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Mrs. Four greeting my 15-month-old nephew. In Vietnam, if you're called Mrs. Four, it means you're the third child in your family. A Mr. Two, then, is the firstborn. The Orient is mysterious, I know, so I need to ask some professor about this. Anyway, I talked about Mrs. Four in my last article, but she's no longer selling lottery tickets. She has relatives in the US, and they have called back to say that Mrs. Four should just stop limping around in the sun for hours each day, just to make $3. They'll send money to make up the difference.

Here, Mrs. Four has just left the neighborhood Buddhist temple, visible on the right. She goes there regularly for their free acupuncture.

Though Mrs. Four loves my nephew, he's often stone cold in her presence. "He never smiles at me!" she often complains. "He smiles and laughs with other people, but never with me!"

As you can see, Mrs. Four has a lame right hand, so whenever she needs to count money, she has to hold her bills with her right foot.



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