The Eaves of Heaven Read Free Page B

stockiness, and darker complexion.
    “Daddy, Daddy,” cried Hong. He was four years old, Father’s favorite. “I want to go on the boat.”
    “After your big brother learns how to swim.” Father smiled and picked him up. He carried Hong the rest of the way.
    “I want the big one!” Hong shouted, pointing at a rowboat the workers used to harvest water lilies. The carp pond was nearly a hundred yards wide.
    Father walked me out onto the little pier. He put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Go on, son. Jump in and swim.”
    “Yes, Father,” I said. “But I don’t know how to swim.”
    He frowned at my lack of faith and turned to my cousins and said, “Nephew Tan, do you know how to swim?”
    Tan quipped, “Of course, Uncle. I can swim all the way across the pond and back.”
    My cousin Tan was a natural athlete. He was precocious and bore a striking resemblance to his father. He was a month older than me, both of us born on the estate, delivered by the same doctor. Tan was Uncle Thuan’s first son from his first wife, so he was heir apparent to the bulk of our ancestral fortune. He grew up with certain privileges and expectations. This made him very sure of himself, even though he had lost his mother when he was two years old. Since her death, Tan was closer to my mother than he was to his two stepmothers.
    Father said, “Nephew Lang, can you swim?”
    My cousin Lang just nodded and said, “Yes, Uncle.”
    Lang was a very good swimmer. It was the only thing he could do better than his half-brother Tan, but Lang wasn’t the type to boast. In fact, it probably never occurred to him that he was better than Tan in anything. Lang was a quiet and lonesome boy, his mother’s only child. Although he was technically Uncle Thuan’s first son, he was relegated to a secondary status because his mother was Uncle’s Thuan’s second wife. Lang was older than Tan and me by a year, but he was always content to follow our lead. People said he was not normal because the doctor had to pull him out of his mother’s womb with forceps, the marks still visible on his skull.
    Father patted my brother Hung’s head. “Even your little brother Hung can swim. Don’t be afraid. Just get into the water. It’ll come naturally.”
    “Yes, Father.”
    I took off my shirt and inched toward the edge, shaking because I had never jumped into deep water. Minnows darted under the shadow of the pier. The water looked cold and dark, the deep bottom thick with moss. All my cousins and younger brothers were watching me. I took a deep breath, pinched my nose, and jumped. The chilly pond swallowed me and then popped me back up.
    “Stop splashing!” Father yelled. “Kick your legs back and forth. Paddle your hands like a dog.”
    I kicked and clawed, fighting furiously. It was no good. I kept going under. A flurry of churning limbs raised my head above the surface. Gasps of air and then under again. Tan and Lang hopped in and began treading water next to me.
    “Don’t touch him,” Father said.
    Lang shouted, “Kick your legs and paddle like this! Like this!”
    I tried, but the water pushed me down. The harder I thrashed, the faster I sank. Water was drawn up my nose. I screamed and went under.
    Chau, the buffalo boy, got into the water and pushed me up back onto the pier. I lay on the hot planks, coughing water out of my lungs, too scared to look at Father. He didn’t say a word, his disappointment radiating in waves. My cousins were paddling about the ponds like ducks.
    “Try again,” Father said.
    “Yes, Father.” I jumped in.
    I floundered, too exhausted to fight. Chau fished me out again. Ears ringing, I heaved water out of my stomach. The pond, the sky, Father had all gone woozy around me.
    I understood Father must have expected a lot from me because I was his first son and someday I would inherit his fortune and carry on his line. Somehow, somewhere from my very beginning, I must have disappointed him. Since I could remember, I