by Phan Hon Nhien

The memories still gave Vinh a lingering taste of their early days together, two years before. The excitement of the first conversations, the first moments of intense emotion, occasionally came back to him with powerful clarity.

Vinh, 32, designed auto MCUs (multipoint control units), a task that demanded a clear mind, focused on the present. The job suited him perfectly: he was self-confident and saw the world as controllable, according to need or whim.

He met San at a social function. He approached her, a young woman sitting alone in the corner of the room, holding a cocktail and a handful of fried shrimps in her slender fingers. When San raised her large ash-grey eyes to peer up at him, Vinh knew she was the girl for him. He tried to strike up a conversation with her, but she responded shortly, shy until the cocktail loosened her tongue.

She was a senior cartoon designer for a film company, she told him, and he quickly realised that her view of the world, one of beauty and colour, was entirely different from his, of function and precision. Vinh was immediately drawn into the conversation: the mundane became unique and intriguing through San’s eyes. Within minutes, he had already decided her creativity and spontaneity would be the perfect antidote to his workaholic tendencies.

After their first encounter, he took her to a film. He sat nervously by her side in the dark theatre, inhaling her apricot perfume, unable to concentrate on the 3D action film she had chosen. Her eyes were glued on the screen, so he took advantage of the opportunity to take her fingers in his. She turned to Vinh, smiling.

"You want to kiss me, don’t you?"

Speechless, Vinh answered with a long kiss.

"We’ve been waiting for each other for such a long time," he murmured.

She nodded, and they turned back to the film in silence.

***

As time went on, the enchantment of the early days melted into the comfort of everyday life. San moved in with him, and together their lives moved along with an easy rhythm. Amidst conversations about the weather forecast or the latest movies, Vinh sometimes asked himself if he wanted anything more. Was this tranquil life what he had wanted? Occasionally, he would suggest marriage or children. San would take her eyes off her computer screen and gaze into his, and Vinh would feel exposed and confused.

"Are you happy with this situation? You’re so quiet; I don’t even know if you still want to be with me," he asked.

"We can change when we decide we need to," she responded. "You know I want to be with you; that’s why we’ve been living together for two years, without any obligation."

"We should go somewhere soon, I think," Vinh said slowly. "We need a change of scenery. Then we’ll think about the next step."

She nodded and gazed out at a streak of light from the setting sun that entered through the open window and shined on the wooden pane before suddenly disappearing.

***

In the dark of the night, the airport looked like it was about to burst from the fluorescent light squeezed inside it. Loud sounds resounded from invisible loudspeakers, deepening the harsh sense of sterility. Travellers slumped side by side on benches, wearing blank expressions.

At the check-in counter, Vinh placed a large suitcase on the conveyor belt. Sitting beside San in the smoking area, he lit a cigarette and took a long drag, feeling relaxed.

"Why didn’t you check this too?" Vinh asked, eyeing the black square suitcase at San’s feet. She looked at him, confused.

"A camera, a laptop and some books; I thought I should keep my valuables with me."

Vinh frowned and lit another cigarette, as he skimmed the guidebook on the northern provinces of Japan. He had taken innumerable business trips, but this time, after his company’s annual meeting at its headquarters, he would be touring with San.

In planning the trip, Vinh discovered that San had never been on a plane before and had no clue how to arrange a visa. Somehow, she still seemed worldly: she spoke flawless English and could spout out random facts about different countries and cultures that she’d collected through reading books and magazines and watching TV game shows.

Vinh felt a twinge of sadness at learning this new detail about his partner. They had lived together for nearly two years, yet they knew so little about each other.

San was thrilled at the prospect of travelling to Japan in the wintertime. She explored the map of the Sapporo region and read about traditional Japanese dishes like miso soup, fish roasted with peas and all kinds of mustard.

The day before they left, Vinh returned from work to find San sitting on the bed amid a heap of clothes, an open suitcase on the floor. Vinh smiled to see San’s excitement over the trip as she ran around making final preparations, her hair tousled, her cheeks flushed and damp with sweat.

***

Rain ran in rivulets down the windows of the airport and pounded on the tarmac outside. Vinh put his arm around San, trying to calm her down.

"Soon after take-off, the plane will be out of the storm area," he assured her.

A voice over the loudspeaker announced the boarding of the flight to Japan, and Vinh suddenly felt nervous as he walked beside San, who was carrying her small suitcase.

After take-off, Vinh flipped through the film selections on the screen in front of him, while San pressed her face onto her hands. The plane grew quiet, with the rustle of passengers pulling up their blankets and the occasional hum of the plane’s engines the only sounds. Vinh could sense San’s fear at being trapped inside an object hurtling through the endless darkness. He took her hands in his.

