Tan Chau lies on the Thanh Hoa canal, which sings with freedom as it flows into the Mekong River on its way to the sea. Only the wind and the water, which you cannot imprison, are truly free. Even Thi Hanh, my daughter once, is no longer free.
Children taken by the wood nymphs never are.
I live alone now. In a one room hut that squats like a huge thatched toad along the canal, surrounded by mangrove swamps, tamarinds, and oleanders. My hut is very small. An oaken cot, an amboyna wood table, a kerosene lamp, a stove, and three chairs. In the evenings, when you should not go out, I sit by my door, running my hands along the scraggly surface of the table as though stroking a salamander, and I wait for the return of Thi Hanh.