During its beginning years, the young couple’s married life unfolded as one might wish. They lived by themselves, partly because of their work and partly because his parents lived with his oldest brother’s family. A separate house for them was provided before the wedding. However, during their years of passion, his family was always a warm cradle never out of his mind. His old home was a place to which he often returned. His wife had to accept this. In her heart of hearts, she wanted to monopolize his time as well as his love but knew that this was impossible. Routinely, at the end of every week, they went back to Vu’s family home. Everybody came together around meals of familiar home-cooked dishes that could satisfy more than those in fancy restaurants. Vu’s mother, despite her age, was still an extraordinary cook. She made snail stew with banana stems, frog stir-fried with pepper and bamboo shoots, catfish soup with vegetables, shrimp braised in rice wine, or eel braised in turmeric. Additionally, not only was the food good, the family atmosphere was warm, reflecting genuine affection among people coming from the same root. Only once each year did they visit Van’s home, for Tet, the New Year. That could not be avoided; it was a hallowed tradition. Vu was obliged to go along for a few meals. He could endure that duty, even though he had to see his mother-in-law. He felt as if he were being tormented by sharp thorns every time he witnessed her abrasive manner: when she shouted demands at the servants, her obnoxious way of handling money, or the unattractive, unrefined way by which she expressed her contentment — while still chewing, she tilted her face and laughed, showing all the food mixed up in her big open mouth in a gross display.
The fish sauce distributor was fully aware of all this. One time, she blurted openly: “I know I don’t appreciate the two of you. But the two of you don’t appreciate me either. It’s best that everyone eats as they like and each sleeps in his own bed. It’s enough that, once a year, you just bring gifts for the altar.”
“What are you saying? It’s so petty…” The teacher rolled his eyes in anger.
Mrs. Tuyet Bong closed her eyes and kept her mouth shut. Even though she could be quite vulgar, could pull up her skirt and start a fight with anyone over a penny or let loose a string of toxic curses with any neighbor who dared touch her or her son, she still feared her husband a lot. To him she was like a loyal dog. Her extremely thick lips always shut when he raised his voice. Her tigress eyes flipped into those of a meek rabbit whenever he glared at her. When he gave an order, immediately she had to jump off her high horse, even though just a minute before she had been prancing around on it as if off to do battle. Neighbors said that she was born under the sign of the rat and he under that of the snake, thinking that, while a rat can taunt a cat, in front of a snake it will become completely paralyzed and just wait for death. Others of meaner spirit would say that the zodiac made no difference; a person like her, thanks to a mysteriously predetermined fate, could only sit and daydream…of a guy with torn pants and shirt, barefooted, with infected eyes, whose job was to chase after hogs down country roads.
And so, for many years they lived by this principle: a daughter-in-law belongs to you; a son-in-law is a guest. Van had never showed annoyance when her husband criticized the bad habits of her beloved younger brother, Tung. But recently, everything had changed. Ever since their own son had grown up to become a second beloved Tung, there was a risk that he would become worse than the original one. The rottenness that grows on the tree of power is a thousand times worse than any mold that sprouts from plain dirt or just pops up or in the middle of the hay.
“Alas! Children are golden chains, fetters…”
A plaintive thought suddenly popped up in his mind. Simultaneously, his heart was pierced by two arrows. Two faces appeared all at once: that of his own son and that of another man’s son.
“I will die…I will die because of this tug of war…for this pain is something I cannot share with anyone…in this dark tunnel there is no escape…”
He moaned. He suddenly remembered that his wife was in bed and for sure was still awake. He hurriedly gnashed his teeth to put a stop to his moan. Then another face appeared, along with a thought as sharp as a sword’s blade:
“But no, I have no right to die; at least not now. With my death, those scoundrels will have a free hand. With my death, too many people will be affected. I wouldn’t know what misfortunes will occur. No, I have to live. I don’t have the right to give up…”
Holding his head in his hands, he groped as if he were injured and found his way to bed.
4
The airplane cannot take off due to thick fog.
The fog hangs like white silk swatches twisting over the airport and the green grass turns dark as it drunkenly absorbs moisture from the low-hanging fog. A young woman brings a tray of tea and politely places it in front of Vu:
“Sir, please drink some tea. It will be a long while before the plane can take off.”
“Thank you, miss. How many times this month has the plane been delayed?”
“Three times already. Today is the fourth.”
“Usually how long is the wait?”
“It depends on each day’s weather, but on average until past noon.”
“You know that proverb, too?”
“Yes, the elders said: ‘Rain does not last past noon; wind not past three p.m.’…My maternal grandmother taught me that.” Saying this, the girl turns the teacup faceup on the saucer, and pours tea. The fragrance of the jasmine tea rises and makes the room less desolate and empty, as guest houses and railway stations often feel.
“In one hour the cafeteria will sell beef soup and sesame balls. But if you need them now, I will fetch some for you.”
“Thank you. I have already had breakfast at home,” he replies, but then changes his mind.
“If it is not too much trouble, could you bring me some sesame balls? What kind do they sell at the canteen?”
“We have three kinds: one with savory filling, one with mung bean and cane sugar filling, and one with honey.”
“Please bring me those with mung bean and cane sugar.”
“Yes, I will bring them up right away,” the young woman replies and briskly leaves the room.
His eyes follow her while he ponders: “She must be well connected to get work as an airport employee.”
All girls from the countryside with muddy feet and hands who are selected to work for the government or in the big city have this enthusiasm and dedication. Their bodies are full of life, their faces are tanned by the sun; their enthusiasm is that of those who have twirled in a tense tempo under the utmost hard work to then fall into a life with a slow pace and many amenities.
“But in only a short while, they will change. From their appearance to their character…With the years, everything will change slowly…” he melancholically thinks while sipping his tea.
The young woman returns with a plate full of sesame balls. There are so many, he would need to be thirty-five years younger to be able to consume them all. The airport canteen’s regular patrons are young pilots and mechanics with active stomachs or new soldiers who pour in from the countryside.
Placing his plate properly on the table, the young woman bows her head once more and leaves.
“Thank you, miss.”
Vu smiles and starts to nibble on the sesame balls. With the cup of tea, his appetite unexpectedly returns and he eats two. To his surprise Vu drinks several more cups of tea. That very morning, his wife had served him a bowl of noodles as usual. That bowl of noodles had had the same ingredients and flavors as always, but he couldn’t take more than two spoonfuls. Perhaps because the two of them had had a sleepless night; an empty and cold night that hardens your heart and soul. When a man and a woman share a bed but won’t or can’t make love, or they do not want or have anything meaningful to share, then their hearts turn in different directions and their brains are filled with different thoughts. To be bound together in such torment is frightening.