The Zenith (61 page)

“Wow, your wisdom is quite dangerous. It will prompt men to leave their families to look for adventure and erection.”

“Exactly. Not only men but women, too, because the two halves—yin and yang—are always equal before the devil in their ability to sin. The problems to resolve are concrete cases and persons. There is no common denominator for all humanity in its pursuit of happiness. There is no limit to the number of adventures. The main thing is…”

Le Phuong stops talking. He pulls from one shirt pocket a large pipe and from the other a packet of dark loose tobacco. He slowly packs the tobacco into the bowl of the pipe. Vu finds this writer’s style of conversation akin to that of a Chinese novel: he makes you wait for the clincher. Ugly as he is, he nonetheless must have seduced quite a few women with his innate charm.

“You trigger my curiosity,” Vu says, smiling.

“I’ll go on,” Le Phuong replies, but he takes his time lighting the pipe, inhaling the smoke, then leisurely exhaling. Vu can clearly hear the bees flying in the garden outside, buzzing over the green tamarind trees.

“Not only for men but women, too, because the two halves—yin and yang—are always equal before the devil in their ability to sin. Why am I aware of this at my age? Everything comes too late.”

That thought brings Vu back to the image of his woman: to Van! For the first time since he opened his eyes from the coma, that name returns.

“No…No…No…”

He reacts strongly because he feels that the storm is about to break over him, leaving him in danger of being thrown into that strong wind.

Turning his head around, Vu forces himself to concentrate on the dialogue with the writer:

“Then what happens? I am waiting to hear more.”

Smiling, Le Phuong says, “Why would a respectable person like you, Older Brother, ever listen to the silly theories of your younger friends, us studs who love to play around with life?”

“Why do you make that distinction?”

“Because you, Older Brother, you belong to those who work on great national tasks. Us, we like to live only as we want to live. We fear our careless words won’t be accepted by our big brothers.”

“Oh, I have heard all the comical stories that Phu told in the jungle years before. No reason to hold back.”

“Yes. But more than twenty years have passed and time does make a difference.”

“So true.”

Instinctively, Vu lets out a sigh and slowly continues: “Time sorts out people, not just individuals but all of humanity. However, we still have valuable things in common; for example, goodness, or friendship, or family bonds. Those feelings cannot disappear in the comings and goings of time and space.”

“Yes.”

“During the hardest times of my life, I always asked for help from Eldest Brother. He could understand me when I was silent. He was ready to shoulder the family, to let me roam freely.”

“Yes.”

Vu stops because he realizes that he is opening up his heart before these two men; one forgotten for more than twenty years and the other known for just half an hour. He has never done this before. He takes several small sips of tea to conceal his confusion. And then he asks of Le Phuong:

“And you, you are here to treat what illness?”

“Me?” the writer replies. “I have no illness whatsoever. If I had, I don’t meet the conditions to be admitted here.”

“What do you say? You were in the revolution since ’45, the same year as Tran Phu.”

“Yes, but I don’t meet the criteria for joining the Party. If you are not a Party member then, for sure, for the rest of your life, you will never get a decent position. Not only that, I am guilty of always loving young and pretty ladies. For me, the Party is noble in theory, while young and pretty ladies are perfection in the practical side of life. I do not like ‘setting bait only to catch a shadow.’ I chose what has value in life, and Party greatness I leave for others to enjoy.”

At this point, the two pals laugh loudly. Vu is forced to laugh along, suspicious, not knowing if these two playful guys are telling the truth or joking. As if they understand his concern, Tran Phu chimes in with his friend:

“Le Phuong is right. He doesn’t meet the criteria of being at least Assistant Grade Five to get treatment in this hospital. But he comes every day to visit me. His highest duty to fulfill is to ‘raise a comrade’s morale.’ Each of your Party cells has three members. Ours has only two, established in 1945 and until now unusually strong—no dagger in anyone’s back yet.”

“That’s exactly right…” Le Phuong confirms. “Our comradeship does not rely on the grand theory of a ‘united world proletariat.’ Our cell relies on
a foundation of ordinary and small-scale relationships, of pusillanimous concerns, in fact. For example, when I was in the jungle in the north, whenever the family sent provisions, whether a lot or a little, from money to clothing to medicine, it was always divided in two. When we were sick, one carried the other on his back. When at peace, we relied on one another to ‘attack.’”

