The Mountains Sing

by Nguyễn Phan Quế Mai

For my grandmother, who perished in the Great Hunger; for my grandfather, who died because of the Land Reform; and for my uncle, whose youth the Việt Nam War consumed. For the millions of people, Vietnamese and non-Vietnamese, who lost their lives in the war. May our planet never see another armed conflict.

I wondered why foreign armies kept invading our country. First it was the Chinese, the Mongolians, the French, the Japanese, and now the American imperialists.

“I’ll never forget your kindness,” Grandma told our hosts. “Một miếng khi đói bằng một gói khi no.” One bite when starving equals one bundle when full. “Lá lành đùm lá rách,” Mrs. Tùng replied. Intact leaves safeguard ripped leaves. “You’re welcome to stay with us at any time.” She clutched Grandma’s hand. I smiled, enchanted whenever proverbs were embedded in conversations. Grandma had told me proverbs were the essence of our ancestors’ wisdom, passed orally from one generation to the next, even before our written language existed.

Little House in the Big Woods helped me forget about Thủy and allowed me to become friends with Laura, with whom I sat listening to her father’s music and stories. Just like my father, Pa was funny and enjoyed working with his hands. Just like my mother, Ma was attentive and loved to cook. I adored Laura but also envied her. While my world was full of longing, hers was filled with the presence of her parents, her sisters Mary and Carrie, as well as her dog Jack. But just like me, Laura had her own angst. She feared for her father as he crossed the dark forest, went to town to sell furs and didn’t come back for an entire night. She was terrified for her mother when they ran into a bear, which could have killed them both. I had heard rumors that American people liked to rule other races, that they didn’t have feelings like us, but now I knew they loved their families, and they also had to work hard to earn their food. They enjoyed dancing, music, and storytelling, just like us.