by Thuan V. Nguyen

     I want to put words into your head, lay details upon your memory, place feelings into your heart where none existed before. I want to tell you a story that moves, moves you to tell others, moves so quickly you need to ask me questions before the words even come out of my mouth, moves you to act. But what are these words? They will be the words of the sea, of the wind blowing about them and of fishes and coral and shells. They will be the texture of voices, of emotion. I will show you how things sound, make you listen for them as you venture off into the world and the moment you find yourself saying ‘Now I know what my mother means’ – that will be my moment of satisfaction. That is when I will know I have made a difference. You will taste sorrow, swallow it as if it were the only nectar available to you. I will show you how it feels to yearn, to want something so badly you would rather die than feel its spirit against your skin again. And I will tell you about myself so that you may know the contents of your own soul as you question your own identity. But you must remember, when you are alone, and feel as though there is no one available to you, remember, there are answers everywhere, there is a solution to every problem, you just need to know where to look, the questions to ask.

     You will probably not remember any of the words I tell you today, but we have some time, my little one. I will tell my story so often that you will be able to recite the words for me, anticipate them as they escape my lips and touch your ears. You will know it so well, you might even think it to be your own one day and weave it in another way. I will grant you that much, but remember, you must keep its essence, for without its core, without its spirit, it is nothing.

     You are my first born and a son so I will you give you everything of me, all my secrets, all my sorrow, all of me. Without you, your father will not see me. Without you, I am beaten. Without you, I am told I have no worth.

     I am not sure how much of this is true for some parts have been discredited by others, though I am almost sure all of it has happened, so I will piece this story together now, for you. So take the facts as you will, discard the ones you find suspicious and embrace the ones you want to be real. The truth is for you to decide and no other, so with that in mind, I begin with a clear head and a heavy heart.

     The story begins with a voice.

***

    She remembers a voice, deep and fluid like the water his boat flowed upon. Carefully wedged between bags of flour and rice and encased by the boat's hollow rib cage, she could feel the gentle lap of the waves and of his voice, bouncing, floating, chasing each other like the fireflies she reached for at nights. She remembers warm hands cupping her fragile spine, running the length of her back and behind her head, his blunt stubble pricking her cheek, a solid chest pressed against her body. This is what she recalls, this is what she chooses to remember of the man she wanted to call father.

     As the seasons passed, as the roughness of his hands grew, the man with the voice told the girl he could no longer support her. I will work for you, she told him meekly, I can earn the rice you choose to feed me, the clothes you choose to cover me. Remember, I am the magic girl! she said, referring to her self-proclaimed nickname. I make things happen. But he said he was too old, he could no longer take care of her. But I'll scrub the bottom of your boat until you can eat rice right off the bow, she said, forcing a half-smile, I'll wash your clothes until the grime is no more. I'll do anything, she pleaded, but please don't throw me to the dogs.

     Though she stated her case with passion and an unusual rationale for a girl of fourteen, the man with the voice knew he had no choice but to give her up. It was true, he was getting too old, too old to defend her from the fire he saw in other men's eyes.

     One night, away from the screams of the fishermen and vendors, away from the squawking of seagulls and anxious children, she asked him again, one final time. Tell me how you found me, she said. She waited for him to speak, to flash that foolish toothless smile of his--a smile he used only when he spoke of secrets, of things no one else knew. It was as if he were allowing a piece of himself to be bared, as if were bestowing some favor upon you. You see, this man was a man of few words, that's why the girl savors every syllable, every intonation of his voice. She drinks up every word for she does not know how long the lake will go dry, how far she must travel before she can surround herself in the cool sweetness of them again. Sometimes she feels as though she must have them, craves his words as if they could cure the pangs of her stomach, the ache in her heart. Imagine that, she said to him when he did not answer, only fourteen years old and thrown away twice.

     I am not throwing you away, he finally said. Merely providing for your future.

