The children of Do Do village didn't mark time by the natural seasons. They never called the four seasons by their ordinary names. Their year had six seasons instead: cellophane season, bottle-cap season, coconut-frond season, cigarette-pack season, kite season, pinwheel season.
Cellophane season usually fell around spring. During Tet, the village children got to eat candied fruit, watermelon seeds, sponge cakes, and “bánh in”—square rice cakes wrapped in colored cellophane. Green, red, orange, yellow, banana-shoot green. After eating, the children kept the wrappers, holding them up to their eyes now and then to see the world tinted pink, or tinted green, savoring the strange new sensation.
Back when I still lived in the village, how many times had I pressed a colored wrapper to my eye, tilting my head to look all around, delighted to see the yellow roof, the yellow chicken, the yellow dog, the yellow cat, even the tamarind tree by Uncle Thao's gate turned yellow. A moment later I'd switch to the green wrapper, floating with pleasure to see the roof turn green, the chicken green, the dog green, the cat green, the tamarind tree green too.
During that season, whoever had the most cellophane was the richest kid in the village. One sheet could be traded for fifty rubber bands worn on the wrist. Two sheets could fetch ten marbles, or buy a whole class period of a friend copying your homework for you.
The spring days slipped by quickly, taking cellophane season with them. By April, the wrappers that had once been crisp and clear were no longer transparent. They'd gone wrinkled and torn from time and from the children's own rough handling, no longer fit for looking at the world through.
The shops still sold bánh in year-round, but the children had no money left to buy them—the flush days of New Year's lucky money were long gone.
And once the cellophane sheets, worn thin like old bills, were no longer usable, bottle-cap season began. Just as the apricot blossoms falling announce the end of spring and summer rushes in to take its place.
In truth, the children's seasons weren't fixed to any calendar. When each one began and ended was usually decided by whoever was oldest in the group. Sometimes the ringleader, bored of the old game or having gambled away all his winnings, would cheat by declaring a season over early, so that whatever currency was in use—bottle caps, cigarette packs—suddenly became worthless. When that happened, the younger kids could only cry in frustration, then wipe their tears and tuck their stash away in a drawer to save for next year.
