The Beauty of Humanity Movement (49 page)

Miss Maggie stands up, shuffles around the table and behind T
s chair, reaching for her purse. “Ready?” she says, touching his shoulder.

T
s whole arm radiates with warmth. He feels something in his lower body as well, something he is quite sure he shouldn’t, but it’s not every day that a lady touches your shoulder. He springs to his feet and follows her down the corridor, her black heels clickety-clacking on the tiled floor.

As soon as they have stepped onto the street, T
starts making conversation of the sort he learned during his first week in tourism college. “Hot today, isn’t it? Soon the rainy season will be upon us and sweep some of this humidity away. You’ve been here long in Vietnam? Where in the U.S. are you from exactly? Nice weather there?”

“Midwest,” says Maggie, two steps behind him now, “lots of snow.”

T
is forced to conjure the map of the U.S. in his head. He thinks
west
as in wild west—Texas, mostly—but he’s not entirely sure about the
mid
.

“Minneapolis,” she says, “Minnesota.”

“Ahh. So you are a fan of the Minnesota Vikings?” T
says, hoping to impress her with this knowledge, turning round to confirm the look of astonishment on her face.

Maggie laughs. “Not really my thing,” she says. “But how do you even know that? Isn’t it all about soccer here?”

“I just like to study facts, particularly about foreign countries. Do you know that football originated from the sport of rugby?”

“Really,” says Miss Maggie in that way Ph
ng is always warning T
about.

Miss Maggie follows T
down the narrow path of sidewalk, squeezing between a wall of motorbikes to their right and a string of red plastic tables to their left. T
would like to recite to her the rest of the names of the American football teams he knows, but his voice would be lost in the collective roar.

Tourists always ask him, How can you think with all this noise? But truthfully? This is where he finds himself meditating. The more crowded the better. In Vietnam you are with family from childhood to death—and when family and neighbours are not watching, you can rest assured the government is.

Twice each day the district report is broadcast over the loudspeaker, listing those who have committed crimes and infractions. Once T
heard Ph
ng named among those who were late in their payments for motorbike licence renewal, and he felt very ashamed for him.

“You don’t honestly listen to that propaganda, do you?” he’d asked T
. “We’re a city of three and a half million. How many Nguy
n Ph
ngs do you think there are in our district alone?”