“Attack?”

Seeing Vu’s puzzled look, the two men crack smiles at each other. Then, Le Phuong turns and tells Tran Phu, “Older Brother has no concept about the language used by those who ‘play around in midlife.’ Enough; thus it is an opportunity for us to entertain the older person at the time when he is in need of rest. I will unravel all the small secrets of our insignificant lives. Is that OK with you?”

“OK. The cell adopts the motion,” Tran Phu replies with his everlasting happy face, which has turned red out of excitement.

Le Phuong pulls his pipe from his mouth, and carefully resting it on a lacquer ashtray, says, “We were not as lucky as you, or all the men like you, who have a beautiful fairy for a wife and who are satisfied till the last moment of their lives. Our wives—or to be more accurate, ‘those deserving old ladies who bore our children’—always have a firm conviction that we are their prisoners for life, for life under their management, just like the heavy settee or the heirloom cupboard that sits for years in our house. Because they take us for granted, whenever it suits them they can display us from one day to the next as if we were their property, with the calmness of a judge before the conviction.”

“You have to say it clearly. Brother Vu does not understand what you mean by that word ‘property,’” interjects Tran Phu.

The writer nods, winking. “Property means accessories that are now old and torn. I am sure Older Brother has seen houses with peeling walls and leaky roofs, sinking or broken columns. Try to visualize people as if they were a house being hit by bombs, or storms, or by destructive time. Please, Older Brother, disregard the vulgar comparison. But it is hard to find more exact words to describe the thing. But the ‘property’ of these ladies is sagging breasts, soft, fleshy, and saggy thighs that spill over into the crotch of their pants, and pairs of eyes that no longer exhibit any brightness but only crust and pus. Not to mention ladies who sport outrageous or dirty clothes.”

Le Phuong then clears his throat like a singer about to go onstage and empties his coffee cup. Vu cracks a smile, knowing that Le Phuong is now ready for the main story, a chapter pretentiously titled “Little Secrets of
Little Lives.” But the writer puts his dragon-decorated cup on the table, turns to his friend, and says, “Tell them to brew new filtered coffee. This coffee is worse than sock laundry water. Our traditional foods have been destroyed by all these state enterprise products.”

“You’re right. It is disgusting,” Tran Phu replies, then turns to tell the girl attendant: “Brew me a double-filtered coffee and charge me double. Just like yesterday morning.”

“Right away, Chief.”

Le Phuong turns back around to Vu with a twinkle in his eyes: “Definitely the things I am about to say are forbidden in your circle, Older Brother, and definitely after these confessions, we will seem to you to be immoral as compared with people of rectitude.”

“Oh, don’t beat around the bush. Each of us lives as we see fit. Don’t compare one to another.”

“Most inconveniently for all of us, each person is indeed different, in different life situations, but within one common sense of what is valuable. And this value system is set in place by law and power, which forces everyone to conform. Thus, it is like setting out one standard bed and asking everyone to do whatever they can to fit on it. Perhaps you do not recall, in the old days, they used a steel bed to torture and ill-treat prisoners. Those who were longer than the bed had their feet chopped off, and those who were too short had their arms and legs stretched. Enough said. We are, nonetheless, sitting in this room, enjoying this ease—an occasion that has been long awaited. Whether we go up or down in your estimation is of no importance to me.”

After these words, Le Phuong grins and waves his hand at the cafeteria employees, who hastily bring out the coffee. This time, the steam holds some fragrance. The two golden friends gleefully drink the hot coffee while Vu sips his tea. He does not know why he feels so lighthearted while sit-ting with these two talkative men; it has been a long time since he had felt this way. It made him think of the idle talks of his youth: a bit vulgar, a bit light-headed, and a bit playful; but not a hint of plotting or behind-the-back meanness.

“Now, this is almost coffee. But compared with coffee from Hanoi this deserves to be called dishwater.”