     Tell me again, about the day you found me, how it was so bright you could hardly see and about the boat, tell me about the boat with the sacks of rice and flour you were towing to market. Tell me what you were thinking, you could have left me there, you could have let me drift until I met my Savior. Tell me one more time so when I am sent away, I will know this story by heart and can tell people how lucky I am that you found me, how lucky I am to have found you. I only remember a little, she said. I remember how I cried for water though no one would come to me.

     You were too young, he finally said, shaking his head. There is no way you would have remembered that.

     Then tell me how it was so that I can know the truth, so that I can tell people how it really was.

     But the truth was that the girl did remember. She remembered every moment she was in that raft, every bump on the waves, every unanswered cry for water. She saw the seagulls again now, gliding down to her, swooping around her raft in circles. She listened to their high-pitched squawking and was convinced, as much as a two year old can be convinced, that they were terrorizing her.

     Wait until you sleep, they had said to her. When your eyes are heavy and pleading for rest, when your muscles cry for stillness, do not surrender to them for that is when we’ll get you. Oh, we will wait our turn, wait for the sun to burn your skin, dry up your throat and make you beg for mercy. But the sun will tire and fall beneath the earth, and though your eyelids will want to follow, the moon will not bring you comfort as your tender mind will hope. If you thought the trials of your day were bad, you have no idea what we have in store for you.

     The girl remembered these seagulls and the words they spoke to her. She did not imagine them like the others had told her. You were hallucinating, the man with the voice had said. Even if they had spoken to you, you were too young to remember...it is not possible.

     Oh, but it was possible, for her. She was different. A magic child, as the fortune teller had said. She is a magic child that must be destroyed. She is pure evil and does not know the power she possesses, cannot comprehend the strength that God has cursed her with. Destroy her for her own sake, she had told the woman from the orphanage, destroy her for she will not know how to control this power she wields.

     The woman from the orphanage was frightened by these words. The girl was infuriated and immediately plotted her revenge. Do not call me evil, the magic girl's eyes seemed to say, do not call me evil or your words will turn false. Your eyes will be covered and this foresight that you possess will be blocked. Attempt to destroy me and I will destroy you.

     The next morning, the woman from the orphanage and the cursed fortune teller brought the magic girl to the beach, placed her on a raft and shoved her off into the sea. The magic girl remembered turning her head and seeing the woman from the orphanage crying, her face buried in the fortune teller's shoulder. The magic girl did not cry, did not have any particular reaction to the situation in fact, though she knew what was happening. All she remembers is watching the fortune teller and seeing the faint glow she once had, a glow that the magic girl had noticed the day before in the fortune teller's shack, fade away until the fortune teller was surrounded only by tears and heaving shoulders.

     When she was in that raft, listening to the seagulls, the magic girl wanted to yell into the air, You will never get me! I will not allow it! But her mouth was too young to form these words so she grabbed with her hands, reached as far as her two year old arms could stretch and summoned up a power from her belly, channeled this storm into her forearms, through her delicate biceps and into her fingertips. Then she watched as the gulls crashed into the water below, one by one.

     The sun was so bright I had to shade my eyes from the sun above and the waters below, the man with the voice said. It was so hot, the sun could burn the wings of seagulls and cause them to fall in mid-flight.

     I remember, the magic girl replied. I saw them falling from the sky. I pointed to them with my fingers.

     The man with the voice shook his head. It was so bright, I almost didn't see your raft drifting toward me, little one. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I looked down, off the bow and saw a little child floating toward me. I remember that you weren't crying, just lying on the raft as if you belonged there in the sea, as if you were a product of it.

     I did not cry because I knew someone was coming for me.

     And when I lifted you up into my boat, you smiled, took one deep breath and slept soundly on my shoulder.

     Why did you take me in?

     You were but a child, you needed someone to take care of you.

     A blessing from God? That's what you tell the women at market.

     Yes, a blessing from God.

