Only One Word By Dau Viet Hung

There were many things he disliked about the old man, but even so, Ty liked and respected him more than anyone else.

Sometimes Ty observed him very closely, trying to find out where his Mr Sau did dwell in this short, wiry old man with his tanned skin, flat face, and kind eyes that were mostly warm but could also turn icy and severe. Was it possible that there were two of them in a single body?

Ty was already fifteen years old, but Mr Sau still thought of him as a little boy who badly needed care from grown-ups. He could not utter a single swear word without being strongly scolded by the old man. "How can you learn bad things so fast?" Another one of his constant reminders that never failed to anger Ty was, "You must study hard, my child."

***

At the liaison station Mr Sau was neither the head nor the deputy head. Nor was he a liaison man. In fact he was free lodger and did odd jobs for everybody like cooking, boiling water and repairing bed planks. Off and on, when there were not enough liaison officers at the station, he was entrusted with some minor jobs like sending away letters or documents or leading some guerrillas to another station. And yet, Mr Sau seemed to be somebody. "Ty, you must say ‘hello’ or ‘good-bye’ when you come in or go out. You just leave without our notice or go home without saying anything; that’s impolite. You must know how to behave yourself." There were many times Ty thought of leaving the station, but stayed on because he did not know where he’d go and what he’d do.

Ty’s father was a guerrilla who was killed during a mopping up operation by the enemy. Ty was just seven years old then. His mother married again soon after and left him for ever. He was forced to live with his paternal grandfather in the countryside. When he was 14, he was hired to look after a landlord’s buffaloes. When the freedom fighters attacked a blockhouse nearby and ran it over, he and his friends collected a lot of war trophies for them. On that occasion, he asked them to recruit him. "You’re too young to join the army," the commander of the unit told him. "Just stay at this liaison station and help our guerrillas for two more years. I’ll come back and employ you." So here he was.

***

He was much more useful than Mr Sau at the station, he told himself. He delivered urgent circulars and official letters to their destinations very quickly. Before the fighters launched an operation he scouted the terrain first to make sure it was secure, then returned and led them across it. Every task that was assigned to him, he did well. When he was recommended, he usually glanced at Mr Sau as if to say, "Look, I’m more important than you." Nevertheless, Mr Tu Hau told him one day, "Ty, I’ll entrust you to Mr Sau’s care. You must obey him all the time. It’s a military order."

Mr Sau’s orders often sounded very strange. "Ty, try to gather at least three bundles of firewood. That’s an order;" or, "Fill up these two tanks with water. They nearly ran out this evening." Or "Massage my back. It hurts a lot." "Is that an order, Mr Sau?" he once asked the old man. "Yes, it is. Do it quickly." No matter what they were, real orders or not, Ty obeyed them all and performed them well. In the process, his interest in Mr Sau deepened. Sometimes, from the bottom of his heart, he craved for something from Mr Sau, but could not quite figure out what it was.

That Sau sympathised with and liked him was very evident to Ty. But, on the other hand, he could understand that the old man treated him so seriously as well. Each time Ty fell ill, Mr Sau was so worried that he could not sleep. Once, when he had a very high fever, Sau stayed up all night, placing wet and cold towels on his forehead. When Ty regained consciousness, the old man shouted like a child, "Thank God, you are all right now. Don’t go out in the rain anymore." Ty was moved to tears. For a long, long time, except for his paternal grandfather, nobody had shown such feelings towards him. Time and again, he thought that he would like to have a father like the old man with his simple teaching and orders, "From now on, don’t do this, don’t do that." He would be very happy to comply with such instructions.

But a few days later, when he had completely recovered from his illness, Ty found Mr Sau a bit different. He did not give him orders any more. Without jobs Ty felt very annoyed. He wanted to hear his orders again. Any orders would be welcome, even the one that he often hated very much, "My child, get in and study."

***

From his childhood up to now, Ty had never seen the inside of a school. Now he had to spell syllable after syllable, word after word, and it was very unpleasant. As soon as he learnt a new word, he forgot the previous one. What was more, once Mr Tu Hau told him to address Mr Sau as "Teacher." "Could Old Sau be my master? Never," he told himself, although he vaguely knew that Mr Sau had previously been a village teacher. A howitzer shell had landed in the middle of his house, leaving him the sole survivor. Wandering about in his grief, he had stumbled across this station. Over time, thanks to his efforts, many people like Mr Tu Hau, Mr Chon Liem and Miss Thao had learnt the three Rs. Now they were able to read newspapers. Ty had not heard Mr Tu Hau address Mr Sau as Teacher, but Mr Chon Liem and Miss Thao always addressed him with great respect.

"If someone teaches you just one word, or even half a word, you should address the person ‘Teacher,’" says a Vietnamese proverb. But Ty was not convinced. Even if Mr Sau taught him thousands of words, he would never address him "Teacher." In his mind, a teacher had to be a tall man with a leather satchel and polished shoes that shone. Mr Sau was always bare-footed and usually in black pyjamas with unkempt hair. How could he be a teacher? So this instruction of Mr Tu Hau was one that Ty ignored totally.

***

For a week now, Ty had been in charge of keeping a lookout on Highway 4 for any signs of enemy activity, so that he could lead guerrillas across when the time came. It was only a week, but he missed Mr Sau very much. The more he missed the old man the more he felt guilty. Living among the guerrillas, Ty had earned their high appreciation because he was polite, considerate and obedient. "If only I’d learned more carefully as Mr Sau had told me to, I would have been further praised," Ty thought. He resolved that when he got back to the station, he would show his gratitude by studying hard.

As he returned to the liaison station after completing his mission on Highway 4, Ty came upon Miss Thao purely by chance. She’d been badly wounded by the enemy’s artillery shells. She was unable to speak clearly because her left cheek was injured. She gestured to him weakly as if she wanted him to do something. He brought her the handbag she usually carried. She took out of the bag a pencil and a notebook, then wrote something on a sheet, tore it and gave it to him. Hardly had he taken it when she fainted.

Looking carefully at the short note, he could not understand what she meant. He looked at her again and found blood oozing out of her wound. He hastily bandaged the wound and took her to a field hospital that had been rigged up in the district. There he entrusted her to the field physician. Suddenly, he remembered the letter. He asked a nurse to read it for him. The note said, "Move the station away at once. It’s been exposed. The enemy is going to make a round up in our locality." He felt the earth shake under his feet. One day had already elapsed. From the hospital to the station, it would take him at least one more day. It was too late! He did not even say good-bye to the nurse as he rushed out.

When he reached the station, he could not believe what he was seeing. The small tree trunks used as pillars for the liaison tent were now smouldering. The belongings of the people in the station had been torn up and lay scattered here and there. Mr Tu Hau lay prone with one arm bent inwards under his chest and the other stretched forward as if he was trying to catch something. In the kitchen, the tray Ty used to have meals with the liaison officers lay tilted and food was spilled everywhere. On the floor were many patches of dark-red blood. Swarms of flies flew up when they were disturbed, then came down again.

Ty felt bitterness rise in his throat. He walked to the tray. He knelt down, shouting aloud, "Father! Father!" His voice became weaker and weaker and was finally drowned in the rustle of the forest leaves. So Mr Sau had been taken away by the enemy.

Then he stared.

There was a trail of blood drops leading towards the kitchen garden. He tracked it with growing dread. The trail was getting fainter. Then he stopped abruptly. "The death zone," he whispered. But there was no stopping him now. He kept moving towards the bushes, ignoring the branches that blocked his way until he reached an area where fallen trees lay scattered. He walked past them with difficulty and came upon the twisted bodies of a reconnoitring squadron of eleven Sai Gon Army soldiers. Mr Sau was among them, in his tattered black pyjamas. His eyes were wide open, and there was no sign of severity or kindness in them, but they reflected the pride of having deceived the enemy into the death zone (a heavily mined area). His lips were half open as if he had smiled at Death. Ty knelt down and bowed to the old man, then lifted his body and hugged it tightly. His thin shoulders shook violently as he sobbed out aloud, "Teacher! My Teacher!"

Translated by Van Minh Let's enjoy!

A woman in the house By Nguyen Quang Than

After his divorce, Toan decided he would never marry again, but did not tell anybody of his decision. He saved money to buy an apartment in the living quarter "slum," and after buying some of the bare necessities needed, ran totally out of money. But the comforting thought was that from then on, there would no women in his house.

He had loved when he did not know what love was. He had married her when he did not know that marriage meant. He married her because of her smile, and paid for it with a chain of unhappy days.


Early in the summer, his happiness that there was no woman in the new house did not abate. One cold day in late autumn, however, he began getting confused, unable to hold on to his elation.

That day, like every other afternoon, he went to the bus stop not far from his office. His ‘Honda’ 81 motorbike had been sold to repay the loan he had taken to buy the house the year before. He had got used to taking the bus every afternoon now. He took the last bus and never missed it.

That day, as he sat there on the bench by the roadside, his mind was fooling around with silly thoughts that it would be much better for him to take the state-owned bus than to take the xe om (motorbike ‘taxi’) with a crash helmet on his head and a gauge mask on his mouth making him look like a fire-fighter. So he did not notice a woman with a baby crouched at the other end of the bench. It was very cold and a constant drizzle peppered the road. Suddenly he found that only he and the woman were there on the bench, waiting for the last bus, and flushed as though he was on a date, as though her presence there was not a coincidence. After the divorce, he had not gone out with any woman. He told no one that he disliked being near them. Every time he talked to or sat beside a woman, her memory and words returned to him: "Yes, you’re not so precious that I should stick to you!" an almost constant refrain in the last days of their marriage.

The street-lamps seemed to glow a deeper shade of yellow in the rain. The woman with her baby was now sitting a little nearer to him, and giving him an entreating look.

"Please carry the child for a moment. I’ll be back in just a moment."

"Where are you going? And if the bus comes, what will happen?"

"I’ll be back right away. If the bus comes, please put the child down on the bench."

He could not bring himself to refuse. He was not by nature a curious man, so he did not ask her anything else. He took the baby from her. The boy was about a year old, with rosy cheeks. He was sleeping soundly in a bunch of warm clothes that was not very luxurious, but warm. The boy’s milky smell and his breath blowing lightly onto his face, made him wide awake.

"Please keep your eyes on my bag," she said, running into the rain.

He looked after her and saw her go to the wall around a playground. She sat down, disappearing into the darkness of the wall that threw a long shadow. He felt ashamed at his initial suspicion.

The familiar No.56 bus slowed down as it came to the bus stop. The conductor popped his head out, asking: ‘Are you waiting for the bus? Hop on." He did not answer. In his arms was a baby boy and beside him was the woman’s bag. How could he leave them on the bench? The bus did not stop, shifting gears to speed away. He looked after it with indifference. It would take him about half an hour to walk home, but he did not mind it because it was cold now. He pressed the baby onto his body as it moved in his arms. His worry was now for the woman.

"Would she have enough money to get a xe om?"

She was contrite as she took the baby from him. "I am sorry, you missed the bus because of me."

"No problem, I live near here. It’s better that I warm myself up walking home. Where do you live?"

"Oh, I’m getting back to the Ha Dong bus station. I thought I would sleep at home tonight and leave for Van Dinh early in the morning."

"Can I call you a xe om?"

The woman looked at him in confusion. He understood immediately that she did not have any money. He cursed himself. He should have realised that if she had enough money, she would not have waited for the last bus with the baby in this weather.

"Oh, no, thank you," she said, "I’m afraid of going by motorbike. It’s all right. We will sleep here and take the first bus tomorrow morning."

How could she and her baby boy sleep at this bus stop, on a stone bench, under a bird wing’s roof that could not shelter them from the sun and the rain? And how would they protect themselves from the vagabonds who use this place to wile the night away and to get their heroin shots. Why can’t I take her home? He told her so, and extended his hands out to take the boy. But she refused, wrapping the boy with her jacket. He looked sullen as he left. As soon as he entered his house, he stood in front of the mirror to see if he looked like a thug.

He could not sleep a wink. At about midnight, he fumbled around and found some cheap old and new raincoats and took these to the bus stop. The mother was crouched over like a prawn on the bench, holding the boy tightly as if she was afraid of dropping him. She could not have slept at all. Just as he stepped into the bus stop, she sate up immediately.

"Oh, it’s you, I thought... I’m very glad you’ve come. I should have listened to you earlier."

"I can’t let you sleep here. You should come to my house and take the bus tomorrow morning."

He said this in a determined voice of a militiaman responsible for protecting the homeless. She did not refuse, just handed the boy to him and walked by his side, raising high the ragged raincoat to prevent the raindrops from falling on her face.

So there was a woman in his apartment again. Not just a woman, a baby boy as well. The first thing he discovered about her under the neon light in the house was that she was beautiful – an oval, gentle face, and as far as he could tell, under that face was the tenderness of an educated woman who had fallen down the social ladder, and highly conscious of it. The second thing he had found out was that the mother and her son were very hungry. When she turned herself away and opened the buttons of her blouse to suckle the baby, he could tell, without looking, that she was squeeze her breasts hard, but the boy was still crying. Her hands trembled in desperation, so he knew that the milk had run out of her breasts. The mother was hungry as well. He took out the electric kettle to boil water and emptied out the milk can. At first she said she was not used to drinking milk and that she was not hungry. But when he said she needed to drink milk so that she could have enough milk to feed her baby, she almost snatched the glass of milk from his hands, throwing him a grateful look. After she drained the glass, she asked: "Is it really true that there will be milk?"

"Yes, it is true. And if you drink another glass, there will be much more milk."

He insisted that she drank one more glass. Indeed, the boy had his fill afterwards and fell asleep in her arms

"Now put the boy down on the bed and take a little rest. I’ll cook two bowls of instant noodles. You should be hungry. And now I am, as well."

She said nothing. She was no longer standing on ceremony. She was really hungry. But something else was occupying her thoughts.

As they sat at his desk, eating, he reproached her, out of habit, for not trusting him.

"What were you afraid of when you insisted on not coming? Were you more afraid of me more than the thugs and thieves on the street? And your boy would have starved."

As she looked at him for understanding, he had the incredible feeling that he was seeing a woman for the first time.

"I am afraid of men. Every time a man invites me out, I shiver."

"Do you?" he said with bitter smile. "I’m only afraid of those who are not men."

"You must be very good at math," she said irrelevantly, but there was an air of experience and sensitivity. "But I’ve found no one like you."

There was only one place to lie down and only one blanket – now occupied by the boy. They sat by the desk, neither saying anything about going to sleep. Like any other woman, she asked him about his wife and children. He spoke about his family without speaking ill of any one. His was so sincere that she wanted to tell him her own story.

She thought of her home village. She had left her teaching job and followed him into city. He was handsome, garrulous and more importantly open-minded and kind. He lived with her in an apartment rented from someone and promised they would get married when they had money to buy a decent house. Even after the boy was born, however, there was no talk of a wedding. A neighbour had told her: "A guy like him will never marry you after you give him a child."

... "Today, when I returned home after taking my boy to get him vaccinated, his wife was in the house. She lived with her two children only a few kilometres away in the city. She threw out my bag, and I had no choice but to pick it up and leave. It was raining, and I was worried that my son could get sick as he had just been vaccinated. I have to go far away, the farther, the better. I am sorry, I lied to you."

"Why do you smile? Your story is no laughing matter."

"I will not be able to feed my son if I cry. Men are very talented, aren’t they? She lived only two kilometres away from my place... "

As the days passed, the "talented" man did not come and look for the woman and the boy. It was likely he knew where she was, but did not want to come. But for both Toan and the unhappy woman, this was of no importance at all. He no longer noticed that there was a woman in the house now. He was less thoughtful, though, and no longer had to depend on snack food. No longer did he think of the woman who had always searched his wallet and looked down up on him for his meagre salary.

One day, about two weeks she began living in his house, he returned home to find her and her son missing. On the desk was a letter in neat handwriting. "I know this is ungrateful, but I want to go back to my native village. I could not... correct a wrongdoing, it took a lot of time, so please sympathise with us. My son and I will always be grateful for your protection and refuge..." On the desk was the dinner tray with meal already cooked. His clothes had been arranged neatly in the small case. He shuddered at the once-prized loneliness that stretched ahead. After a long time, he felt the house lacked a woman.

Translated by Manh Chuong Let's enjoy!

On the river By LE LUU

... At nine o'clock in the evening, Old Khiem put out his light, spread himself on the bottom of the small boat, arms folded under his head, to listen in the silence of the night to the underwater goings on of ‘his’ fishes. Over the width of the river the crests of waves glistened like a stars. Occasionally the raucous cry of a frog broke the silence or the dull splash of night hunting creatures as they ran along the banks echoed across the water. As the night wore on the wind dropped and mist crept over the whole expanse of the river.

At first a few fish leapt out of water, falling back with a hardly perceptible splash. But presently all around Old Khiem' s boat such splashes grew louder and more frequent. The old man began talking to himself with delight:

"A ha, that's fine - come on my little friends. Come and present yourselves to me. Never fear. I can't see you but I know you very well all the same... Come on..."

Suddenly he stopped, holding his breath:

‘Wait a bit. That sounds like my friend the Shad - with her around firm body and pinched in waist, a regular dainty miss... hold on- oops!

‘Now then here comes Mr Carassin, as thin and flat as a sycomore leaf. As for that short heavy splash without doubt that must be dame carp making a dive for it. Aha that flippety flop of troubled waters, that could be some big perch chasing after a shoal of little frightened gudgeon.’

Silence... then suddenly the voice of the old man again, this time exultant:

"Oho a pike - a pike... It's all up with you - you old bastard. I know you alright. Nobody else has that way of flapping the water when he jumps, with that enormous tail. Your trouble is you’re too fat – eh? – and it’s a bit of an effort clearing the water – One moment – Just to take a nice breath of fresh air – then flop! – away we go!’

Every night follows more or less the same pattern, the frenzied leaping and diving then sudden compete silence. After a long interval Old Khiem knows from experienced that a slight tap on the surface of the water will start the whole thing going again. "Here comes a sheat-fish. Don’t be, bashful my beauty. Just because you’re a bit sticky and covered with spots you needn’t be ashamed. Are you waiting for all the others to go away? Come on my dear Oops there, off she goes!"

While waiting for the fish to come and nibble his bait the old man is busy calculating in his head the quantity and types of fish that he must supply for the festivities on the following day.

Since he was seven years old Khiem often went with his father to help him in his work on this same stretch of the river. During the "dark years’ of the anti-French resistance, he lived by fishing alone and become the most skilful fisherman of the village. When peace returned, he took to operating the ferry as did his father. But since the establishment of AA defence units by the river for the protection of the outer periphery of Hanoi against US planes he took to fishing again as his main activity to supply food for the army. It is thanks to him that every week the soldiers are able to enjoy at least one good meal of fresh fish to vary their ordinary fare.

But just now he has a very important tasks for the following evening, one that concerns him personally and to which he plans to devote the whole day.

Without imagining what the old man would plan the head of the unit had confided a secret to him.

"The next day a number of comrades from the unit are due to depart on a distant mission and a farewell party is being planned."

In such a case there is only one thing to be done. Everything else must wait, his first concern must be to provide a feast. This is the reason why he has spent the whole night watching for fish.

In the morning as he got back to the house he handed over to his daughter five big bream and hundred or so ablets which he asked her to gut and prepare for cooking.

"Did you think of buying a bundle of incense sticks?’ he asked.

"Yes, Papam,’ she replied, "but you know – if it doesn’t interfere with your plans I would be glad if you could get back a little earlier. I have things to do in the afternoon.

"Alright, my chick, you don’t need to tell me."

Then he added in a lower tone, carefully avoiding his daughter"s eyes, so as not to betray his feelings:

"You must see that you"ve got everything you need or you"ll have a terrible lot to do the day you leave."

