I take an envelope from the drawerthe kind we were using last yearmy name comes after Đức'sthe blue ink hasn't faded at allNhi asks if we need to buy another
I turn the pen between my fingersI cross his name out with one strokethe nib tears the paperNhi gives Mum a different envelopethere's no name on that one yetI turn the first one over againĐức shows through the tear
At the lane I call for Mumshe opens the gate with her elbowsays come and help with the vegetablesjust as when I lived thereNhi carries the gift bag to the kitchenI slip the bracelet off my wrist
I lay the money in perfectly flatthe folds keep springing upĐức comes down from the laddera round swelling on his foreheadhe puts his money beside mineI take it out and set it on the table
He says we can sign it togetherI hold the pen towards himhe bends down looking for a blank spacethe nib touches the tearMum calls us to help carry the fishwe both stand up
I go back inside a step aheadand cross through my own name tooonly the V is leftcaught beneath two horizontal strokes
Nhi picks up the envelope and asksshall I put my name on it thenI nod, she rests the paperon her right kneeshe writes her name very slowlyover the two crossed lines
Mum puts the money in her blouse pocketand gives the empty envelope to Nhithe girl folds it into a little troughto catch seed shells from the tableone shell falls through the tearI bend down to pick it up