The Beauty of Humanity Movement (144 page)

“Never,” T
and Maggie say in unison.

“If H
ng had his own shop again, it would certainly be cleaner
than this,” he continues. “Can you smell the toilet?” He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Imagine it,” Bình says, drawing an imaginary banner of a bright, lucky red sign through the air, the words
Ph
H
ng
hanging on a building on a popular street in the Old Quarter, a shop with big, clean glass windows and an open door inviting customers to take seats on proper wooden chairs inside rather than at plastic stools on the greasy pavement.

T
sees a gleaming, stainless steel counter. Perhaps a gas stovetop, which would reduce the need for wood. Bright new linoleum, easy to clean. A refrigerator to keep the meat fresh and the herbs from wilting. Shelving for a stack of new, white ceramic bowls and large lidded pots.

“There’s a closet full of unused dishes at the hotel,” says Maggie.

T
’s father adds a sink with hot and cold running water. An indoor toilet and perhaps a room at the back where the old man could live.

“This is crazy,” says T
, putting an end to this fantasizing. They could never hope to save the kind of money this would take. Even if T
and his father were men who gambled at the cockfights, no number of wins could amount to that kind of money.

“What if we formed an association?” says his father.

“You’re serious about this,” T
says, pushing his bowl to the centre of the table and abandoning his soup altogether.

“Well, he can’t carry on as before. And he’s never going to retire. We have to find a way to make it easier for him.”

“What do you mean by an association?” Maggie asks.

“Like a
ho
,” says Bình.

“It’s a fund you can turn to when you need a big sum of money fast,” T
explains. “Like for a wedding or a funeral or to build a house. Usually the association is between relatives, everyone contributing a
certain amount—you keep it small and close so that everyone remains honest and has his turn at the lot.”

“We could invite H
ng’s regular customers to participate,” says Bình.

Maggie asks how much everyone would need to contribute, perhaps calculating her own savings, but this raises the bigger question of how much it would cost to get such a shop up and running to the point where it could turn enough of a profit to sustain itself.

T
jerks his notebook out of the inside pocket of his jacket. He’s just the man for this job. Rents have soared in the past couple of years, but he thinks it might still be possible to lease the ground floor of a building in the Old Quarter for the equivalent of about eight hundred U.S. dollars a month. And then, of course, there are the taxes and licensing fees, the equipment and supplies, and the bribes that must be paid to the police. Finally, the tables and chairs and kitchen equipment and ingredients.