The Beauty of Humanity Movement (134 page)

H
ng tears the yellow ticket in half lengthwise and stuffs the inky fibres into his mouth.

T
is worrying about the fine, but also mulling over the question Old Man H
ng posed about Mr. Võ the other day. A theory forms in his mind. Was Mr. Võ really an informant? Had he made a deal with the Party so that he could keep his shop: betraying his customers, reporting their activities to the Party?

T
tries out his theory on Maggie.

“It wouldn’t be all that surprising, would it?” she says. “People have always protected their interests. It’s human nature.”

T
finds this deeply disturbing. If we were ruled by human nature there would be anarchy. Everything in a communist life tells you so.

“Self-interest isn’t always a bad thing,” Maggie says. “It can be a great motivator. And it can be used to improve the lives of others— that’s true in the best cases of capitalism. It can lift a whole country out of the mud.”

“Maggie,” T
says, interrupting her lesson, “Mr. Võ remembered your father—I’m certain he did. He was afraid to admit it because he was probably the one who reported Lý Văn Hai to the Party.”

“But why my father? Countless artists took their coffee at his shop.”

“Your father was recruited by H
ng’s crowd to help them with the journal, to do the illustrations. He left Mr. Võ’s orbit.”

T
looks at Maggie, hoping she understands.

“You don’t think it’s a coincidence that he sold that whole collection immediately after our visit, do you,” she says, casting her eyes to the floor.

T
shakes his head, “I don’t.”

H
ng can determine a menu through his nose. He can smell shallots being minced, ginger being shaved, the slow caramelizing of sugar over a flame. It is T
down below making caramelized fish according to his instructions. H
ng can hear the yelp of the young man’s frustration as he pours the fish sauce into the pan and the sugar crystallizes and clumps.

“T
rn the heat up as high as it will go!” H
ng shouts down the stairs. “And use a whisk, not a spoon!”