So saying he went back to the river. The nets he had attached to the delicate rods were positioned some distance from the river bank. With extreme care he felt each wand in turn, testing them between his finger and thumb. The stretched framework shivered in the water like the handle of a monochord vibrating in the hand of a musician, but he felt no tension or weight further down.

"Hell, that's bad- very bad" muttered the old man frowning.

It was a grey morning with low hanging clouds. In early Spring if the weather remains dry it means that the season has not yet warmed up.

"They may have gone to look for food a bit deeper" thought the old man pensively.

For a long time he sat motionless and silent then he announced decisively.

"Alright – good, if it's that way I'll try something else. We'll see"

He took off his clothes and, diving into the water, began to search about for a better place to fix his nets, after which he patiently set about moving every one. Having done this he was preparing to go on to inspect his other nets when suddenly he remembered something and hastily went back to the house.

His daughter Hai was cleaning the fish beside a large bowl of water. For about half a year now this pretty and shy young girl had been attracting an increasing number of suitors to the modest three-roomed cottage by the river dyke.

Saturday evenings they would file in from all directions, young students fresh from study at the naval dockyard, young men from the dyke repair service, soldiers, workers, young fishermen from trawlers who had to put in because of the fighting. The girl welcomed everyone with a strange smile which was peculiarly her own and very soon would find some excuse to disappear.

Her father was then left with no alternative but to determine his attitude towards these young suitors according to that of his daughter. It soon was clear to him that not one of them found any special favour in her eyes. However, there came a day when she found herself suddenly so taken aback, so embarrassed by the presence of a young soldier from the anti-aircraft section that she could do nothing but blush and stammer and twist the ends of her hair.

Immediately Tung arrived in the neighbourhood he began to get acquainted with the local people, and very soon discovered that the girl's father had at one time given shelter to his own father. Thus there already existed a link between them to predispose them to a tie of friendship.

Very soon their relationship became such that it could no longer be kept secret from anyone.

In a few single strokes Hai finished her work by cutting and peeling into the water five bunches of green bananas. She had cleaned and laid aside a few dozen of the biggest fish, keeping the others for soup. She had just finished cutting up the bream and putting them in the stewing pot and was pouring the water in when her father appeared.

"Well, have you finished my pet?" he asked playfully "Take the sticky rice out of that pot and hand it over to me. I am going to cook the fish."

"No, no, papa, I've cut them all up already and I'm going to make soup with the others," replied his daughter, very pleased at having finished her tasks so soon.

"Stop, stop!" cried the old man, "don"t do it – stop will you!"

he almost shouted at his daughter who was about to pour the water into the pot. With her arm still raised she looked at her father, astonished at this outburst. Being accustomed to be treated with consideration, this peremptory manner made the tears spring to her eyes. Without a word the old man removed the pieces of fish from the pan and laid them carefully in a basket. His irritation quickly evaporated when he saw the cheeks of his daughter wet with tears. He didn't dare to look again at that dear face, especially when it reminded him, dimples and all, of the face of the wife he had lost. He felt sorry for having spoken crossly to his daughter.

"After all," he thought, "the fault was mine for forgetting to give the right instructions before I went out this morning."

A moment later when the bream began to simmer in their bed of herbs and the stream from the doc (a kind of wild berry) began to fill the little kitchen with its appetising smell the old man smiled at his daughter.

"What a ninny eh? You forgot who I was keeping the bream for?"

Hai was absent-minded of cause: being in love, her head was usually in the clouds. Her father brought her back to earth. By this time she was so upset that there was nothing she could not do but run to her room bury her head in the pillow and sob with shame and rage that she should have forgotten.

"Oh dear Papa – how could I? Please forgive me!"

Every year on this day of the anniversary of his wife"s death, papa Khiem does his utmost to bring home some bream, those with small heads, rather a rare species here, with which he prepares with his own hands, a special stew flavoured with doc.

"You know," he told his daughter when she was still a child, "when your mother was pregnant she was always wanting these fish cooked with doc, though they are not considered very good for the women in childbirth. Never mind, this was the only thing she asked for, so I got them for her. Then when the time came that I had to find rice to feed the armymen, I was selling all the fish I caught to buy rice. Once I happened to bring in a dozen of these big bream and of course I wanted to keep a few for your mother. But she wouldn't hear of it – not her. She insisted that I sell them all to get rice for the guerrillas." Let's enjoy!

A daughter-in-law by Hoang Tran To Phuong

My grandmother, on my mother’s side, has two children - a daughter and a son. For her, the saying "a son means an offspring, ten daughters mean no offspring" was a truism. So all her attention and affection was focused on uncle Ba. My maternal grandfather’s family used to be the richest one in the village. When he died of some serious illness, she inherited his entire wealth. Everyone in the family was respectful to her. Mother and uncle Ba never talked back. She had strongly opposed the marriage between Dad and Mum because his family had no "position" in the village.

He was also not the eldest son, just a soldier waiting to find employment after the nation’s liberation. Mother cried and cried, until grandmother gave in. But she stressed that a woman should follow her husband, and that all the assets of the family would belong to Uncle Ba. The wedding ceremony was a simple one with just close relatives present. As for Uncle Ba, he did whatever grandmother told him. He had a mild and gentle nature, and was careful not to displease her.

When I was five years old, a grand wedding party was organised for Uncle Ba. Grandmother was laughing heartily, and she looked very happy.

When I was 18, my aunt had been a daughter-in-law for 13 years. Mother said that aunt had to work from dawn to dusk, and unlike other people, had no spare time. Although she was very rich, at the end of the week she had to present her final accounts to grandmother. She worked like a machine without any respite or delay. Many evenings she went out into the corridor to cry, taking care even then that grandmother did not catch her doing it. The miserable life of a daughter-in-law made aunt an irascible person.

Grandmother was ageing and ailing and seldom touched her food. She spent the whole day on her bed. Mother often returned home to visit her. Uncle Ba was always glad to see mother and me. Aunt was indifferent. She did not say hello to us. She cleared her throat and asked:

"Mother has not passed away, why do you come to ask for your inheritance?"

Mother pretended not to hear. I stared at aunt. I could not believe that a girl cast in the typical "diligent needle work, modest, proper speech and morality" could behave like that. She took a broom and turning to mother, said:

"Please don’t mind! The house is very dirty, I have to sweep it!"

I threw her an unpleasant look, and Uncle Ba was ill at ease, but as he was used to pleasing his wife, and did not utter a word. Aunt laughed:

"Mother is only slightly ill. If you are worried that we cannot take care of her, please take her to your house. I have no objection."

Mother left the medicine for grandmother, and over and over again, asked uncle to take good care of her. She managed to be polite to aunt, because she knew that her life as a daughter-in-law was miserable. I knew that mother wanted to take my grandmother to the city, but she dared not tell her. She loved uncle Ba so much, she would not agree to leave the house, whatever happened. Also, she did not want to rely on her daughter. Although I was her granddaughter, she did not love me because I bore the family name of another person. And, of course, I was a girl. In these days when gender inequality was becoming obsolete, I could not understand the strong hold it had on grandmother. All those times I visited her, she never greeted me once. I could never taste a fruit, although there were plenty of laden trees in the garden. She never gave me any presents. Everything was given to Sang, my uncle’s son. He was eleven years old, and very small. Aunt feared that if grandmother had some affection for me, she would treat Sang differently. So she did not like me.



But Sang was very pleased whenever I visited his house. He took me around to go fishing, to wade through the stream, and even taught me to shoot at birds. I was fed up with boys’ games, but I did not want to sadden him, and reluctantly followed him. He liked to hear me talking about the city, about my school and my class, his eyes widening as I spoke. Back home, he recounted everything to his mother. She said flatly

"If you like the city, you can go to live there,"

she also glanced at me

"my child, we are people of the countryside, we are used to eating countryside rice, what is the use of going there?"

Very angry, I left for the garden.

The atmosphere in the house was getting colder and colder. Grandmother lay in her bed, racked by coughing fits, groaning occasionally:

"Aunt Ba, give me some water"

or " Aunt Ba, I want to have some soup."

Aunt Ba was very busy in the house at all times. I was very quiet, whenever I was there, but would never do what Aunt Ba told me to, and she would be furious. Once I heard her complain to uncle Ba:

"Why do I have to be so miserable? A daughter-in-law is like a servant in this house."

Then the dam broke and she sobbed uncontrollably, and all that had been locked up within for a long time seemed to pour out. She recounted what she had to do in the morning, in the afternoon, in the evening. Uncle Ba remained calm. He tried to comfort her.

"You should try to bear with it, don’t get angry with mother. Anyhow she is very old now."

"How much longer do I have to endure this? Why don’t you entrust your sister with the task of caring for her? She would be much happier if she lived in the city."

Uncle Ba said gently:

"Because mother does not agree!"

"You have only to rent a taxi, and take her there. That’s all!"

Uncle Ba lost his temper:

"Don’t be insulting."

"You dare scold me, do you? Now my husband as well. Have I not been tortured enough?"

Uncle Ba flew into a rage and slapped her. She covered her face and cried out loud. Neighbours rushed in to restrain him. It was the first time I’d seen him like this. Aunt looked so miserable and pitiful. The miserable life she’d had to suffer for so many years had turned her into another person. Too much forbearance sometimes changes the nature of human beings, making them selfish, like the drop of water that makes the cup overflow. I did not hate her anymore, and began to commiserate with her. And I feared the fate of being a daughter-in-law. I’d never seen any sign of discord between my paternal grandmother and mother, nor had I seen my parents quarrel. Mother was devoted to her mother-in-law, who loved her very much and repeatedly said she was very happy to have such a daughter-in-law.


Mother was worried. She decided to bring grandmother to the city. Grandmother would not agree, consenting only after strong persuasion from relatives. Aunt sighed with relief. She said:

"Sister, you can take her away. My husband and I will go see her very often!"

Then she walked briskly into the kitchen. I followed mother home. Sang cried and asked to go with us. Aunt ran up to him and slapped him sharply on his buttocks. I burst into tears. I was very sad for him, but did not know what to do.

