Love Like Hate (15 page)

That night, lying on the top bunk, Cun thought about the upcoming meeting with his father, a man he had no visual memories of. From the photos, his old man didn’t look that much different from how Cun looked now: the same short arms and legs, the same dark skin, the same smirk. But there was a difference. Whereas Cun always tried to make himself smaller, to shrink into the most compact shape possible, Hoang Long projected his small frame onto life as if he were a giant. Cun thought of his father’s cockiness as tragically misplaced. It would have been better to be a coward like Sen, to just sit out the war and play chess. And yet, there was something about his dad’s suicidal boldness that was inspiring. Bunching his fists, with his lips peeled back into a frightful rictus, Cun imagined himself charging into combat. He’d scream obscenities and shoot in a wide arc at everything that was in the way—men, plants and animals.
He’d mow everything down—he was born to kill! The enemy’s frisky bullets merely fanned and tickled him. Suddenly his mom murmured, disrupting his reveries.

Cun leaned over the edge to stare down at his mother’s face: She was talking in her sleep. Stray strands of hair fluttered across her troubled forehead. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his mother, or any woman, for that matter, sleeping. Writhing and cooing, Kim Lan was revisiting her wedding night in her dream. This time, however, her arms and legs would not get in the way. She would yield to him more readily because she knew what to expect now, and he was going to prison right afterward.

“You must take care of yourself,” she said between sobs and babyish love sounds.

“Don’t worry. I’ll use my time in prison to study English so I can translate the US Constitution.”

“You’re so brilliant!”

“No, you’re the brilliant one. You’ve changed, Kim Lan.” His voice became uncharacteristically tender. “You’re no longer lying still like a piece of wood.”

“I wish you hadn’t said that,” she grimaced. “But don’t worry. I will never lie still like a piece of wood ever again.”

Cun could only hear half of the conversation. His mom’s chest heaved with each audible breath. He saw nice even teeth like corn kernels between slightly parted lips. She has nice hands, he noticed. He felt intrusive, guilty, as if he had already done something wrong. As his blood surged upward in pulsing waves, he forced himself to avert his gaze but, only seconds later, was compelled to stare down again at her dim, soft form lying under the thin blanket. She lay quiet and motionless now. As the heavy train lunged forward through the deep dark, he clutched himself with a frantic rhythm. As it rumbled past a darkened Hoi An, he finally emptied his first clip.

18
THE DUMPSTER OF HISTORY

T
he earth spun rapidly backward as the train rolled forward. It was near midnight when they entered Hanoi, three hours behind schedule. Houses were built so close to the tracks, they could look into windows and see families sprawled on floors, watching TVs. They could make out numbers on calendars, consult astrological charts. They saw an old man bent over a desk, straining to read fading definitions in an out-of-print dictionary. They saw a naked girl or the ghost of a naked girl standing on a dark balcony. Had they wanted to, they could have reached out and slapped someone standing by the tracks, knocking glasses and false teeth into the next province.

To travel from Saigon to Hanoi is to go back in time. The navel of Vietnamese civilization, a place of ancestors, Hanoi is haunted by a thousand heroes, tyrants and poets. It first became the capital in 1010. By contrast, Saigon is only three hundred years old. The main stage for much of Vietnamese history, Hanoi is also its dustbin. So much has happened there only to be ignored, distorted, or forgotten. Entire centuries reduced to hearsay and ashes. Perhaps one should call Hanoi a dumpster. Cun and Kim Lan had come to this dumpster to see what was left of Hoang Long.

As they prepared for their arrival, a man poked his head into their compartment. “Sister, do me a favor. Please give me your used tickets. You won’t need them anymore.”

“What do you need our tickets for?” Kim Lan asked.

“I’m traveling on government business and bought a third-class ticket, hard berth, very uncomfortable. I slept sitting up for two nights in a row. My neck aches, my back aches, I’m too old for this. But if you help me out, I can get reimbursed for a first-class ticket.”

“Why do you need two?”

“I’m traveling with a colleague, sister.”

Kim Lan handed him their tickets. Stepping off the train, the first thing they noticed was the extreme cold. Now they knew what Hoang Long was talking about. Even in their thick sweaters, it felt as if they had been dunked into ice water. Outside the station, they looked for shops to buy extra sweaters, but found nothing. They had no choice but to endure the cold and go search for a hotel. You would think there would be hotels near the train station, but, no, there was nothing. They looked for a cyclo, but all had been taken by the other passengers. Lugging their heavy bags, they trudged down the empty street, hoping something would turn up sooner or later. Already Cun was becoming a little angry at his mother for placing him in this ridiculous situation.

After a minute, they paused to take a break at a traffic circle. There were no vehicles in any direction. The exertion had not made them feel any warmer. Penetrating their clothes, the wind swirling through the open space made the temperature drop to antarctic levels. Overhead, sooty leaves shuddered on tinderlike branches, lit by an orange light. A piece of trash skipped down the street. A stray dog, its fur nappy with grime and disease, peeked at them from a blind alley. Nothing else moved. Their skin and lips were chapped, their mouths breathed out cold, they felt exposed, naked. They looked in all directions for signs of a hotel or a restaurant, but saw nothing. It made no sense to walk down any of these streets because as far as the eye could see, there was no place, there was nothing at all, where they could go inside. On the point of panic, Kim Lan and Cun heard a male voice from behind them. “Are you lost?”

A man of about fifty had appeared out of nowhere. Just seconds before, there had been no one on that street.

