Up Against It - M. J. Locke [77]
Huynh and Kieu bundled up supper and the family headed over to the aquarium. There they found Pham and the twins. Jane was with them. The elder four children rushed her, and she gave each of the kids a candy treat. Xuan shared a grin with his siblings. Jane told the children to follow her into the upper trees of the cherry forest on the other side.
“I know a very special place to have a picnic,” she said.
Xuan knew just what place she had in mind. He also knew why she had chosen that particular place. “Stroiders” surveillance didn’t touch every part of the city. Certain areas were far enough away from the cams and the assembler sprays that they would have a degree of true privacy. He and Jane linked fingers and led the way, and the whole family went on a tour of the park.
As they bounded up and floated down through the park’s open spaces, Xuan pointed out to the children many things. A pair of Iriomote wildcats put on a show. They stalked each other—leaping, coiling—in a Coriolis-defiant aerial ballet.
Jane located the hedge. She and Xuan swung down and picked their way through it. The rest of the family followed suit, emerging with a few cuts and scratches. “Don’t worry,” Jane said. “It’s worth it.”
She pointed out the picnic tables, three of them, nearly obscured by an old hanging ball of a cherry tree nearby. Xuan turned on his flashlight and led the way. By now they had touched down on the pseudo-sand of this secluded area; they kicked off again and soared up to the tables among the trees. Around them, butter-yellow bees burrowed into the white blossoms, while the adults spread out the food. Kieu and Huynh got the children fed, clinging to the gently bobbing table to bind bowls, chopsticks, and cups to its upper surface. Kieu took out a thermos, and ejected globules of steaming green tea for the adults. Meanwhile, Xuan took the bowl from Huynh and dished out the noodles.
It was not traditional for a man to serve food in Vietnamese culture, but Xuan was not traditional. He served his siblings in memory of his grandmother. She had spent herself utterly in the bearing and raising of her four grandchildren during years of famine in southwestern Canada. Xuan’s father had abandoned them when his mother died giving birth to Phan Huu-Thanh. Xuan had been eight.
The family had pooled all their resources to send Xuan home under Vietnam’s Right-of-Return program. There he had gone to boarding school, then gotten an education at one of the country’s top universities in Saigon. Eventually he got a teaching position there, and began a decades-long effort to reunite his family and bring them home. It had proven difficult; with Vietnam’s economy booming and the vast numbers of the Vietnamese Diaspora, the immigration lines were long. He had returned to Canada shortly before emigrating Upside, to find his beloved ba-noi in a shantytown outside Vancouver: dumped on a dung pile like garbage.
He had found her too late to do little more than ease her passing. But not too late to remember her sacrifice in his small way.
Dinner included vat-grown sprouts and leafy veggies and stinging-hot chili and Mr. Rotisserie chicken. The aroma made his mouth water. Once his siblings and their spouses were served, he swirled the last of it into two clumps in midair with his chopsticks, then held out a bowl to Jane. Her noodles slowly settled into the bowl, unwinding. She devoured the noodles almost before any could touch the bowl. He caught and picked at his, watching her with affection.
“They’re delicious,” Jane told Huynh, who smiled.
“Any further news on getting new ice in?” Emil asked.
“We have several options. There is a major shipment we hope to have access to, very soon.”
Everyone seemed relieved. More chat ensued. Then the other two families