boys playing soccer on the beach grow fainter.
He saw Lan running with the dogs and other children, flying the kite, a pink triangle against the dark
cay duong
trees. The trees dropped long needles onto the sand.
Now, seeing the flashes of bright paper in the sky, he almost longed for his old life of playing all day.
Though the sky still glowed with early light, the air felt unusually hot and still. The diesel fumes from the boatâs engine lingered, mixing with the smell of salt.
Circling lazily overhead, some seagulls,
chim hai au,
waited for fish to be caught in the nets.
Tinh turned his gaze to the far horizon and the adventures that lay beyond. Every now and then a big wave would surge out of the ocean. Tinh always scrambled to the bow, the most exciting spot, as the boat rode over the wave.
The golden boat was new. The old one had rotted with the seawater and tropical heat. This one was five times as long as Ba, seven times as long as Tinh. It was so new that the bamboo shone golden against the turquoise water.
Second Uncle had helped Ba build the boat. When it was finished, Tinh had rubbed sticky water-buffalo manure over the cracks, sealing them. The manure smelled very strong. When he was almost finished and Lan had called him to hunt shells, heâd gone with her.
When Ba found out that Tinh had left some of the gaps unsealed, heâd shouted, âYouâre foolish to be afraid of a bad smell, Tinh. Our boat could sink because of your carelessness!â
So Tinh had rubbed on more manure until no more light showed through the bamboo.
Then heâd glued two conch shells on either side of the prow. The shells symbolized the eyes of a dragon, guiding the boat, protecting it from being tipped over by huge fish.
On the first trips out, Tinh had been seasick, vomiting over the side. But now his body had grown used to the movement of the ocean.
He was glad he wasnât seasick anymore. After his mistake with the manure, he wanted to do everything right on the boat. He wanted Ba to be proud of him. Maybe one day Ba would make this boat his.
Just then, Tinhâs cone-shaped hat blew off and landed in the water.
With his fishing pole, Ba lifted the hat out of the sea and handed it to Tinh. âYouâre daydreaming again,â Ba said. âWhen the boat is moving, pay attention.â
âYes, Ba.â Tinh put on his hat, now dripping, and sat up straighter.
Soon, the boat had traveled so far out that Tinh couldnât see the bamboo huts of the village or even the shore. Only water lay around them, shimmering under the sun and the crystal-blue sky.
Ba shut off the engine. All grew quiet.
A statue of a woman named the Bodhisattva of Compassion,
Phat Ba Quan Ahm,
was tied to the bow of the boat. The Bodhisattva had one thousand arms reaching out to all those in need. Tinh hadnât counted the arms of the statue, but it had many, some hidden behind the others. On the palm of each of those thousand hands,
Phat Ba Quan Ahm
had an eye to watch over those who suffered.
While the Buddha felt like a father, the Bodhisattva of Compassion was a mother, nurturing and protecting everyone, including Tinh and Ba and the rest of the fishermen.
Tinh lit a stick of incense and placed it in front of her smiling face. He pressed his palms together and bowed.
Tinh helped Ba tie two nets to the boat. The small one, like a hammock, caught
ca nuc,
tiny silver fish. The large one drifted farther and captured not only
ca nuc
but also
ca kinh,
diamond-shaped fish, and
ca ngu,
gray fish as big as Tinhâs leg.
They also used fishing lines. Tinh cast his line over the side of the boat and waited. As soon as he and Ba caught a few fish, theyâd cook soup and eat it with rice wrapped in fresh banana leaves.
This evening, Ma and Lan would be waiting on the shore for the return of the boat and its pot of soup.
Tomorrow, Ma and Lan would load the catch of fish into the
ganh hang,
a contraption of
He saw Lan running with the dogs and other children, flying the kite, a pink triangle against the dark
cay duong
trees. The trees dropped long needles onto the sand.
Now, seeing the flashes of bright paper in the sky, he almost longed for his old life of playing all day.
Though the sky still glowed with early light, the air felt unusually hot and still. The diesel fumes from the boatâs engine lingered, mixing with the smell of salt.
Circling lazily overhead, some seagulls,
chim hai au,
waited for fish to be caught in the nets.
Tinh turned his gaze to the far horizon and the adventures that lay beyond. Every now and then a big wave would surge out of the ocean. Tinh always scrambled to the bow, the most exciting spot, as the boat rode over the wave.
The golden boat was new. The old one had rotted with the seawater and tropical heat. This one was five times as long as Ba, seven times as long as Tinh. It was so new that the bamboo shone golden against the turquoise water.
Second Uncle had helped Ba build the boat. When it was finished, Tinh had rubbed sticky water-buffalo manure over the cracks, sealing them. The manure smelled very strong. When he was almost finished and Lan had called him to hunt shells, heâd gone with her.
When Ba found out that Tinh had left some of the gaps unsealed, heâd shouted, âYouâre foolish to be afraid of a bad smell, Tinh. Our boat could sink because of your carelessness!â
So Tinh had rubbed on more manure until no more light showed through the bamboo.
Then heâd glued two conch shells on either side of the prow. The shells symbolized the eyes of a dragon, guiding the boat, protecting it from being tipped over by huge fish.
On the first trips out, Tinh had been seasick, vomiting over the side. But now his body had grown used to the movement of the ocean.
He was glad he wasnât seasick anymore. After his mistake with the manure, he wanted to do everything right on the boat. He wanted Ba to be proud of him. Maybe one day Ba would make this boat his.
Just then, Tinhâs cone-shaped hat blew off and landed in the water.
With his fishing pole, Ba lifted the hat out of the sea and handed it to Tinh. âYouâre daydreaming again,â Ba said. âWhen the boat is moving, pay attention.â
âYes, Ba.â Tinh put on his hat, now dripping, and sat up straighter.
Soon, the boat had traveled so far out that Tinh couldnât see the bamboo huts of the village or even the shore. Only water lay around them, shimmering under the sun and the crystal-blue sky.
Ba shut off the engine. All grew quiet.
A statue of a woman named the Bodhisattva of Compassion,
Phat Ba Quan Ahm,
was tied to the bow of the boat. The Bodhisattva had one thousand arms reaching out to all those in need. Tinh hadnât counted the arms of the statue, but it had many, some hidden behind the others. On the palm of each of those thousand hands,
Phat Ba Quan Ahm
had an eye to watch over those who suffered.
While the Buddha felt like a father, the Bodhisattva of Compassion was a mother, nurturing and protecting everyone, including Tinh and Ba and the rest of the fishermen.
Tinh lit a stick of incense and placed it in front of her smiling face. He pressed his palms together and bowed.
Tinh helped Ba tie two nets to the boat. The small one, like a hammock, caught
ca nuc,
tiny silver fish. The large one drifted farther and captured not only
ca nuc
but also
ca kinh,
diamond-shaped fish, and
ca ngu,
gray fish as big as Tinhâs leg.
They also used fishing lines. Tinh cast his line over the side of the boat and waited. As soon as he and Ba caught a few fish, theyâd cook soup and eat it with rice wrapped in fresh banana leaves.
This evening, Ma and Lan would be waiting on the shore for the return of the boat and its pot of soup.
Tomorrow, Ma and Lan would load the catch of fish into the
ganh hang,
a contraption of
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