He looked at my phone, then at the bill, and held it up to the phone’s light. I couldn’t believe that a ten-year-old could spot a fake $100, but all sorts of preconceptions had already gone out the window about Vietnam. He held it against his chest and bowed his head and said cảm ơn, thank you. He did not smile. He looked terrified. I typed another message to him: don’t share it with your mom. He smiled a little.
The group tried to say $100 was far beyond the pale for lucky money, and I said I know that, but I didn’t want to be talked out of it, look at the poor kid for fuck’s sake, he’s staring into the ocean like he wishes it would swallow him, what kind of Tết is this for a kid?
Now he was watching us more bravely. I tried to motion for him to come over to the fire. He shook his head, but it was obvious he wanted to feel like a part of something. I saw him inspect the bill again, and then he stood up and marched across the sand to us. Everyone in the group said hello, but he said nothing. He just held the $100 bill out to me and dug his gaze deep into the sand below him.
Translator, I said to the Brit, tell this kid it’s lucky money and he needs to keep it. The translator tried that, and with more encouraging sounds from the group, the kid smiled slightly and put it back in his pocket.
Translator, I said, tell him not to tell his mom. The translator wasn’t sure how to say it, but the boy must have heard the word ‘mom’ and nodded like he’d already been told once. Then he walked away and resumed his staring.
When the fire was dying and the liquor was all gone, there were motions to head back to the motel. There was talk about riding schedules and questions about Frank. I said I believed the repair would be finished tomorrow. I typed more questions into my phone for the kid to read. Are you going to stay out here all night? Everyone started leaving while I walked to the kid to show him the translation. Again, his lack of answer was an answer. The others began moving in a slow procession back to the hotel.