     The man with the voice did not know that the magic girl had been drifting in the open sea for three days. Without food or drink it was no less a miracle that she survived. It may have been the evil keeping her alive or God’s hand that intervened, the magic girl did not know. All she knew was that it was not in her destiny to die at sea, not on those days.

     If I am a blessing from God as you say, then why are you sending me away? the magic girl asked. Isn’t it bad luck to refuse a blessing?

     They are a good family, he said. They will take care of you. The fortune teller has made a good match.

     How do you know?

     The boy is from an honorable family. Remember from where you came, he said. You had nothing. We are lucky they will take you.

     When will it be your turn? she asked.

     My turn?

     Your turn to be married. When will the fortune teller match you with a girl?

     Oh, it is passed my time, he smiled. No self-respecting woman will take me now.

     Can I trade my boy for you?

     It doesn't work like that, the man said smiling. I was arranged to be married once but my bride passed on our wedding day. I have been faithful to her ever since.

     Are you not allowed to marry now?

     It is disrespectful to her family. I would never think of it.

     Did you love her?

     Yes, though it was unusual in those days for two to be in love and betrothed.

     Then it would be disrespectful to her.

     Yes, I guess you are right.

     So then I have to marry this boy.

     It would be disrespectful not to.

     I remember her, the magic girl whispered to the man with the voice.

     Shhhhhhh, he replied.

     Do you have the money? the fortune teller asked.

     I know her, the magic girl said again.

     Shhhhhhh, this is not the place for this, he said as he took a pouch of coins from his pocket and gave it to the fortune teller. It is all there, he said to the fortune teller as she began counting it between her fingers.

     So then it is all set, the fortune teller said. I have reviewed the children's stars and everything is in order.

     She has read them wrong, the magic girl said to the man with the voice.

     Shhhhhhhh. Thank you, Madame. Then we will see you tomorrow for the crossing of the housegate.

     Yes, make sure you are on time.

     That was the last the magic girl or the man with the voice saw the fortune teller, for the next day, the woman fled the village with the money and went into hiding. The magic girl was right, she did know this fortune teller. It was the same fortune teller that had thrown her into the sea twelve years ago. The same fortune teller that turned the woman from the orphanage against her. The same fortune teller that wanted her killed. Though the magic girl was irritated that the man with the voice had chosen this fortune teller to read her stars for the purposes of marriage, she was equally pleased to see that her curse had lasted all these years. The fortune teller had been completely discredited in her field. Her faulty readings had caused unfortunate unions between couples of conflicting signs, forced her into harmful advice to career seekers, and compelled her to prescribe suspect balms for illnesses. She once suggested to a woman who had come to her seeking a marriage, not to marry her true love because he was poor, and because he would never amass a fortune. I will deliberately misread his stars so he will not have to suffer the indignity of a refusal, the fortune teller told her. The woman agreed to the plan and sneaked away to another place. It was later revealed that the man's prodigal father had died a week earlier, leaving the man with enough money to buy himself three wives and the village next to theirs.

     She misread the stars on purpose, the magic girl said.

     And for what purpose, the man with the voice said.

     She does not like me.

     You do not even know her.

     I knew her when I was little, before I came to you.

     There is no way, you were but a baby.

     I cursed her! I am the magic girl.

     The man with the voice just smiled.

     You will see. She is wrong. We will go to another matchmaker to see if her words are true.

     I am sorry. I do not have the money for another matchmaker. Everything will be okay.

     The man with the voice did not know that the fortune teller was desperate for money and a way out of the village. She took what little he had hidden in his boat and matched the magic girl with the next boy waiting to be married. There was no consultation of celestial charts, no research into the children's social ranks or moral histories. The woman had lost the powers to read and in a couple years, would lose her sight as she began withering away in a desert cave. The fortune teller's fee was minimal so the man with the voice answered her call.

     She has been wrong before, the magic girl said.

     And how do you know this?

     How do you not? I can see it in her eyes. She is lying to us. Her eyes dart away when she is speaking. She cannot hold our stare.

     That is nonsense. She is the best I can afford.

