by Nguyen Tien Hai

I had been hospitalised for 10 days. The hours dragged on, as though time had slowed to a crawl.

The war was nearly over, as I saw on TV, but my wounds continued to remind me of those fateful moments, when the bomb fragments became embedded in my flesh.

A middle-aged woman had caught my attention; I saw her serving a man in Room 18. Night after night after she finished work, she would take a plastic chair to the veranda and sit in silence there. I sympathised with her: she seemed to share the monotony and listlessness I felt. At first, we would sit several hundred metres away from each other, but misery loves company, and I gradually moved my chair closer to hers. Tonight our chairs were only half a metre apart.

"Is your husband getting better?"

She looked at me, embarrassed, and shook her head.

"He’s not my husband; I’m only a maid."

"How long have you helped that family?"

"About two years."

"Where is his wife? I never see her here."

"She comes sometimes. She borrowed your newspaper yesterday afternoon."

"But she’s so young; I figured she couldn’t be his wife."

Room 18 was suddenly brightly lit, and a gravelly voice called, "Than! Get over here and empty my bedpan. What the hell, now it’s overflowing!"

The woman jumped to her feet.

"Where have you been? Get me a towel, you idiot!"

I felt a piercing pain in my chest. I couldn’t sleep that night.

***

Her husband, a war veteran, had been dead for three years now, leaving her with two children and 700sq.m of land, not even enough to support one person.

"My husband had chest pains for many years, but we couldn’t afford to go the hospital, so I would rub balm on his chest. When the pain became unbearable, we took him to the hospital, but it was too late. He had lung cancer."

When she told me about his dying hour, she began to sob.

"Before he died, he told me he had saved up a little money to pay for our children’s education. He wouldn’t buy anything but rice gruel for himself, considering it a waste since he knew he was dying.

"Since he left us, I’ve done everything possible to support my children. I had worked as a gravel hauler, a drain cleaner and a dishwasher before an acquaintance helped me get this job. For nearly two years now, this man has been ill and hospitalised on and off, so I’ve got to be here with him. My eldest son is in vocational school and my daughter is in high school, so she lives alone in the house. Such good children..."

"What was your boss yelling about this morning?"

"Nothing serious. The hospital staff was distributing new clothes to the patients, but I was busy doing the washing and came late, so he called me a fool and said he was going to be stuck with old, dirty clothes. You’ve been here for several days now; you know that hospital clothes are basically the same."

"So what happened at noon? He yelled so loudly that it woke me up."

"I got a bowl of rice gruel for him and as soon as I fed him, he shouted, ‘You fool! It’s so hot I can’t eat it.’ So I had to blow on each bite before I fed it to him."

"Then at 3 or 3.30am?"

"When he got up he found that his slippers were a little bit deeper under the bed, so he cursed at me again."

That night I could hear the cries of barn owls, a herald of an ill omen. The wind was blowing through the open windows into the veranda, and the woman wasn’t dressed warmly enough in her threadbare black blouse. I sat in silence, without the guts to start a conversation with this haggard-looking woman with sunken cheeks. I compared her to her boss’s plump wife, who was probably 10 years her husband’s junior. She wore fancy clothes and, today, a pair of yellow shoes. I was sitting in front of Room 20 reading a newspaper, so she smiled at me as she passed, leaving a cloud of perfume hovering.

"Than? Where are you? Than! Water! Get me some water! Do you want me to die of thirst?"

The woman jumped to her feet again, frightened.

"You fool! Add more hot water. What damn cold water!"

"I’ve already added it."

"You idiot! Are you too lazy or too cheap to go and buy me some hot water?"

I returned to my room, but again I spent the night awake. My wife had met Mrs Than only a few times when she came to visit me, and she’d had a womanly premonition about her.

"I think Mrs Than is even more miserable than the patients here. Please share with her some of the things I’ve brought you."

I offered, but Mrs Than had waved me off.

"I’m not a patient. Please keep it for you so that you can recover fast."

There were so many people whose lives were no easier than hers, but her pride made me respect her immensely.

***

It was Saturday.

The hospital was empty and deserted. I was left alone in my room, and Room 18 contained only Mrs Than and her employer. At 9am, the plump woman entered the room, bringing along that familiar fragrance. I heard Mrs Than whisper something to the woman who responded with a shriek.

"No, you can’t. Are you mad? I’m paying you for this particular time, so if you want to go home, you can go and never come back. You’re as cunning as a fox! Who else would ever pay you VND700,000 per month? You maids always think you can trick us. The answer is no; don’t say another word."

I heard choking sobs follow the harsh words of the woman stomping out.

A thud and then another thud resounded from the room and I saw candies and fruits scatter and roll out the door. Mrs Than was quickly collecting them and putting them into a bowl.

"I don’t want these dirty things from her. She’s been having love affairs for years. While I’ve been hospitalised, she’s been having men over to the house and sleeping with them. When my daughter visited, she told me she caught her mother red-handed. So I spit on these dirty things from that dirty woman!"

