My aunt serves us a whole mango each for dessert. Mine is ripe and juicy with whiskers that catch between my teeth. My uncle is wise to this and passes a toothpick holder around. He tells my aunt, “Boil some water for them. I bet a bath will feel good after sitting in a car all day long.” His words are warbled by the probing in his mouth. He says, “I’ll be quick so you two can get in,” and excuses himself to go the bathroom. In the time it takes my aunt to pour a bucket of water in a cauldron and put it over the flame, I go from feeling good to feeling miserable. My stomach drops like an avalanche and I am certain the end is near. I wonder if it was the herbs. Maybe they weren’t washed. Or being washed with the local water might have done it too. I wonder if it could have been the mango. My mind goes through a list all the cooked and uncooked items I’ve eaten.

I go to the bathroom but my uncle isn’t as quick as he said he would be. I am sweating like a pig. I ask my mom, “What’s in the back yard? Is there a place where they feed fish back there? Is there a pond outside?” I am nearing an accident, about to crash. She says, “No,” and returns her attention to my aunt at the sink. My mom is soaping. My aunt is rinsing. I am stuffing my pride in my pocket.

My only choice is to retrieve the plastic bags from our early market adventure. I go to the living room and hope with dishes and gossip to occupy them the women will not notice my absence. When I approach the coffee table I see the newspaper neatly folded before me. It is so well preserved that it makes a crisp smacking sound when I flip through each sheet. A bead of sweat is slowly making its way down my jaw. My veins are pumping so hard, I think my head will pop. My legs are squeezed together and I am holding my stomach. Outside the crickets and beetles are buzzing but all I hear is the rumbling of my insides.

Bent over the table, I curse the fact that I can’t read in Vietnamese and pray that if indeed Baby Boy is a reincarnated bodhisattva, he will bless me by having a photo of himself appear inside the paper. It’s the one article I have to preserve. I try to flip through quickly but it’s impossible to make it past page five. I grab the whole thing, roll it up, tuck it under my arm.