The Beauty of Humanity Movement (51 page)

“According to local legend, six centuries ago the turtle god rose from the water to relieve Emperor Lê L
i of the magic sword he used to defeat the Chinese Ming. The city was born from this lake and so, in some ways, are its people. The lake is the city’s liquid heart.” Good line! T
commends himself. Perhaps he should try that one out on the old man, admirer of poetry that he is.

T
and Miss Maggie walk side by side along the paved path that circles the lake while young couples share secrets on benches, men lean in over chessboards, an old married couple plays badminton, racquets in each hand, and middle-aged men and women march past them swinging their arms in the air like propellers. They are too late for the early morning legions who practise tai chi.

T
is relaying the history of the decisive battle that freed the Vietnamese from the Chinese in the fifteenth century as he and Miss Maggie walk past the Bridge of the Rising Sun. An old woman with baskets slung from a bamboo pole across her shoulders approaches and smiles at T
with black-and-gold teeth. “Help an old woman and buy from me,” she says to him.

T
waves her away, keen to carry on with this important story, only to realize he is now talking to himself.

“What is she selling?” Miss Maggie calls out from where she has stopped.

“Sticky rice in banana leaf,” T
says, walking back to join her. “With quail egg inside.”

“I don’t sell to Vi
t Ki’êu,” says the woman with a country accent so muddy thick it is unintelligible to Miss Maggie. “Neither should you,” she says to T
, sucking her blackened teeth.

“She’s not buying in any case,” T
tells the old woman, waving her away.

“What did she say?” Miss Maggie asks, staring after the woman as she shuffles off.

“She hopes you are very happy in Hanoi.”

T
is explaining the way the old guild system worked as they walk into the narrow, congested streets of the Old Quarter. Miss Maggie seems less interested in history, though, than in what is immediately in front of them. What’s that? she asks. What’s this?

T
wonders how it is that she looks so Vietnamese yet has such questions. Where has she been living for the past year? Does she never leave the hotel?