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RED EYES OF A SNAKE AND

ALCOHOLIC FERMENT IN THOSE WOMEN

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All of them were women. At first sight, they looked like winebibbers who drank themselves drunk as an escape from life, now existing in various and funny postures.

It was a Sunday noon, towards the end of a drink, Sister Hai Suong was as drunk as a fish, sleeping it off, her head against her arms crossed on the dining table, and her black hair was loosed down on her shoulders. Her right hand was holding a grilled duck tongue of sanguine colour, the back of her plump hand tinged with green veins which moved in harmony with the rhythm of her snore.

On the next chair, Thu was in a state of hangover, where the body failed to take in alcohol for permeating through blood vessels. She lay back on the chair. Her complexion turned red, her eyes closed, her dark blue eyelids drooped, her dark brown and thick lips turned up, wishing to touch her straight nose. Once in a while, her mouth was lightly opened and closed as if mumbling something. Her loose-fitting blouse was unbuttoned revealing her swollen breasts moving up and down in harmony with her breathing rate.

Obese Mai was not there as she had gone into the bedroom for a rest, leaving an empty chair, a leather handbag under the chair, a worn-out handbag almost inseparable from her. She was quite obese therefore she could not do without a nap after lunch, especially after a hangover.

There remained Tam, she raised her glass of beer, swaying it over the other glasses lying about on the table in disorder, then raised the glass towards me, lisping.

‘Ch...ee...rs! Down...in...one!’

Closing my eyes, I made every effort to drink up the last drops of yellowish liquid in a state of exhaustion and tastelessness. I sometimes feel like a fish out of water in this world just right in my own home.

Tam stood up, walking out into the garden, swaying her body on each step. In an aimless manner, I followed her with my eyes, looking at her hands feeling for something in the air like a dancer who was performing a harvest dance, then incidentally she picked a new rose which had just opened in my garden – stuck the flower in her hair, walked towards the hibiscus fences, towards the plum tree burden with fruits, and through the swarm of dragonflies which were hooked together in flight over the garden.

Around ten pairs of dragonflies were clasping together, flying from side to side over moss grown reddish bricks all that morning, refusing to fly away as a signal of a coming rain. Happiness was taking a stroll before the eyes of the women drinking in a state of joy mingled with sorrow. Pairs of red-brown dragonflies as big as a little finger refused to be separated from each other, maybe they were in mating season, season of love, season overflowed with cuddle.

It was strange that no dragonfly was seen flying alone in such warm space. They, in pairs, are happy in the noon sunshine, only in the noon sunshine, and never curl up in the shade like other species. It was pleasant to hear the sound of their continuous flapping. By flapping their wings, they made themselves steady and stabilised their loving position in space for breeding to survive in life. Once in a while, they flew up and down together like a pair of lovers who were dancing Tango in the sunshine.

A mobile phone was ringing loudly. A drunken woman opened her eyes – the mobile phone ring tones were from Sister Hai Suong’s. She looked at the received number, grunting something then turned off the phone without answering it, looking around the tranquil house, up at me.

‘Quynh Hanh, what are you doing?’

‘Just watching dragonflies loving each other.’

‘Nonsense!’

She put her head on the edge of the table. Her phone was lying on the dry duck tongue, on the wet table undergoing the hangover. Nearby, some other mobile phones were scattered in a mess of green vegetables and leftovers.

I sat still, not wanting to enter the bedroom for fear of Mai’s snores, nor walking into the garden for fear of disturbance of the happiness of dragonflies in their mating season.

Bowls, plates, vegetables and fruits were mixed with salt and pepper, around the extinct Mam Hot Pot with vegetables. The whole house was stunk out with beer and alcohol smell, lingered with the female odour from my schoolmates in high school-days, now gathering. The tumult of the stream of vehicles was heard from the street outside along with the stream of life and time elapsing.

‘Hanh! Hanh!’

I turned towards Sister Hai Suong. She looked at me, her hair ruffled, her eyes closed. In an indistinct voice, she asked, ‘You feel affection for me, don’t you?’

Nodding my head, I clasped and shook her hands reaching across the dining table for me. Raising Sister Hai Suong’s hands high above the slimy table scattered with leftovers, I looked at her face, at her teardrops rolling down on her fair complexion, down in the corner of her lips, on her chin, in the wrinkles round her neck, and soaking her white thin blouse. She muttered again, ‘Kid Thai has left home for weeks, I haven’t heard from him since.’

With this, she withdrew her hands from mine and leaned down over her hands. Sister Hai Suong was whimpering. As I had anticipated, there came a day, sooner or later, when Kid Thai - her dearest and only son - left home.

Hardly had he been in the 10th form when he followed his friends to participate in motorbike races. Thereafter, he sold his motorbike. It was horrible to see his body tattooed all over. Tattoos of eagles and dragons in blue ink were all over the shoulders, chest and back of a boy of tender age.

She had divorced from her husband for five years. Her husband was a high-ranking officer. As a high-ranking officer, he had to attend meetings day or night followed by drinks, summings-up or business discussions.

