by Tran Minh Thuan

The chilly drafts of wind swept over the riverside village of Cai Gia Tren, which was surrounded by cork oaks stretching as far as the eye could see.

That morning, the wind had turned so cold that Mr Lanh had to put on thick clothes and a heavy scarf when he went out to fish. Hao, his daughter, teetered with two heavy baskets of sticky rice dangling from her shoulder pole, her teeth chattering. At 30, she remained single, bitter in her solitude. Often, she sang folksongs to conceal her sorrows. Her singing was so melodious that passers-by would stop to listen to "Miss Bach Thu Ha", as they nicknamed her, after the main character of a soap opera.

One day, word began to spread that she was pregnant – with whose baby, nobody knew. One morning Mrs Tam, her next-door neighbour, saw her running behind a tamarind tree and vomiting violently, and soon everybody in town had gotten wind of her pregnancy. Suddenly, she couldn’t sell her sticky rice, and nobody dared to hire her for any jobs, thereby associating with a woman of questionable morals.

Shamed, her father stayed indoors for days. If he were to punish his daughter severely, she might commit suicide, and then with whom would he live? Gradually, he turned a deaf ear to the nasty comments of locals and returned to fishing as usual to earn money to support his three-member family. "At 72, how long can I live afraid of the judgements of others?" he asked himself. Still, he and his daughter were alienated by most of the community. Hao promised herself she would do her best to please her father and hoped that the birth of her baby would turn her suffering into joy.

The whole village was also looking forward to her childbirth – to determine who the baby looked like. Would it resemble the head of the village, who had been frequenting their place for social affairs? What about the owner of the rice-husking mill, who often came to them to collect debts, or the young blacksmith, who had repeatedly sharpened the old man’s axe and knife free of charge? Wild guesses were rampant.

When asked about Hao’s pregnancy, the young smith only smiled. "If I were the father, I’d be very happy! Sadly, though, I’m not lucky enough to be her lover. If she were to agree to my marriage proposal, I would marry her at once," he declared.

Overhearing his words, Hao felt torn. She knew that he liked her very much, but she loved another man, whose future was still unknown. When she felt sorry for herself she wept and wept but she could not reproach him. From the bottom of her heart, she believed that he would someday come back and take her as his wife, together with their baby. Then her suffering would come to an end, and her father wouldn’t feel so ashamed.

Nonetheless, she was plagued by doubts. She had known him for just three days before she had offered him her virginity. "If he doesn’t really love me, I’m going to lead a miserable life," she said to herself.

***

It all had started a month before. At dawn, on her way home after the night-time market closed, she entered the shrine dedicated to Ta Genie and burnt some joss sticks, praying to get married. All of a sudden she heard a few soft moans coming from behind the nearby tamarind tree. Looking back, she was surprised to discover a young man in mud-covered clothes curled up on the ground. "How sacred this shrine god is! I just said my prayer, and I already have a man!" she said to herself. After eyeing him for a few minutes, she became all the more perplexed: thick sideburns covered half of his square face, a long scar ran across his left cheek and his broad chest was tattooed with a skull and crossbones. "Surely, he must be a gangster. Oh dear, what a strange godsend I’ve been given!" she whispered.

"I’m very hungry and thirsty. Please give me something to eat and drink," the young man croaked, trying to get up and then collapsing on the ground. Taking pity on him, she took a bottle of water out of one of her baskets and slowly poured it into his mouth. When the bottle was emptied, he fainted again. A few minutes later he recovered and ate the entire handful of sticky rice Hao gave him, which she had intended to bring home for her father.

"I can never thank you enough, but if I survive, I’ll do my best to repay you for your favour," he said, clasping his hands and bowing before her.

"Don’t mention it. Why are you lying here?"

He kept his gaze down, then glanced at the road stretching in front of them. A few seconds later, he stared at her as if he were going to ask for another favour. "Poor man!" she whispered to herself. Suddenly, a strange sentiment surged up in her, reminiscent of the way she had felt after drinking a glass of spirits on her friend’s wedding day. "Has this young man been sent here to become my husband?" she asked herself. She blushed all over with shame, afraid the strange man might guess what she was thinking.

"I’m Lam," he said to her. "I’m from Ca Mau Province. What’s this place called?"

"It’s Cai Gia Tren Village. Tell me why you’re here; if the local police found you in this state, they would take you to the station."

