The Beauty of Humanity Movement (43 page)

“So what took you over that way this morning, anyway?” T
tries again.

“That Vi
t Ki’êu girl has lost something,” the old man says, his eyes milky in the candlelight. “She thought maybe I could help her find it.”

“And can you?” T
prods.

“I don’t know yet,” says H
ng.

Bình asks H
ng about his leg and the visit with the doctor, changing the subject just as it’s getting interesting.

“Leg will be fine,” the old man says. “Just need to restore my qi.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t worse,” says T
s father. “For you or your cart.”

They hear a sudden sharp cry outside the shack. “What was that?” T
asks, getting to his feet.

“What was what?” says the old man.

“It sounded like someone in pain,” says Bình.

Bình and T
poke their heads out the door of the shack and see a woman lying on her back about a metre away. T
rushes forward and helps her into a sitting position. She curses the mud on her backside. “It’s the only decent skirt I have. So stupid to be wearing these things in the mud,” she says, pointing at the flip-flops on her feet.

T
s father follows him outside. “It’s okay, Dad. I’ve got her.” T
lifts the old woman by the elbow, light as an egg. She leans the yolk of
her weight into his forearm. “I’m all right, son,” she says. “Thank you. You go on back to your grandfather now.”

T
and his father stoop to enter the door of H
ng’s shack. It takes a minute for T
s eyes to readjust to the dim.