Wherever there was a death anniversary, wedding or longevity wishing party held in this city, he came there. He had a second young wife and a pretty daughter.

After divorce, he resigned from office, went to the adjacent city and opened a Karaoke lounge which was the biggest and well-known one.

‘Lonely Hanh! You feel affection for me, don’t you?’ she asked in a surly manner, glaring at me.

Stepping towards Sister Hai Suong from behind, I caressed and bore hard on her shoulders for a light relief of her agony, while looking indifferently at a swarm of dragonflies flying over the garden.

Strange to say, this tranquil city seemed to have undergone little changes recently! Men folks have reduced drinks while so many women tried to drink alcohol and beer.

Let us say my old classmates, less than a quarter of them can survive now. Formerly, they were young girls, now become women turning grey. They, my then classmates, try to come together every day, drinking beer or rice-alcohol with friends, loitering at various restaurants and bars talking nonsense! They are rather familiar and well-known persons in this area – rich, luxurious, in high office and position – except for one thing: whenever they have a drink together they always do without a man by their sides.

Satiated with drinks, they all came to my house as it was a lonely house without husband and children and was situated in an underpopulated area and moreover as I was their classmate.

There seemed to be an epidemic in this city: the women living near the market drank too, female workers in food processing plant, after working hours, dropped into a roadside inn opposite their plant to drink beer and alcohol, let alone those who worked in other cities. Once in a while, they returned home and when they have a drink; it seemed that they were insensible to hangover!

Drinking in a life full of arguments over the question: what is the true value of a human life?

I tidied up beer boxes, the Cognac bottle was rolling towards the stair-step, a bottle of rice alcohol lay empty... In an effort, I dragged myself to the wooden bed and fell down in a sound and dreaming sleep at weekend.

The gloomy evening shadow was covering the ancient tile-roofed house. Woken up by the sound from the kitchen, I thought it was sister Ut – my domestic help – who just came back from a family-visit trip and was washing up.

I smelled something sweet, the pleasant scent of incense from the altar in the middle of the house. Sister Ut might burn some incense sticks and candles on my parents’ altar, after cleaning up the ‘battlefield’ after a drink. My body seemed to fly high in the air. Sister Hai Suong’s arm was on my chest while tumbling about in her sound sleep.

Vague memories of my prime of youth were woken up. I caressed that arm, the arm which guided two of us into life twenty years ago, when we were immature schoolgirls, into a life full of so much agony, through immense and mighty forests and across roads almost leading to infinity.

I recollected the date I left with Minh-Shoulder-Length-Hair. It was the month after Lunar New Year when a bombardment thundered over the whole town. Among my old remaining friends, Sister Hai Suong was the oldest, several years my senior and had entered life earlier.

One night, just from this ancient and old house, Minh and I followed Sister Hai Suong to the suburb in shadow of the night, along the hillside, across tracks through a forest, wading across cold streams, pursued insistently by swarm of mosquitoes, with our fair and tender legs stuck by terrestrial leeches, through a misty and chilly valley besieged with burst of gunfire.

In those days, Sister Hai Suong looked stronger in her dark complexion and was not as pale and weak as she is now.

This arm of hers guided me along a muddy road one rainy night.

The strong arm that shot the enemy plane tirelessly. The hand which sutured my bloody wound staining the blouse red. The hand which alleviated my pain and loneliness.

A hateful memory always remains with me: the image of GIs who sat in convoys, throwing candies and biscuit boxes down on my and my friends’ hat-brims in Sunset Avenue one day after school.

They laughed and shouted cheerfully awaiting schoolgirls to stoop down and pick up such candies and dirty black cans.

I abhorred such a sight. Looking at our new conical hats in deformity, I was unable to do anything but resign myself to it through tears and anger at the sight of GIs shouting and joking.

One day on entering the city and running past my school gate, their tanks demolished a thatch-roofed shelter by the road and crushed the little legs of a child... Such images never faded out in my childhood memories.

Thereafter, I followed Sister Hai Suong to a resistance area to live amongst persons who at first seemed unfamiliar to one another but later on found it easy to love, protect and assist one another in time of indescribable hardships.

These hands cared for me almost for the first year in that dense forest when I had a jungle fever accompanied with delirium, periodic bouts of chills, intense fever and shaking.

Through her fingers, white and red pills were admitted into my mouth, through her lips, strange things were told to encourage me in movements amidst the thunder of bombs - too exhausted to miss father, mother, brothers or sisters – I was the youngest dear one in my family.

Once, Minh and I hugged each other crying in a small shelter in the quiet of a rainy night.

On a jungle-rain’s night in early June, the enemy launched a bombing raid on the Snoul front. Pursuant to the order, anyone who was able to move would be evacuated far into the safety border area, as the dug-out could accommodate only bedridden persons or persons with serious diseases like me.

It was a frightening night. The dug-out was slimy from rain. I was brought down into this dug-out together with a flashlight and left lying motionless in a poncho on the sticky and squelching mud.

