The Cricket War, page 1
Copyright Page
For my dad, Bryan — T.P.
For Doug — S.M.
Dedicated to the many Boat People who fled Vietnam from the 1970s to mid-1990s and currently live scattered around the globe, and in memory of those whose remains rest at the bottom of the South China Sea.
This is based on a true story.
Many of the designations used by manufacturers and sellers to distinguish their products are claimed as trademarks. Where those designations appear in this book and Kids Can Press Ltd. was aware of a trademark claim, the designations have been printed in initial capital letters (e.g., Mountain Dew).
Credits
Chapter 8: The legend of Sơn Tinh and Thủy Tinh is adapted from various versions of this legend. Chapter 14: Papa's speech is adapted from Captain Rolf Wangnicks's speech recorded by Norman Aisbett in "Salvation at Sea," The West Australian, October 3, 1981. Chapter 18: The legend of the banyan tree was adapted by Thọ from various versions of this traditional Vietnamese tale. Authors' notes: Source for statistics is the Encyclopedia of Canada's People, Paul Robert Magocsi, editor, University of Toronto Press, Toronto, 1999.
Text © 2023 Thọ Phạm and Sandra McTavish
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of Kids Can Press Ltd. or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a license from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright license, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free to 1-800-893-5777.
Published in Canada and the U.S. by Kids Can Press Ltd.
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The artwork in this book was rendered digitally.
Edited by Patricia Ocampo
Designed by Marie Bartholomew
Cover illustration by Tenzin Tsering
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Title: The cricket war / by Thọ Phạm and Sandra McTavish.
Names: Phạm, Thọ, author. | McTavish, Sandra, author.
Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20220458103 | Canadiana (ebook) 20220458111 | ISBN 9781525306556 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781525312052 (EPUB)
Classification: LCC PS8625.T38 C75 2023 | DDC jC813/.6—dc23
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We thank the Government of Ontario, through Ontario Creates, the Ontario Arts Council; the Canada Council for the Arts; and the Government of Canada for supporting our publishing activity.
Title Page
The Cricket War
by Thọ Phạm and Sandra McTavish
Kids Can Press
Map
Pronunciation Guide
Name or Word
Who or What
Pronunciation
An
Lâm's older brother
an
ào bà ba
traditional outfit worn in rural Vietnam
OW beh bah
Cuội
a lumberjack in Vietnamese legend
COO-oy
Huấn
the translator on Cap Anamur
h-won
Huy
a man from Palawan
wee
Lâm
Thọ's best friend from home
lum
Lan
a teenager from the camp in Manila
lan
Linh
Thọ's aunt
lin
Mai
Lâm's older sister
my
Minh
a thief
min
Mr. Bình
a man who organizes escapes
bin
Mỵ Nương
a princess in Vietnamese legend
MIH NOO-ung
Phát
Thọ's cousin
fat
Quang
Thọ's uncle who lives in America
kwang
Quỳnh
a bully
kwin
Sang
Thọ's neighbor
sang
Sơn Tinh
Lord of the Mountain in Vietnamese legend
sun DHIN
Tâm
Thọ's neighbor
tum
tạt lon
a game
tat lawn
Tết Trung Thu
Lunar New Year
TAYT choong too
Thảo
Thọ's older sister
tow
Thầy Sơn
Thọ's teacher
tey surn
Thọ
a boy from South Vietnam
taw
Thủy Tinh
Lord of the Sea in Vietnamese legend
toy-EE DHIN
Tiên
Thọ's older sister
tee-EN
Việt
Thọ's friend from Cap Anamur
vee-ET
Vũ
Thọ's older brother
voo
xe lam
a three-wheeled vehicle
sair lam
A note on usage: Vietnamese kids use "mother" and "father" and are always consistent in that form. This is why words like "mom" and "dad" aren't used in this book. Similarly, Vietnamese say "America" not the "United States." The word "anh" is a respectful way of addressing someone. It technically means "brother."
CHAPTER 1
Hồ Chí Minh City (formerly Sài Gòn)
April 1980
"Mine's going to bite the leg off yours, Thọ." Lâm smiles devilishly, rubbing his hands with glee.
