The Zenith (37 page)

Everyone turned quiet. They were mute for a long while because no one had thought of this. Now that someone had recognized the fact and had given it a name, they backed off, because a truth had been right in front of their eyes and nobody had seen it, like the traveler who lost his way and had just plunged on to slam against a rock or step right into a ravine. There had been such blindness because people looked at whatever happened in Mr. Quang’s family only as an operetta or a play—only as something that they would occasionally watch with much curious excitement and think about as someone else’s story, a story involving only actors using lipstick and blush powder, and wearing costumes encrusted with gold, dragonfly-ear hats, and high boots, who spend the year singing and dancing onstage.

Just now someone had pointed out to each of them that such melodramas could just as well play out inside their own homes. This warning was like a crack of thunder hitting them right by their ears. The crowd was silent as if struck dumb. They had to wait for the shock to pass. After a while, when they had regained their calm, their heads started to clear. They then considered whether that story held any danger in their own circumstances.

“You could be right. But you are not Mr. Quang. Neither am I.”

“You are not Mr. Quang because your wife’s hair is not yet gray. Neither am I, because I am determined to go before my wife.”

“Who gives you permission to go before me?” the wife responded immediately in a raised voice, adding, “You have to wait to do my funeral, then you can go.”

“Yeah, you are spoiled by the love of your husband, and are used to leading him by the nose. No one can set a time: birth has its fixed time but death has none.”

“That’s so right!”

“Maybe in our families there will be no scene where a son falls for his stepmother, and no scene in which another son takes his wife and children home to create turmoil in front of the ancestors’ altar on the first day of the New Year. But who can guarantee that their children will be filial and treat their parents well? I don’t have to say it, ladies and gentlemen; you all have known this for a long time.”

“Exactly! There is no shortage of stories. In the past, people concealed and covered up such tragedies; putting up with them while swallowing tears in a kitchen corner. In the old days, our elders said, ‘Every family has a jar of smelly fermented fish. You must know how to cover it tightly to keep the neighbors from smelling the foul stink.’”

“But the business of ‘covering it tightly’…that stuff might be more stinky than stirring up shit in the privy just to smell it. Do you all remember the story of Old Lady Cuu, who starved to death?”

“I do! How can you forget that story?”

“Then any of you ladies here want to starve to death like Old Lady Cuu?”

“No, a hundred times no. We are women with brains like grapefruit who can’t see farther than two handspans, but we are not that stupid.”

“Old Lady Cuu was not stupid. Her husband died when she was twenty-nine, leaving a thatch house and broken wall. All by herself she went up and down to the fields, made charcoal, gathered wood, and raised bees to gain a living. Someone so enterprising cannot be stupid. Her problem was she loved her child too much, trusted her child too much, when, in return, the child did not love his mother. He listened only to his wife, was completely dominated by her, and let his mother die of starvation.”

“Why didn’t she let it get out so that everyone could know the facts right from the start?”

“That was the problem! Because she loved her child too much…because she already had told everybody that her son was the best in the world, intelligent, filial; then when the situation got nasty, debased, and shameful, she dared not open her mouth but clenched her teeth, bit her tongue, and died. You must have realized that the old lady had done right by the saying ‘To cover the jar of smelly fermented fish,’ haven’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah…I only think of it now.”

“I am not going to be that stupid.”

The wife of the henpecked guy spoke up: “Whether or not we think about it, we must learn that tears always fall down, not up. When a mother gives money to her child, the child is as happy as a lark. Whenever children give money to their mother, their faces look sad and their brows frown; their hearts hurt as if cut. That is why I keep telling my husband that in life we must worry for the children, but, above all, we must take care of ourselves. I dare not open my mouth to wait for the fruit, or hold out both my hands waiting for a filial heart. I keep my money securely in my purse. When we get sick, we slowly open our purse to pull some money out.”

“Man, are you fortunate to have a wife who knows how to plan ahead.”