Surrounded with darkness, I still felt the flow of water underneath permeating through the plastic sheet and on to my anemic skin.

All of a sudden, I saw two azure flashes glistening and flickering in darkness, around two spans above my left foot. The flashes glistened and moved up and down as if welcoming me. They resembled two fire-flies, as tiny as a bean, radiating a chilly light onto my sole and infiltrating into my veins.

I gathered my last strength to bend my legs but failed – just managed to turn the flashlight on with my thumb and shone it at that direction.

The head and part of the snake body appeared, turning towards me. The snake’s forked tongue continuously flicked out, moved from side to side then drew back into its mouth - It was a horrible sight!

Its green body bent over its black overlapping scales. The snake’s eyes sent out glowing red and ghostly sparks. Its head drew back in a hole when the flashlight flashed. I turned off the flashlight; it stuck its head out again, sending out sparks alternated between azure and red. An awesome sight! I had to turned the flashlight on, the snake’s head drew back again for the moment.

A sensation of chill and terror which spread out from my feet to the vertebra and up to my sinciput seemed to last forever.

The battle between the white light and fatal red eyes lasted long.

Never have I feared anything when confronting bombs and bullets, life and death, obstacles and danger, still I cannot help thinking of that night’s happening without being overwhelmed with horror.

Bombs kept on exploding above, near the dug-out. Stones and earth fell down in fragments on to my shelter like blows stricken to my body. Bombs exploded. My body swayed amongst the squelching mud on the creasy poncho.

That was of little importance to me! The dug-out shook hard with bombs. The shaking seemed to throw me out of the plastic sheet. Water from above flew down soaking through my clothes and making me cold.

At the bottom of the dug-out, the ghostly snake was gazing at me curiously.

Not sleeping a wink all night, I was unconscious and felt asleep since ever.

When I woke up, the sun was at its highest – the sunshine was warming me. The front became quieter. Then my comrades came to lift me out of the dark bog, out of the snake’s red eyes, enabling me to inhale the fresh air, sunbathe and know that I was still alive.

After the battle with the snake’s red eyes that night, I was accidentally recovered and Sister Hai Suong also came back to me in the same company.

Again, her arms guided me through forests where bloody corps remained scattered.

Once, we entered ethnic hamlets without a human being and animal – going through devastated and ruined houses - across yellow fields with ripening rice - and past lands full of fruits and flowers which were in bloom in an area where no one lived to admire.

Following tracks, we forded streams and crossed forests. Sister Hai Suong once lent me a helping hand to cross a swift-flowing river. Her advice still lingered on.

‘Whenever you stumble and fall down into a river, hold fast to the parachute string. No matter how flimsy it might look, it’s very useful indeed.’

Once, while transporting rice, we had to cross the S’ Lon river in a flooding season. What a strange land! The river was dry in sunny seasons. All remained was a small stream and it was easy to pedal a bicycle across the river.

When the rainy season came, the river rose high and overflowed its banks. Field bridges quickly built were only the big trees which were felled down and put across the river for the transport purpose and therefore there were no handrails.

On that day, the sky was dark and it rained in torrents. The water level rose high above the field bridge. In order to cross the river, one had to use a parachute string with both ends tied securely to the trees on both banks of the river.

To cross the bridge, I dragged my feet on a slippery log while holding the parachute string high above to keep my balance. Suddenly, I stepped on a slimy round block. Looking down, I seemed to have seen two red flashes from the snake of that day looking up at me. I screamed with terror and fell down into the flowing water. The bag of rice over my shoulder also fell down onto the swift-flowing stream of troubled water.

The snake’s red eyes were still gazing at me. I seemed to have heard the voice of Sister Hai Suong whispering in my ear. ‘Hold the string!’ In a state of panic, I managed to grasp the string hung down by my side.

I was swept along by the current of extremely cold water until I was rescued and brought to the river-bank by my comrades. Death seemed to fall into oblivion.

Blood, sweat and tears – life and death, fire and bullets – love and hatred – family and fatherland all were embedded in my girlhood. Time! Twenty years had elapsed quickly since then but, upon recollection, all seemed to have happened as recently as yesterday.

Hanh put Sister Hai Suong’s hand aside, trying to get up, standing in front of the mirror, combing her untidy hair, looking at herself in the mirror.

A Sunday had passed without time to go to a hairdresser’ in the street to have her unkempt hair arranged.

Sister Hai Suong’s murmur was heard indistinctly.

‘Hanh! You feel affection for me, don’t you?’

In the bedroom, Obese Mai was sleeping soundly on the mattress, her blouse were inadvertently unbuttoned revealing part of her breasts. Maybe she was too hot after drinking. The same lively scene was revealed in the opposite room of Sister Tu.

Tam remained dead drunk. She was puffing hard, lying on her front with one leg down on the floor and the other up in the bed, with her long and unkempt hair down on to the tiled floor.

Her foot in a black shoe was lying on the flowered mat. Next to her foot scattered family photos sent home by Sister Tu. Maybe in her hangover, after having a look at the photos, she put them incidentally near her foot.

