The old woman gave her a handful of seeds, motioning for her to sprinkle them around, and Nicole watched entranced as the chickens squawked and flapped their wings while gobbling them up.

Val looked at the surroundings. She had felt as though she was living on the bread line in Sydney, with a one-bed flat and a cleaning job, but the poverty her mother’s family endured was much more fundamental. The walls of the two-room shack were thin, with gaps where the boards didn’t quite meet. There were mats arranged along the walls, presumably for sleeping on; she counted six altogether and wondered if two were meant for her and Nicole. A cooking pot hung in a fireplace, but apart from that and the mats, the family seemed to have few possessions.

The old woman was stirring something in the pot, and before long she served them bowls of rice and vegetables, along with some chopsticks. Val could tell there was an egg stirred through the rice but did not mention it to Nicole, who ate with clumsy enthusiasm, using the chopsticks like a spoon. As soon as she finished, the woman gestured for her bowl and refilled it, and Nicole beamed her thanks. They might not have a language in common, but they were becoming friends.

Ha Suran didn’t take any food. She closed her eyes and Val couldn’t tell if she was asleep or just resting, but she did not want to move from her mother’s side. It seemed a miracle that she was here, at last, after all these years, and for now she was prepared to be patient.

* * *

It grew hotter inside the shack as the morning progressed, and Val used a magazine to fan herself. Nicole and the old woman were playing a game, trying to throw stones into a tin can placed a few feet away and giggling at their successes and failures.

Suddenly Ha Suran opened her eyes and reached for Val, squeezing her hand tight.

“You will stay awhile, won’t you?” she begged. “I’m sorry we don’t have proper beds . . .”

“This is fine. I’m planning to stay three weeks, so we have plenty of time to catch up. Is that your mother?” She pointed to the old woman.

“My aunt,” Ha Suran said. “Your great-aunt, Li Suran.” She called across the room to the old woman, who smiled and nodded confirmation.

“Will you have some food, Mom? I can help you to eat.” Val could see there was plenty of the rice and vegetables left.

Ha Suran shook her head. “Maybe some water.”

Val poured water from a jug she found near the cooking pot, then held the glass to her mother’s lips. It still felt odd to call her “Mom.” She felt like a stranger, but one for whom Val had a vast amount of affection.