Grandmother was sent to the hospital. Uncle Ba came to our house to look after her. Some nights, mother did not sleep. There were dark circles under her eyes. Father, who was always away on some mission or the other, visited grandmother whenever he returned home. Many times grandmother twisted and turned, calling out uncle Ba’s name.

Mother and uncle Ba spent many months beside my grandmother. One day aunt took Sang along when she visited her mother-in-law. Sang sobbed:

"I miss you very much, Granny!"

She nodded and stroked his hair.

Aunt smiled derisively:

"How miserable you are, Sister Hai! But it is nothing compared with what we endured for the last ten years and more."

Grandmother sat up slowly, and said angrily:

"Aunt."

Then she was caught in a coughing fit. Mother was panic-stricken. She ran to grandmother and rubbed her chest. Uncle Ba frowned. Frightened, aunt pulled little Sang home. Sang ran back to hug his grandmother. Aunt went into the corridor and looked into the room from behind the door.

Grandmother twisted and turned for many nights, complaining she could not sleep. A month later, she passed away. She did not leave behind any will. She only held my mother’s hand. Though I was not close to her, I felt deeply the loss of a grandparent. The distance between life and death was so fragile and frightening. Mother looked emaciated. Uncle Ba and father hurried back and forth organising the funeral. Aunt rushed to the coffin and collapsed. I hated the pretence and did not want to look at her crying. People came home to offer their condolences. I was as sad as a stale noodle, but my eyes were dry.

Midnight. The lights in my house were still on. Aunt was sitting in a corner of the house, wiping her tears with the tail of her mourning robe. Suddenly, I felt that I had been too severe and prejudiced against my aunt. I hoped that her tears would flow downstream, not upstream. Her remorse seemed to rise from deep within her heart. I wanted to comfort her, but was afraid. I went to the kitchen to pour some tea for her, and became lost in thoughts. The tea overflowed from the glass.

Translated by Huong Tu Let's enjoy!

Let’s go home By Dang Minh Chau

The old man stopped and looked upwards. Then with his right index finger he pointed at a high building in front of him and began counting: "One, two, three, four,..., eleven, twelve, thirteen..." He already felt the strain on his neck at this point, not to mention a feeling of dizziness. "Very high indeed!" he exclaimed. He wanted to count to the highest window to see how many stories the building had. Hardly had he got to "fourteen" when her voice boomed.

"Stop it! Stop it! You Idiot!" his wife said as she turned around. He obeyed his wife’s order with alacrity. "How many more floors has it got?" he asked himself, following his wife’s steps. "Some day, when I’m alone, I’ll have to count them," he told himself, turning back to look at the high-rise for a last look as it receded farther and farther away.

At the beach, his wife sat down on the sandy shore about ten metres from the water’s edge while he dipped his feet in the salty water. He had suffered from eczema on the feet for years. His wife had tried to treat his itchy feet before leaving, but in vain. Since they arrived in the coastal city and he began immersing his feet in the sea every morning, it was getting much better. He was happy and his wife was very pleased as well. She took pity on him and looked after him as if he was a little boy under the custody of an old maid. All her feelings went to him, but she was a bit authoritative now.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He felt that the salty sea water was infiltrating his body through his feet. It was good to be at the sea, much better than by the water of the small river of his native place.

"It’s time for us to go home, dear," she said to him. Her tone was still very bossy. He was allowed to soak his feet for thirty minutes only. He opened his eyes wide and retreated. On fine mornings like this, the sea did not seem to have waves. He smiled, looking at the clear water. "Some day, when I’m all alone here, I’ll soak my feet for hours," he told himself. He felt very optimistic.

In fact his son had once said: "Mother, let him go to the beach alone will you? He won’t go astray and get lost."

"Won’t get lost? Your father counts on every building that takes his fancy like a mad man. How can I stand that? Then he wants to be at the beach the whole morning. If he is like this, what will happen to him?"

He did not want to make his wife sad. Formerly, he had been very bossy and his wife had been meek, not daring to look up at him. If the smallest thing in the house was not to his liking, he would stare at her and she would obey his unspoken bidding at once. After he fainted because of high blood pressure and the doctor informed that he had been suffering from a heart problem without his knowing it, things had changed completely. When he was in hospital, especially at one point when he seemed beyond recovery, she had given him such care that he greatly regretted his past behaviour. After leaving hospital, he became a much milder man. At first she was greatly worried about the change. Once she asked him boldly: "What’s the matter with you?" "What a question! If anything was wrong, how could I be this well," he answered, smiling.

She was reassured. Over the days, she began to become more bossy. Thanks to the knowledge of oriental medicine that she’d got from her father, a famous herbalist in the locality, she had treated him effectively, and he was all the more respectful. After more than six months of treatment at home, he had recovered almost completely. He had given up the habit of glaring at her. Meanwhile, she gained the power to run the family. When they received a message from their eldest son in the coastal town that his wife had given birth to a baby boy, and both mother and child were safe and sound, the old woman was very happy. "We’ll have to be with them as soon as possible, darling," she told him. He nodded, smiling: "I’ll prepare everything for this trip. I think we will be away long. You’d better say good-bye to the neighbours first," she said.

He could not go to sleep. For the past few days, whenever he lay on the bed, he found himself restless. He was able to hear the sound of the waves very clearly. It seemed that he would touch the waves if he put his legs down on the ground. Tomorrow, it would be two months that they’d been away from home. His wife was very satisfied with the trip. The sea breeze was fresh and healthy, their grandson was handsome, their son and daughter-in-law treated them well, the house was well kept, and the meals were delicious. They did not want for anything. Meanwhile, his eczema had disappeared completely and he looked quite healthy.

A few days before, when everybody was in high spirits, their son had suggested: "Dad, Mum, would you mind staying here until Tet? It’s only four months away. I’ll take the opportunity and return home with you. It’s been such a long time."

"All right. That’s a good idea," answered the old man.

"It’d be much better if both of you stayed with us all the time," said the daughter-in-law. He’d just smiled.

"How long have we been here, dear? It’s one month and more than twenty days, isn’t it?" he asked his wife when the whole family was having dinner.

"What’s the matter with you?" she asked him.

"Oh, nothing. I just want to know, that’s all," he replied, trying to evade his wife’s suspicion.

In the morning, the sea was calm, as usual. Yet, he was upset. In the end he would have to do everything of his own accord. Quickly he stepped away from the water and said to his wife firmly: "Let’s go home, dear."

"Why? We’ve been sitting here for only fifteen minutes?"

"Let’s go home," he repeated. He began walking briskly across the sand.

"You’ve left your sandals behind. Stop and put them on, will you?" his wife ran after him, shouting.

He kept walking as if he’d not heard. At last his wife caught up with him and dropped the pair of sandals near his feet.

"Why do you do this? If you want to return home, you don’t have to be so hasty," she reproached him.

He stopped to put on his sandals and said in a calm voice: "Don’t be angry with me, darling. Please listen to me. I don’t want to displease you. But frankly, I cannot stay here any longer. Let’s go home."

"OK, let’s go," she said and began walking briskly.

"Just a minute, dear. Er... I mean we’d better return to our native place," he said.

She stopped short. He went up to her, and said in a very serious voice: "Last night I had a strange dream. There must be something wrong with our tombs at home. I’m greatly worried about them."

Being a superstitious woman, she became very frightened. He’d never told her such things before.

The young couple could do nothing but watch their parents pack. The old man tried to cheer them up, saying they would come again next year, especially to see little Bom.

His wife did not say a word.

The train left the station at midnight. She watched him sit motionless and staring into the dark for a long time. Then she said: "You’d better go to sleep."

He sighed and smiled warmly at her. "Don’t be angry with me when I tell you this... The fact is that last night I was only dreaming of the small river flowing through our village. I don’t know why I missed it so much, especially when I felt so good soaking my feet into the salty water." His wife jumped up as if she’d been stung.

He hurriedly explained: "The reason I want to leave is that I don’t feel well these days. I don’t want them to shoulder a burden if I fall ill. I’ve been very happy staying with them, but...," he suddenly stopped and placed his hands on his chest.

"What’s the matter with you?" she said, eyes brimming with tears.

"No problem. Don’t worry too much about my illness," he waved his hands. " "Anyway, I have to return to our native place to take a bath in the river at least once." The train whistled as it approached a bend. The sound disappeared in the dark.

So he was going away from the sea. He would not have the chance to go alone and count the number of floors on that building, or to put his feet in the clear sea water again.

He glanced at his wife and felt pity, no resentment over her bossy behaviour over the past few months. He knew that in the depths of her heart she was a kind-hearted country woman. And in his heart of hearts, he did not want to regain his former patriarchal command. As soon as they reached home, he would yield it to her.

He took a long breath again and smiled. "Let’s go home."

Translated by Van Minh Let's enjoy!

The woman at Doi junction By Nguyen Quang Thieu

After 20 years, Bang decided to return to Doi junction. All seemed unchanged. As before, the arid hills and slopes were scattered with patches of myrtle bush. The junction was 30 minutes' walk from the nearest hamlet and people rarely passed by. What surprised Bang most after 20 years was finding a solitary tea stand at this remote intersection. The surrounding area stretched vastly in every direction, but in daylight it was possible for passers-by to see the distant hamlets. Newcomers, however, would be sure to lose their way, particularly by night.

Twenty years before, Bang was such a newcomer. The first day he came to Doi junction, he was returning from three days' leave before his military unit headed south. The whole unit had moved to a nearby station and Bang hurried to catch up with them. From Bo District Town he walked as far as Doi junction when it began to get dark. Suddenly, Bang was lost. He sat down to smoke and waited, but not a soul passed him in the darkness, only the wind rustling the myrtle bushes and tall grass. He finally decided to choose a direction at random and set off. After one hour, Bang realized to his surprise that he was approaching the same intersection. Again, he chose a different road at random, and again after an hour of walking he arrived at Doi junction. Each road seemed to go around in a circle. Bang sat down to think, breathing hard, finding the situation both confusing and funny. He pulled himself together and started down the last road out of the intersection.

After several minutes of walking, Bang glimpsed a distant light. Overjoyed, he quickened his pace, eager to have located his unit and to be with his comrades again. In the night, the light looked so near, but it was well over a kilometre before he reached it. It turned out to be a pile of burning grass.

