Red Earth

[Đất Đỏ, 2/6/25]

I’m whispering to you from a distant galaxy way beyond the reach of Musk, Trump, Soros or Netanhyahu. To my right are four men on hammocks. There’s a fat boy in hoodie and jeans standing safely inside the wide crotch of his mom. On the wall, there’s a huge sign celebrating Lucia Nguyễn Thị Đường’s 90th birthday. Đường means sugar. In a dozen colors are cranes, cherubic kids, fish, firework, lotuses, lanterns and Mr. Longevity. A smaller sign states, “God is Love. Honor and Remember your Ancestors.” Fat boy now watches some idiotic English language video on his phone. It’s not likely he will ever buy a book.

The first time I heard of Phước Bửu (pop 17,600) was less than a week ago. Now, I’m a seasoned local. Ask me anything about this place. Although its new library is less than a minute walk away, I don’t have to consult anything. I know all there is about Phước Bửu.

Getting on Bus #4 this morning, I wanted to visit Xuyên Mộc District. Four decades ago, there was a hellish New Economic Zone here. All signs of that affliction are gone. In Bà Rịa, a 73-year-old woman got on who was suffering enough. A single body can contain all the pain there is. With another man, I helped this lady board. Standing below her, I used my knee to shove her bulk forward and upward. It would have been easier to use my hands or shoulder against her buttocks, but I didn’t want to cause embarrassment. Finally on, she had lost a plastic flip flop, so someone leapt down to retrieve it.

Exhausted and with a puffed face, she had kidney problems. After spending two hours begging in Bà Rịa, she was going to Bình Châu to beg some more. These details came out in bits. Two women headed to the hospital gave her some cash. So did I.