The Zenith (27 page)

“Hey, Mrs. Tam, listen to your vulgar husband talk dirty!”

“Not just my old man, every one of you drools looking at Miss Ngan. One thing though: none of you can compare with Mr. Quang. You all are moldy chopsticks. Moldy chopsticks can’t be used with a red lacquer tray.”

“Silly woman! Admit it: you’re a moldy, plain wood tray.”

“Of course I’ll admit it! If I were not such a moldy tray I would never put up with those old moldy chopsticks all my life.”

“You clever broad! Tonight you’ll hear from me!”

This conversation took place during the noon meal, when the neighbors were eating while glancing at the garden on the other side to see if Chairman Quy had come again. But he had not. One could only hear a rooster crowing, then afterward Miss Ngan laughing: a rather strange laugh, both worldly and childish at the same time, with something utterly fresh like spring flowers, the laughter of a woman who has just turned eighteen. Then Mr. Quang’s voice in the kitchen. Most likely both were cooking; only the two of them because the youngest son, Quynh, had gone to his maternal grandmother’s house down in the lower section of the village. Half an hour later, Miss Ngan came first carrying a tray, and Mr. Quang followed with a bottle of medicinal wine, clearly the scene of a honeymoon. They ate their meal in the main sitting room and not in the kitchen as everyone else does. Wealth creates such habits.

The neighbors had to wait patiently until close to the evening meal before seeing Quy return. Mr. Quang and Miss Ngan were cleaning up the five storerooms in the compound used to keep household goods and provisions. Energetically, they were carrying out to the patio a heap of jute bags to sort out those which could still be used for holding grain for the horse or hay. Quy crossed the yard, his face grimacing:

“I want to talk to you, Dad.”

Mr. Quang looked at his son and hardened his voice:

“When you want to talk, you go inside a house. When you want to enter a house, you must salute the owner before crossing the threshold. You are a chairman, the head of a village, but you don’t even know the most basic courtesies and polite manners. Who can you lead?”

“I did greet you, Father.”

“In this house, besides me there is my wife. Before, your mother was my wife. Now she is dead and I have married Miss Ngan. She is mistress of this house.”

“I do not have a mother of such a young kind.”

“Ah, you do not want a mother who is young, but I do. I married a wife for myself, not for you.”

“You can marry anyone you want, but you should look all around you first. Your head now has hair of two colors.”

“I do not need you to teach me. I do what I want.”

“But, as the oldest son, I carry on the family’s honor and importance.”

“The oldest or youngest son in this family makes no difference. My hands brought in everything. I have never relied on any child. Since my marriage, I provided you with a house; when your mother was ill, she ate up all the wealth, but you—the heir to the family’s pride—did you ever help me with even the leg of a cow or one hundredweight of pork?”

Quy could say nothing.

“Not a cup of rice, not a penny, not a piece of cloth…not even a piece of candy. Do I tell the truth or do I make things up for you? Everything came from my own hands. This family survives thanks to my own sweat and tears. You were not filial enough to give your mother even one meal; you did not give your shoulder to help me with even one kilo of rice; so don’t boast that you are the future guardian of this family. Open your eyes to what’s going on: What kind of eldest son and family leader only digs for food as you do?

Again, Quy could say nothing.

“You turn mute, with a stiff throat; you dare not talk back. Because for all this time, it was us who subsidized, who took care of you and your wife; never was the reverse true. You are the kind who always opens his mouth but never gets his hands dirty. Just know your place and stay there. Don’t talk about your being the oldest to scare me. Best for you to walk out of my sight!”

The discussion happened right in the middle of the patio. Mr. Quang didn’t even bother to lower his voice, but raised it to release his anger. Some said he intentionally spoke loudly so that the neighbors could not help but hear him, so that from then on whoever would wag a tongue would hold it in and close it with a top, not itching to interfere with his affairs. Some thought he pounded his son into submission to shame him deep in his soul so that, in this house, no one would have permission to cross him; and also that this son would forgo any dream of an inheritance. For a long time, his oldest son, Quy—as principal heir to the lineage—had dreamed of this spacious house both night and day. After his wife gave birth to two girls, Quy determined to have a son even if he had to suffer Party discipline for two
years and wait two years to be assigned the position of village chairman. Mr. Quang had long known that the length and breadth of the compound, the field and the garden, the beehives, all the obvious and hidden assets that people inside and outside the family always tried to ferret out, were objects of Quy’s greed. Some also suspected that, for a while, he had considered every aspect and one day would put all his cards on the table, revealing the calculations that had long since been added, subtracted, multiplied, and divided in his head. This remarriage provided the occasion to express all these considerations.