Near the fire was a small house, which Bang approached. A young woman was within. Seeing the stranger, the woman started in alarm, but relaxed as soon as she realized the man was a soldier. She looked at Bang, laughing lightly, and asked, "Have you lost your way at Doi junction?"

"How did you know?" He responded in surprise.

"That junction is haunted. People get lost there all the time. I am Luu. Please come in and have some tea."

"I am in a great hurry," Bang said nervously, "I only want to ask the way."

"The more nervous you are, the more lost you will get," Luu laughed again.

"Without a guide, you'll go round in circles for eternity."

Luu smiled held out a bowl of boiled water to Bang. Then she went into to the kitchen and brought back a basket of manioc, saying "Please, have some manioc. We grow it here ourselves."

Now Bang could see Luu's face. What a beautiful girl she was! What night was it tonight, he asked himself, trying to remember the date on the lunar calendar. It was the night he lost his way and found a small house. And inside that house there was a beautiful girl. It was really like a fairy tale. All the stories he had read in books seemed to come true somehow or other in life. Bang looked into the house and saw a green mosquito net hanging down like a fishing net.

"Have your parents gone to bed?"

"Only my sister and I live here. Our parents are dead. You want to go to Choi Hamlet, don't you?" She asked, changing the subject abruptly.

"How did you know?" Bang was again surprised.

"There is an army unit stationed there tonight."

"It's my unit. Please tell me the way there," Bang asked.

"It's only five kilometres, but now it is too late. You will stay here tonight, and then tomorrow I will take you there," Luu said.

"But I have to go now... "

"You'll lose your way! There are dozens of trails to choose from. If you don't know the way and go there by night, there is no way you will know which trail to follow. Moreover, the poisonous 'tailless snakes' come out onto the road at night. They bite cow and man alike, and they are lethal."

After a last moment of hesitation, Bang decided to stay at Luu's. Of course he was not afraid of the tailless snakes. It was just that this meeting was so unusual to him, and he was intrigued. Naturally his judgement was also affected by Luu's beautiful face and warm, soft voice. They went to the well together so Bang could wash his face. The well shaft was as small as a clay pot, but it was as deep as the eye could see. "What a deep well!" Bang marvelled. Luu smiled and said, "The deeper the well, the cleaner and purer the water is." The water was so cool that it could quench even Bang's fatigue.

After washing up, they sat on the bamboo bench on the veranda. The moon illuminated the shadowy hills.

v "Why is this junction so mysterious? I kept walking in circles and coming back to the same point," Bang asked curiously.

"I told you, it's haunted," she replied.

"Haunted?" Bang smiled. "I haven't been afraid of ghosts since childhood. I'd like to see a ghost."

"There really are ghosts there," Luu said, raising her eyebrows at him. "Some buffalo traders passing by the place were murdered by thieves. Now their ghosts haunt the junction to scare strangers."

"Have they ever bothered you?"

"Only once, when we first moved here after land redistribution." "How did you get away?"

"I didn't. I sat there, crying all night. When the sun rose, the ghosts disappeared. And I found the way home then."

v Bang and Luu sat in silence after that. The moon seemed brighter. Crickets chirped. A light breeze blew.

"How long are you stationed in Choi Hamlet?" Luu asked Bang.

"Confidential," Bang teased her. "Only one month. I was just on my way back from R&R."

"How many children have you got?"

"Do I look like a father?"

"Not at all," Luu chuckled, "but it is quite common for soldiers to marry before going of to the battle field."

"Not me."

"What about a sweetheart?"

"No."

Bang then looked straight into Luu's eyes, keen, black eyes beneath full eyebrows. They gazed at each other. And then they both turned away, sitting in silence for a long time. They spent the rest of the night talking dreamily, as if they were talking to a third person. At first light, Bang got up to go. Luu accompanied him as far as the limits of Choi hamlet, and then turn back towards home.

Three days later, Bang went to see Luu. They went up to the hill of cassava trees. Bang gave Luu paper and a pen.

"I don't need these things," Luu said.

"To write letters," Bang replied.

"To whom? I have only written to one person in my life. But I did not have the address, so I stopped writing."

"Please keep them and write to me."

"You'll leave for the battle field in a few days' time and after that I won't know where you are."

"I'll write to you."

"Really?" Luu raised her eyebrows.

Bang said nothing, only nodded his head. From that day, whenever he had time, he rushed to see her. Luu took Bang to the Doi road junction and showed him the way to go without losing his way among the criss-crossing roads.

"Why don't you and your sister live in the hamlet? So far away, you must be lonely," Bang asked.

"We're used to it now. Anyway, our loved ones are here," Luu said, looking toward the far-away hills. Her sad eyes brimmed with tears. Bang moved closer to Luu, asking quietly, "Are your parents buried at the foot of that mountain?"

"Yes. And also my friend. He was bitten by a poisonous snake. That is why I don't want to write any letters."

Bang saw the tears running down her cheeks. He took her hands. They were soft and warm.

"I'll write to you," he said.

"I'll be expecting your letters very much," she answered.

Bang's unit left a week earlier than planned. Luu took Bang to Doi junction one last time. They stood there side by side, looking towards the hills scattered with graves. She held his hands tightly. It was so windy that afternoon.

At last, Bang said, "I've got to go." Luu turned to look at him and couldn't hold back her tears. Bang embraced her. When she had quieted, he said, "I'll come back here to look for you. Do wait for me. Don't move to anywhere else. Can you wait for me, Luu?"

"I can," she said. "I'll wait for you all my life."

v Bang never forgot those days at Doi junction, but it took him 20 years to return there. He had been wounded in the war and had no children, but had done well enough for himself and even had a car. Many times in the past he longed to return to the intersection but stopped himself. "What's the use of finding her? It would only put her in an embarrassing situation," he told himself. He had written to her, as promised, from the field, and she had not written back. Although it tortured him, he thought it better not to return. But finally, he decided to go to her, and tell her he had stayed single, a man of his word.

By car Bang went back to the junction, his adopted daughter Minh in tow.

"Dad, is this the Doi road junction?" Minh asked as she climber out of the car.

"Yes, sweetie."

"Where is Miss Luu's house?"

"Quite near here. Let's go to that tea shop and ask if she still lives here."

Bang and Minh walked towards the tea stand. A woman of indeterminable age invited them to sit and eat boiled manioc. When she looked up, Bang started in amazement. It was Luu. The beauty and freshness he remembered were gone, replaced by ill health and failed expectations.

He imagined she must have married, had children. And his anxiety suddenly vanished. Luu also recognized that the man sitting in front of her was Bang. She was dumbfounded hearing Minh calling him dad. Through the years she waited for Bang, Luu had refused to marry despite the advice of others. She strongly believed that Bang would return one day, or if he died that someone would notify her. But now her confidence was crushed. He had a wife and a daughter. He was a happy man. He looked so smart and even had a car. He surely was an important man now.

"I could recognise him, but he could pretend not to recognize me. Or he has long forgotten me, she thought. And I wasted so many years at this junction, crying and calling his name." After pulling herself together, Luu asked, "What brings you and your daughter to this remote junction?"

"I am on business. We were thirsty, so we dropped in for tea," Bang lied.

His answer was like a knife in her heart. So, he was only passing through.

Meanwhile Bang felt empty and sad.

"My darling, you don't recognize me," he thought.

"Where are your children, that you must sell tea here?" He went on with his facade.

"My children are at school," she lied back.

Bang wanted to stand up and exclaim, "Luu, have you forgotten me? I'm Bang, I've come back to you." But he contained his emotion. Things were different. Twenty years had gone by. Their lives had taken different directions. He rose sadly.

"Good-bye," he murmured. "I've got to go now."

"Please have one more cup of tea," Luu said, standing up in panic. She looked penetratingly into his eyes. They both stood motionless.

"Thank you," Bang said as if in a dream, "but I've got to go."

He left the stand quickly, memories flooding his mind. He turned back to look at her briefly. She sat rooted to the bench. "She must not have recognized me," he thought, "or she did not want to recognise me." In any case it was better for him to go now.

"He did not recognize me," Luu thought with pain. "I have aged so much. I have become a ghost at Doi junction. I wanted to call your name," she thought. "I wanted to tell you I have waited for you every day for 20 years. I wish I had known you would act so poorly when we finally met again. Do go away, adieu and farewell!"

As the car disappeared into a cloud of red dust, Luu bent down to cry. Darkness shrouded the hilly area. Luu sat like a rock in the hissing wind. At last she stood up. She looked at the tea stand she had set up ten years ago, and then took a match to it. When she had set up the stand, people had called her crazy. Each day, only a few persons passed by. She would never reveal that she had built the stand to wait for Bang to return. She had always thought that if he returned, he would get lost at the cross-roads again.

So for 20 years, Luu lived in her tea stand by a hill of manioc. It was enough for her. Over time, ailment and loneliness had turned her into a woman whose age was impossible to guess. She couldn't bear to look at her own face in a mirror.

When they arrived in the district town, Minh asked Bang, "Why didn't you find Miss Luu?"

"The tea seller was Miss Luu herself," Bang said softly.

"So you both did not recognise each other?"

"We both did recognise each other, but neither of us wanted to say anything."

"Why, dad?" Minh was surprised. "Why? Was it because she was married? Or was it that she is so old and ugly?"

"I don't know."

After that Bang decided to go back to Doi junction. He sent Minh back to the provincial capital and hired a motorcycle taxi to return to the junction, and then sent the driver back to town. The driver eyed him as if he were insane.

Darkness covered the hilly area. Bang approached the tea stand, but stopped in his tracks when he saw there was nothing left but ashes. He suddenly understood everything. He shouted out, "Oh, dear Luu!" And rushed to find her house. It was like twenty years before. He went round and round and returned to the same spot. Now he did not believe that there was a ghost, but he understood this magical circle of life. He tried all night but could not find the house. He searched for a fire's glow, like that night so long ago. Finally, as dawn brought a glow over the landscape, Bang recognized the path leading to Luu's house.