"That's what you said before the last fight," I laugh, not at all fazed by the threat. "And remember how it turned out?"
Lâm rolls his eyes. The last fight had not gone his way.
I add, "I believe I've won the last four fights. No … the last five fights. That'll make this one number six."
"If you win," interrupts Lâm.
"When I win."
"Okay, Thọ, let's get started."
We are sitting in the doorway of my house. We've each chosen a cricket for the duel. Lâm, who lives next door, has brought his insect in a matchbox, which he carefully holds in the palms of his hands. His black cricket chirps and nibbles on a piece of banana Lâm has given him, unaware that he's about to go into battle.
All the boys we know like cricket fighting. But Lâm takes it more seriously than most. Although he spends more time training his crickets than I do, they rarely win. That's why he doesn't have nearly as many as I have.
I use a cardboard box to make a housing complex for my crickets. I separate the insects in walled, cardboard compartments with a screen covering the top of the box, so they can get air but won't escape. I feed them pieces of banana, lettuce and grass, and train them to act aggressively by taunting them with a dead cricket's head mounted on the end of a toothpick.
Lâm and I have always lived next door to each other. We're both eleven years old and have been best friends for as long as I can remember. We're opposites, and that's why we get along so well. I'm the shortest in the class, and he's the tallest. Lâm is a jokester who doesn't pay attention in school. The only things he's serious about are cricket fighting, which he never wins, and soccer, which he's amazing at. I am quieter and do well in school and some of the things my mother wishes that I didn't do well in,
With cricket fighting, the rules never change. The winner gains the loser's cricket. And if the losing cricket dies in battle (as sometimes happens), the loser gives the winner another of his crickets.
Resting between Lâm and me sits a small box in which the war will take place.
I examine my crickets and select my prized fighter from my collection and put him in the small box. Then Lâm carefully takes his cricket out of his matchbox. While he takes his time placing it in the box next to mine, I pluck a hair out of my head that I plan to dangle in front of the insects, tickling them in an attempt to aggravate them and make them want to fight. Instead of using the hair to provoke the crickets, I reach over and tickle Lâm's cheek. This startles him, and he drops his cricket into the box.
"Hey!" But he doesn't have time to get mad as the two crickets puff their wings and chirp frantically. Then Lâm's hops toward mine and bites him. Mine bites right back — harder and more vicious. Bite. Bite. Chirp. Chirp. The insects lock their bodies in a feisty embrace. Suddenly, thirty seconds into the fight, Lâm's cricket flees from my champion and seeks protection in a corner of the box. My cricket flutters his wings and chirps a victorious cry.
"Yes!" I punch my fists into the air. "What did I tell you? That's six in a row." I quickly retrieve the crickets, placing them one at a time in separate stalls in my cardboard complex, rewarding each of them with a piece of lettuce.
"You cheated!" Lâm whines. "My cricket wasn't ready when I dropped him into the box." Lâm looks disappointed as he picks up his empty matchbox. "I'm running out of crickets. I'm going to have to buy some more at this rate."
"I'm running out of room in my cardboard box. I'm going to have to make another box at this rate," I tease.
Lâm gives me a friendly slug. "I'd better head home, Thọ. My mother will have dinner ready."
"Mine, too. Do you want to have another cricket battle on Monday?"
"Let's play soccer instead. I need to stock up and train some crickets before we have another battle."
"I could always sell you one of my crickets. I've got so many," I joke as I pick up my cardboard box. "Have a good weekend," I add before entering my house.
My front door opens into a living room, with only a three-seater couch and a matching chair. My brother Vũ and two sisters Thảo and Tiên are sitting on the couch, talking about typical teenager things that don't interest me. They ignore me as I crouch down and place my box of crickets in the corner. My mother will make me move it at bedtime because the sound of the crickets chirping drives her crazy when she tries to sleep. As I stand up, Vũ looks over at me.
"How'd you do?" Vũ asks.
"I won!"
"That's great. That's five in a row, isn't it?"
"No, it's six," I boast.
"Since you keep winning, Lâm must almost be out of crickets."
"He's definitely getting low. I told him he could buy some from me if he wanted." We both laugh.