"Get some sleep, baby."

"I can’t. Something feels wrong... " she trailed off, her ash-grey eyes narrowing.

"Nothing to worry about," Vinh assured her, as he pulled down the window shade. He read a few documents and listened to San’s soft breathing. He knew she wasn’t asleep. At midnight, the overhead lights suddenly illuminated the cabin. The plane was rocking as flight attendants scurried along the aisles awakening passengers.

"What’s the matter?" Vinh asked.

"Please be seated and fasten your seatbelt. The plane is experiencing some turbulence," the flight attendant said with a tight-lipped smile. Suddenly, the plane lurched and she fell in the aisle.

A few passengers screamed as the plane dived sharply. San was frozen in her seat, her eyes wide.

"Don’t be frightened," Vinh said softly.

"I’m not!"

The plane rose skyward again, easing the pressure. The oxygen mask dangled in Vinh’s face. With a loud crack, the luggage rack above San’s seat burst open, and Vinh watched as the small black suitcase landed on San’s head, making her faint.

***

The plane made an emergency landing in Hong Kong, and San was rushed to the hospital. She regained consciousness after six hours. She did not cry or complain of pain; she only asked Vinh to remove the bandage from her eyes. The problem was, there was no such bandage.

Later, Vinh often asked himself whether he or San had been more scared at the hospital. San immediately understood the gravity of the situation, but even so she smiled vaguely the whole trip home. The doctor said that a blood clot had pressed on her optic nerve. She might regain her sight at any time, or she might have a visual impairment forever.

It took San one week to get comfortable with the new situation. She walked along the pieces of furniture in the large house, tracing their edges with her fingers, and counted the steps in the staircase. She started using her fingers to study objects and taught herself to use sounds and smells to gather information about her dark world.

Vinh knew how hard it was for her, a woman whose passion revolved around visual imagery. Once, after returning home early from work, he saw San walking along in the garden, stepping carefully onto the blocks of stone hugging the edge of the fishpond. As Vinh watched her playing like a carefree child, he suddenly realised he had forgotten about San’s visual impairment. When he called to her, she was so startled that she lost her footing and fell into the pond. Vinh sprinted to help her, feeling worried and sad.

They began growing accustomed to San’s condition and tried to return to normal, never discussing the visual impairment. San asked Vinh for only one thing: she wanted to see everything through his eyes. As he began sharing details of the visual world with San, Vinh realised that he was seeing things around him in a different way than he ever had.

They talked more often than before. San would listen attentively, turning toward him, catching the light that her eyes could not see. When she felt Vinh shudder, San gently touched his face.

"Are you afraid of me?"

"A little."

San began to cry silently. Needing an escape, Vinh walked out of the house and down to the end of the street. He dropped by a music shop and drank a cup of coffee before heading home late in the afternoon. It began raining suddenly, as violently as the day that he and San left for Japan, and Vinh ran to escape the downpour. San was still standing by the window, waiting patiently.

"I’m home!" he said loudly.

She took his hand, exhaling softly. They had a quick dinner, watched (and listened to) the news on TV and went to bed early. Suddenly, San’s indifference disappeared, and she was back to her lively self. Her white skin glowed in the dark, and the moonlight reflected in her eyes, sparkling like fireflies. Her fingers clutched him tightly, showing her fear, her loneliness.

The night was not cold, but San nestled closer to him, as though looking for something. Her short hair smelled of ripe apricots. Embracing her, he pressed his lips to her smooth forehead. San breathed gently, her head cradled in his arms.

Outside the window, the clouds seemed glued to the deep blue sky. They listened to the muffled sounds of the lorries on the street, interrupted by the squeaking cry of a bird.

***

It was the end of December. An eye specialist told Vinh and San about an operation that may give San her vision back-and may leave her with the visual impairment forever. San avoided speaking about the operation, but she grew more demanding on Vinh. When she heard him describe pictures of things or people, she would yell for him to stop. She wanted to visualise things in full detail, to see everything clearly.

Vinh felt as though his world was crumbling. San’s blindness had forced him to recognise that his world was not as controllable and logical as it had once seemed. At first, the recognition made him feel choked with anger, then deeply sad. Soon, relief replaced the sadness.

San brought up the idea of taking a trip. It was the first time since her accident that either had mentioned anything that might remind them of their interrupted trip. Now they could talk about it easily.

"I felt so sorry for myself at first. But now, I understand that blindness was what God wanted for me, to force me to see life differently," San said, smiling. "After my surgery, we’ll buy plane tickets and plan a trip. It’s not good to stay in one place for too long."

"We’ll fly to the North. When we board the plane, you’ll take my hand."

"Yes."