Taking up the photos, I looked at Sister Tu’s face and put them neatly on the head of the bed. We had not seen each other for over twenty years. She was leading a different life in a far-off and misty country.

The following week, Sister Tu would return home from abroad for the first time. There would be a time to refresh our memories and exchange confidences.

Sister Ut was washing up. Thu was having a deep sleep in her room. All of the drunk women were sleeping a sound sleep while the life outside kept on passing by.

There was a flash of lightning in the cloudy sky followed by a night rain. The whistle of the wind, the thunder and the sound of the rain pouring down sounded like those of the rain of over ten years ago – the date when I returned to my family after the war had been over – a time for family reunion.

Still another war just broke out in this home. A war among brothers, sisters, fathers and mothers: difference in points of view, in the way of thinking, etc. Fortunately, it was fading away in the course of time.

They - those women addicted to alcohol - gathered at ‘Doi Sim’ (Hill of Tomentose Rose Myrtle) restaurant to hold a party welcoming Sister Tu home to enjoy Lunar New Year Day.

Sister Tu, my sister and Sister Hai Suong were in the same class at a girls’ school, three classes my senior. They chose Doi Sim restaurant because, anyhow, from such place they could see the red tiled roof of their old school, over the hill, behind the flamboyant trees, behind the canopy of those high Dipterocarpus trees.

Although she had three children, Sister Tu looked younger than I was, perhaps because of her fair complexion as she lived in Washington State, a state of cold wind from the North of the US bordering Canada. She looked young, perhaps because she did not drink beer and alcohol or because the way she thought was very simple - nothing to worry about, therefore no wrinkle was seen on her skin.

All of them ate too much, drank too much and talked too much. After drinking almost ten bottles of red wine they chatted noisily, telling one another about the school over the hill.

Sister Tu pointed to the park opposite, grown with coffee trees and tens of green pepper plants standing in scorching sun of the days near Lunar New Year Day.

‘Wherever I go I always remember this park. In my childhood, it was very interesting to go camping there every summer. How quickly time passed! It has been almost thirty years since then.’

Everyone was silent looking at the park that woke their memories and impressions of an unforgettable time spent by all of the high-school students in this province. High above indifferently flew white clouds.

In those days, students often called the street in front Sun Set Avenue. The avenue, which witnessed tragic and heart-breaking events, stretched along the slope to the bottom of the city and had a romantic appellation Violet Horizon Slope.

Sister Hai Suong said unintentionally, ‘Sitting here, I miss Ngoan. She wore a long and black hair winning the affections of many guys. It’s a pity she died young!’

The fact that Sister Ngoan died in the centre of this small city was widely known, arousing the memory of a time when the city was sunk in war. Bombs, bullets and shells spared nothing.

Death and bereavement existed every day. In the month of red flamboyant in bloom, both sides of Sunset Avenue were fully covered with red, red as a prediction of the climax of mortality.

Red of flamboyant brightened above. Red of blood spilt below, over every road, every corner of gardens, and permeated through the soil.

Bombs and bullets were so abundant that the city inhabitants were terrified and tried to seek refuge, the best shelter was at the bottom of Violet Horizon Slope. The highest, biggest and safest building which could be used as a place of refuge was Vinh Son cathedral.

It was the place where the statue of Jesus Christ was erected in a large area, facing the main street. His arms looked as if protecting and blessing human beings. One fatal summer in those days, only agile persons who did not want to die could manage to take refuge under the vault of the cathedral. Life seemed fragile to thousands of babies, the elderly and women who were crying and screaming in a shelter from bombs and bullets.

The cathedral yard was obstructed with hundreds of corpses beside seriously injured persons who received no treatment and lay stretched on the ground looking at the blue sky thundered with the blast of bombs drowning their groans and screams. Blood dyed red a corner of the yard. The statue of Jesus Christ above was pierced with hundreds of bullets smashing the external cement layer.

Sister Ngoan was lying on the bloodstained ground – with her legs broken, blood spilt from her belly and from her head - breathing faintly awaiting death. Many other persons were under the same circumstances as Sister Ngoan’s.

The corpses seemed to fall into oblivion. The hospital near the school shared the same plight. Dead persons were left without anyone to identify. Patients were neglected without anyone to feel pity for.

When the attack was temporarily over, crane-truck came to shovel corpses into a truck and get them buried in an open grave near the provincial high-school.

The deep open grave located on the slope in front accommodated hundreds of corpses: persons already dead as well as persons close to death. Bombs and bullets still thundered over the Violet Horizon. Closing my eyes to recall those days, everything seemed to have happened as recently as yesterday.

Sister Tu’s class witnessed more tragic events than mine. Trying to search our memories in a weary manner, we could find only a few classmates who were alive. Where had they gone with the wind of the war? To an undiscoverable horizon? Some of them were no more. They had been foreordained by cruel fate to leave this world – without saying goodbye.

Sister Tu broke the silence, pointing at the small road in front of the restaurant.

