“Nobody knows for how many generations this sad song has been sung. Nor for how many generations parents have had to clench their teeth and endure ungrateful, inhuman treatment hoping for a proper burial. Children, except for filial ones, often abuse this psychology to make demands on and to pressure their parents. Looking at Mr. Quang’s family situation, you will see that clearly. But the main problem in this family is that the son was thinking about death a bit too early. Old people when facing death are usually shaken with fear, losing all their confidence as well as their authority over their children. Additionally, Quy holds the position of village chairman. He has clout with the neighbors as well as the rights belonging to a family’s oldest son. But Mr. Quang does not yet fit the profile of a village elder, even though he is sixty-one. He is still healthy, with eyes shining like stars and a mind moving faster than electricity. He still makes money. He does not yet think about death. He still likes to live, still thinks about sex with his new wife. That is why the son was not able to intimidate him. Without a qualm he ran Quy’s whole flock, wife and kids, out into the street. Thus the son made a misstep in the chess game; a misstep that cannot be salvaged. That’s my thinking, am I right or wrong, gentlemen?”
“One hundred percent on the dot.”
“Right, I concur. One says that when the toad opens his mouth, it’s not just empty chatter, nor just for fun.”
“One’s life is such. When you look sideways you think it is a joke, but when you look straight it becomes a tragedy.”
“That’s how we know — to live is tough.”
“You turn this way then that way, old age dashes in. Not behind your back but smack in front of you.”
All became silent. Suddenly both rooms were dead quiet like an empty temple because this was the first time they had looked straight at what they feared. This fear coexists with them forever and ever, like a shadow, but nobody dares speak its name, nobody dares articulate its meaning. People avoid the topic, they cover it up using every sort of pretext, like family honor, like the sanctity of blood relationships, like parental responsibilities. But in reality, it hides in the darkest corner of one’s souclass="underline" those irreverent children, those tactless ones who do not hesitate to bring their feelings out into the open, to parade them in broad daylight. Without anyone saying it, people still remember every word, so strident and bitter, from Old Lady Cuu’s daughter-in-law:
“You think having an old mother is a light burden, don’t you? We enjoy the house and your fields, yes, but you are sick, one has to buy medicine for you. When you die, one has to do a funeral, a banquet now and then, and one has to wash your skeleton to replace a wooden box with a terra-cotta one; all that requires money, don’t think that we just clap our hands and it all gets done.”
Not every family has a cruel and greedy daughter-in-law as did Mrs. Cuu; but since life is hard, whether you like it or not, one needs to look at realities clearly. But people’s hearts usually reject hardship. Besides, the hearts of people need some sweet illusions. Children come from us; they grow thanks to the blood and milk of their parents. Who wants to believe that someday they will hand you a chipped bowl to use for your rice?
After a moment of silence, a man spoke up: “Children are gifts from heaven. Parents give them life but heaven gives them character. Then and now, everyone relies on sons. So within this very hamlet, I can’t say more, is there any father whose funeral was more elaborate than Mr. Do Vang’s?”
“Miss Vui is a special case; why bring her up?”
“One father and one child, when he died he had nice brocade garments. There are some who have seven children, working hard like buffalo all year round and going bankrupt raising the children to adulthood. Yet when they lie down, they have to listen to them arguing about how much each should contribute to the funeral costs. In this life, we are better or worse, all thanks to our good deeds in past lives. In the morning, nobody can foresee what the night will bring. Nobody can plan the time when we go to the grave. Enough, gentlemen, pour me some wine. In spring swallows fly to and fro. Let’s empty our cups to celebrate the New Year. Miss Hostess, please join us.”
Miss Vui quietly finished her cup along with the men. Nobody said more. The villagers had come excitedly to her house to gossip about Mr. Quang and his sons, but that story ended up trespassing on the secret, private lives of each of them. And those secrets often told more about the winter of life than its spring. The committee secretary recognized that point. After the round of wine, she requested that the youth group sing to gloss over the gloom. However, the guests left in groups of five or three at a time. She was sure they would continue the discussion in their homes, because underlying the gossip was the fundamental foundation of everyone’s life — where happiness and pain intertwine to make a single thread constituting one’s destiny. Perhaps what happened between Mr. Quang and his children was an alarm, preparing each family for all the storms waiting for them — a cry from the seabird that warns boats to be careful before an unseen iceberg or surprise tempests in the dark ocean ahead.
The group of young people then left as well. Miss Vui sat in front of the altar and looked at Mr. Do’s photograph and whispered:
“Father, you were wise in life and divine in death, please come back and show me the way.”
Mr. Do looked out straight at the face of his daughter with a most stern expression that she had never seen before.
“We made the wrong move, totally wrong. Now we have to find a way to undo it.”
She pondered and considered what she had done. She had gone all the way to Khoai Hamlet to investigate Miss Ngan’s family and the love affair of the mismatched couple. She was the only person who knew the beginning and the end of such things and thus was the one to report back to Quy and the villagers. People would eventually ask: Whatever prompted her to be so enthusiastic? Not because she was submissive to the chairman’s request, because she is never submissive to anyone. She had done everything according to her own thinking. Therefore the argument “the secretary was following the chairman’s order” would not persuade many people. It would be as if a worker were digging a deep well in the dirt to find the water main below; the villagers would dig to the end for the reasons that compelled her to spend her time and money to go all the way to Khoai Hamlet. They will find them with little difficulty. And then the arrowhead will point her way:
“From just last night to tonight, the situation has turned upside down. Can anyone predict when a move will be made?”
She let out a sigh. Last night, before New Year’s Day, the whole village had listened to her report, happily laughing, lifting up and lowering down their wine cups, and carrying her up to the blue skies because she satisfied their curiosity; they looked at the saga of Mr. Quang’s family as a fun comedy for spring festivities. Today, Act Two had been quickly performed, but it was no longer just the personal story of Mr. Quang’s family; it suddenly touched upon the affection between fathers and sons — as an emotional rope wrapped around a large tree trunk, very close to the old saying: “Pull the rope and you shake the forest.” She instinctively sighed again with the thought that she had been clever but not wise: pulling the rope without thinking of shaking the forest. Now, given what had happened, there was no way to reverse events. After a moment of hesitation, she recalled what her father had taught her: