The Beauty of Humanity Movement (153 page)

This evening T
recounts the story about the owner of the shop on Mã Mây Street, and Old Man H
ng chortles with satisfaction. The end of his time in hospital is in sight now that they have removed his cast.

“I’d like to see the shop as soon as I can manage,” he says. “Me and my assistant cook.”

T
is taken aback. Did H
ng not teach him the recipe? Train him as apprentice? “Did you not like my ph
?” he asks.

“You made a fine bowl,” says H
ng, “but it takes a particular type of person.”

“I’m not the right type of person?” T
asks, truly offended now.

“Your life needs to depend on it,” says H
ng. “Only a very poor person who needs a better life will marry himself to this kind of work. You have other choices, T
.

“Want to see my leg?” he asks then, throwing back the covers and looking proudly at his yellow matchstick. He agitates to get up, reaching for Bình’s arm. “Get my shoes for me, will you, Bình? They’re under the bed. Latest fashion, eh, T
?”

“Are you sure you’re ready to walk?” Bình asks.

“I’m supposed to exercise it every day.”

“That’s different from walking on it.”

“He’s right, H
ng,” says Lan, putting her hand on H
ng’s chest. “Give it a day or two.”

H
ng sighs, rolls his eyes, collapses backward. He’s clearly not used to all this attention, all the fuss, being told what to do, but from the smile that returns to his face when he settles into his pillow, T
thinks he is actually quite enjoying it.