I was a little shocked at those angry words. His wife had quickly come and gone, so Mrs Than was left to bear the brunt of the patient’s anger.

***

It was nighttime.

Again I heard the cries of barn owls; this time the cries came from very near the roofs of Rooms 18 and 20. I dropped off to sleep with tumultuous dreams.

Suddenly, strange sounds echoed from Room 18, waking me. Afraid, I ran out into the veranda. I pressed my ear against the door and heard Mrs Than’s beseeching voice.

"I beg you... I don’t have the heart to dishonour my dead husband’s soul."

"Nonsense. I’ll give you more money. My wife, shameless whore, has slept with many guys, so you and I just once..."

There was a heavy thud, as though both of them had fallen to the floor.

"Please, leave me alone. I’ll cry for help if you won’t let me go!"

"You’ll cry? Do it!" I heard a slap and then another.

"Mr... Mr...!" Mrs Than’s cries were inarticulate, as though she was being strangled.

I banged on the door, yelling, "Open this door! Stop it right now!"

Mrs Than yanked open the door. I turned on the light. The bedsheets were a mess. The man wore only his underpants and I was disgusted to see his erection. Mrs Than’s hair was dishevelled, her blouse torn. She tried to cover her breasts with her hands.

"Man, go back to bed now, or I’ll call the guard!"

The man looked at me, nodded and obediently returned to his bed. Suddenly, I felt a stab of pity for him. He was such an unhappy man.

Mrs Than sat motionless in front of Room 18 for the whole night.

***

It was Sunday.

The man in Room 18 was still sleeping soundly. Mrs Than asked him again and again to get up for breakfast, but he only muttered something and then sank into silence. Mrs Than was walking around like a shadow. She did everything – washing clothes, sweeping the floor, boiling water and cleaning the tea set – as slowly and quietly as possible so that the man could rest in peace. The woman’s altruism was remarkable, and all of a sudden, I felt lucky to have met this humble, respectable woman.

It was late afternoon. The hospital was once again deserted. Having finished a bowl of rice gruel, the man in Room 18 lay in silence. I took a chair to the veranda, expecting to hear the barn owls’ cries again. I saw the shadow of Mrs Than’s chair inching closer to me. I started the conversation to put her at ease.

"It’s so complicated to help this family, isn’t it? Maybe you should try a new job."

"I’ve thought about it, but I’ve got to bear this job at least until the end of the month so I can get paid and support my children."

"Why did his wife give you such a scolding?"

"Today is the anniversary of my husband’s death, so yesterday I asked for my employers’ permission to go home to prepare for his ceremony."

"Were you born in the year of the monkey?"

"Yes, that’s why my parents named me Than"

According to the Zodiac, people who were born in the year of Than, the monkey, could have a happy life only if they were born in the hours of dan, about 3-5am.

"But you were not born in the hours of dan, were you? That’s why..."

"I’m not sure, but it could be that."

"Oh, no, I’m just joking. No one in this world is spared happiness."

It was suddenly getting cloudy, and the wind was blowing along the veranda. Mrs Than pensively looked over to the bus station, where buses would leave for her home village. I realised that whenever she sat here, she always turned her face in that direction.

"Would you mind doing me a favour?" She looked straight into my eyes. "I want to burn incense for my husband, but I’ll feel humiliated if I do it in Room 18."

"Oh, God! It’s a sacred thing to do, of course I’ll help you. Please go ahead."

We set about doing what she required. She cleaned the room while I cleared the table and positioned it in the best-lit spot. She washed the tea set and I arranged everything. She placed a bunch of bananas on a plastic plate and put some sweets on the bananas.

"My husband liked this kind of candy very much," she said. Then she carefully placed a 9x12 photograph against the sweets. The man in the photograph looked like her: a bit thin with hollow cheeks, a smile tinged with sadness and gentle-looking eyes... I had heard that when a couple loved each other, the husband and the wife would resemble each other. And now, looking at her and at the man in the photograph, I finally believed it.

Amid the haze of incense, she bowed with respect at the photograph, murmuring something. I closed the door and stood behind her, also whispering my prayers. She had become a close friend of mine, and her husband, a liberation fighter, was my comrade-in-arms.

"My dear husband Duoc! Please forgive me! Today is your death anniversary, but I cannot go home. Please protect your children so that they are always healthy and study hard. Our son Duong has finished his schooling and has a job now. Our daughter Nuong has just passed the university entrance exams. They are very good children, my dear, but they look so thin..."

She knelt down on the floor, sobbing bitterly. My eyes welled up in tears. The door swung open, and I turned to find the man from Room 18 in the doorway. He lit an incense stick with two trembling hands and began to pray. I could not pick up his murmured words but I was sure he was worshipping the soul of the deceased.

The wind blew into the room, sending the burning incense into flames.

Strangely, we heard no barn owl cries that night.

VNS