‘You know! Several days after Ngoan’s death, it was My Le’s turn. While she was sleeping, an artillery shelling was down on her. She was the best student in our class. Her funeral had to be performed in the same day under bombs and bullets. Fortunately, they could collect some boards and made a coffin. Three intimate friends of hers followed the funeral procession to the burial-ground. While awaiting burial, shelling was down just on the grave ready for burial. Especially in respect of our class, three more classmates died and were buried in the same grave. The grave was expanded by the bomb. The tomb was enlarged as there were four girls sharing the same grave. A time for war, a time for death and life, life and death! How cruel it was!’

In silence, Sister Tu looked at the road, at the dark of the night, at everyone around her who was looking back on their tragic past.

‘How about Teacher Khiem nowadays?’ asked Sister Tu.

Sister Hai Suong shook her head and answered in a despairing countenance, ‘As always, always in a maniac state. No cure for her!’

Teacher Khiem became insane after the day when four students, in the class she was in charge of, died at the same time. Since then, the teacher of Natural Sciences had been seriously insane.

Whenever hearing an explosion, the roar of truck engine or a loud noise, she immediately ran away from everybody and stole into a pit over the road to take refuge. Sometimes, she emerged from the pit trying to nibble at the foot of a passer-by. Sometimes, she lay curled up on the ground, covering her ears with her hands and whimpering. The teacher was as insane as ever - a lunatic in this small city.

Obese Mai raised her crystal glass of sparkling red wine, shaking pure ice-cubes in the glass gently and breaking the gloomy atmosphere by saying, ‘It’s only lately that some have gone away, some have remained here, some have been silly, some have been drunk! Let’s toast Sister Tu coming home to celebrate Lunar New Year.’

She drank up the last drops of red wine, taking her old handbag and putting it on the next chair, unfastening the zip, looking for something unknown.

She held many envelopes in her hand, looking at the lucky-money envelope for something. She smiled and shook her head in a tipsy state.

‘Looking for a letter to Sister Tu from a friend of mine. I’ve left it somewhere.’

Standing up by Sister Tu’s side, she crooned an old song often sung in our girlhood when alcoholic dose was sufficient in our blood.

‘For years, guns roared day in, day out in my village

My village, Oh! The land of dust in dry season.

Land of dust in dry season for long and long time

There stands the park imprinted with memories of those days

But now denuded of grass and trees

All my love has already been devoted to the war then

...............’

She sang not so warmly and sweetly as in the past, but in a thin and drawling voice influenced by alcohol and hangover. Some drops of wine from the corner of her mouth stole down, soaking into and reddening part of her white T-shirt.

The red sun no longer shone behind Vinh Son cathedral spire. A yellow cloud tinged with red lightened the Holy Cross situated on the Violet Horizon Slope of the gloomy city after dark. The arms of Jesus Christ stretched out in a crucified position wishing to protect and help the collective grave nearby where thousands of corpses were buried in the past.

Those drunken women looked exhausted and funny. They drank themselves drunk and tipsy in a state where human life was rotten, where their heads seemed empty, where their eyes were no longer bright, reflecting a little red of the wine residue, as red as the dried bloodstream of those around the table.

It was a Saturday noon in late summer, those women met at a garden restaurant owned by a former officer who used to be the head of the provincial inspectorate. She now opened a pub just to relieve her boredom.

They were sitting under the foliage of a star-apple tree. The sound of cicadas no longer resounded at regular intervals and as urging as heard in early summer. Their songs are fleeting, lonely and monotonous as there had been a rain in the late summer morning.

A specialty on the table was called Sweet Meat Cake, sweet in your throat - part of an animal which looks somewhat dirty and boring – a pig. This kind of animal does nothing but eating. They eat and eat until they gain weight and are ready for slaughter. The sweet and rosy flesh near the buttock of a pig can be used for preparation of Sweet Meat Cake dish.

Smoke rose slightly from the stove. The reddish meat was sliced and grilled with water morning glory and okras. The sweet meat was taken from the back of the fattest part of a pig. It was as big as a dish and as round as the Doi Sim (Hill of Tomentose Rose Myrtle) near the high-school, and looked like a cake having the shape of the Fujiyama.

Obese Mai’s chopsticks were spreading over the flame of the oven. Portions of the hot dish were passed to everyone. Her face lit up after drinking a glass of wine. She put her handbag on the table.

‘I’ve just had my zip replaced. It’s a sheer waste of time.’

‘Your handbag looks terrible. It’s time for you to throw it away in a dustbin. It looks worn-out and dirty. How unsightly it is!’ said Sister Hai Suong.

Obese Mai smiled, rubbed around the leather layer of the worn-out handbag, lifting it up and putting it down many times. The handbag looked as heavy as Obese Mai. She smiled explaining, ‘No matter how it looks, it’s brought me luck, for over ten years now, my dear friends!’

With this, she zipped her handbag open and slowly picked up some sealed envelopes with two fingers wearing two glittering diamonds, showed them to everybody and explain, ‘Only in this morning, I got four envelopes – with ease! If I had not had my zip replaced, I would have received at least nine envelopes.’

