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drilled holes with the hand drill. Ba pounded short lengths of bamboo into the holes. Tinh sawed the bamboo nails even with the surface.
    Ba drained the diesel from the engine into coconut shells. He handed Tinh a screwdriver to take apart the engine. Tinh laid each piece carefully on a length of cloth. Together, they cleaned off the sand, using rags soaked in diesel.
    When all the parts shone, Tinh’s breathing softened.
    â€œThe boat will never be as beautiful again, but at least it’ll be whole,” Ba said as Tinh glued on the conch-shell eyes.
    â€œYes,” said Tinh, daring to smile at Ba. “Our boat is a diamond.”
    Ba grunted, but also smiled.
    â€œWhere’s the propeller?” Ba suddenly asked.
    The propeller was no longer attached to the engine. Tinh glanced around the beach. He saw a bit of metal poking through the sand where the boat had lain. “Maybe here,” he said to Ba, and began digging.
    The propeller revealed itself little by little.
    Ba dug, too, but it was Tinh who cut himself on the jagged edge. When he lifted the propeller free, blood ran down his wrist.
    Ba grabbed Tinh’s hand. “Careful this doesn’t get infected like Lan’s leg.”
    But to Tinh, only the boat mattered now.
    The propeller looked like a huge metal flower, one petal twisted, another gashed.
    Ba turned the propeller around and around. “We can’t fix this.”
    Tinh’s lower lip trembled. The repairs had gone well. And now a problem . . .
    â€œIn Phong Chuong there’s a machine shop,” Ba said. “The propeller will cost precious money to repair, but there’s no other way. I can’t go tomorrow because I need to take Lan to Dien Hai to be checked again by the doctor.”
    Phong Chuong lay on the other side of the sand dunes. Tinh had never gone so far all by himself. A trip to Phong Chuong would have been fun with Ba at his side. But alone?
    Tinh sucked his cut finger. He’d been careless enough to injure himself. How could he travel so far as Phong Chuong without Ba?
    And yet if he got the propeller repaired tomorrow, he and Ba could be out fishing one day sooner. They’d be able to feed Ma and Lan. Ba would be proud of him.
    Tinh took the propeller from Ba. “I’ll go to Phong Chuong. I’ll take the propeller to the men to fix.”
    â€œAlone?” Ba asked. “That’s a long walk for a boy your age.”
    Tinh sat up taller. “I’m growing up now. If I’m old enough to fish on the boat, I’m old enough to get it repaired.”
    That evening, Tinh handed the red car to Phu. “It doesn’t drive by itself anymore,” he said, “but if you want it, it’s yours.”
    Phu’s eyes grew wide. He took the toy with both hands and cradled it close.
    â€œI’m too old for it now,” Tinh explained. “I have a fishing boat to take care of.”

The next morning, Tinh set off for the village of Phong Chuong. He wore his cone-shaped straw hat and carried a bag containing two pink sweet potatoes wrapped in banana leaves, water in an old soda bottle, and the propeller. Deep in one pocket was the money Ba had given him. Deep in the other was First Uncle’s green Buddha.
    As he left Hai Nhuan, Tinh passed the cemetery in back of the village. Banoi and Ong Noi were buried here. He’d been sad when they’d died. But by now they’d turned into trees or stars, or maybe ocean waves. Knowing that, Tinh felt better.
    Wilted flowers lay strewn around the gravestones. Everyone was too busy attending to the living to tend the dead.
    Coming home tonight, he’d have to go by this cemetery again. Ghosts would be out. Unhappy, hungry ghosts who hadn’t been cared for. Tinh shivered at the thought. Silently, he chanted:
“Phat Ba Quan Ahm, watch over me. Phat Ba Quan Ahm . . .”
    He entered the region of the sand dunes. The light brown sand was flecked with