He walked into the yard. The house was the same, except for the explosion of yellow chrysanthemums blooming in the front yard. The house was locked. He looked at the house for quite a long time and then went to the well. He dropped the pail into the water. It seemed to fall endlessly, as if the well went clear through to the other side of the world. Just as he felt a surge of irrational panic, that the well was bottomless, the pail hit the water. The water echoed vaguely. Bang slowly drew up the pail. Pulling it up again seemed endless, but eventually he brought the bucket up onto the rim of the well. The strange light of early morning reflected brightly in the bucket of water. Bang splashed water onto his face. Right at that time he heard the door opening. He quickly turned and saw the house's wooden doors slowly opening wide.

Translated by Manh Chuong

Let's enjoy!

Enchanting moment By Cao Tien Le

I was startled when I heard the name of Kim Oanh announced as one of the artists performing today. It had been quite a long time, about 15 years or so, since I'd met her last. But I had frequently seen and heard her sing on television, in particular in performances during national holidays. She seemed to be leading a happy life, having a great time with name and fame.

And I, I was like an insect, an ant or a bee which has to face up to a biting winter no sooner than it comes out of a burning summer. I am a cadre in an office whose leaders are regarded as a source of strategic strength for the Party and the State. These leaders are used to opening their arms wide to talk with the world and with the Party Central Committee, but they seem not even to worry about a shortage of electric lighting, and all year round residents have to carry water from the public taps. These hardships are but a trifling matter for these leaders, and never do they mind it. So I have to bend my back double to support my small family, and can afford no time to visit her. On the other hand, if I do meet her, I am sure to have nothing to talk about. Also, I am of the view that my time is better spent to support the weak, not the strong. I do come to the aid of friends in difficulties and have always tried to find ways to help in any small way that I can, but I would never approach those enjoying good fortune in the hope of receiving some assistance.

Of course, Kim Oanh and I have never talked of anything, or harboured any attitude, however momentary, intentional or otherwise, that could offend each other.

I remember meeting her when she'd just left the music school. As I looked with admiration at the epaulets on her jacket lapels that ranked her as a junior lieutenant, she surprised me by confiding that she had a new man in her life.

After graduating from the Polytechnic University, her sweetheart found a job immediately as an engineer in the army, yet his talent drew him to literature and art. His poems, prose and even music made the Truong Son Range much greener at a time when the area was being subjected to relentless firing from the air. And her singing voice was like an expansive carpet of happiness that invited encouraged listeners audience to step on it, or encouraging them to up the hills and down the valleys, weathering all storms, treating death as lightly as a feather, and marching joyously to the battlefront.

But the roots of love do not stem from individual success. They were mistaken. Before they had enough time with each other to have a child, they were preparing to bid each other farewell, not able to see beyond their respective egos. Both of them expected to take the other for granted, a part of his or her body, an object that he or she owned that, once placed in the drawer, should lie motionless and intact until it was picked up again, no matter how much time it took.

After the divorce, Kim Oanh told me: "I feel a sense of relief, you know. As if I have just escaped danger. Fortunately, I am still young. There is nothing to tie us together." She sang a little bit, smiling, and walked away as if everything in the world was beautiful, like a song.

Two years later, her voice had become perfect. It could be heard often on radio and television and in live music program. It was as though she could, if she wished, stir up a storm in the hearts of the audience, not just in her own and neighbouring countries, but also further afield. They called her the harbinger of peace, of love and of happiness.

When we met at this stage in her life, she said: "I don't need a man with talent or of great intellect anymore. I'll marry a very normal man." I sighed, but remained silent. I might be a close friend, but it is difficult to offer any advice, particularly to those who are great and famous, and who are more used to giving orders than to listening.

She did it. Married a musician, a very normal man who knew his place was in the sidelines and was comfortable with having a very talented wife. She married a man with whom there was no need to quarrel about anything. He was a soldier obeying his commander's orders.

Now she could perform at will, and was free to travel to her heart's content. On her numerous trips abroad, she brought home both spiritual and material wealth. He built a three-storied house, constantly changing its interiors to suit current trends.

However, family happiness cannot be created or confined within walls of modern homes. A larger house can allow stronger winds to blow through and create greater distances between friends. As the days, nights, weeks and months passed, he tried to escape from his loneliness by turning to alcohol and cigarettes, and going out with an assortment of friends to one bar and restaurant after the other. It did not really work, and his drinking increased steadily. Soon, he was not only addicted to alcohol and cigarettes, but also to the hands massaged him and provided other services as well. Many times, he'd had his arms around a bevy of women as he watched his wife singing on television.

And she'd forgotten that she had a husband in the true sense of the word. After many happy, but tiring trips, she would arrive at home, clothes drenched with sweat. She would wipe away a thick layer of make-up from a face that had already been touched with crow's feet. She'd give him all the money, and after proffering a few words of advice, would go up to the bedroom and sleep soundly, reassured. And off on another trip. It got to a stage where he did not want her to be home so that he could go out and lose himself in soft voices and hands that would caress him. And he kept spending the money she'd given him. Not only did he spend all the money, he also began pile up debts as he plunged deeper into addiction, until one day, he forgot his way home.

I went into a small room, about ten square metres, where an artist could relax before stepping on to the stage. She was sitting with her chin cupped in her hands, staring absent-mindedly at the space filled with noises of a city racing into nothingness. She was wearing a very thin dress, her face was wonderfully made up, highlighting two bright eyes and rosy cheeks, making me wonder that she'd not changed in fifteen years, and had even become more beautiful and elegant.

In a moment, we were transported to our past. "You, oh, God, it's such long a time. How many years, do you remember? I'd forgotten you!"

I smiled at her sincerity. She pulled me down on the seat opposite her. Looking closely at my face, she chattered: "You've got grey hair? Great! I thought there would be nothing in this world that could make your hair grey. You live like a model. You love your friends, you love your wife and children. You have devoted yourself totally to your family and office. Wow!" And she joyfully started singing a parody of ca tru (a folk song):

The hair is different, but the heart remains unchanged... Then abruptly, she stopped and announced: "I'm going to go to the court to get a divorce."

She told me about the men in her life, livid with resentment: "All of them are ill-bred. Some are thirsty for talent, others for wealth. I cannot bear it. Its high time that I lived alone. Oh, God! Why am I so miserable!"

I found it painful. I felt sorry not just for her, but for a whole generation which was closely bound to certain roots. Suddenly a song that my neighbour often sang came to mind. I'd always found it depressing, but it matched the mood this time.

... If you come back to the old place

The streets have now changed a lot

I pity you for half your life's in ruin

I pity myself for a whole lifetime in exile...

She was very sensitive. As if she'd read my mind, her lament subsided quickly like a summer rainstorm. She took my shoulders, looked into my eyes and rubbed her head against my forehead. Then she stood up and continued singing gently the part I'd just remembered.

...So remote is that hopeless place

Missing you has made my hair grey

"Yes, it's my turn to sing now!" - She walked out.

I remained sitting in the room, wondering how she could sing when so many emotions were surging through her: sadness, hatred, confusion. She hated not just one man, but all men. And people said that man occupies half of a woman's life. And others even claimed that women is only a broken fragment of man!

It had been a long time since I'd had the opportunity to listen to her singing live, and I had been waiting for that day. But now I did not want to listen to her. I was afraid that she could fail on the stage, afraid that I would hear only a scattering of applause. I decided to sit in the room for sometime and leave through the rear entrance.

But when she walked on to the stage and bowed, the applause was loud and long. She began singing. I heard it as if it was coming from the air, from space, from the old days, from our childhood, echoing the pledges, vows and rows that pulled us near and pushed us away, leaving us looking for that which was pushing us far away, that was pulling us near, forcing us to plunge into the sea to look for a needle. She was singing... no, she was not singing. She was giving herself up to the passion of love.

Plenty of oil, but nobody to light up

Plenty of corncobs, but nobody to roast

Plenty of coal, but nobody to fan a flame

Plenty of money, but nobody to spend it..."

Vi dam! (An amorous duet) She was singing vi dam. Vi dam had always tied me up. I went out. She was beautiful and brilliant. Her eyes were so tender and fresh, like the Lam river in the morning. They seemed to hypnotise the people. They flashed questions that had all men, me included, bend their heads guilt for betraying their love, begging to be forgiven and to come together again...

As she finished, the applause was deafening. People rushed on the stage with bouquets of flowers and compliments. Tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks...

I walked slowly down Quan Su street back to my house. One question was burning within: How could she sing so beautifully despite her broken heart, her resentment, her hatred? Just then, she caught up with me on her motorcycle.

"Please, let's go and have a drink. I'm so thirsty!"

"Sure, I also want to ask you a question."

We sat in a cafe. She ordered two cups of iced coffee, and stirred her glass to make the ice melt quickly. Her face showed that the joy in her heart was melting at a much faster pace...

"I'm sorry, my question is a little bit trite, but I have to ask. How could you sing so beautifully when you're so angry, so full of hatred against men?"

She shook her head. "Don't think I am being deceitful or flattering when I say this. I did feel that I sang very well this evening. But I was able to do it because I met you. Don't laugh! Don't be so hasty in pouring scorn on me. I am telling you this from the bottom of my heart. When I met you, someone who I'd not thought of all these years, I returned to the days of our youth. We were very poor, but our life was afire with enthusiasm and passion, rich in trust. The flame had been lit inside me when I walked on the stage... I was not singing, I was letting my emotions pour out..."

She went on and on. I cannot remember all of it, but I realised that when she'd walked on to the stage today, there was a moment of enchantment that only a genuine artist can catch.

Translated by Manh Chuong Let's enjoy!

Teardrop leaves By Que Huong

Through my adolescent years, I had become addicted to the flavour of Tet that spread from Chi Thoi's kitchen. It was deeply embedded in my heart and surfaced with intense passion with the onset of spring.

When the coldest day of the year had gone past, the rain had been reduced to the merest drizzle, the chill in the air lost its bite, when small buds sprouted on Uncle Tam's golden apricot tree, Chi Thoi began preparing for Tet.

