Free Monsoon by Di Morrissey Page B

light, a little dark. Enough for my needs. I believe the taking of my sight is a blessing. I see in my mind those things I wish to see: good people, lush rice paddies, blue sky and sea, my cooking pot, yellow star fruit and pink watermelon. When I taste food I remember good times with my family, my sisters and my brothers. When I hear your voices, I remember friends and teachers. In this place I see and hear and remember what is good. The spirits come and speak with me. I am not alone.’ She smiled. ‘And how may I help you?’ she asked simply.
    â€˜We came thinking to help you, Mother,’ said Sandy softly, summing up what they all felt. ‘But you have given us far more.’
    Hung had chopped the fruit and gave them each a bowl of sweet sticky rice and the fruit on top as an offering. They followed the nun to the altar, where in turn they set a bowl at the foot of the statue of Buddha, lit sticks of incense from the burning candles and, with hands clasped, bowed three times and offered a silent prayer.
    â€˜We should go back now,’ said Hung quietly. ‘I will wait outside.’
    â€˜Can I take your picture?’ asked Tom, and he led the old nun to the doorway.
    Anna was deeply touched by the atmosphere and lingered before the shrine, trying to settle the many emotions she felt.
    Suddenly the nun was beside her, touching Anna’s arm and smiling. She handed Anna another stick of incense, and guided her hand to the candle flame. ‘Pour votre famille,’ she said softly.
    Anna’s hand shook, making the candle flicker. She placed the sweet burning stick in the brass bowl filled with sand and stood as the nun prayed, bowing deeply.
    The nun straightened and from the folds of her robe she withdrew her hand and, taking Anna’s, placed a small object into her palm, folded her fingers over it, patted it and turned away.
    Anna was strangely moved and she stood there, studying the altar, before opening her hand. Lying in her palm was a tiny green jade Buddha.
    Sandy came back inside and spoke softly, not wanting to intrude too abruptly on her friend’s meditation. ‘Anna, we’ve got to leave now. Hung says something to do with the tide.’
    Anna nodded, then pointed to the altar set with offerings. ‘Look. Isn’t that like the plate we saw in Mr Thinh’s studio?’ She pointed to a plate that held nuts and dried herbs and a roll of folded palm leaves.
    Sandy lifted up the plate and examined it. ‘It is too. And it’s old, not an imitation. Now where do you suppose this came from? It’s museum quality.’
    Hung appeared behind them. ‘That plate came from our village. It is for offerings.’
    â€˜Hung, it’s very valuable – it’s old, very famous Vietnamese porcelain,’ said Sandy.
    He showed no reaction. ‘We must go or the tide will cover the last of the beach; it can be dangerous getting back to the boat.’
    â€˜Are there any more ceramics like this in your village?’ Sandy asked Hung.
    â€˜There might be. There are stories of treasures hidden in the crevices of some of the cliffs,’ he said. ‘Come, let’s go.’
    â€˜Hung, if any more ceramics or porcelain come into your village, please, take them to a museum or a reputable art gallery,’ said Sandy. ‘They are worth a lot of money.’
    â€˜If things are found they will be sold quietly.’ He went outside and motioned to Tom to follow and set out towards the track back down the hill. In the late afternoon sunlight they watched the elderly nun make her way unaided around the back of the pagoda.
    â€˜Hung knows more than he’s letting on,’ whispered Sandy.
    â€˜What’s that?’ asked Tom.
    â€˜There’s a very old porcelain dish on the altar. Hung says it was found in the floating village.’
    â€˜Doesn’t sound likely. Unless it was in a shipwreck like the haul of Chinese