The Zenith (58 page)

“How could they have given themselves the right to unanimously torture the one that they hid behind to seek popular support as well as power?

“When you are full of rice, you have to forgo meat…

“It is with such logic that the cruelty of humanity manifests itself. A pleasure that hides discrimination and envy.”

A concern suddenly rises. He turns to look into her eyes.

“Now I understand everything. In those days I truly believed that you would also go out to the mountains to do assigned tasks while I was away at the front. Now I know you didn’t go anywhere. You stayed to assume the role of an assistant, to push at all costs for Miss Minh Thu to go over to the Old Man’s big house. If you had not taken the opportunity to get everyone in that position, they would probably have assigned Miss Thanh Tu.”

She does not answer, but her look reveals that this was true.

He asks again, “When did you learn how not to tell the truth?”

She turns her head away.

He continues: “In summary, how many times have you lied in your life? How many times since you grew up? How many times since we became husband and wife?”

“…”

“Now I understand that I am stupid. But that’s not all. Besides me there is another one as stupid; so stupid as to trust and admire someone as mean as you. Tonight I will call the Old Man and tell him this: ‘Dear Eldest Brother: don’t think
you are ever so clever and proper. You don’t know how stupid you are, and in a big way.’”

Van bows her head, her cheeks pale. Then tears start rolling down her once beautiful but now wilted face. Wrinkles have appeared around her eyes. Her lips, once vibrant red, now are pale even under her dark plum lipstick.

As for Vu, he buttons tight the two panels of his vest; clearly a mental shock is accompanied by a physical one. Suddenly waves of pain course through his chest and all the upper part of his body. Clutching his stomach, he recalls the look on his mother’s face when he first fell in love with Van. His father had seemed calmer, while his mother appeared really upset. He had caught them whispering to each other. Those exchanges stopped when he appeared. Then, a few months later, his mother had confided to him with carefully chosen words:

“Dear son, it is taught, ‘When you take a wife look at her family environment; when you take a husband consider his genes.’ Miss To Van is indeed pretty, she looks like Teacher Luong but we do not know her character. The raising of the children in a family is mainly by the mother. The father’s role is like a big pole to hold the roof up firmly. A woman like Mrs. Tuyet Bong is not likely to produce a nice girl. I am not the only one to notice that To Van does not socialize with other pretty girls. Anytime her cousin Hien Trang, who is both pretty and gifted, gets near her, she becomes uneasy and moves on. Miss Hien Trang tells people that To Van said that she only likes to be with people who are uglier and more stupid than she is. It is as if she is looking for a setting in which to stand out. If, at her young age, she is that self-conscious, she is cruel.”

At that time he had found many reasons to win over his parents. Then he was in love, passionately. Blind are all who love too passionately. Now he understands that his mother had been completely correct; that his wife had purposely encouraged everyone to choose Miss Minh Thu and she had found many ways to push Miss Thanh Tu away. She had acted based on her selfish instincts: she had wanted to accentuate her own attractiveness by taking advantage of the homely women around her. What was worse was that other people also had taken pleasure in this cruelty.

“‘When you are full of rice, you should give up meat.’ This woman has just opened my eyes. After thirty years of marriage, now I see clearly the personality of the one I called ‘wife’…”

His heart roils in fiery waves. He feels his head and his whole body torn in two; both bobbling
like two boats tossing on top of ocean waves. In this turmoil, he can’t understand why the president’s smile comes back to him. It is an image from the celebration of the border campaign when the Old Man lifted his wine cup to congratulate everyone and to pronounce these concluding words:

“Best wishes to the entire organization, especially to those men with beautiful wives. Given that criterion, Brother Vu has to drain three cups of wine!”

“How bitter,” he thought to himself. “It was the Old Man who was first to honor her beauty. He had no inkling that such a generous compliment would come to cause him harm. They made him miserable quietly and with complete premeditation…”

Restraining the effects of his pain, he looks over at her and smiles. “How strange fate is. Why didn’t you marry Sau? You were most compatible of all with him. How ironic. Why did you choose me?”