Obese Mai put the envelopes back into her handbag, zipped it shut and smiled in a carefree manner.

I knew her and her funny handbag like the back of my hand. Obese Mai assumed a high position. She was cheerful and sociable and could do many things for everybody. She was often asked for assistance in dealing with the most difficult affair in this city.

She took pains to go to her clients’ houses for receipt of documents. After everything was settled smoothly, she came to their houses promptly as agreed and returned the documents which had been dealt with. She often confided to everyone.

‘No matter how old and ugly it may look, my handbag is always ready to be wide opened like a door to life. The clients will certainly understand and they feel free to place anything valuable into the old handbag as quickly as possible. Then slowly I will zip it shut. Bribery can be committed only when you are caught in the act of holding cash or gold. In cases where clients are kind-hearted and put anything into my bag, I just zip it shut. The bag is too old. The zip is worn-out after constant use and needs replacing.’

Sipping wine, Obese Mai drawled out explaining in detail.

‘It’s a common thing to have my bag zip replaced several times a year. Just remember that we must be long-suffering in silence and take pains to look around and try to play-act. Avoid taking gifts with your hands, in fear that you will be photographed and provided with garments striped like a zebra in the zoo. Zebra striped garments* are not good for everyone. Anyway Ha Dong silk clothes are lighter and cooler than striped pajamas.’

Obese Mai served me a piece of red meat, laughing herself helpless.

‘Today I just made money hand over fist. How smart the boy is!’

‘What’s going on?’

‘This morning I agreed to handle a rather difficult case on behalf of Mrs. Ba residing at the bottom of Violet Horizon Slope. After delivering documents in full, I zipped my bag open and put it on the table awaiting. Mrs. Ba put a pack of 555 cigarettes into the bag. Disappointedly, I took it out because it was not fit and as I never smoke, and moreover just because we are female and most of all because there is nothing valuable. Finding that I was not happy, the little boy - wet behind the ears - the son of Mrs. Ba told his mother that I did not like ‘three digits’ but ‘four digits*’ instead’. His mother understood, went into her room and returned with a bar of ‘four digits’ as big as a slice of Sweet Meat Cake, equal to the size of three fingers together. He was born to be extremely smart!’

They hung their heads, eating Sweet Meat Cake with appetite and laughing at the story of ‘four digits’. With ‘four digits’, one can buy many things in life.

In wartime, they used to hold their heads high to cope with bombs and bullets in their struggle. But now, because of so many changes and for the sake of money, they have to nod their heads. They have to be wrapped up in eating and drinking to avoid looking at the ghostly red eyes of a snake.

Everyone got drunk and dropped on the table, having a sound sleep dreaming of worldly digits which hover in the minds of human beings.

Those female alcohol addicts gathered after dark when the city was about to sleep. Sister Hai Suong through her mobile phone told them to come. Shortly afterwards, those women came in full number. As to myself, although I just drank a little, I had to come as everyone considered me the right person for them to confide in.

Tam and Thu looked tipsy as if they had drunk somewhere but they had to come anyway as it was Sister Hai Suong’s word. The restaurant of A Sang was located at the Sunset Avenue. It was the only restaurant to open at such late hour at night.

Flames flickered over the frying pan. Vegetable oil and fat were boiling in open fire and smoke. The red flame lightened a corner of the street. Sister Hai Suong embraced me in her arm whimpering, ‘Kid Thai was arrested in the city. They have just phoned me – He was arrested together with his friends who are scag addicts and trade in heroin. Hanh! How miserable I am!’

All I could do for her was to put my arm over her shoulder as an expression of sympathy. How could we deal with innumerable plights existing everywhere? The flame was flickering when A Sang prepared fried crisp noodles and pork sausage. This Cantonese guy always prepared food hot, unbearably hot. Those women were deep in silence. They were looking at the flame flickering while drinking indifferently.

I drank a glass of cool drink – a Cantonese special drink sold everywhere and often drunk after hot dishes. Sister Hai Suong kept on moaning, ‘I’m terribly sad. Kid Thai has refused to listen to anyone. What a spoilt son!’

Sorrow, agony and misery are often encountered in human life. There was a generation gap between young people and their parents. Those women pursued many ideals and wanted to fulfill great ambitions when they were young, while their children had a different way of living and thinking.

When we were Kid Thai’s age, Minh-Shoulder-Length-Hair and I followed Sister Hai Suong into the forest. Two of us were then pure and wet behind the ears. We felt homesick all the time, embracing each other to cry in the quiet of day and in nights of jungle rain – when terrestrial leeches stuck to our legs, crept over our bodies to suck blood until they were fully satisfied and dropped.

In dry seasons, cicadas kept on stinging our bodies making us itching and uncomfortable. Yet, it was nothing as compared with aphides, tiny insects which clung to our bodies causing pain and inflammation for a period of nearly one week.

When going across forests, swarm of red ants stuck to our trouser legs – stinging our tender legs and when they fell down, their red bodies swelled out like the red eyes of a snake.

