“Me neither.”
“Has any family fallen into this kind of mess before?”
“How could they?”
“A long time ago, during my great-grandparents’ era, there were two brothers who didn’t get along and they would not see each other. On the father’s and mother’s death anniversaries, the older brother did his separately and the younger one his. Relatives and others had to attend both.”
“That’s the right way to go; whatever the conflict, they are still family. As for outsiders like us, our duty is to ‘value harmony’ above all.”
The “scary” thing that made the people of Woodcutters’ Hamlet suspicious and frightened, something they could not explain, would soon expose itself. Twelve days after the first anniversary of Mrs. Quang’s death it rained hard. People could not go up to the woods or to the fields. Everyone sat at home to pan-fry green rice, cook sweet soups, or play cards. In the wee hours after the third day of rain Mr. Quang’s horse could be heard neighing loudly for joy. Mr. Quang’s kitchen was lit up by a fire: Miss Ngan was cooking plain white rice, then steamed sweet rice for Mr. Quang to take on the road. They ate together in the kitchen. Afterward, the green-bloused woman wrapped her arm around her husband’s back and walked with him to the hedge where the carriage was waiting. The sight of the two with their arms around each other was an unfamiliar one in Woodcutters’ Hamlet and it quite upset the neighbors. Miss Ngan did not know, but Mr. Quang surely realized that hidden behind doors, at the corners of walls, in bushes, many pairs of eyes discreetly watched them. Even though he knew how people thought, he still acted according to what the elders had taught:
At fifty, you know what Heaven plans for your destiny;
At sixty, act as you wish.
Stopping at the gate, he bent over to kiss Miss Ngan before he climbed into the carriage and whipped his horse into a trot. The sounds of the horse’s hooves, fast and hard, broke the calm rural air. In the pace of a horse that had been kept enclosed because of the rain, one sensed an uncontrollable force mixed with the unsettling danger of a freedom that had endured repression. Miss Ngan stood there to look at the carriage until it disappeared in the row of trees.
Most of the people in Woodcutters’ Hamlet stayed at home that morning. Many called out to one another to go up to work on the cassava fields, but in the end they dallied around home to launder piles of clothes, to rake up scattered hay, to clean and straighten up their rooms. Many things had mildewed after all the rain.
Close to noon, as the women were getting ready to cook lunch, loud footsteps were suddenly heard on the paths. First came small children; then curious teenagers; finally, villagers, men as well as women: all had dropped whatever they were doing to go gawk at “Miss Ngan being arrested.” They were neither hesitant nor shy about loudly calling out to neighbors, from the patio of one house to another, from this hedge to that one:
“Hey, do you know yet? Mr. Quang’s young wife has been arrested by the police. Let’s go see what is going on.”
“Hey, stop what you’re doing. Did you hear the news? Mr. Quang’s green-bloused girl has been grabbed by the neck!”
“What did she do to deserve this?”
“There was a warrant from the province saying she laundered money and specialized in scamming wealthy families.”
“Scamming Mr. Quang? That’s really insane. He doesn’t cheat, so how could there be such a silly thing?”
“Everybody knows he’s clever, is street smart, and has eaten with the best and worst. The important point is that he’s frustrated. His wife was sick for almost a year and then she died almost a year ago; when has he touched anyone?”
“Don’t believe that. He traveled widely and often; there was no lack of women.”
“You think it’s easy? Why don’t you try it?”
“Why do I have to try? With my wife at home, anytime is a good time; I just lie down. I only worry that my strength isn’t enough for the game.”
“That is why you can easily exaggerate. Say your wife dies, I dare you to touch the clam of your neighbor. They would slash your throat with a knife.”
“There is no lack of singles and widows.”
“Single like Vui? I invite you to try! Widows like Huong with the chicken pox face and Lan with infected eyes down in the lower section? If you will play there, I will treat you to three feasts with wine and steamed rooster in rice. Well, will you do it?”
“Nah, not those women. I pass.”
“That’s life: either too high or too low. The ones you like: off limits. With a bed or a mat all ready, one cannot even stick it up. Therefore, frustration. Frustrated like that, when a girl as beautiful as a fairy appears and prepares a pipe, even the most saintly ones would succumb, no less Mr. Quang.”
“I don’t see a con artist behind her face.”
“How can one know the inside of the dragonflies’ tangled nest? Those women who turned regimes upside down or destroyed families were and are always beautiful. Average women like your wife or plain ones like mine never get to eat more than rice husks; even if they wanted to cheat, it wouldn’t work.”
“All you do is think of sullied things.”
“I eat rice with salt and touch my knees, I tell the truth. I don’t talk flowery or curvy.”
“But I can’t believe Mr. Quang was scammed. It’s like the story of a rooster with four spurs or a horse with four manes.”
“Mr. Quang is really smart, but if you look at his background he is only a muddy-footed country person like us. Being good at networking and having all his life made his living elsewhere makes him sharp, but no matter how sharp you are, there comes a time when you must bow your head to that thing hanging in the crotch of your pants. Do you know the line used to humble intellectuals?”
“What do you mean by ‘intellectual’?”
“Those wearing long robes, with white feet and hands, the opposite of those like us who work with the hoe or cut wood, sporting short shirts and black feet. The saying goes: ‘First come the intellectuals, and second the farmers.’ Intellectuals are the literary ones, the gentlemen, all the high and low mandarins, and all those who administer the capital and the villages. Another saying: ‘Even when filled with literature and learning, if you’re obsessed with a cunt, you will still fall into big muddles.’”
“Really! I wouldn’t know.”
“If you don’t, then you must listen before you talk. What makes you think and insist that Mr. Quang cannot be fooled? Life is not as simple as you think.”
“Yeah, possibly.”
The villagers poured out into the streets to look at the young wife of Mr. Quang: she was cuffed at the elbow and led by some twelve men of the village militia, with rifles on their shoulders and faces as stiff as stone, with the police chief at their head. This display of force was not impressive, because their enemy was only one young woman, with no weapon in her hands, and tears of fear pouring down a pale but still so beautiful face. Walking behind were more than thirty curious youngsters, a volunteer audience and very attentive. Once in a while, a soldier wanting to show off the power of the government would turn around and shout aimlessly: