At noon, I had meant to tell Thuc about Turtle spying on me from outside the house. But when he dragged me off to Hoi’s store, I somehow forgot all about it.
The next morning, I sat once again at the table beside the window and opened the book I had left unfinished.
This time, however, I couldn’t concentrate.
The harder I tried to lose myself in the pages, the more stubbornly the pages pushed me away.
Turtle had taken up residence inside my head.
She distracted me so thoroughly that every time I glanced around the room, anything remotely round looked like an eye. The buttons on an old striped jacket hanging on the wall. A bent nail in a wooden post. A stain on a bamboo screen. A rusty metal ring.
Then, at last, I noticed a real pair of eyes.
They were peering at me through a narrow gap between two bamboo panels beside the wardrobe.
The moment I recognized Turtle, my heart gave a startled jump.
But I immediately forced myself to stay calm.
Pretending not to notice her, I lowered my gaze back to the book and continued reading.
Or at least pretending to read.
I sat perfectly still, determined not to look toward her hiding place, while my ears strained for any sign that she might leave.
Minutes passed.
Nothing.
No footsteps.
No rustling.
Turtle was still there.
Still watching me through the gap.
That realization left me completely bewildered.
If I stood up, she would certainly run away.
But I couldn’t spend the rest of my life sitting motionless in a chair, either.
Finally, I gathered my courage.
Without looking up, I spoke as gently as I could.
“Do you like reading books?”
A faint rustling sound answered from the other side of the wall.
Perhaps I had startled her.
Perhaps she had moved without meaning to.
Whatever it was, the sound vanished almost immediately.
Still no footsteps.
That encouraged me.
Keeping my eyes on the book, I tried again.
“What kinds of books do you like, Turtle?”
This time I had called her by name.
She knew I had discovered her.
Like me, she was probably trying to decide what to do next—run away, remain frozen where she was, or answer.
Inside the house, I held my breath.
Truthfully, I had no idea what she would do.
A strange tension drifted through the room.
The wind sighing through the trees sounded louder than usual.
The pair of magpie robins arguing in the tamarind tree outside Thuc’s gate seemed unusually noisy.
I could hear everything—the grass rustling behind the house, distant voices floating down from the hill.
Everything except Turtle.
At last I licked my lips and said, with almost no hope at all,
“Why don’t you come inside?”
The moment the words left my mouth, I heard her footsteps retreating.
I sighed.
And while I was busy accepting defeat, Turtle’s ridiculous haircut suddenly appeared in the window.
I looked up and smiled.
Now that she was closer, I noticed her hair wasn’t really brown.
It had a reddish tint, probably from spending too much time running around beneath the sun.
Oddly enough, the unfortunate haircut only made the rest of her face stand out more.
She was surprisingly pretty.
Most striking of all were her eyes.
Bright.
Clear.
They shimmered like two drops of water.
The two drops of water looked at me.
I looked back at them.
For a long while, neither of us spoke.
Under the circumstances, my smile gradually transformed into something painfully awkward.
My facial muscles were beginning to feel as stiff as wood when Turtle finally rescued me.
“Is reading fun?” she asked.
“Yes!”
The answer burst out of me.
“Yes, very fun!”
I was so relieved to hear her speak that I probably sounded ridiculous.
“There’s nothing better in the world than reading books.”
The enthusiastic advertisement worked immediately.
Turtle licked her lips.
“Really?”
“Of course!”
I held out the book through the window with all the generosity of a wealthy benefactor.
“Take this one home. You can borrow it.”
Turtle accepted the book.
She flipped through a few pages.
Then, to my complete surprise, she placed it back on the table.
“No thanks.”
“Why not?”
A shy smile appeared on her face.
“I only read comics.”
~~~•••~~~
That day, I followed Turtle to her house.
It stood across the river, not far from Aunt Ut Hue’s place.
I told her I was planning to visit my aunt anyway and might as well stop by her house while I was there. When I mentioned that I had once been her grandfather’s student, Turtle seemed genuinely delighted.
I had never seen anyone cross the suspension bridge as casually as she did.
The bridge swayed constantly beneath our feet, but Turtle skipped across it as though she were walking on solid ground. She didn’t even bother holding on to the ropes.
Once we reached the other side, she refused to go straight home.
Instead, she led me along the riverbank, wandering beneath rows of purple morning glories. She picked gardenia fruits and bright red canna flowers and carried them in her hands as we walked.
At that moment she seemed lively and carefree.
Nothing like the shy girl who had stood outside my window only hours earlier.
Even her awkward reddish haircut no longer looked funny to me.
Turtle darted from one side of the path to the other like a small squirrel.
She disappeared into a bush to pluck a leaf, then crossed over to another patch of plants to pick a flower.
At one point she crouched beside the road and gathered handfuls of green leaves spreading beneath a clump of daisies.
She handed one leaf to me while popping another into her own mouth.
“Want some?”
I examined the delicate leaf.
Three heart-shaped leaflets.
After a moment’s hesitation, I chewed it.
It tasted pleasantly sour.
The flavor reminded me of the wild Garcinia leaves I used to chew as a child whenever I couldn’t find any fruit.
