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The boy sat quietly, watching the people walking by and the multiple business transactions taking place on the sidewalk, all around us. But mostly he was watching me. There weren’t many blond, blue-eyed women on the street, so I supposed he was just curious about my looks.
Then the boy said something to the young artist, whose paper-cut cards I was considering. I looked to the boy and asked him what he had said. “I told him that he should get you a chair to sit on while you’re looking at his work.” Then I started looking less at the cards and much more intently at this young boy. I told him that it was a very thoughtful gesture and thanked him. He looked me in the eye and said, “He doesn’t have a stool. He should. It’s better for the customers. He doesn’t understand.” Now the young boy had my full attention. When I asked him if the card maker was his brother, he replied, “No, I don’t really know him.”
As I quickly finished my business transaction for the cards with hand-cut butterflies, the young boy watched me closely. He reminded the artist to be careful to include the right number and sizes for the envelopes. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry and, suddenly, neither was I. As he sat quietly, breathing in the hot, humid air, I was struck by his peaceful countenance in the midst of this hectic city.
It was time to exchange some pleasantries. I learned that he’s in the third grade and likes school. His favorite subject is math. He wanted to know where I lived. When I mentioned San Francisco, he told me that his uncle wanted to go there to make a movie. As I extended my hand to a fellow businessman, I introduced myself to Long.
As I prepared to say goodbye, Long asked me if I would like to buy some postcards. I didn’t. He then unzipped a small black case and quietly asked if I’d like to buy a book to teach me how to speak Vietnamese. That really took me by surprise. I admitted that I thought it would be too difficult for me to learn. “Oh, no,” he replied, “Vietnamese is really easy to learn. It’s as easy as learning English.” I was thunderstruck.
“What do you think of my English?” and “Are you surprised that I speak it so well?” were his next questions. Astounded was the word that came to mind, as I began to take the full measure of this young entrepreneur.
We walked a few steps to a woman selling pirated English -language books. I looked at a copy of “The Quiet American.” My young friend suggested another book about a young Vietnamese woman and her journey to America. “Do you know this book?” No, I admitted. “I’m surprised. It really is well known in America.” Who is this young man, gazing at me so intently, quietly noting my reactions? Then Long said, “If you buy a book from me for five dollars, I’ll give you a gift of these postcards.” He said nothing further. He simply remained quiet and watched me. Then he asked me, if I would like to buy him some milk. It seemed like a very good idea.
So, I bought the book. Long gave me the postcards. He didn’t have change for my twenty dollar bill, so he took it to his aunt and politely, but firmly, instructed her where to go for change. I suggested he go to the artist at the next table, since I had just given him thirty dollars for the cards. “You gave him thirty dollars for those cards! You could have gotten them for less.” As I looked at Long and realized we would both benefit from an explanation. After all, he clearly is a businessman and I’m a businesswoman, albeit a retired one. I explained that I paid two dollars for each card, because the card vendor spent a lot of time making the designs and cutting out the cards. He’s an artist. The sort of craft he practices is what we westerners like to see when we visit another country. Without artists, all cities would be the same. After all it’s the artists who carry on the culture and traditions of their country in their work.
This wise little man looked at me thoughtfully and processed the business lesson I had just shared. The fact that I normally like to barter for merchandise was beside the point. This conversation wasn’t about me. I was merely the latest subject of Long’s ongoing study of human nature.
Long and I chatted a while longer, while we waited for his aunt to return. Then Long counted out my change in perfect English. I extended my hand to say goodbye and he asked me, “Did you forget that you said you would buy me some milk? It’s okay if you changed your mind. I thought it would be alright to remind you, just in case you did forget.” I apologized for my forgetfulness and we headed down the street. I thought we were going to a nearby vendor to buy a bottle of milk. We weren’t.
As we walked down the crowded street, Long gazed up at me and asked me if I exercised. Exercised? Well, yes I do. “I thought you did. I tell my aunt all the time that she should exercise, but she won’t. ” Then Long asked, “How old are you?” This was no time for vanity, so I told him I’m sixty-one. He went on, “I asked you because I didn’t think you would mind.” Long was a very perceptive observer. Then he asked me if I remembered what his aunt looked like and how old I thought she was.” I did remember her, so I hazarded a guess ten years younger than I really thought. “I was right,” Long remarked. “She is twenty years younger than you and she looks older. My aunt needs to exercise.” I was completely enchanted.