Formerly, we departed from the Sunset Avenue and returned at sunrise in a brightening atmosphere – a young mind like Kid Thai which is imbued with things unexplainable, filled up with numbers and foolish desires. There are essential things which need to be explained by adults but unfortunately we are not interested enough to spend our time doing so. How can our descendants understand? Oh! Cicadas, Terrestrial Leeches, Aphides, Ants, Nan Tubers, Chup Tuber, all such images had filled our life with joy and sorrow.

How could I forget such a mournful morning in my life! It was a day near Lunar New Year Day when the fierce battle in 1973 took place in the forest. At that time I was typing a mission order in front of apricot blossoms in bloom on the days when spring was coming.

An intimate friend of mine who went with me was Minh-Shoulder-Length-Hair. She was a telephone operator, working in a dug-out not far from mine. She often went into the forest to pick Wild Mangosteens and Gui Fruit for me. No one could resist the temptation of the Gui Fruit’s smell. (Yet I haven’t tasted it again for over twenty years)

Minh placed several Gui Fruits on the table.

‘Two for you and two for me. I couldn’t pick many this morning. I have to come back, ‘because there was a warning of an enemy air-raid this noon.’

After placing two Gui Fruits on the table, she hurried to the adjoining dug-out. One of them rolled down on the ground.

I bent down to pick it up. The shining Gui Fruit was round and fit in my hand. Its attractive yellow and mouthwatering smell made my mouth water.

All of a sudden, I heard Minh shouting, ‘Plane’s coming, plane’s....’

No sooner had I just plunged into the dug-out by the table than a light flashed followed by a big bang which I had never heard before in my life.

The dug-out was shaking violently as if it was about to explode. Earth from above fell down in fragments. I felt dizzy and almost fainted away. I made every effort to take a breath in that dark and stuffy dug-out and felt pain in my chest. I was completely shrouded in dense smoke.

A moment later, no plane was heard in the sky, I crept out of the dug-out to have some fresh air.

Before my very eyes, an area of the forest was completely devastated. My typewriter was no longer there. The sun shone down on to my naked body covered with torn-out clothes stained with blood.

Broken trees lay in ruin covering a large area against the blue horizon. The sun was shining on the yellow Gui Fruit lying near the opening of the dug-out in a chilling desolation. Apricot blossoms fell in abundance on the barren ground.

I suddenly remembered Minh, calling out her name but there was no reply.

I had a premonition of a coming disaster, so I tried to drag myself towards her dug-out.

Minh fell down not far from her dug-out – a trunk fell down on her legs. Broad leaves of Ancistrocladus used to cover the roof of a hut fell down and covered part of Minh’s body.

I lifted Minh’s head, fixing her long hair stained with clotted blood. The bomb fragment was as big as part of a hand, cutting part of her temple. A portion of her scalp revealed a layer of bloody skull. Blood spilt over a large area on the green grass. The sweet-smelling Gui Fruit was still in her hand.

Minh-Shoulder-Length-Hair had gone, her eyes were still wide opened looking up at the sky. I caressed her eyelids to close her eyes – and slightly removed Gui Fruit from her hand.

Laying her head on a mound, I arranged her body neatly, picking broad leaves of Ancistrocladus around to cover the face of a young friend. I put some branches of wild apricot blossom in the soil, by the body of a friend who had just left.

At that time, Minh-Shoulder-Length-Hair was the same age as Kid Thai at present. I drank a glass of Cantonese cool drink and looked at the tranquil city on the Sunset Slope by night. I vaguely recollected the smell of the forest, where a friend of mine lay down years ago but in my mind she seemed to have gone away just recently.

Those female alcohol addicts came together at weekend, on the day Thu had just returned from a business trip abroad. This evening was also a Lunar New Year Eve’s party, to welcome the Kitchen God back to enjoy this world.

Spring came round and breathed a new life to the city. A jubilant and festival atmosphere was seen everywhere. Restaurants mushroomed in the streets even in the most remote and dark lanes. There is a time when it is impractical to earn money from academic knowledge. There are other various trades whereby money is easily earned without any diploma or academic distinction like opening restaurants, pubs, etc.

It’s good fun, so everyone prefers opening restaurants. Even the most famous artists, musicians, singers, Cai Luong actors and actresses, stars of all kinds: all compete with one another to open restaurants and pubs.

Academic knowledge was unmarketable, therefore bookshops turned out to be restaurants. New restaurants were opened almost every week. The number of restaurants in operation amounted to hundreds. It was lucky for anyone to come upon a bookshop or news-stand in the city.

Although it was somewhat far from the city, they still chose Huong Que restaurant as a gathering place, to wish one another at the end of the year. The restaurant complex included ten wooden houses around the lake, covered with white lotus flowers and red flowers. This restaurant was owned by a rather popular officer in the city.

Several days after retirement, he had his grandiose premises built. It was a far cry from the simple house where he used to live in and which won the admiration of many people. Apricot blossom trees with 16-petal flowers were in bud. The diameter of a tree-trunk was equal to that of a house column. Their bent branches were covered with overlapping scales.

