by Vu Thi Thanh
The poor village lay between small sand dunes, very close to the estuary that fed into the sea. Sand dune after sand dune stretched up and down the edge of the beach. The sand made its way to the floor, even inside the room of the newly-married couple.
Sitting close to Than, the bridegroom’s nephew, at the wedding banquet was Nga, a friend of the younger sister of the bride. Everybody paid special attention to Nga both because of their traditional hospitality and because she was the only guest who had come from the north.
After the ceremonial dinner, Than had to return to the town of Tuy Hoa immediately, so he took Nga to the railway station on his motorbike so that she could take the late train to Da Nang, her hometown, that evening. The next day was Monday, and she would have to attend the important weekly meeting to hand over cases to the next shift of medical workers in the office.
***
They both still thought about the wonderful evening when they rode his shiny green FX motorbike, so new it didn’t have a licence plate yet. From the coastal village to the town of Tuy Hoa, the distance was about 15km, but they crossed the distance quickly with his motorbike flying at 60km an hour on the crowded streets. The sea breeze refreshed them.
Taking advantage of the long wait for the train, he led her across Da Rang Bridge to the Cham-built tower standing very close to Mt Nhan. From that height, they could see the immense estuary of the Ba River emptying into the sea. Mt Chop Chai looked like a small pyramid on the riverbank. From the peak of the mountain, the town of Tuy Hoa looked peaceful and beautiful beside the ruins of the Cham tower covered with moss, its stone steps darkened in the fading light of sunset.
They went for coffee at a terrace restaurant adorned with pots of orchid bouquets. With her light pink T-shirt, faded jeans and sky-high heels, she looked a bit mischievous, or at least interesting. At the same time, she seemed deeply sad or anxious.
Gazing into her round black eyes, he knew that a storm was brewing in her heart. In fact, she had been involved in a sentimental adventure that she had mistaken for a love affair. Meanwhile, her so-called lover was betraying not only her but also his wife in the countryside. To her, this trip was an escape. Seeing her sorrowful eyes and her unnaturally straight posture, he guessed that she was bearing a heavy burden on her shoulders.
He told her what he had never disclosed to anyone about his 13-year-old daughter and his wife’s pretty and kind-hearted younger sister. He was the only son of his mother, who had died when he was under two years old. His father was then working as a ranger in a far away mountainous area, so his grandmother had to take over his upbringing in town. He had not had to undergo a miserable childhood like many others, yet he had suffered from a great loss: his father remarried when he was just seven. In his mind, he had been deprived of both parents to some extent. Because he had grown up in such circumstances, he looked much older than his real age. In his late teens, he gave up schooling to earn money to support himself and later married when he came of age.
Was it a game of destiny? He did not know. What he craved at that time was a happy family. But over the past 10 years his conjugal life had brought him more suffering than happiness. In his heart of hearts, he loved his wife very much and took pride in his two bright children. As for his wife, enjoying every modern convenience at home, like a colour TV, was quite satisfactory.
Every Saturday and Sunday, his little clan paid visits to their relatives on either side of the family. On Lunar New Year, they went to pagodas or local festivals. These occasions, great or small, were what his wife looked forward to. She would reject point blank his requests to go to the capital city of Ha Noi at least once in his lifetime. Worse still, at wedding ceremonies for his friends, she wore casual clothes, although they led a life of plenty. When there were important events at her relatives’ homes, however, like death anniversaries or weddings, she joined them wholeheartedly until late at night, just to do trivial things like washing up and clearing away chairs and tables. So the requirements he’d set prior to their marriage had only been partially met. Would this vague loneliness – a heavy burden – last until his death?
***
Looking at her lily-white fingers stirring the orange juice with the straw in her glass, he felt warm. Her northern accent reminded him of his mother, a northerner as well, who had died when she was young, perhaps younger than Nga.
Nga told him about her countless trips, in rain and shine, to her hometown of Hung Yen along the Hong (Red) River, accompanied by Than’s younger sister-in-law during their university days. Each trip, Nga’s friend would wish that the next time, the person accompanying Nga with her heavy suitcase would be a strong young man. Unfortunately, that wish had never come true.
Nga did not conceal the fact that she wasn’t sure where she could go for the upcoming Tet holiday, an event of paramount importance. After what had happened to her, she did not have the heart to meet her parents in her hometown. Just thinking of it made her tremble with fear!
He wanted to tell her that parents were always tolerant no matter how badly their children might have behaved, something he had learned late in life. His childhood passed in sorrow, resentment and desire. Sometimes he had wanted to tell his chums that he also had a father, a heroic martyr during the war no less, when they boasted about their parents, but he had kept mum about his father’s exploits.
Although sometimes in despair over having been abandoned by his father, whose new wife had given birth to six children over the past few decades, he remained sympathetic to the large, needy family in the village on the coast. Only when his father died of a serious illness did he feel tormented and resentful because he had treated his father coldly. Now, whenever he did something helpful for his younger half-brothers and – sisters, he felt better. Sadly, his wife was unaware of his conflicted relationship with his family though she really was a good woman.
***
They left the coffee shop three hours before the train was set to depart, and Than took Nga to his own house so that she could have a short rest. It was a very beautiful and well-furnished building backed by a lush orchard. His wife was in town on business, and only Suong, his wife’s pretty, tall younger sister, was at home. He went off to receive batches of goods, and Suong took her friend to the orchard to pick several coconuts and drink their sweet juice and then relax on a large swinging hammock. Soon Nga fell asleep talking to her close friend, whose regional accent she always found hard to understand. For the first time in her life, sleep came easily and peacefully. Half an hour later, Suong woke her up to go to the railway station and catch the train.
At nearly midnight, the train left the station. Both Nga and her friend were moved when they saw Than, tall and thin, standing beside his wife, short and stout, on the platform waving their hands to say farewell in the dim yellow light.
***
Nga felt completely happy with her husband, who loved his wife dearly, and her little son; however, in a deep corner of her heart there was an image of Than, who always seemed to support her.
Many nights, while her son was ill and her husband was away on business, Nga stayed awake alone almost all night, too anxious to sleep. Then in her dreams, she saw Than appear before her, seeming so sad that she felt confused, but she told herself that the feeling would pass. It was Than who had made her realise how lonely human existence was.
Where was he now? The question seemed trite and hollow because she knew in that faraway place by the sea life remained as usual, and the wind kept on blowing violently over the peaceful city of Tuy Hoa. Sometimes, after hours of wearily working, she suddenly craved another ride on his motorbike at full speed in the evening breeze without noticing the rest of the world. She missed the short trip they’d taken that day which seemed at times long ago and at times like yesterday. At the time she had not been aware that in life there were encounters, mysterious and diverse, that could be simple pleasures. For Nga, there always would be the dreamy city of Tuy Hoa, just as it was in those fleeting hours of that day in November 2001. Than had never known that it was he who had helped her step out of a vicious circle.
Translated by Van Minh
VNS