     That may be true but we do not have much to begin with.

     I do my best to provide for you, little one.

     I know, and I am thankful for that but she worries me. What do you know of this boy?

     He is of one parent like you. A mother.

     And what became of his father?

     No one knows. He disappeared one day. The mother will not talk.

     So this is what I have to look forward to? Two halves of two families trying to become one? We are both tarnished.

     Both deserving of the other. That is what makes a marriage work.

     But I am a magic girl, she said. I deserve a magic boy.

     He spit in my face, the magic girl said.

     What? asked the man with the voice.

     He spit in my face and then in the green tea when the matchmaker did not show up when his family presented us the gifts.

     Do you not want to marry? he asked.

     Not to a rude boy.

     Why are sabotaging this? I told you I cannot take care of you anymore.

     Then just throw me to the streets. I would rather find shelter by night than live with that boy. He does not know who he is dealing with. I can destroy him.

     There will be no destroying of anyone. You will apologize to that boy for walking out like that. You will marry and you will marry that boy.

     It is disrespectful to me what he did. Do you not care what happens to me?

     If I did not care, I would not have set this up for you. I have done everything I can for you and this is how you repay me? With humiliation? What if he refuses now? What will you do?

     I will wander the streets. Take care of myself.

     And use your magic?

     Yes. I will get what I deserve with my magic.

     God save us all.

     So the magic girl married the boy of one parent despite the spitting in the face and the spitting in the green tea. Though there was more spitting on the wedding cake and the wedding gifts and effectively the wedding wishes (the bride got one stream of spit on the groom’s shoes when he was not looking), the marriage day went on without a hitch except for the absence of the matchmaker--which was an ominous beginning for this couple that many were aware of but were willing to overlook.

     He complained about the dividing of the gifts, the magic girl whispered to the man with the voice.

     What?

     He complained about the way you split up the gifts. He said our family is greedy. We took too much. He told his mother.

     It is tradition, he said. The boy is still very young. Let him prove his worth to you later.

     The boy of one parent worked in the rice fields by day and mounted his wife by night, trying to sow his seed every hour of the day. The magic girl did not appreciate the harshness with which he went about his business and complained every moment she got.

     Just stick it in me and get it over with, the magic girl said.

     Just stay still. Be quiet.

     Don't touch me with those hands. You are filthy.

     Shut up.

     Must you grunt like that?

     Enough! I will split your head.

     I hate your voice.

     It took all of one rainy season for the magic girl to be with child. One rainy season, four broken ribs, a shattered jaw, and several bruises, later, a baby boy climbed out of her womb.

     Just push! the boy of one parent screamed at her.

     It hurts! the magic girl said.

     What do you expect, there's a person coming out of you!

     Look what you did to me!

     Shut up! Just push!

     If you ever touch me again…

     The boy of one parent grabbed a stick and shoved it into the magic girl's mouth.

     No more words from you!

     From that day on, the boy of one parent delighted in his boy, a solid, sturdy healthy boy that would one day work beside him in the fields. He was so busy with his son that he had no time to criticize the magic girl and unknowingly overlooked once unpardonable sins. Bruises were part of the past, broken bones began to heal, and a soul was taking flight again. It would be a fresh start and the magic girl was grateful. She had created this baby, she had created this new life. She was the magic girl again.

***

     I can see by your eyes that you do not understand my words, though I wish you could possess just a little bit of my magic so you can remember what I have told you. But we have so much time. I will tell you the story again, but now as your eyes grow heavy, I will leave you on this beach to rest.

     You are such a strong, handsome boy. I know I mustn't say this in front of your father for he fears that evil spirits will take you away so I will speak softly to you, for your ears only. If he sees me praising you, he will surely place marks on my body like he usually does when I disappoint. But don't you worry about me, as long as you're with me, he will not touch me. Rest your eyes, little one. The sea's waters are so inviting, I cannot bear to stay out of them. Rest here until I come back and I will tell you more. We have so much time.