“The green-shirted whore, the one who takes away the house that I have the right to inherit; the one who shatters my family; who separates father and children and who makes my mother bitter in heaven.”
Thus Quy never dared admit to himself that this “green-shirted whore” made him completely lose his balance each time they met, that even the first time, his whole body felt paralyzed, like a crab within the grasp of a toad, its eight claws shriveled up waiting for death, or like a kind of mouse that is totally stiff from the hypnotizing eyes of a snake and losing all ability to defend itself. During that moment, his whole body went rigid like a dead one, then afterward burned as if on fire. Those conflicting and extreme feelings played out back and forth inside him. He felt that his destiny was now in the hands of another person, and the body wherein he resided was nothing more than the shell of a boat with its wheel and sails directed by the hands of an invisible and powerful wicked spirit. From that day on, every time he saw those shiny black eyes of hers, the blood in Quy’s veins quickly came to a boil. The boiling blood flowed up to his face like a fire, making his skin burn and his head turn, and everything suddenly became vague and unclear as if seen through the smoke of rice hay burning in a dry paddy. He did not even catch that when he saw her, his throat suddenly choked, like someone eating yams and swallowing the wrong mealy type without a drink of water; and his breath suddenly became short as in one who climbs a high mountain but lacks endurance. On the first day of the New Year, to keep his calm when dealing with his father, Quy had to pinch his palm until it bruised with black blood. And when his father had chased him out along with his family, he still felt the half of his face that looked toward the kitchen frozen by the expectation of seeing the “green-shirted whore” once more. A hidden expectation, invisible and uncontrollable, made him walk like a soulless one imitating a zombie’s stride. The familiar patio of his parents’ house suddenly turned into an unstable desert. And the door frame of the kitchen turned into the opening of a mysterious cave holding the potential danger that a transcendental animal would appear with the ability to take one simultaneously to hell and to paradise. He had crossed that patio with a hurricane blowing in his soul. But Miss Ngan had stayed inside. His attack had completely failed, leaving no hope of consolation or salvation.
Now each day the antagonistic encounters between the “beautiful whore” and his wife and children grew more and more tense while his own rage escalated.
“That Vui has betrayed me; she does not want to help us anymore. That female elephant without a mate has fallen for my father. That old man eats up all the good fortune out there.”
Painfully, Quy realized that he could never measure up to his father. And this feeling was eating away at him day and night. After one of these sessions of torturing himself over his shortcomings and shame, sometimes he would sit up and calculate the ages of his father and himself. This was the only way Quy could find some consolation. Without question, he was still young, and youth is the strength of champions. Heaven had given him time and heaven gave him opportunity. There was an undeniable difference, a deep pit that could never be filled, between an old man of sixty-one and a man of forty.
“I cannot accept being pushed out to live empty-handed. The fight cannot end that simply. I still have ways to act. I don’t need that big broad, I can still do things by myself.”
This last thought preoccupied Quy during the entire three weeks of orientation from district and provincial cadres. When the sessions ended he skipped the celebration and headed straight to the city to the district construction complex. Villagers had told him that Mr. Quang was still in Woodcutters’ Hamlet, helping his young wife to dry mushrooms. It was a lucky break, actually. At the complex, Quy avoided the area for contract workers because most of them had been recruited by Mr. Quang from the district. He lingered along the rows of food stands outside for a long while, to spot the house where the workers from Ha Tay — the gang of “Coolie Girls”—resided. Finding the cave of the “green-shirted whore,” Quy went on sitting at a food stall until dark, then ambled over to the construction complex after buying two packs of cigarettes to give to the night watchman.
“I have a brother who works in Mr. Quang’s masonry group. He wants to find out about a girl painter from Ha Tay. My uncle and aunt asked me to check her out to see if she behaves properly before deciding to go on with the marriage. For such an upright purpose, I hope, Comrade, you can help me.”
“Comrade, do you have papers?”
“Right here.”
Quy handed over the cover letter that came with the instructions to attend the district and provincial orientation sessions. The entrance guard bent over to read. Then he looked up at Quy and with a flattering manner said:
“Please do enter, Comrade. Be careful, part of the road is still slippery because by this time we have turned half the lights off and many parts of the public area are still muddy. May you find success.”
“Thank you,” Chairman Quy replied with satisfaction. The reserve of the entrance guard made him more confident and excited.
It took over half an hour to walk from the entrance to the complex where the workers lived. On his way over, Quy contemplated how he could chat up the painters, whom, by a bit of bad luck, he didn’t know. Once again, the imposing shadow of his father came down and completely enveloped him. Quy knew he had no skill in persuasion and lacked interpersonal charm. Things that Mr. Quang could have said easily in minutes were difficult for him to think about, much less find words for. As the father enjoyed all the gifts of destiny, the children had to endure bad luck.
“Heaven gives to one what it takes from the pocket of another!” Quy thought to himself, certain of this truth.
The rooming house reserved for female workers was noisiest after dinner when the women gathered around for games or chitchat. There was a nice smell of roasted corn; those of middle age ate popcorn and candy while playing cards. The youngest ones put their faces close to a mirror to better trim their eyebrows, the cheapest way to maintain their beauty. Quy had to stop at the door because of the sharp sounds of cards turning, the loud laughter, and the high-pitched and rather unpleasant voices, a new experience for him. Women in Woodcutters’ Hamlet never laughed loudly like that; they didn’t even scream and shout like men caught up in card games. As a matter of fact, the women of Woodcutters’ Hamlet were not even allowed to play cards. They had too much to do around their houses and in their kitchens.
“No doubt, these are the whores in the construction trade; people are not off the mark calling them just that. They are like female horses running wild outside the paddock,” Quy thought to himself, elated that the “green-shirted whore” had come from this environment, from among these women with no virtue. His father had no reason to be so proud of a young wife like that. While Quy was lost in his thoughts, a young woman who had just finished trimming her brows stepped outside. Seeing the shadow of a man in the dark, she hollered:
“Oh, oh! Who is it?”
“It’s me…me…” Quy awkwardly replied: “I am a relative of Miss Ngan…of Ha Tay…I am looking for her.”
The young woman’s shout drew all the others to the door. They surrounded Quy, some still chewing on popcorn, others still holding cards in their hands, the whole group staring at him, making his legs turn weak as if they wanted to run away from his body.
“Which Ngan? The one with stinky ears or Ngan Quang?”
“Ngan…of Ha Tay…of Khoai Hamlet…”