“A child who cares for you is not equal to the wife who cares for you. Once husband and wife, when you go down to the ocean to catch crabs, or climb a mountain to pick leaves, you must have glue in your commitment.”

“That is right! No one wants to be suspicious, but with a son you get the daughter-in-law; with a daughter you get the son-in-law. Those outsiders invade your home. Good ones are rare and bad ones are a dime a dozen.”

“Now I want to go back to Mr. Quang’s family situation: Do you find that the way Mr. Quang tells all the family secrets so openly is stupid or smart?”

“I think it was one hundred percent stupid. What is not asked about should not be told. Besides, his wife is dead. One should not spill secrets of the departed.”

“Neither smart nor stupid! Something that had to be done. Because the son first started the fight.”

“Right, when pushed into a corner, things happen against your will. He’s not at all happy to have to tell all those things.”

“I am not close to that family, but I am in-laws with Mr. Quang’s youngest brother. He tells me that even when Quy was still young, Mr. Quang told the brothers that later in life he did not expect ever to rely on his firstborn son. But he would fulfill all the responsibilities of a father to ensure a good future for his child. Everyone saw that Mr. Quang had done exactly as he had said. It was Quy who quit forestry high school to return to the village and work in the fields while his father looked for every way to help him study more.”

“Not only forestry high school; before that he managed to get the boy in the school of metal weaponry, but that kid could not study. That brain is impenetrable; even if you took a metal rod to smash words into his head, nothing would enter.”

“Besides, he is pretty snotty and full of sneaky maneuvers.”

“Sneaky maneuvers are one thing, being intelligent is another. Like thorny eggplant and cabbage—how can you mix them together?”

“Yeah, the father shines brightly; so why is the son so bad-looking? He resembles the mother but is not as fresh and pretty as she was. It’s really odd; the same features as Master Quynh, who is so good-looking while the brother really is unattractive—shrimpy body and deep-set eyes. Looking into his eyes is like looking down a dark ravine—you don’t know where to step.”

“People say that with eyes like that your heart is really dangerous. But if you are dangerous, go punch and kick passersby. Why turn back to hit your own father?”

“Yes, I am wondering the same thing. Even a blind person in the village knows that since Quy’s birth, Mr. Quang was the one who took complete care of him; from his education, to his marriage, to building a house, buying clothes and stuff. He not only took care of his son, he also helped all the grandkids, male and female.”

“He makes tons of money.”

“He has money but is stingy and tight; don’t expect him to pull cash out of his pocket.”

“He helps others, so why should he ignore his children? But I think that Quy relies on being the oldest when, according to tradition, the oldest has the right to inherit because he has to take care of funerals for the parents. After the parents pass away, he has to worry about marrying off his siblings. ‘The brother takes over from the father’…this phrase from many generations.”

“You take over from the father only after he dies. But Mr. Quang is still very much alive, straight like a post; next to his son he is ten times better-looking…talking about replacing the father is premature.”

“Yes, that’s the main issue!”

Slowly enunciating each word as if he were a village teacher, the henpecked one spoke as if he were reading the conclusion of an essay:

“The son calculates the scenario that the father will die so he has to rely on him, to see who will wear the mourning cloth, who will hold the stick and roll on the streets, who will summon the horns and the drums, who will order food for the soul; then after the funeral comes the forty-ninth day’s offering; after the forty-ninth day comes the fifty-third day, to invite the soul to the temple for prayers; then comes the first anniversary, the second one, and the third one; then comes the cleaning of the bones to put them in the terra-cotta urn; after that a permanent grave will have to be built. All
the customs for the dead are too complicated. Everybody worries that after death the children will ignore them. Therefore, one has to swallow the bitter pill to please them. Because of that fear of being left to become a hungry ghost, people are willing to salt their faces to ignore the corruption, disgrace, in the family. Relations between parents and children are often a show for the village and neighbors to see. It’s rare to see through to the reality; it’s rare to see it exposed sincerely. That is why we have this proverb: ‘When she was alive, you didn’t feed your mother; when dead, you gave an oration to the flies.’

“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 soul: 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.