“What is it?”
“Wood sorrel,” Turtle said. “I’m picking some for Grandma. She uses it to make sour soup.”
I looked at her.
Suddenly, for reasons I couldn’t explain, my chest tightened.
She never forgot her grandmother.
Even while playing.
She must have loved the old woman very much.
———
When I stepped inside Turtle’s house, Teacher Dien was sitting cross-legged on a faded reed mat, facing the doorway.
His eyes were half closed.
His lips moved softly as he chanted sutras.
In one hand he held a wooden striker, tapping a small temple drum with slow, measured rhythm.
For a moment I hesitated.
Turtle seemed to understand.
“Grandpa,” she called gently. “One of your old students has come to visit.”
Teacher Dien did not fully open his eyes.
He merely lifted his eyelids slightly and looked toward me.
“My name is Dong,” I said quietly. “I’m Grandpa Chin Ngac’s grandson, sir.”
For the briefest instant, something flashed in his eyes.
It was like seeing a flashlight flicker in a dark room.
A single flash.
Then gone.
His eyes drifted closed again.
His chanting never stopped.
The wooden striker continued its steady rhythm.
I stood beside the mat, suddenly unsure of myself.
Had he recognized me?
Was that flash in his eyes real?
Or had I imagined it because I wanted so badly to believe he remembered?
I couldn’t tell.
Now he seemed completely unaware of my existence.
Only Turtle remembered I was there.
She tugged at my sleeve.
“Come play outside.”
I followed her out of the room while the melancholy knocking of the drum continued behind us.
“Grandpa’s gotten forgetful since we moved here,” she explained quietly, almost apologetically.
I believed her.
Even when I was a child, Teacher Dien had already been the oldest teacher in the village.
Ten years ago, when my family moved south, he had been nearly sixty.
Most people would have retired long before then.
But the school had lacked teachers, so he stayed.
⸻
Behind the house stood a butterfly bush whose pale leaves still glistened with droplets of morning dew.
Large banana leaves overhead shielded them from the sun.
Looking at those leaves, I found myself imagining thin hands beneath translucent skin, every blue vein visible.
Without thinking, I reached out and touched one.
Tiny droplets slid from the leaf and fell silently to the ground.
Beside the bush stood a miniature rock garden.
Ferns sprouted from cracks in the stones.
A tiny bridge crossed a narrow stream.
A clay rooster stood beside a pond with its neck stretched proudly upward.
Higher up, a dark cave opened into the rocks.
At the entrance sat a fisherman, endlessly patient, his wide hat hiding most of his face.
Nearby, two immortals played chess at a stone table.
Their pieces appeared to be pebbles.
Perhaps that was why neither of them had made a move in years.
As a child, I had loved miniature gardens.
Apart from the goldfish swimming below the duckweed, everything else seemed frozen in time.
I used to stand beside them for hours, waiting for one of the immortals to move a chess piece or for a woodcutter to swing his axe.
I believed that if I waited long enough, something magical would eventually happen.
The clay rooster in front of me inspired the same feeling.
It looked so alive that I became convinced it would crow sooner or later.
I stood there watching.
And watching.
Until Turtle finally grabbed my arm.
“Come on.”
She laughed.
“You could stand there until sunset and it still wouldn’t crow.”
My face immediately grew warm.
Somehow she had guessed exactly what I was thinking.
“Where are we going?” I asked, mostly to hide my embarrassment.
“To the lotus pond.”
She grinned.
“Let’s go pick lotus flowers.”
Before I could ask where the pond was, a goose suddenly came charging toward me from nowhere.
Honking furiously.
My face went pale.
I was terrified of geese.
Always had been.
When I was little, visiting my grandfather was a nightmare because he kept a flock of geese roaming freely in front of the house.
Every visit ended the same way.
I ran.
The geese chased.
Sometimes they even caught me.
A goose bite hurts far more than anyone would expect.
It feels like someone pinching your skin with metal tongs.
Seeing the horror on my face, Turtle burst out laughing.
“Are you scared?”
Before I could answer, she stepped in front of me and grabbed the goose neatly by the neck.
Its beak had been less than an inch from my leg.
I had barely begun to relax when she let it go.
My soul nearly left my body.
This time, I was genuinely close to fainting.
Apparently Turtle noticed.
She crouched down and spoke gently to the goose.
“You can go play now. This is Dong. He’s my friend.”
To my astonishment, the goose turned around and waddled away toward the water spinach pond.
I stared after it.
“Did it… understand you?”
“Yes.”
I swallowed.
“What was it saying earlier? When it was running at me?”
Turtle answered matter-of-factly.
“It was shouting, ‘Thief! Thief!’”
For a moment I couldn’t tell whether she was teasing me.
I looked at her carefully.
But her expression remained perfectly serious.
“Well…” I said suddenly. “I should probably visit Aunt Ut Hue now.”
“Aren’t you going to the lotus pond with me?”
Turtle narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
“This afternoon,” I said quickly.
“It’s too hot right now.”
That was my excuse.
The truth was much simpler.
I was afraid of the goose.
