I made a dumb charade of asking about the moths: thumbs together and fingers out like wings, then I pointed to the bottle, a shrug with my hands to the side. What’s with the moths, old man?
He pointed to the bottle, then balled his hand into a fist and slapped it firmly against his heart several times. I couldn’t argue with that logic. I nodded, come oon, I detest moths but I only know how to say I like it here. The mechanic clicked a blowtorch to life. I tried to pace myself on the mothka, since I still hadn’t had breakfast and barely had eaten dinner, but I felt my worries dissolving away.
Some children padded barefoot into the shop, fearlessly past the man with the blowtorch, and straight up to me. They all yelled hello at an ear-splitting volume. There must be some law requiring children to yell ‘hello’ to foreigners, whether they are blasting through their town on a motorcycle or sitting there peacefully, getting day-drunk with their grandpa. They boldly began stroking my arm hair like I was a kitten. Where are you from, how old are you? It is Tết, did you know that? The old man began packing the bamboo bong with a thick plug of tobacco, smiling and shaking his head at me, good luck sonny-boy.
They asked me, why are your eyes? I didn’t know how to respond. The interview was getting more difficult. Maybe they would stop if I gave them lucky money?
I didn’t know much about Vietnam, but I knew about ‘lucky money.’ The amount can be small, because every adult in the family is likely to give some, and that adds up. Monks stay busy leading up to Tết blessing all of this money, which ends up in colorful envelopes and handed out to family members. It is not prohibited to spend this money, but there are certainly some adults that frame an especially lucky bill from childhood.
Chook moon nam moy. No, I don’t speak Vietnamese, I just know how to say that. You speak very good English! Yes, I know it is Tết, everyone knows that. Yes, I am happy to be here. I like it here.