you coming or what?” an angry voice boomed. The ph? seller arrived under the tree, looking down at us, her hands on her hips, her lips smeared with the red juice of the betel quid she was chewing.

“Madam.” I stood up. “Please . . . I can help you better than my son. The kids can look after themselves—”

“Stupid woman.” The seller rolled her eyes, spitting a mouthful of red liquid onto the ground. “Haven’t you heard about the Land Reform? You think I’m so dumb?” She edged closer to me, her breath pungent. “I might be a fool but not foolish enough to employ a grownup. They’d execute me for being a rich person, an exploiter, a member of the bourgeoisie.” She chuckled. “I’m not hiring your son, understand? He’s the son of my faraway brother, and he’s just helping out.”

“Let’s go.” She pulled ??t up. “Bring that bowl with you. Plenty of dishes to wash.” She turned to me. “Take your children and leave. You can’t hang around here. He’s trouble.” She glanced at the man with the bamboo rod as she strode away.

“Mama.” ??t leaned toward me, whispering, “Where do we meet tonight? I’ll bring you some food and water.”

“Outside the village gate. Behind the bamboo grove.” Tears welled in my eyes.

“Be careful, don’t let people recognize you, Son.”

“Plenty of soot over there.” ??t grinned, signaling toward the ph? pot. “A black mustache would suit me fine, don’t you think?” He winked then dashed away.

THE NIGHT WAS hot and thick, swollen with buzzing insects. Sáng slept like an angel in my arms. The ph? had brought back some of my milk. Ng?c fanned the mosquitoes away with my hat. She’d just woken from another deep sleep and her fever had eased.

A flickering dot appeared at the end of the dark road. Gradually the dot turned into a flame that floated midair.

“It’s him. Brother ??t.”

“Quiet, it could be somebody else.”

“It’s him, I know.” Thu?n’s voice drifted away from us.

“Thu?n, come back,” I hissed.

“Over here, Brother ??t, over here,” Thu?n cheered.

The flame wobbled and disappeared. We sank again into darkness.

I heard my own heartbeat, then footsteps on dry leaves, and Thu?n’s laugh. “I knew it was you, Brother ??t.”

I held ??t in my arms. My beloved son. I kissed his hair. He smelled like home.

“Brother ??t, Brother ??t.” Ng?c and H?nh clapped their hands.

“Shhh.” ??t chuckled. “You guys hungry? I brought something.”

“Where? Where?”

We fumbled and squatted on the ground. ??t placed a package into my hands. I felt the smoothness of fresh banana leaves and inhaled the fragrance of boiled sweet potatoes and maniocs.

I distributed the food to the children.

“Water, Mama.” ??t gave me a bottle. He reached for my face. “Don’t cry. It’s not bad to work there. Much better than in the rice field.”

“How’s the woman treating you?”

“She’s okay, Mama.”

“I’m so glad to see you, Brother ??t,” said H?nh.

“No, I miss him more,” said Thu?n.

“Shhh, quiet.” ??t laughed.

OH, GUAVA, THAT was a special night. It was too dark for us to see each other’s faces. Mosquitoes punctured our skin. Threatening drumrolls and shouts of vicious slogans rang from afar, but I felt as if the rustling bamboo had built a fortress around us.

When it was time for ??t to leave, he promised to come back the next night. I walked with him to the ph? shop. After he’d hugged me good-bye, I stood hiding in the cloak of the night, telling myself that I had to love him more.