even though one of the fish they caught was the length of his arm. Rabbit was lucky that way. Qui couldnât talk. The front of her shirt was always wet, her pale face with the large eyes so filled with beauty his uncles never talked about her, as if the mere mention of herradiance were a kind of sacrilege. On the other hand Phuong was always yelling. Ever since his father had disappeared in one of the reeducation camps, Phuong was beside herself over the littlest things, wailing that if anything ever happened to him, who would take care of her? He was nine years old. There were other boys younger than him who went out fishing by themselves, their fathers dead or off clearing land in the new economic zones. Phuong didnât care. Even when her own brothers told her to let him be, she would acquiesce during the day, letting him go with them to the black market in Cantho to sell any extra rice. When he came back home, it was a different story. Nights on the leaking floor she slept with her arms around him.
Rabbit didnât even turn to face him. The Dragonâs Head, she said. Son kept paddling east toward the stars in the Winnowing Basket. We need the money, Rabbit said. Please. A bat swooped by his ear almost knocking him off-balance. He tried to remember the last time heâd heard her say please, but nothing came to mind. She was a seven-year-old girl who spoke like an old man, addressing everyone with the pronouns meant for inferiors, her freckles cowing adults into silence. Once, unthinkingly, Rabbit had called Huyen
em
, and Huyen had slapped her. Sonâs older sister, Sang, liked to say that Rabbit was a tiger girl and that one day her tiger blood would get him killed.
Son sighed and swung the sampan toward the stars of the Black Tortoise. He thought of the things Huyen had told them about the river. The Mekong was a series of rivers that originated in the icy mountains of Tibet and reached the South China Sea through a network of tributaries south of Saigon. It branched and forked and twisted for almost three thousand miles, the dark brown surface deceptively calm. Anywhere two or more branches met there was a dangerous current as the two rivers became one. At its widest, the Mekong stretched more than seven miles from shore to shore.
The Mekong is our mother, Huyen had said. She gives us fish and birds and a place to live. The old woman put her hand in the river and scooped up a handful. She will kill you without shedding a tear, Huyen added. In her palm the water gleamed an impenetrable brown, silt-rich. Sometimes when he wanted to hide, all Son had to do was jump in and hold his breath.
He was steering toward a spot where three fingers met a tributary called the Sap River, the waters originating from Cambodiaâs Tonlé Sap. By sampan it was almost an hour. He tried not to think of the way his mother would lock her arms around him when he got home. A bird that could fish the Dragonâs Head was worth double, though if you fell out of the boat, it wouldnât matter to you how much the bird was worth.
Son had only been there once with his uncles in a boat with a small engine. Theyâd gone to look for river otters. The animalâs bladder could be sold for three monthsâ wages in the fields, the glistening sack smoked and pulverized for Chinese medicine. Otters were drawn to the Dragonâs Head because of the types of fish the fast water attracted. Son had talked his uncles into bringing Rabbit along. Sheâll be able to hear them, he said. Sheâs small. She knows where things like to hide. At the time his uncle Duc had intended to say no, but something about the little girl with the cluster of freckles and the boyâs haircut standing there looking him right in the face as if she were his elder gave him pause. The next thing he knew she was in the front of the boat.
In their first ten minutes at the Dragonâs Head, Rabbit had pointed to some dead saplings
Rabbit didnât even turn to face him. The Dragonâs Head, she said. Son kept paddling east toward the stars in the Winnowing Basket. We need the money, Rabbit said. Please. A bat swooped by his ear almost knocking him off-balance. He tried to remember the last time heâd heard her say please, but nothing came to mind. She was a seven-year-old girl who spoke like an old man, addressing everyone with the pronouns meant for inferiors, her freckles cowing adults into silence. Once, unthinkingly, Rabbit had called Huyen
em
, and Huyen had slapped her. Sonâs older sister, Sang, liked to say that Rabbit was a tiger girl and that one day her tiger blood would get him killed.
Son sighed and swung the sampan toward the stars of the Black Tortoise. He thought of the things Huyen had told them about the river. The Mekong was a series of rivers that originated in the icy mountains of Tibet and reached the South China Sea through a network of tributaries south of Saigon. It branched and forked and twisted for almost three thousand miles, the dark brown surface deceptively calm. Anywhere two or more branches met there was a dangerous current as the two rivers became one. At its widest, the Mekong stretched more than seven miles from shore to shore.
The Mekong is our mother, Huyen had said. She gives us fish and birds and a place to live. The old woman put her hand in the river and scooped up a handful. She will kill you without shedding a tear, Huyen added. In her palm the water gleamed an impenetrable brown, silt-rich. Sometimes when he wanted to hide, all Son had to do was jump in and hold his breath.
He was steering toward a spot where three fingers met a tributary called the Sap River, the waters originating from Cambodiaâs Tonlé Sap. By sampan it was almost an hour. He tried not to think of the way his mother would lock her arms around him when he got home. A bird that could fish the Dragonâs Head was worth double, though if you fell out of the boat, it wouldnât matter to you how much the bird was worth.
Son had only been there once with his uncles in a boat with a small engine. Theyâd gone to look for river otters. The animalâs bladder could be sold for three monthsâ wages in the fields, the glistening sack smoked and pulverized for Chinese medicine. Otters were drawn to the Dragonâs Head because of the types of fish the fast water attracted. Son had talked his uncles into bringing Rabbit along. Sheâll be able to hear them, he said. Sheâs small. She knows where things like to hide. At the time his uncle Duc had intended to say no, but something about the little girl with the cluster of freckles and the boyâs haircut standing there looking him right in the face as if she were his elder gave him pause. The next thing he knew she was in the front of the boat.
In their first ten minutes at the Dragonâs Head, Rabbit had pointed to some dead saplings
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