“Because I love you. Because I love only you. If not, all things would be…”

“If not, a bed was always ready, and making love would still have been so relaxing, whether in peace or war. Right?”

“…”

“But the irony of fate is that, most often, those with cruel intentions are not likely to become a couple because they want to safeguard their singularity and their own destiny. Between such accomplices, there can only be a temporary union; for their security they plan behind the scenes to choose those who are nice and stupid, because life is long and full of changes. That’s the main reason you chose me to love. Just like Sau: he did not choose you but another woman.”

Van remains silent as Vu slowly goes on, dropping each word as if he wants to hear the echo of his own voice.

“It takes thirty years to understand a person. What a nasty game the Creator plays. Compared with history, thirty years is like the blink of an eye. But with people, it’s a lifetime.”

She looks into his eyes and sees the deep despair. The eyes of her man—the one she can’t stop loving and longing for, or stop wanting to possess with absolute ownership and sovereignty. The years have not changed the delicate traits of his face. Vicissitudes have not beaten him down but have enhanced his beauty. It’s possible he does not even notice his beauty. But for her, she can see it clearly through her own nonstop longing and through the looks of other women.

“Don’t you still love me?” she asks, even though she knows the question is out of tune. The fear of an open breakup makes her lose her better mind:

“You no longer love me?” she repeats one more time in a higher pitch, with a maddening anticipation.

It seems he does not hear her question; he is somewhere else. After a while, he turns and looks at her in a dreamy way, as if examining an old picture or a moldy, long forgotten knickknack:

“Hey, Van, do you ever probe your conscience?”

“What do you mean?”

“I would like to know if you ever question whether what you did was right or wrong? Do you ever feel your conscience not at peace? Or do you even understand the thing called ‘conscience’?”

“I don’t know. I live like all the others. How other women act, so do I.”

“Liar. Other women are not able to sit in Sau’s office for hours, talking and plotting. Other women do not know how to influence the chair of the women’s association with a bunch of little tricks. Other women are not titled by the Old Man ‘Miss Beauty of the Front’ or ‘Beauty of the City.’”

“I will not answer you any longer. You have no right to question me. This is not the Hoa Lo prison.”

She grimaces, but her nostrils are red and she is about to sob. She knows she has lost the contest. The man standing before her is no longer inside the chalk circle that destiny drew for her at her wedding. He has crossed over permanently, without a hint of regret. Her pursuit has been in vain. But her passion thus increases manyfold; like the fox chasing its prey, she will not abandon the hunt. She coughs, covering her mouth with a cloth. She needs to find another way, one more effective. Over on the lake, the boats still sail by. The waves are whispering, as is the wind. Here, the wind cannot enter because walls face north. The charcoal stove is bright red in front of them. But she still coughs. The intentional coughing does not catch his eyes. Nor does it move him, at least at this moment.

Not bothering to look at her, he says, “Now I understand why—all these years—we had a hard time conceiving children. Women like you cannot become mothers. Because, if you were to have a daughter, when she became a woman, you would be jealous. Like the stepmother queen in the fairy tale who was jealous and chased Snow White. There have been your kind of women for thousands of years.”

“You need not talk anymore. That’s enough,” she retorts.

But he does not stop. She no longer has power over him. Her famous charm of love has lost all effectiveness. Bewildered, she looks down at her dainty
fingers, which are full of rings. The fingers are still delicate but their skin has become wrinkled with tortoise patches. Meanwhile, he continues to pour out his rage:

“One thing: women like you lack practical brains. No beauty can survive over time. What lasts the longest and is best in a person is love and moral integrity.”

“Moral integrity?” She starts a taunting laugh. Her face suddenly burns like fire: “The most moral person in this world is your mother. Why don’t you sleep with her?”