From this side of the tea-tree fence separating our houses, I watched as she bustled about, busy as a bee, frequently returning home with heavy baskets. Mother muttered: "What a good girl! If only Tam...." - she stopped short, looking at Uncle Tam who sat listless, warming himself in the sunlight. She shook her head.

"Will it be a great sunny day tomorrow, Mr. Tam?" - Chi Thoi addressed him over the fence. Uncle Tam looked at the sky and hummed: "If it rains, I don't care. When I dry my vegetables for pickling, the rain should stay clear of me!" She smiled and got down to making the pickled vegetables. I almost did not have the heart to eat it when I saw her carving out the papaya so carefully. Leaves, a pine tree, peach blossoms, a pomegranate - exquisite figurines carved out of carrots or kohlrabis.

One year, when uncle Tam gave a wrong weather forecast, Chi Thoi dried the vegetables on a gloomy day, and it turned stale. Her distress was so evident that Uncle Tam sat up until midnight fanning live coals for her to dry the vegetables. The pickled vegetable that year was not as white as she wished, and she called it the "ailing" pickled vegetable.

For me, Tet was not a three-day festival. It was a prolonged affair that included the days of making and eating the sweets made by Chi Thoi. I rushed to her house as soon as I returned from school. Invariably, she was sitting in the kitchen, peeling tamarind, kumquat and ginger, and simmering them in sugar, her hair tousled and body smelling of preserved fruit. After finishing my homework, I went again to watch over her sweets and wait for the scrapings. No other jam could be tastier. Their essence seemed to be concentrated in sugar lumps and crumbs at the bottom of the pot - slices of coconut, pungent ginger, crispy sweet potato, soft lotus seeds.... Sometimes, I dozed off on her shoulders while waiting. Even in sleep, I felt the warmth and sweet fragrance envelop me on late winter nights.

Uncle Tam was broken-hearted when Ha, his sweetheart, suddenly got married. He often mumbled some verses or sat silent as the grave. But it was not advisable to get him to talk about it. He would go on and on about the story and his memories. And the only person patient enough to listen to the love story for a thousand times was Thoi.

Chi Thoi was the eldest of three daughters. She was not very beautiful, but her hair was more beautiful than anything seen on girls advertising shampoos. I liked to see her in a silk blouse with her hair tied with a black velvet ribbon. It was said that in her school days, so many young men were willing to die for the silky hair, and it was a puzzle that she remained single until today. That hair had always been washed with soap berries. When she stood drying her hair, the fragrance of grapefruit flowers spread all over the area and enchanted everybody. I watched her drying her hair through the fence. Even uncle Tam watched it, but when I asked him if it was beautiful, he would talk about other people's hair. Then, for no reason, Chi Thoi cut short that beautiful hair, the most beautiful hair in all of Hue. I felt sad. I picked up the black velvet ribbon she had thrown away and hid it in a dictionary. That Tet, I could not doze off on the silky, sweet scented tresses. That year, her jam crumbs were burnt and bitter.

Mother asked Chi Thoi to pray for Uncle Tam at the Linh Mu Pagoda as his condition worsened. He walked up and down Le Loi Road hoping to see Ms. Ha, although she had followed her husband to a far away land. Not all the couples in Hue chose Linh Mu Pagoda to witness their oaths as they were afraid of the goddess in red who could get jealous and deliver unhappiness. Yet, uncle Tam and Ms. Ha had studied for exams in the pagoda... In the end, it was not the goddess who helped his recovery, but Ms. Ha herself. I could not recognize her. She was fat, decked with jewels and made up heavily. She looked pityingly at uncle Tam, emaciated, mumbling verses he'd composed for her. Looking at her, he shuddered as it struck him that he was pining for such a woman. That afternoon, all those verses written in violet ink were thrown away. I felt sorry, so I ran to pick them up and give them to Chi Thoi. She sat down and read them very slowly in the twilight.

Chi Thoi's two twin sisters were ten years younger than her. They were my classmates. They were so different from each other, like water and fire. But they looked like two drops of water, so beautiful and were household even as little girls in kindergarten. They won a lot of prizes in contests for healthy and good-looking children. To make identification easier, one of them always wore yellow skirts and the other wore blue ones. Soon, they came to be known as the Yellow and the Blue. The despicable Yellow sat next to me. When I unintentionally touched her multi-fold skirts that spread out like a sunflower, she would pinch me. If I showed her something, she would seize it immediately. If I threatened her with a fist, she would cry out and lie down in protest. The Blue was a little gentler, even though she had that same doll-face as Yellow. She and I usually played the cooking game or the husband-wife game together. As soon as the imaginary rice cooked in a tiny pot was scooped out and served in bowls made of breadfruit leaves, the Yellow broke the pot with a stone. The kite I had spent a whole week making was trampled beneath her feet before it had a chance to enjoy flying in the blue sky. I took her shirt, asking for compensation, and she pulled at my hair, yelling. I called Uncle Tam for help. She called Chi Thoi. In the end, we both received a lashing.

As I grew up, Chi Thoi made less and less sweetmeats for Tet. Now cakes in cases, sweets in cases, jams made by machines, cheaper and attractively packed, were to be found in great quantity. It took only an hour in the market to get them, so nobody wanted to spend the whole of ten long days on making the sweetmeats like Chi Thoi. And if she did it, not anybody wanted to eat them. The days people spent Tet eating home-made and traditional dishes were over. The trend now was to eat more food. Everywhere one went, one could see pork pies, fermented pork rolls, cold meat. Returning from a distant school, I rushed into Chi Thoi's kitchen. The Kitchen God had gone to heaven for a few days, yet the kitchen remained cold. She told me that she was not allowed to make the sweetmeats any more.

Friends of the Yellow and the Blue sampled only chocolates and cashew nuts when they came to wish the family a happy new year. Father's friends tasted the cold food with wine. The jam could not be sold, so it was distributed among children in the hamlet. Without the fragrance of Chi Thoi's kitchen, the flavour of Tet turned insipid. I went to the Tet market with my girlfriend. She did not know how to make the sweets, and had no desire to learn. She only wanted to wear chic clothes and roam the streets, looking through the shops selling Tet treats, sampling and buying some. As a little boy, I'd told Chi Thoi that I would only marry someone who was able to make sweetmeats as good as her.

When I returned home the next year, her kitchen was busy for Tet again. The preserved tamarinds and kumquats looked as delicious as ever, as did the sugar coated lotus seeds. The fragrance of sweetmeats pervaded the place, and Chi Thoi's clothes again smelt of jam and was warm with the heat of the fire, her cheeks were rosy, her hair tousled.... She explained that this year there were some visitors from afar. The Blue had married abroad, and taken home a Viet Kieu (overseas Vietnamese) to be introduced to the Yellow. On the other hand, there were uncle Tam and me, she said, looking at me and then at the door in expectation. Having awakened from his love dream, uncle Tam took his graduate diploma from the teacher's training college and volunteered to work in the U Minh forest land - the southernmost tip of the country. He'd promised to go home for this Tet.

The Blue came in just as Chi Thoi had just finished making a mixed jam with kumquat, ginger, orange. She rushed into the kitchen and kissed Chi Thoi time and again, saying: "I missed your kitchen the most!" She turned and gave me a smacking kiss. She remained as beautiful as in the old days.

The Yellow was so disappointed as the Viet Kieu was an elderly man, but the Blue said that he was only about five years older than her husband. He'd left for foreign lands in search of a better life, and was now returning to his native land because he missed it very much. The Yellow was not to this man's taste. It made no impression when she tried to wear fashionable clothes that revealed the curves of her young body. Her figure, that had once charmed so many judges in beauty contests, failed to catch the eye of the man she was hunting. He liked to roam about in search of places he remembered and preferred to make up for lost time rather than go dancing with her. Chi Thoi's family invited him to a 'Royal' dinner at the Huong Giang hotel, but he said if he would like to enjoy a dinner of the common people. So the main course was goby fish boiled with soy paste, typical of Hue, with sweet potato pudding as dessert.

The dinner produced satisfactory results. The guest enjoyed the food immensely, praising it repeatedly. He then took great delight in drinking green tea flavoured with ginger. Finally, he said that it had been twenty long years since he enjoyed a meal so rich in the home country's flavour and taste.

Until the 28th of the last lunar month, Uncle Tam had not returned home. I had to sit up late and keep an eye on the pot of rice dumplings. Chi Thoi's family was also cooking the same thing. The two fires were placed near each other on either side of the fence. The apricot tree was in full bloom. Chi Thoi told me that when she was a little girl, she often climbed up the apricot tree to see the flowers more closely. She seemed to see uncle Tam, but I saw the shadow of a person standing against the apricot tree. It was a girl. My heart clenched with a sudden presentiment. I turned to look at her, trying to record the look of happiness that suddenly shone brightly on her face before it died out.

Chi Thoi's sweets were in top form this year. She'd put a spell on them that had the Viet Kieu moping about in the Yellow's house. The Yellow boasted that he was about to bite the bait thinking that the sweets were made by her. He kept repeating that the food her family cooked was rich in the flavour of the homeland. "If I get married to him, I will have to take Chi Thoi along, I am afraid," the Yellow told me, smiling. "But when he finds out that you do not know anything about cooking, what will you do?" I asked. "Oh, it's as easy as shelling peas. When I go over there and he finds me unsuitable, I'll get divorced. There are a lot of people. It will hurt nobody." Looking at her red-coloured lips, I wondered how she could be Chi Thoi's sister.

The Viet Kieu duly proposed, but to Chi Thoi, not the Yellow. Her mother was dumbfounded. The Yellow was venomous: "If he does not like the fashionable world, let him marry her and go back to the 19th century. I'll get married to a man from Hong Kong." She threw a dirty look at the Viet Kieu and then sped on her motorcycle out of the gate, putting an end to the role of a decent girl.

I was not surprised. I did not believe that a man who still respected and lived with sweet memories and the past like the Viet Kieu could choose the Yellow as his bride.

