The Mountains Sing by Nguyen Phan Que Mai EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author Name: Nguyen Phan Que Mai
- Book Genre: Asia, Audiobook, Fiction, Historical, Historical Fiction, Literary Fiction, War
- Series Detail:
- ISBN # 9781616208189
- ASIN # 161620818X
- Edition Language: English
- Date of Publication: March 17, 2020
- PDF File Size: 1.1 MB
- EPUB File Size: 932 KB
The Tallest Mountains
Hà Nội, 2012
My grandmother used to tell me that when our ancestors die, they don’t
just disappear, they continue to watch over us. And now, I feel her watching
me as I light a match, setting fire to three sticks of incense. On the ancestral
altar, behind the wooden bell and plates of steaming food, my grandma’s
eyes glow as an orange-blue flame springs up, consuming the incense. I
shake the incense to put out the fire.
As it smolders, curtains of smoke and
fragrance spiral toward Heaven, calling spirits of the dead to return.
“Bà ơi,” I whisper, raising the incense above my head. Through the
mist veiling the border between our two worlds, she smiles at me.
“I miss you, Grandma.”
A breeze gusts through the open window, holding my face like
Grandma’s hands once did.
“Hương, my beloved granddaughter.” The trees outside my window
rustle her words. “I’m here with you, always.”
I set the incense into the bowl in front of Grandma’s portrait. Her gentle
features radiate in the incense’s perfume. I stare at the scars on her neck.
“Remember what I said, Darling?” Her voice murmurs on the restless
branches. “The challenges faced by Vietnamese people throughout history
are as tall as the tallest mountains. If you stand too close, you won’t be able
to see their peaks. Once you step away from the currents of life, you will
have the full view. . . .”
Red on the White Grains
Hà Nội, 1972–1973
Grandma is holding my hand as we walk to school. The sun is a large
egg yolk peeking through a row of tin-roofed houses. The sky is as blue as
my mother’s favorite shirt. I wonder where my mother is. Has she found my
father?
I clutch my jacket’s collar as the wind rips through the air, swirling up a
dust cloud. Grandma bends, putting her handkerchief against my nose. My
school bag dangles on her arm as she cups her palm against her face.
We resume walking as soon as the dust settles. I strain my ears but hear
no bird. I search, but there isn’t a single flower along our path. No grass
around us, just piles of broken bricks and twisted metal.
“Guava, be careful.” Grandma pulls me away from a bomb crater. She
calls me by my nickname to guard me from evil spirits she believes hover
above the earth, looking for beautiful children to kidnap. She said that my
real name, Hương, which means “fragrance,” would attract them.
“When you come home today, you’ll get our favorite food, Guava,”
Grandma tells me
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