The Beauty of Humanity Movement (88 page)

“It’s an issue of freedom of expression,” she continues. “The artists and writers who used to frequent Old Man H
ng’s restaurant? They were shut down because the Party didn’t like what they had to say. You can’t really defend them without extending the right to someone like Mindanao, whatever you might think of his work.”

Perhaps this is what Ph
ng was suggesting the other night when he slapped those ugly lyrics onto T
s ears.

“Hey—did the old man know your father?” T
asks, suddenly realizing the likely connection between them.

“He might have. It’s possible he was part of that group, or at least known to them. Unfortunately the old man isn’t sure.”

“Your father might have known my Grandfather Ðạo then.”

Miss Maggie smiles. A very lovely smile that causes a ripple in T
s stomach. He attempts to reciprocate, though he knows he cannot offer her comparable loveliness given the stains on his upper teeth. He imagines their ancestors looking down on them: beauty and the beast.

“That’s a nice thought,” says Miss Maggie. “H
ng said he was in good company.”

“You must come again for breakfast,” says T
. “The old man’s memory is a bit random. Maybe next time will be your lucky day.”

T
he sun has not yet risen when Maggie climbs aboard the motorbike behind T
and wraps her arms around his middle. T
is mortified by the erection that springs up in response to her hands. He remembers the way Ph
ng looked her up and down as she walked toward them in the hotel lobby the other day, and his erection quickly leads to thoughts of what she might look like naked. He is forced to conjure up an unpleasant memory of the Australian who pissed off Ph
ng in order to kill his erection before they arrive at the Ch
ng D
ng Bridge.