As we continued down the street, Long explained that we were going to the shopping center to buy powdered milk for his two younger brothers. Long’s father left his mother “for a younger lady” so Long was now responsible for his family. Long spoke with no anger, just an acceptance of the way things were. He wasn’t looking for pity. He was just conveying information to deepen my understanding.
Long stopped mid-sentence and told me not to be alarmed about crossing the busy street in front of us. “I’ll show you how to do it. Don’t be afraid.” He took my hand and led me across the street saying, “just extend your hand at the traffic so they know you are going across. They won’t stop, they will just go around us.” They did. Two years ago I was quite proud of myself for venturing out alone and crossing multiple streets in the midst of chaotic Cairo. In Cairo I managed to cross the street safely, but here in Saigon, I knew I was in good hands.
Safely on the other side of the road, we stepped onto the escalator in the shopping center. Long looked up at me and smiled, “I’m sorry but I have forgotten you name.” I replied, “It’s alright Ling, the name Pamela is not common in your country.” Then he laughed and said, “I guess we both forgot. My name is not Ling, it’s Long.” “In school we also have western names that are easier to remember. Mine is Andy. My teacher forgets my name too. She always calls me Bill or Carl. Those two boys look like me and she cannot tell the difference. So she just calls me Bill.” I’ve never had so much fun on an escalator.
At the entrance to the food market, a guard wanted to take my shopping bag. Andy vouched for me, explaining that I could be trusted. I was his friend. Once inside, Andy pointed out the powdered milk he wanted. Being a citizen of a country that believes bigger is always better, I reached up for the largest container. Andy said it would last two months for his younger brothers. The price in local currency was in the hundreds of thousands. I couldn’t do the conversion. So Andy inquired with the cashier and came back to me. “If it’s too much, we can get a smaller size.” I had just enough money so I handed it and the container to Andy and we went to the checkout. After all, he was the man in the family, and I needed to respect that.
“I read the papers every day, so I know your ship is leaving in two days. Do you need a tour guide tomorrow? I’m a very good tour guide.” I was signed up for a trip to the Mekong Delta the next day, so I knew I wouldn’t be back downtown. “Do you think you’ll come back to Saigon?” The only answer available among people you respect is the truth. No, I would not be coming back.
“Let me get you a taxi back to the ship. I’ll negotiate the price for you so you won’t pay too much.” Andy waved down a taxi and had a lively negotiation with the driver. Then he told me, “The fare is one dollar. Promise me you won’t pay him more. “ I didn’t want to leave him, but I knew it was time to go. I asked if he would do something for me before I left. I asked him to let me take his picture. He smiled. I took one picture. My lesson was over. We shook hands and I said goodbye to the young sage.
AFTERWARD:
That evening, when I joined fellow travelers on the cruise ship for dinner, I had, as my son would describe it, “pockets full of joy.” As we sat at the dinner table I announced that I would buy the wine for dinner if they would listen to the story of my remarkable day. I had foregone a group bus tour of the city that day and ventured out alone in a strange city. I instinctively knew it was important for me to do, but I had no idea how the day would change my life. I slowed down, focused on the sounds and smells of this foreign city, and opened my heart. In return I was given an incredible gift. Everyone at the dinner table listened and a few wanted to find that remarkable old soul named Andy.
The following day my friend Ed went shopping in Saigon. Being a man of his word, he went looking for Andy. He found the artist selling cards. He found a young girl selling the pirated copies of Andy’s aunt’s books. Ed learned that Andy was in school and wasn’t going to be there that day. Ed explained why he had come. The young artist said he remembered me, but neither he nor the young girl selling books would agree to accept the small gift Ed had brought for Andy nor my business card. The artist simply shook his head no. They young girl said no, she would not, and asked why no one was buying anything from her. And so Andy was lost to us.
We Americans always want more. Why? Surely, two hours was ample time to teach me what I need to go forward. I am the student. He is the teacher. I am the past. Andy is the future.