As usual, Sister Hai Suong presided at the gathering. She was sitting next to Obese Mai’s handbag. It was full of envelopes without addresses.

Having been away from home for months, Thu was craving for Vietnamese food, she ordered stews in draft.

Sole stewed in draft with gourd, meretrix stewed in draft with lemon grass, common pipefish stewed in draft with Indian Taro. One often breeds swine and get draft to distill alcohol, now it is more interesting to prepare draft for man to eat.

Thu opened a white plastic bag and took out a strange bottle of alcohol which I had never seen before. She introduced solemnly.

‘This is a precious bottle of alcohol I bought at a Duty Free shop at USD1, 300 just for my good friends.’

Everyone was staring at it. They touched the crystal bottle. Tam was reading the embossed letters on the bottle.

‘Louis XIII – alcohol named after king of France – no wonder why it is so expensive.’

I touched the egg-shaped bottle. The bottle edge was in relief like the overlapping scales of a tiger snake. The neck and cap of the bottle were gold-plated. The cork was of the shape of a crown in crystal, identical to the hat of the Queen of England. Four additional crowns were engraved meticulously on the bottle outlined by a small circle.

The bottle alone was expensive as it was made by a glassmaker, not manufactured in series from machinery like other bottles of alcohol.

The sealed yellow thread was pulled out. The precious bottle of alcohol was opened to celebrate the party. Aromatic alcohol was shared by everyone drinking a toast. The alcohol smelt exotically aromatic.

Pink lotus flowers were in full bloom in the lake. The lake surface reflected the blue clouds high above. The sun was down. Birds were flying back to their nests. The foliage was rustling in the wind. Bats were flapping wings on high branches in preparation for night hunting. Mosquitoes were buzzing around the women’s party.

All of a sudden, there were footsteps crossing the bridge and hurrying towards the hut where they were drinking. The door was suddenly pushed open and appeared a woman in black pajamas. Her body was stout and awkward, with hoary chignon. She rushed to the drinking table, pointing at Tam and shouting.

‘You! Naughty girl. Oh my God! How can I have such a daughter? What a misery!’

Everyone was amazed. It was Tam’s mother. Nobody knew what was going on. Sister Hai Suong stood up and went to Tam’s mother, comforting her.

‘Aunt Sau! What’s the matter with you?’

‘Fancy her going out until midnight. Nobody can put up with it. What a woman! What a girl nowadays! Lunar New Year Day’s coming while her housework is left undone.’

Tam looked down, at the glass of alcohol, at the fish stewed in draft which was boiling in the pan over the oven flame. Aunt Sau looked at her daughter, banging her fist on the table; her voice was louder and louder, echoing throughout the garden.

‘You’ve left your children and husband home, had meals prepared by him, had lessons given to the children by him, had your house cleaned by him. You see! Is it fair? Alas! What a drunken woman! Have you no shame? How disordered this land is!’

Aunt Sau shook her head, looking at everyone, raising her hands.

‘I’m sure you’re here to chat about spouse exchanges – mutual exchange for love making. Right? Change of wife, change of husband, change of lover, as changeable as a weathercock. You’ve just imitated French style, German style or Russian style. Moral standards are no more! Just the same as a newly married couple who’ve moved to the street. New way of civilisation: several husbands only in one year. It’s unacceptable!’

The more she got angry the more she scolded loudly. She complained in whatever manner she could. Some drinkers nearby lent an ear to her.

Despite passers-by, Aunt Sau kept on shouting.

‘What the hell can they do to this oldster?’ Then she left furiously. Seeing Aunt Sau was too angry, nobody wanted to interfere in.

The motorbike engine roared outside. The motorbike man took Aunt Sau to the street on his motorbike. Not until now did the waiter appear with his trembling hands, trying to explain, ‘I saw her from noon now, she was hiding behind the gate as if spying on someone. I thought she was too old, not here to make a scene of jealousy as other young girls did, so I didn’t pay any attention to her any more.’

Not until now did Tam say something as an explanation.

‘Sometimes she asks me many things as if I had another husband! Nowadays it’s boring to have one husband, let alone more husbands. The more we have the more disastrous we feel.’

Sister Hai Suong smiled trying to explain, ‘Towards the end of the year, your mother tried to play the scene of jealousy on behalf of her son-in-law. It’s boring! She shouldn’t have done that. She’s too old for it. Now, it’s over. Let’s toast the coming millennium.’

Those women continued drinking together all night long. The leftovers on the table were in a mess. They were sipping glasses of alcohol, tasting the bitters of an expensive bottle of alcohol – the value of which was equal to a property accumulated by a general worker during his whole life. The leaves were silently falling down over the lake as if there was an agony of something quietly falling into decay.

The night rain came together with the wartime memories which were now woken up. In the dark, the surface of the wet road reflected the red light above like the red of Minh’s blood, like the red eyes of a snake in those unforgettable days.