Issue date:
May 16, 1997

Summer in the Tropics

By Chi Le
Camas (Wash.) High School

When I was little, every time I saw the flamboyant flowers in bloom, I knew that summer was coming and that I could spend a few weeks at my grandparents' house. I lived in the city of Saigon, while my grandparents lived in Sadec, a province that is about 143 kilometers farther south. I always looked forward to the summer days when I could leave the crowded city and enjoy the fresh country air. There I'd see the white storks flying over lush rice fields and coconut trees along riversides. However, this was only one of many reasons why I loved to spend my summers in the country.

Sadec was small and lacked everything. It had electricity but only for certain days during the week. Of course that meant that televisions, radios and electric fans were luxuries. People over there were simple-hearted and hard-working; however, it was their superstitions that made them most different from the city people. By spending summers there I had experienced the simplicity of life in the country, and realized that I loved it, and still do.

I remember the summer of 1992, my last summer in Vietnam. My cousin Tien and I spent a month at my grandparents' house. I was 14, Tien was 12. We played together and we also picked up many superstitions from the local people.

One day, we rode on our bikes to Aunt Hong's house. She lived about 4 kilometers from our grandparents'. We stayed there all afternoon picking fruits in her small orchard until she looked for us to tell us that we must go home soon.

"But why?" Tien asked. "It's only four-thirty!"

"Because it's going to rain and get dark pretty soon."

Still wanting to pick some more fruits, I stubbornly reasoned: "It's not going to rain! The sky is clear, see? And the sun is still shining."

"Trust me! I can tell when a rain is coming," Aunt Hong replied.

"Well, can we leave after we eat our mangos?" Tien asked.

"No, you guys must go now or you won't make it home before it rains. Take the fruits with you ... and remember to go straight home. You hear?" Aunt Hong ordered.

We left but didn't believe that the rain was coming, so we weren't in a hurry to go home. Pedaling leisurely, we admired this picturesque country. The rice field looked like a wavy rug blown by the wind. A few cuckoos perched on the straw stacks. Here and there was smoke floating from thatched huts showing that the peasants were preparing dinner. I could smell cooked rice and something fried, maybe it was fish. The sun started going down, and the air was getting cooler. The street was suspiciously empty. Gentle breezes brought to my ears a woman's lullaby. It came from somewhere nearby, but then her voice shifted as if it came from a remote place.

"Wow, the scene is so peaceful! ... And did you hear that lullaby?" I asked Tein.

"Yes, I did, but we are not supposed to listen to it." Tien said.

"Why not?"

Tien looked around, then whispered, "Once, when she thought I wasn't listening, I heard Grandma tell Aunt Hong that at sunset, the spirits of dead people would sing the siren song in the form of lullabies to lure you into the field and feed you mud until you die."

I was a little scared, pushing the pedals harder. I knew that my cousin wasn't joking because she looked scared, too. To calm ourselves, I proposed, "Hey, Tien, we can sing together so we won't pay any attention to the 'siren song'!"

"OK!"

Just then it started to rain a little, and the wind blew harder in our faces. We had a hard time keeping ourselves going and balancing. A flock of dragonflies flew low above the ground, while frogs croaked loudly in the field. I remembered someone said that when the air is humid it is heavier; that's why the dragonfly cannot fly high and the frog has to croak to breathe. Tien and I realized that Aunt Hong was right about the coming rain. We tried to hurry home and forgot to sing.

It was getting darker as the raindrops got heavier. We still had about a kilometer to go when we came around the corner where a pagoda stood. It looked ghostly because of the rainfall, the flickering oil lamp on the altar, and the banyan tree -- the legendary home of the lost, dead souls. Plus there were several tombstones inside the pagoda's yard. The wind whistled through the bamboo bushes, sounding like the pitiful cries of dead spirits. I looked back and saw Tien about two bike-lengths behind.

Suddenly, the oil lamp flickered out! I saw a tall woman with long hair standing in the pagoda's yard, holding a baby in her hands. When I looked again, to my surprise, she had disappeared! A chill swept through me, for I thought I had just seen a ghost. My teeth were clattering because of the cold and fear; I wanted to tell Tien but I dared not look behind me. I was afraid of finding a person with a bloody mouth instead of my cousin. So I prayed and pushed the bike's pedals even harder than before, but also I told myself it was just my imagination. Half a kilometer is not that far, but now it seemed very long to me. My feet were numb and felt like heavy logs. All I thought of was how to fight the strong wind to get home as fast as I could; I forgot all about Tien.

Turning another corner, I saw the cooking fire at the sugar mill. This mill was pretty close to my grandparents' house; once I got there I could see the house behind a bamboo bush. Whew! I felt pretty relieved, and realized that my heart had been beating very hard. Tien arrived seconds later, looking pale, and breathing heavily, too. We ran into the house as fast as we could, and we passed Grandma without saying hi. Grandma gave us a wondering look, but she didn't ask anything; maybe she was afraid to hear our story.

Later that night, Tien asked me, "When you came around the pagoda this afternoon, did you feel a sudden chill?"

Her question startled me a little bit. I nodded. "But besides that, did you see anything?" I asked.

"I think I saw a woman but I am not sure; maybe it was just my imagination," Tien said.

Oh God, my heart started thumping now; I couldn't believe that Tien had the same experience I did. I told her that, and we went to tell Grandma. "It was just your imaginations, girls!" Grandma said in a thoughtful way.

"But how can we both have the same feeling, the same vision?" Tien asked.

Grandma looked a little concerned and then said: "I don't know, probably because you were cold and scared of the dark, plus you have been hearing all kinds of stories around here. That would make you very imaginative."

That night we went to bed with an uneasy feeling, but when we woke up we forgot the whole thing. We again enjoyed the warm tropical showers, the gentle breezes, the sunshine and the companionship of local kids. Our favorite thing to do was fishing, then we used rice straw to roast the fish right on the riverside. Of course, after that we would sit under the shadow of coconut-trees and eat the fish. Usually some kid would climb the tree and bring down a couple of coconuts for drinks. That was what we usually did in the morning when it was sunny. At noon, when the adults took their naps, we would stay under the shade of a star-fruit tree, plucking its tiny purple flowers, and dropping them into the pond to attract fish. If it was windy, we would play kites. When there was a shower, that was our bath. Luckily, it rained every day during the summer there. After the shower we went cricket hunting, just to hear them chirp. Night was the saddest and scariest time of the day; all Tien and I could do was to sit in a mosquito net in our bedroom, listening to the insects' boring choir out in the garden. Sometimes when the power was out, Tien and I thought that we saw that woman with her baby again outside our window.

We went back to the city at the end of July. I didn't know it was my last summer in my country, also the last wonder days of my childhood. I came to Sadec in January the next year for the last time before I left Vietnam, but I already missed the summers of my youth. Since then, I only see Sadec in my dreams and feel it in my heart.

Each of these students receives a $75 gift certificate for books or software. Sponsoring teachers get $50 gift certificates.