The Beauty of Humanity Movement Read Online Free Page A
Author: Camilla Gibb
one who will belong among them, for she will come to live with him and his parents as tradition dictates, because Tis the first-born and only son.
Above all, his future wife must show great respect to Old Man Hng. The old man is patriarch of their family in a unique and complicated way, beyond blood. Ts father has known Old Man Hng since boyhood, since before he was Old Man and was just Hng. He is the one who kept Grandfather Ðạo’s flame burning, holding it close through decades of poverty and war, and waiting patiently for the day when he could share it and pass it on.
Old Man Hng has been present at every important occasion of Ts life. From his birth to every Tet holiday to his graduation. Given how much the old man seems to have aged over the past few months, Tworries the remaining occasions are numbered. He means no disrespect to Grandfather Ðạo, but on such occasions, and even in the day-to-day, Tfeels Hng to be more of a real grandfather to him than the legendary poet whose image sits enshrined on an overturned crate inside Hng’s rickety old shack on the shore of a manky pond.
Introducing a girl to Old Man Hng would be the ultimate test of her moral character. Hng is poorer than poor, and the wrong girl would be put off by the association and might begin to worry about the security of her future. Even if Tis ashamed by the old man’s poverty himself at times, the truth is, Tis looking for someone who is a better person than he.
Mr. and Mrs. Henri Lévesque have just entered the lobby, putting an end to this introspection. “You’ve slept well?” Tasks. “Had a satisfactory breakfast? You have enjoyed some of the amenities of the hotel such as the free Wi-Fi? You have your camera in your bag there? This is our driver, Phng, and he will be taking us to the ethnic minority craft villages this morning. First in our journey, we will be crossing the Red River via one of the city’s three bridges. The Red River comes to us from China through the Honghe Autonomous Prefecture inYunnan Province and runs in a southeasterly direction for a total of 1,175 kilometres before emptying itself in the Gulf of Tonkin.”
“
Really
,” mumbles Phng, as he leads the couple down the steps toward the van.
Hng pats his shirt pocket. The young woman’s business card is nestled there alongside Ts, which the boy insists Hng keep on his person at all times. He indulges Twith the solemn promise to do so, even if he does find the implication somewhat patronizing.
Hng uses all his strength to push his cart through the streets toward the Hàng Da Market, where he will visit Bình’s wife, Anh, at her butcher stall. She is very good company, always up for a bit of conversation over a calming cup of jasmine tea, but there is a particular urgency to his pace this morning: he hopes the business card might reveal a clue. His desire to remember something, anything about this girl’s father feels so acute it could lead a man to fanciful thoughts, if not outright fabrication. He needs to work with the few pieces of information he’s been given.
When Hng tires of pushing his wooden cart, he turns it around and pulls it, his arms stretched out behind him like the yoke that harnesses an ox. He can feel the road rough against the sole of his left foot; time once again to replace a slipper. Fortunately, being far from fashionable, these black vinyl slippers are cheap. He remembers a time in the not-too-distant past when everyone wore them and had no choice. For a few years they were the only shoes you could buy in the government shops. One was rarely lucky enough to find the right size or a matching pair, but since everyone faced the same predicament, people were always prepared to engage in a frantic yet good-natured exchange in the street.
Such communality is rare these days. Now Hng passes a new shoe shop every day, where shoes with prices marked in both đng and U.S. dollars hang like ripe fruit. The streets of the Old Quarter
Above all, his future wife must show great respect to Old Man Hng. The old man is patriarch of their family in a unique and complicated way, beyond blood. Ts father has known Old Man Hng since boyhood, since before he was Old Man and was just Hng. He is the one who kept Grandfather Ðạo’s flame burning, holding it close through decades of poverty and war, and waiting patiently for the day when he could share it and pass it on.
Old Man Hng has been present at every important occasion of Ts life. From his birth to every Tet holiday to his graduation. Given how much the old man seems to have aged over the past few months, Tworries the remaining occasions are numbered. He means no disrespect to Grandfather Ðạo, but on such occasions, and even in the day-to-day, Tfeels Hng to be more of a real grandfather to him than the legendary poet whose image sits enshrined on an overturned crate inside Hng’s rickety old shack on the shore of a manky pond.
Introducing a girl to Old Man Hng would be the ultimate test of her moral character. Hng is poorer than poor, and the wrong girl would be put off by the association and might begin to worry about the security of her future. Even if Tis ashamed by the old man’s poverty himself at times, the truth is, Tis looking for someone who is a better person than he.
Mr. and Mrs. Henri Lévesque have just entered the lobby, putting an end to this introspection. “You’ve slept well?” Tasks. “Had a satisfactory breakfast? You have enjoyed some of the amenities of the hotel such as the free Wi-Fi? You have your camera in your bag there? This is our driver, Phng, and he will be taking us to the ethnic minority craft villages this morning. First in our journey, we will be crossing the Red River via one of the city’s three bridges. The Red River comes to us from China through the Honghe Autonomous Prefecture inYunnan Province and runs in a southeasterly direction for a total of 1,175 kilometres before emptying itself in the Gulf of Tonkin.”
“
Really
,” mumbles Phng, as he leads the couple down the steps toward the van.
Hng pats his shirt pocket. The young woman’s business card is nestled there alongside Ts, which the boy insists Hng keep on his person at all times. He indulges Twith the solemn promise to do so, even if he does find the implication somewhat patronizing.
Hng uses all his strength to push his cart through the streets toward the Hàng Da Market, where he will visit Bình’s wife, Anh, at her butcher stall. She is very good company, always up for a bit of conversation over a calming cup of jasmine tea, but there is a particular urgency to his pace this morning: he hopes the business card might reveal a clue. His desire to remember something, anything about this girl’s father feels so acute it could lead a man to fanciful thoughts, if not outright fabrication. He needs to work with the few pieces of information he’s been given.
When Hng tires of pushing his wooden cart, he turns it around and pulls it, his arms stretched out behind him like the yoke that harnesses an ox. He can feel the road rough against the sole of his left foot; time once again to replace a slipper. Fortunately, being far from fashionable, these black vinyl slippers are cheap. He remembers a time in the not-too-distant past when everyone wore them and had no choice. For a few years they were the only shoes you could buy in the government shops. One was rarely lucky enough to find the right size or a matching pair, but since everyone faced the same predicament, people were always prepared to engage in a frantic yet good-natured exchange in the street.
Such communality is rare these days. Now Hng passes a new shoe shop every day, where shoes with prices marked in both đng and U.S. dollars hang like ripe fruit. The streets of the Old Quarter
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