“If we keep talking about the old days, we could spend all day complaining: What happened to the green rice cakes, the candied lotus seeds, the jasmine tea of the old days? But enough: don’t say any more, as it saddens Brother Vu. He is one of the most enthusiastic authors of our new society.”

“Correct, I am most heartbroken,” Vu affirms. “But I am waiting to hear more about how you ‘attack.’”

“Well, we are just ordinary people who love to live ordinary lives. Therefore we always follow the call of what you called the new sources of inspiration. Our soul is divided in half: one is for duty and the other for oneself. We have to make sure our conscience stays intact but we cannot let our souls molder and wither. That is why our lives are a series of plots mediating between the two itineraries of our way forward. Monthly salaries, social benefits, we turn over to our wives on schedule, because they care for the kids and manage the home. Whatever else comes in we call the ‘black budget’ and is set aside for fun. To prepare escapades of fun, we must get to know the whole network of accommodations for relaxation. To be more accurate, we must look for all the ways in which to get close to the group of cadres who run those rest houses. This task we call ‘assuring the safety factor,’ a necessary but not sufficient condition. To reach sufficiency, we need to hold in our hands a stack of blank travel permits. When we start out, we only have to fill in a day, month, and add a scrawling dragon signature and it is done. Lucky for us we have stupid wives. They read well but can’t tell if the signature or the work order is genuine. Those two priority requirements are Tran Phu’s responsibility because he is a Party cadre and thus has more power than I.”

“In this sense, the Party is useful,” Tran Phu adds joyfully. “Every time he accepts an assignment, I force Le Phuong to sing this song: ‘Forever Be Grateful to the Party!’”

“Exactly,” says Le Phuong. “When you eat fruit, thank the grower. I have sung this song for more than twenty years, and hope to continue singing it. Now I will let you hear about all the fun that those who look at life as a game of enjoyment can have. Outside our duties to our wives and children and to our work, a new wind blows in every once in a while, a rose suddenly loses its way and enters our lives—some fresh and pretty girl who is lonely or sobbing because of a lost love, or who is horny and wants to escape from the steel cage of the family, or is tired of a weak husband, or is unable to endure the attacks from a witch mother-in-law. In short, gentlemen that we are, we are willing to help out in all such circumstances. If the pretty swallow flies to land on Tran Phu’s shoulder, I am the one who will write and sign the order: ‘Immediately investigate the N, A, Z case.’ Or: ‘Make a detailed report on national festivals, in cooperation with the Ethnographic Institute.’

“Or vice versa. In all the investigations there must be two people. I carry a bag to Tran Phu’s house to let his wife and kids see clearly that two patriarchs
are on the road to carry out their duty. We eat a last meal before departure with the solemnity of the Japanese warrior who drinks the ‘Determined to Die’ wine cup before getting into his plane and diving into the American warship.”

At this moment, Tran Phu suddenly bursts into loud laughter. “Do you remember the time we went to Tam Dao?”

“I do, as if it were yesterday,” Le Phuong replies and turns to Vu to explain:

“This is a recollection that belongs to the category of ‘never to be forgotten.’ That time, there was an apprentice actress who had been fired from her troupe because she was pregnant out of wedlock. I do not know the reason or who told her to come to my house crying. I was scared because it was after ten in the morning, just an hour before my wife and my two kids would return for lunch. If they saw her crying on my shoulder, I am sure the tray of food would have gone flying out to the patio followed by other noisy chaos. But I could not rudely force a pretty girl like that to leave the house. For the longest time, I could not find a solution and the hands of the clock zipped around the dial. In the end, too terrified, I took her to the flower garden, bought ice cream for her, and went to Tran Phu’s house. Down at his gate, I called up to the second floor:

“‘Phu: get dressed right away. Doan is dead!’

“Tran Phu’s wife stuck her head out:

“‘How can he die so quickly? Last night he was here drinking until dark before he left.’

“‘I don’t know, I just heard the news that he is dead, therefore I quickly ran here.’

“After I said that, my tongue froze. I had no idea why I had made up such a crazy story. But then I heard Phu’s wife rush her husband to get dressed, followed by the noise of his steps on the stairs. We looked at each other then burst into laughter, not suspecting that Phu’s wife was also running downstairs. I just had time to say: