A Little Warmth

Mắm turned to Lua, whispering, her hand gently patting the pillow.

"You did well. Not getting scolded on your first day is a blessing. I came here when I was fourteen, and Young Master Yi Kang once threw a bowl at me; I almost cried."

"Really?"

"Really. It was because I accidentally put in too much pepper. And he's not an easy person to please, you know."

Mắm chuckled after speaking, but then glanced at Aunt Bay and fell silent, as Auntie had just coughed.

"It's late. You two should speak softly. The walls here are as thin as paper; if anything gets out, there'll be trouble."

Auntie said this with her eyes still closed, her hand steadily fanning. But her voice was clearly serious.

She pulled the blanket up to her neck, feeling a little scared.

Not scared of Aunt Bay, but rather the feeling that everything around her had ears and eyes. Just one slip of the tongue, and she could be heard, summoned, and punished.

A moment later, Mắm whispered again, this time closer to her ear:

"Go to sleep. Tomorrow, I'll teach you how to wash rice the Master's way; he doesn't like his rice mushy."

"Yes."

Aunt Bay's fanning continued steadily, and Ty's breathing grew heavier. Mắm also stopped stirring, lying still.

She lay on her back, gazing at the dark wooden ceiling. The blankets and mats smelled unfamiliar; there was no sound of her mother comforting her, no familiar oil lamp in the corner of her old home. Everything here was strange, from the voices to the footsteps, even the darkness seemed to have its own form.

But at least, with Mắm and Ty by her side, she felt less lost. Aunt Bay, though strict, was also the first person to bring her here, teaching her every little thing, instructing her on every task.

The next morning, as soon as the pots and pans were washed, Mắm thrust a hand towel into her hand, saying curtly:

"Today, you're coming with me to take food to the plantation."

"Is it far?"

"Of course, it's far. Did you think coming here meant just staying around the kitchen? There are many more people on the plantation than in the main house; every meal has to be portioned out there."

After speaking, Mắm put on her conical hat, one hand carrying a basket of rice, the other holding a pot of braised fish fragrant with pepper. She scurried after, her hands cradling several covered bowls of soup.

The red dirt road leading to the back of the plantation sloped up and down, flanked by fields of crops and warehouses. The deeper they went, the clearer the sounds of laborers became: shouts, and the rustling of rice pouring into sacks.

Upon arrival, a wide courtyard appeared before Lua's eyes, behind which was a long row of thatched houses bordering the forest, where the servants and day laborers lived.

Mắm smiled, placing the rice basket down on a wooden platform:

"It's because he wasn't a latecomer like us. Aunt Bay found Anh Ty at the market before she came here. Back then, he was tiny, as thin as a matchstick."

"Auntie really found him?"