Therefore, the neighbors held their breath and listened to the confrontation.

That night, everybody poured down from the upper hamlet to the middle one to gather at Miss Vui’s house. Leaving no detail out, they recounted the argument between father and son. After the exchange, Quy had stood on the patio with planted feet for a long while. Mr. Quang and Miss Ngan continued to shake the jute bags, making a thick dust. No one spoke. In that silence, the village chairman quietly retreated.

Someone opined: “Lose this round, win the next. Quy won’t put up with losing!”

Another disagreed: “There will be no next time. I don’t take Mr. Quang’s side just because I drink and eat at his house, but I know he was right ten times out of ten. Since he and his late wife arranged Quy’s marriage, was a sausage or a roll ever brought over for them to eat?”

“Because Quy assumed his father had money. If you can’t rely on a father, who can you rely on?”

“No one should ever rely on others; not even parents or children. If you rely on others, you make a beggar of yourself, so don’t try to lecture others and don’t demand things beyond your fair share.”

“It’s easy to talk, but his daughter is nineteen and Mr. Quang brings home a bride of eighteen: How can Quy stand that?”

“The girl Mo is already nineteen? I am shocked!”

“Have you been sleeping? Master Quy is forty-one this year, not less. Mr. and Mrs. Quang married when she was eighteen; that next year they had a son right away.”

“Now that you mention it, it’s quite awkward. Quy’s wife could have given birth to Miss Ngan.”

“Each eats from his own bowl; each sleeps in his own bed. Life is so different now.”

“No matter how different, when those involved are of the same blood, still
sit at the same table, sleep under the same roof, anything unsettling will lead to conflict.”

“What do you mean by unsettling?”

“Unsettling means something out of tune with what we normally see or hear in life. You all just imagine Quy’s wife standing next to Miss Ngan. On one side is a fat sow, with bony neck and breasts sagging down to the belly button. On the other is a tray full of food, a smooth nape like that of a dove, an arm plump like an ear of corn, skin white like a boiled egg peeled. And you would make the old sow call Miss Ngan ‘mother’…it’s beyond laughter!”

“I think your eyes are searching, digging, more than they should. They call someone like you a dirty old man!”

“Being a dirty old man is not too bad; I do not refuse your compliment. But let’s get back to Mr. Quang’s situation; I think Quy is jealous of his father. Whoever wants to see a father bite into a succulent piece of meat, while the son has to munch on a bone? This is the very thing that roasts the soul of the chairman.”

“That’s bullshit! The fire that burns the soul of the oldest son is the estate that he was sure of inheriting. Did you not see, ladies and gentlemen, that after the birth of the boy, Phu, the chairman was elated every minute, every second? Risking Party discipline turned out to be a big win. The father is the firstborn son; his firstborn son is in line to lead the lineage whatever happens when Mr. Quang passes on, and the wealth will flow into his pockets. Even though nowadays the law on paper holds that all children are equal, having equal rights, by common custom people still follow the old law. Now, with an eighteen-year-old stepmother, the dream has dissipated into smoke. For sure, there will be new children born. Miss Ngan could give birth to twelve children, big like stone pillars. Even though he is sixty, with his strength, Mr. Quang could bake five or six kids before he dies. This turns to naught all the efforts of Mr. Chairman to father a son.”

“You are such a jerk! Even if Miss Ngan has ten sons, Master Quy is still the firstborn of the lineage. His son carries on the principal family line.”

“Ah, you all are dead wrong. In very ancient times, the laws turned upside down. There were laws and then there was that which opposed the laws. In royal families, even crown princes were pushed aside; here we talk about just common people. All laws are born in the minds of the people. The mind is connected to the heart. Wherever veers the heart, so, too, goes the mind.”

“Yeah, yeah…you are right!”

“I don’t believe it! Anything can be said; to act, everyone must look to the village, to the nation. The king’s law bows before village rules. So our ancestors have taught for a thousand years.”

“In every period, people looked to the village and to the nation; but they also turned around and looked to the people. Ordinarily they acted accordingly to normal understanding, but when necessary they could step on all criticism. Don’t you think Mr. Quang is that kind of person?”

“Yeah, yeah…you are so right!”

“Now, any doubters left? If so, please raise your hand so that I can count.”

“This is no meeting to elect a co-op chairman or an accountant needing us to raise our hands and vote.”

“I ask again: Does anyone doubt the points I just raised?”

No one had any doubt, but people were still torn by some concern that was hard to express, an impression that was really hard to put into words. Many thoughts, feelings, so convoluted one with another, that they could not be understood thoroughly and eluded the capacity for explanation. The only recourse was to wait. Clarity would come with time!

Next morning, a youngster from the lower section came up to see Mr. Quang, saying that Master Quynh had asked him to fetch his clothes and books; that from now on Quynh would live in the lower section with his maternal grandmother and two uncles. The neighbors heard Miss Ngan ask her husband to receive the guest. Mr. Quang’s reply was pretty rude:

“I don’t know which family you belong to. Lately I made my living in the city and so have not had the opportunity to visit other hamlets. Given this, I can’t turn his belongings over to a stranger. Why don’t you go back and tell Quynh that his clothes, books, and personal stuff were bought with the money from my pocket. If he wants these things, he must bring himself up here to meet me, not ask another.”

Of course, the youngster had to retreat, without any sound or noise, according to the neighbor’s telling. That afternoon, the late Mrs. Quang’s two younger brothers knocked at their brother-in-law’s door. Perhaps feeling scared, they decided to come together, hoping the following song holds true:

“Two against one: if you don’t lose an eye, you’ll break a leg!”

It was time for the evening meal. The neighbors used the excuse of asking for some salt, some lard, to listen in on his affair. The host not only greeted the brothers warmly, he made a new pot of tea and invited them in:

“On the occasion of my wife’s brothers’ visit, please stay for dinner to make us merry. We should prepare many trays and invite the whole world, but
following custom, we have to wait until after the first anniversary of the death of my son Quy’s mother. It will be only a month more.”

“Oh no, we dare not bother you that much.”

“No, you do not; in fact it is I who want an opportunity to raise and empty glasses with you all. We are neighbors with adjoining gardens and share the alley; I am away most of the year. Only in winter is there time to get together with people in the hamlet.”

“Fine, since you insist.”

The host called down to the kitchen: “Down there, please pluck two more chickens.”

“Yes, dear; I hear you!” Miss Ngan replied immediately. Ms. Tu was beside her in the kitchen, making rolls and dumplings while stir-frying dishes. She was Mr. Quang’s niece, fifty-nine years old but still a virgin. Her mother died of typhoid fever when she was ten. For two years her father raised her, then he died in a flood. At twelve she was determined to live by herself, not fearing loneliness, ghosts, or spinsterhood. The villagers dreaded the young girl who incorrigibly kept an altar to respectfully remember and honor her father and mother. They said she was a nun who lived at home. There were women in her family on her father’s side who lived single like that; some were temple keepers, some organized occult trance dances, and some were hospital volunteers until their deaths. No one ever heard a word about any romances during her youth. In reality, she had neither winsome charm nor beauty. Her body was small, firm, with an ordinary face but without much of a chin and her mouth was missing some teeth. Her own mother endearingly called her the “mumbler,” which became her nickname. Ms. Tu was neither ugly nor pretty. Her lips were nicely red; her eyes clear like moving water. Many in the village, far less attractive than she, married as expected. She had to accept a life of loneliness. Was this because in some previous life she had been wayward, with multiple husbands or wives, therefore in this life was now having to pay for that excess? Or had the spirits of her ancestors forced her to become a spinster, caring for the family altar and worshipping the ancestral spirits? No one uncovered the ultimate reason, but in their hearts, they respected her. As for Mr. Quang, he truly cared for her in a special way. Even though it was not made public, everything Tu possessed—from furnishings, to the garden, to horse and cow, to clothing, to gold bracelets—had been provided by Mr. Quang. The two were uncle and niece, as well as childhood friends; then they became friends in the same field. It was reported that the first time Mr. Quang went to do business in the city, he bought for his wife only
a one-ounce gold ring while he bought for his niece earrings made from two ounces of gold. Mrs. Quang dared not feel jealous. Mr. Quang knew full well in his heart that his niece without beauty was the one who most deserved his trust and confidence, because they were bound by an unusual kinship, both of blood and equally of friendship.