“Oh…oh…oh…”

He opens his mouth wide, an unconscious gesture. He cannot control himself. Is he trying to scream or say something? But a black and dark wave, high like a wall, suddenly stands in front of him like the waves of Quang Ninh Sea in the old days when there was a big typhoon coming ashore. The angry wave falls on his head and pushes him into an abyss of rocks.

When Vu wakes, he is lying in the Viet-Russian hospital.

It is lunchtime, patients are sitting up in their beds waiting for their families to bring their food rations. His cupboard is full of all kinds of fruit and cakes, all starting to wilt because nobody has touched them. Vu feels his head heavy as if a stone is pressing on it. He tries to turn it to both sides to stretch his neck muscles. These movements give him a sharp pain.

“I am old…This painful episode just whips me down,” he thinks to himself but patiently continues the exercise.

The patient opposite him looks on and inquires, “Are you all awake now? Congratulations.”

“Thank you…I have been unconscious for how many days?”

“Three and a half. Ah, yes…altogether four days. You were brought to the room noon last Saturday. Today is Wednesday, eleven thirty Wednesday.”

“Here you count each hour?”

“A hospital is similar to a prison; a day is longer than a century. You have not had a long stay, therefore you don’t know.”

“True. Visiting people, I have. But myself, it is the first time.”

“I heard that.” He starts laughing: “Just stay here a few weeks and you will see clearly. Before you heard people threaten: ‘Staying in here a few days
is longer than a century, don’t believe it.’ Once in here the truth becomes evident.”

“Is that so?”

He also laughs. Even the laugh makes his face painful and stiff. However, he is awake. His body cannot be destroyed so quickly. This is a reward from a life of healthy living, with moderation, and with so many
chi gong
classes. He rubs his cold stiff hands together, waiting for them to warm up, then he uses them to rub his neck.

“I will not submit to failure before I fight back. Old age: I accept thee but in the spirit of competition. I won’t be your servant.”

The doctor in charge steps into the room. A man in his forties, calm and weary. He approaches the bed and smiles: “Greetings.”

“Greetings to you, too,” Vu cheerfully replies. “I live thanks to you, therefore I welcome you. That’s more accurate.”

“Not quite. You have a strong constitution, which is why you recuperated so quickly. If it had been another, it…”

“Another person would have died?”

“I didn’t mean that. But if it had been another, it could have had long-lasting consequences.”

“Because the side effects of a brain aneurism can be total body or organ paralysis or at least a twisted neck, crooked mouth, and so on…Is that right?”

“You know the prognosis like a professional.”

“I read medical books. Not much but enough to have simple knowledge. When I opened my eyes I know that I was lucky. As our elders said: ‘Meet the right doctor and you get the right medication.’ If I say more, people will say I am pompous, but, whatever, I still have to say thank you. Thank you very much.”

“Don’t mention it. It is our duty.”

The doctor seems embarrassed. He quickly says good-bye then leaves the room. Later, a nurse comes in.

“Today you drink milk. Tomorrow, too. From Friday on your diet will change given your health situation. The doctor said you might want to eat rice porridge today but that would not be helpful.”

“Thank you. I will follow the order. No need for you all to be concerned.”

“Should I mix you some milk now?”

“No need. I am not hungry yet. Later, I will help myself.”

The nurse walks away. He continues to rub and shake his neck. He figures
that during his days lying unconscious, people had continuously fed him with IV fluids, sugar and minerals, which explains why he does not feel depleted. There is only a feeling of stiffness all over his body. Twenty minutes later, he sinks into sleep. He sleeps straight until nine o’clock before waking up, feeling hungry. He scratches his stomach. He sits up. There is a moment of unsteadiness but later all his movements become accurate and sure. He stands up, mixes some milk, and drinks it. While drinking, he listens to his body slowly coming alive, the warmth spreading from his chest out to his limbs, feeling his blood moving in the veins—all in all a brand-new feeling he has never had before: revival!