"I’m on the run, trying to return to my hometown for family affairs, but I don’t know how to get there, and I don’t have any money. Would you mind helping me? I swear I’ll return your kindness later."

She had a hunch that Lam meant he had escaped from prison. She knew that in Tra Vinh Province, about 50km from her village, there was the Ben Gia Reformatory for well-behaved detainees about to finish their prison terms. "Why has he broken out of jail?" Hao wondered. Realising that it was nearly noon, she told him, "Just stay here. I must go home to cook for my father now, but I’ll be back here in about half an hour."

***

That evening he told her the sad story of his life and the reason he had been put in prison.

He came from Ca Mau Province, where his ageing parents still lived. Although they were not rich, their livelihoods were stable thanks to their cajeput orchard. Then misfortune came upon him abruptly. While he was collecting honey from beehives in the woods, his father rushed to tell him, "Tanh and his son are trying to take your land!"

Tanh was Lam’s uncle, his father’s brother. Before dying, Lam’s granddad had left five acres of land for Lam as a wedding present. At first nobody said anything about it, for the plot of land was insignificant. Then the municipal authorities decided that a new borough would be established in this locality, and a new inter-city road would be built across the plot of land – making the value of the land skyrocket and the troubles begin.

When he reached home Lam saw Tanh and his son shouting while his mother sobbed on a hammock inside the house. After a long quarrel, the disagreement remained unsettled. Finally, Tanh concluded the dispute by saying, "These five acres belong to me. If you don’t agree, you can take legal action. Now I’m going to cut all the cajeputs and sell the land. Do whatever you want."

Immediately, with a saw in hand, he went straight to the five-year-old orchard of cajeput trees. Lam tried to snatch the saw from his hands and managed to seize it, unintentionally sending his uncle tumbling. His head smashed against the stone wall of their shared pond and began to bleed profusely. Because Tanh’s son was a local police officer, Lam was arrested a few hours later and subsequently sentenced to three years in prison by the district court.

In the camp, his spirits sank lower and lower. He tattooed himself and became a leader in the penitentiary. With the help of a sympathetic guard, he managed to get through his sentence, using the time to think about the kind of person he wanted to be. After two years in the camp he was transferred to the Ben Gia Reformatory, where he was permitted to work outside the jail for six months before returning to society.

When he was told that his mother had become seriously ill in his hometown, he escaped thanks to the warden’s negligence. Without money and in prison clothes, he knew he would be discovered easily, so he stained his clothes with mud. In the daytime, he slept in hiding and at night, he tried to continue his journey home. After two days’ walk, he had reached the shrine where Hao had spotted him, thirsty and hungry.

Hearing his account, she burst into tears out of pity for him. "Perhaps, God has sent me this miserable man," she said to herself. She returned home, chose a suit of her father’s and collected her savings and brought them to him. Sitting side by side until midnight, he burnt a joss stick, bowed before the altar in the shrine and said in a low voice, "May God bless me! After my mother’s funeral rites, I’ll return to the reformatory to complete my term. When I’m set free, I’ll marry Hao. I deserve the worst punishment if I break my promise."

As for Hao, she believed his oath, and she also pledged to wait for him until he completed his prison term. After a long, intimate night, she was with child.

***

Hao waited and waited, but Lam had not returned. Little Ti, their son, was two years old. Each time she glanced at the child, Hao missed her sweetheart very much. Since the birth of his grandson, Lanh had become more optimistic and energetic, with more desire to live.

One evening a cold wind rolled in, ushering in a new season. Old Lanh had trouble sleeping: early that morning, the weather forecast on the radio had predicted the arrival of a hurricane, and he was worried. At 5am, he went to the hammock and lay down, switching on the radio to listen to a programme about rural affairs. Hao, who was also anxious, could not sleep either. Ti woke up as well. She went to the kitchen to make tea for her father. The sun was slowly climbing above the horizon. All of a sudden, the old man heard a loud commotion coming from the gate of his property.

"Hao, go out to see what’s happening out there," he told his daughter.

When she lifted up the bamboo screen and walked out to the veranda, her father stared at the courtyard and nearly fainted. Hao collapsed in the doorway. Some of their neighbours whispered to one another.

In the middle of the courtyard was a man in a checked shirt, who fell before Lanh, dropping down on all fours and clasping his hands.