But there was yet another bombshell to be dropped. Chi Thoi rejected his proposal. Despite her rather plain looks and age, she refused a man who could take her abroad without any regret. Disregarding the advice of her parents and the Blue, and even Uncle Tam, she sat in silence, looking out over the tea trees to where Uncle Tam used to walk listlessly, mumbling:

"Nobody thinks that naive love could be so profound.

Time goes by, but love stays.

Despite the hair turning white like a large bulbul field."

The golden sun had just set, and Uncle Tam discussed his marriage. His girl was also a teacher. She was an orphan, so the wedding should be a simple, short affair. Then they would leave and make their living in another land. He said the people there were warm, simple and easy to live with. He had found peace there. For the simple wedding ceremony, he relied on his sister-in-law (my mother) and his close, childhood friend. Chi Thoi began preparing for the wedding. I kept stealing glances at her, but she was silent. As the wedding day approached, she was bustling about as if it were her wedding. The light in the kitchen burnt until mid-night as she sat up to make the cakes for the wedding. As I watched, I suddenly got angry with her:

- Don't care about them. Go to sleep.

- When you get married, I'll sit up the whole night.

"I don't want your help. Why do they want to put more work on your shoulders when you already work so hard?

- Just to keep my head free of thoughts, you know.

She smiled aimlessly, and then got down to business. Knowing there was nothing I could say, I sat down to help her and finish the work sooner. She worked as carefully with the preserved vegetables as in the past. I suddenly noticed that the leaves carved out of papaya were shaped like teardrops, and looked as though they were jade. And the carrot flowers turned into blood-red drops. Chi Thoi was crying.

1. Chi stands for elder sister in Vietnamese.

Translated by Manh Chuong Let's enjoy!

A love song by Ly Lan

I needed a friend, and badly. I phoned Loan and asked her out to lunch at a nearby restaurant.

While she scanned the menu, I opened out:

"For the past few days, I’ve been unable to do anything. My mind is wandering all the time."

She did not deign to look up from the menu.

"Looks like you’ve fallen in love," she said.

"I’m afraid so," I replied.

She laughed, but her eyes remained intent on the menu:

"There seems to a love mania these days. None of my acquaintances have been able to escape falling in love."

In the afternoon, sitting in front of the PC in my office, I tried to look for letters sent to me by e-mail. At ten past two, there was nothing at all. At three sharp, none. Ten to four, Loan’s letter. It was not addressed just to me, but to all of us:

"We’ve got a first-hand report. Thu Thu’s fallen in love!"

I deleted it at once, and resolved not to check the mail again. It was not much of a resolve. At half past four, I opened the file again. Nothing! Repeated the manoeuvre at five to five, before going home. Nothing again. I gathered the unfinished documents to place them in my cabinet. If this situation lasted until the end of the week, I would certainly be sacked. Who would support me then? How could I let things go on like this? I would have to focus on my work.

The next morning I had to check the English translation of a consignment contract with RJ Company against its original, contact PIP to reconfirm an appointment between Mrs Nhu, our deputy head and a customer, and see off Mr Thoi, our boss, who was leaving for Ha Noi on a business trip.

The door to the Director’s room opened and our boss stepped out with an attache in his hand, closely followed by Mrs Nhu with his jacket on her arm.

"Here’s your coat," she told him.

"No, I don’t need it any longer," he answered.

Looking at them, I smiled. Mrs Nhu returned to her office.

"A good journey to you," I said to him.

"Thank you for your efforts in arranging things for me, and for having got the air ticket as well," he told me.

"It’s my business, sir," I replied.

Just then Mrs Nhu went out with her handbag on her shoulder and closed the door behind her. Both of them walked to the lift.

I’d nearly finished checking the contract when the telephone rang. It was Mr Thoi.

"I’ve left behind something important in my room. Can you go in and take a yellow envelope out of the breast pocket of my coat, and take a taxi to the airport? I’ve just checked in, but I’ll wait for you at the lounge door. Please hurry!"

His coat was hung on the back of his chair behind his desk. With the yellow envelope in my hand, I called a taxi.

He was standing in the corridor of the domestic terminal.

"Sorry for troubling you," he said. "These things shouldn’t be seen by others. You haven’t looked, have you?"

"No, no. I did not dare," I answered.

He winked as if I was an accomplice with him and stood close to me. He opened the envelope, took a few photographs out, and showed them to me. The first one was a half-naked man lying prone on the bed with a young girl kneeling at its foot, massaging his legs. The second was the same half-naked man sitting on the bed. It was Mr Thoi.

I looked up.

He smiled, saying, "These are nothing. Let’s look at some others."

He placed the photographs at the bottom of the pile and showed me the other photographs, shuffling them like a photographs. The very first one he pulled out was that of a naked man and woman making love.

"I’m sorry. I must... return to the office," I mumbled.

He winked again, smiled and placed his right hand on my left shoulder in an intimate gesture. I pulled away, glared at him and left.

In the taxi going back to the office, I looked at the hundreds of motorcycles going to and from on the road, and thousands of pedestrians rushing in different directions. That was life. People had to earn their living and so did I. As a greenhorn in the office, I had to face two terrible people: Mr Thoi and his darling, Mrs Nhu. When I started working, I was told that previously she’d been an accountant at the State-run factory where he was the deputy director. A few years later, they’d set up their own company. He became the director and she, the vice-director of the new establishment. Their relationship was rather complicated – partners in business, and a courting pair. Mr Thoi had his own family, while Mrs Nhu was a divorced woman without any children. I did not care about their affair. Working with Mrs Nhu, I always kept at a safe distance from her. The memory of him winking and smiling sent a shudder through me. Nevertheless, he was not as dangerous as his darling.

As soon as I got back to the office, Mrs Nhu called me to her room. There she asked me lots of questions and I replied frankly. She asked me what was inside the yellow envelope. I said that I did not know because I did not open it. She couldn’t think that he had opened it and showed them to me, but was suspicious because he had called me, not her on the mobile phone, when he discovered that the yellow envelope was missing. And she’d just left the airport along with the driver. She was unable to ask me why, of course. She just threw me a threatening look.

"Why did you have to take a taxi, instead of riding your motorbike to the airport?" she asked.

I thought of telling her that he’d asked me to take a taxi, but, on second thoughts, decided not to respond. What was the point? I’d better not demand a refund for the taxi fare. From now on, I would have to confront them both.

The next day, a shower of letters were waiting in the mail. Everyone in the gang wanted to know:

"Hey! who’s the guy?"

I deleted all the messages. Usually e-mails from friends are harmless. But now it might cause some trouble, and I had to be on guard.

The telephone rang again. The door of the vice-director’s room flung open. One of our customers wanted to know how to rectify a technical problem. I transferred the message to the engineering section as Mrs Nhu walked past my desk towards the lift, then abruptly returned to her room. I gathered the minutes sent to me from various departments, grouped them in a list with different items and presented them to her. She told me that in addition to summarising the minutes, I had to put down my comments. I’d never done it before. If I did as she asked, I was asking for more trouble and making the situation worse. Anyway, I took the list back to my desk and re-arranged them in another way more suited to her taste.

The bell rang again. It was just a fax coming in a- four-page document describing the KLM company’s new products in English. I presented it to her and she told me to translate it into Vietnamese. This was another task that I’d not had to do before. What I usually did was to make a summary of the contents of a particular document and forward it to the concerned department, say, marketing. I had to use an English-Vietnamese dictionary to do the translation.

I was consulting several new words and expressions when the phone rang again. It was Mr Thoi. I asked Mrs Nhu to take it. A few moments later, the bell rang again. It was Mrs Nhu asking me to re-write a letter I’d finished the day before. She said it did not match her opinions. I wrote a new note, answered the phone, translated the document and amended the summary. But at five to five, everything remained unfinished.

I grouped the documents into different files and placed them in their pigeon-holes. When everybody had returned home, including Mrs Nhu, I returned to my PC which had not been switched off. I opened an MP3 file. Lionel Richie’s voice resounded warmly.

It seemed that a burden had been lifted off my shoulder. All the troubles of today were gone. Richie’s voice flooded the room. I picked up the receiver and phoned my lover. I could hear the phone ring on the other end and the sound of the receiver being lifted. In the background was the same song, Hello, but at different bars. "And in my dream I kissed your lips a thousand times." For a few minutes, I could not utter a word. My boyfriend at the other end of the line did not say anything either. We let the music mingle and let our emotions run in our veins and our hearts beat to one rhythm. Happiness, passion or some such similar emotion was surely appearing on my countenance. But they all disappeared in the twinkling of an eye, as I looked out of the window and saw Mrs Nhu stepping in. I hurriedly looked for the mouse to stop the music. The warm sounds of music came to an end and I heard the sound of the receiver being hung up abruptly. Mrs Nhu looked askance at me, but her voice was more warm this time:

"Thu, you haven’t gone home yet !"

"I’m just about to leave," I answered.

From the day I’d started working with her, I had never been so embarrassed. The fact that I stayed for a couple of minutes after the business hours was quite ordinary. What was strange was that she suddenly came back to the office. When she came and left was not my concern, it was her business and as the vice director she could do whatever she wanted. I said good-bye to her. As I reached the door, the telephone rang. My heart leaped. Maybe my lover was calling me. I was going to step back when she picked up the receiver. We stared at each other for a few seconds. Her countenance turned pale and her eyes sparkled with hatred. Yet her voice remained warm and soft:

"You’ve crossed out my mobile phone number in your small directory, haven’t you?"

I closed the door and ran to the lift. Whether or not she thought I was waiting for her darling’s call, I did not know. She might have thought that the previous call had also been his. They must have phoned each other again and again with suspicion, engaging the line and preventing my sweetheart’s call. I walked across the street to a public booth. I dialled his number many times, hoping to hear his voice and that of Richie singing, "I just called to say I love you." There was no response.

Maybe he had left his office. He might have been roaming the streets like me, looking for him among the multitude of people and vehicles. Amid the noise, the music from his heart rang out, warm and soft: "Where are you, my darling? What are you doing?... I want to tell you that I love you."

Translated by VAN MINH

Let's enjoy!