Stretched along the far wall is a narrow staircase leading up to a small room that I have only visited a handful of times. This is my father's room. My mother calls it his escape and lets us kids know that we're not allowed up there under any condition without his permission. The first time my father invited me to his room, I was so excited! I thought it had treasures or gold or something special. But I was completely disappointed — the room only has a desk and chair, a radio, some books and a sleeping mat for my father.
I leave my siblings in the living room and walk into the dining room. Our dining room used to have a table and chairs. After the Communists captured Sài Gòn, and all of South Vietnam, in the spring of 1975, my father lost his well-paying job at the bank. Although my mother didn't work beforehand, after that she and my father both got jobs. But they didn't make nearly enough. To make ends meet, they started selling household items, including the dining room furniture. Now the room remains empty. At night, the dining room transforms into a bedroom where I sleep beside my mother, my brother and two sisters on mats on the cool, ceramic floor.
Past the dining room is a tiny, open courtyard. On one side of the courtyard is the washroom. A large tank on top of the washroom collects rainwater from the roof. If there hasn't been any rain for a while, we get water from our neighbor's well and carry it home in buckets, one bucket in each hand.
Beyond the washroom is the kitchen. Delicious smells drift from the clay stove in the kitchen where my mother has been cooking dinner. "You're almost late," she says, handing me a pair of chopsticks and a bowl of rice and pork chops with lemongrass. I bow my head and sheepishly join her with the rest of the family to eat.
After dinner, I sit on the couch to work on my math homework. I tap my pencil against my notebook while trying to solve a problem.
"I remember learning this," Vũ says. I jump and then sigh. I hadn't noticed him standing over me. "The square of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares on the other two sides." I give him a puzzled look. "Here, I'll show you the formula to solve it." He sits beside me, takes the notebook and pencil and gives me a mini math lesson.
"Thanks," I say.
"No problem. It's easy if you stop to think about it," Vũ teases, ruffling my hair. I shake my head quickly to get my hair back in place. Vũ is right. I usually learn quickly — when I pay attention.
* * *
On Monday morning, as is the case every morning, church bells wake me. I lie in bed with my eyes closed and listen to them for a minute before I get up. I don't want to rise yet. I sleep next to Vũ, who often battles nightmares. His tossing and turning woke me in the night.
I drag myself out of bed, roll up my sleeping mat, fold my blanket, wash, put on my school uniform — navy pants and a white shirt — eat my breakfast of steamed yam, and go out to meet Lâm. Every school morning, Lâm meets me on the street outside my front door.
As I wait for my best friend, the fat yellow sun pokes above the gray houses. Its warm rays cast a long shadow over the rooftops, creating a perfect shade for me. At least it's still the dry season — for a few more weeks — so I don't need to worry about standing in the rain. Friends and neighbors walk past, and we say hello. A couple of stray dogs stroll by, sniffing the ground and ignoring me. Down the street, a cat meows. The dogs jerk their heads up. Then they start barking and chase the cat. Tâm's baby is crying again. On quiet nights, I can hear his wails through our common wall. My neighbor Sang's pigs make lots of noise when they are hungry. Their grunts are so loud that I know they haven't been fed yet.
After ten minutes, I am tired of waiting. I call Lâm's name, knowing he can hear me from inside his house. He doesn't answer. The door is shut. I knock. Again, no answer. Lâm's home is smaller than mine, so I know someone inside could hear me if anyone was home. Lâm is usually the last person to leave in the morning. His parents go to work early and his older brother, An, and sister, Mai, start school before us. It's not unusual that they're not home. But it's strange that Lâm isn't here. He would normally tell me if he couldn't walk to school with me. Perhaps Lâm wanted help with his homework so he could pass the math test tomorrow, and left early. I don't have time to wander around the neighborhood looking for him. If I don't get to school soon, I'll be late.
* * *
I walk down my street, which is just wide enough for one car. I stroll past door after door of house after house. The front of each house faces the narrow roadway and hugs the house on either side, allowing no space between the buildings. Each front door opens right into the street. I feel as if the windows and doors are eyes watching me. Since I've lived on this street my entire life, each house is like an old, familiar friend. I know the families in every home. Neighbors see each other pass by every day. No one is a stranger, and no one feels alone.