“We just got off the train, half an hour ago.”

“Where do you want to go?

“A hotel. Any hotel.”

“It’s past midnight already. You won’t find a hotel in this neighborhood.”

Not knowing what else to say, Kim Lan and Cun simply stared at the stranger.

“I live right here.” The man pointed at the house right behind him. “You’re welcome to stay with me tonight if you want.”

They gratefully accepted. Inside, the stranger handed them blankets and indicated the bathroom, but said nothing else. They lay on the floor while he slept on the bed, in the same room, behind a plywood partition. All night long they heard him snore.

Just before sunrise, Kim Lan heard him boil water for tea. He even went out and ordered three bowls of pho, beef soup, from a street vendor. Never before had Kim Lan or Cun met so kind a stranger. The man obviously lived alone. They noticed dozens of watercolors taped to the walls. He painted all subjects: landscapes and famous buildings copied from postcards, nudes sketched from glamour magazines, everything carefully rendered with an earnest, sweet innocence. There was a Sophia Loren in the buff, next to a gleaming Taj Mahal, next to a solemn Mount Rainier. He did have a funny-looking face, however, sort of like a cock’s, complete with a beak and a flaming, palmate crest twice as large as the rest of his head.

Slurping the beef soup, Kim Lan said, “Thanks for allowing us to stay in your house. You saved us!”

“Saved you from what?! It was nothing!”

“We would have died of the cold. We were freezing when you found us.”

“What cold? This is not cold! Nineteen sixty-seven was cold!”

“You have an excellent memory, brother. I can’t even remember what the weather was like last weekend, whether it was rainy or sunny.”

“That’s because there’s no weather in the South—you’re from Ho Chi Minh City, no?—Ho Chi Minh City has no weather.”

“Have you been to Saigon?”

“No, but I was up and down the Ho Chi Minh Trail during the war. I know the South: The South has no weather.”

“What about the monsoon?”

“What monsoon? I don’t remember any monsoon in the South, the South has no weather.”

They ate in silence for a minute before the Cock said, “Is this your first visit to Hanoi?”

“Yes, I’m here to visit my husband.”

“Is he working up this way?”

“No, he’s in prison.”

“So he’s being reeducated?”

“Yes, he’s in prison.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, sister. Don’t be ashamed. It’s good to be reeducated. I can’t blame your husband for being duped into serving the American imperialists and betraying his own country. He’ll be a good citizen soon. You want to see something?”

“What?”

As Kim Lan and Cun watched, the Cock slowly rolled up his trouser legs. “A mine,” he said. “A Bouncing Betty, it’s called. Killed the guy right in front of me. Made ground meat out of him while it cut me in half. But what am I doing?! We’re eating breakfast, after all! I’m sorry!”

The Cock had walked so naturally, they never suspected he wore prosthetics. “But I have nothing against the ARVN soldiers,” he continued. “When your husband is done with being reeducated, bring him here and I’ll throw him a party. I really mean it. I’ll kill a chicken or two for him. We’ll drink some rice wine together. Just
knock on my door at any time. Even ten years later! Even twenty years later!”

After his guests had left, the Cock would think often about this visit. He rarely had company. Kim Lan’s tense, white face when he showed her his stumps had moved him tremendously. He had never rolled up his trouser legs in front of another person before. Even after two decades, he was still not used to the fact that he had actually lost half of his body. He would ponder how lizards could regenerate their tails. He also knew that salamanders could regrow their limbs and that a worm cut in ten pieces will become ten worms. But he was not a lizard, salamander or worm. A head and a trunk were all you needed, he realized. Anything that stuck out of the head or trunk, such as the nose, ears, arms, or legs, even the lower jaw, was actually expendable.

19
WAFTS OF DECAY

H
a Nam Ninh Reeducation Camp was about forty-five miles south of Hanoi, in Ha Nam Province. After leaving the Cock’s home, Kim Lan and Cun went back to the station to board a train for Phu Ly, the chief town of Ha Nam. The town was not known for much. Most of it had been razed by American bombs during the war. There was a traditional wrestling tournament held there with much pomp and ceremony each January. There was a small Buddhist temple dating back to the twelfth century. In 1985, a student from a local school had won second place in the national penmanship contest.

On the train, Kim Lan overheard a few women speaking with southern accents. Unlike the other passengers, they seemed subdued, cheerless. Only their children looked excitedly out the windows. They all had bulging bags next to them.

“Excuse me, but are you from the South?” Kim Lan asked them in a hushed, conspiratorial voice.

“Yes,” they all answered.

“Are you visiting relatives?”

“My husband, he’s in the camp.”

“Me, too.”

“I’m visiting my son.”

“I’m visiting my brother.”

“Is this your first time?” Kim Lan asked.

“No, I come every year. This is my third time.”

“This is my fourth.”

“This is my second. How about you?”

“My first time,” Kim Lan said, feeling apologetic. “I received a letter from my husband only a few days ago.”

“You just found out he’s up here?!”

“Yes.”

“What’s your husband’s rank?”

“Captain.”

“That doesn’t sound right, sister. He should be out by now if he was only a captain.”

At Phu Ly station, the prisoners’ relatives numbered nearly thirty, with many children among them. Squatting on the floor, they waited three hours before an army truck came to take them away. The ride down a bumpy road took another hour. They could not enter the camp itself, of course, but had to sleep in a small house outside the gate. Their men would be brought to them early the next morning.