Mèo and Bé

THƯƠNG SA HUONG’S SANDALS kicked up dust from the dirt road, caking her white school uniform in a light layer of brown grime. Má had said it was good for Thương to have strong leg muscles, because with them, she could outrun any- thing. Thuong hoped she would never have to outrun the scary Việt Cộng-the communist guerilla forces who had been waging war against the South for longer than she’d been alive. Yet, as the days passed, the war loomed closer, like an ominous cloud gathering before a storm.
She ran to the coffee shop where Má worked, waving to two South Vietnamese soldiers who patrolled her village. She wasn’t afraid of the soldiers or the guns they carried. Everyone knew that the Việt Cộng hid in the mountains, and she lived in the lowlands where it was still safe. For now.
But that day, April 13, 1962, Thuong wasn’t thinking about the war. Excitement bubbled up inside her as she thought of Ba, who was coming home for his monthly visit, and she couldn’t wait to see what toys and gifts her father would bring this time.
The coffee shop was busy with patrons drinking cà phê sữa đá—Vietnamese iced coffee—smoking cig- arettes, and reading newspapers as they chatted about the war and President Ngô Đinh Diệm. Má was in the back, pouring boiling water into a row of stainless steel phin filters over coffee glasses. She wore a light pink áo dài, and her long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail.
Ba wasn’t anywhere in sight.
“When is he coming, Má? Why isn’t he here yet?” Thương asked.
“It is getting more dangerous to travel,” Má said with a deep sigh, worry lines dotting her forehead. “He’ll be here soon.” “Why can’t he just come to live with us, where it’s not dangerous?” Thuong said, watching the droplets of coffee trickle into the glasses.
“It’s not as easy as that. He has land farther north. He can’t abandon his property. It’s better this way,” she said.
“But why?” Thuong asked.
Now that Thuong was nine, she wanted to know more about Ba’s life elsewhere, but Má always avoided her questions.
“Go, take these coffees to that table in the front, and then you can wait for your father at the empty table next to them.”
Thuong did as she was asked and then sat waiting impatiently for Ba to arrive. She wished she could be with Ba always, instead of only one weekend a month.
Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long before she saw his motorbike turning a corner in the distance. She jumped up and ran down the street toward him. He slowed and stopped when he saw her.