The Zenith (45 page)
That very night Mr. Quang returned.
His closest neighbors heard the young bride screaming like a kid being whipped when she opened the gate: “Holy God! Where did you go to let your son torment me like this? What did I do wrong to endure this, humiliated like a whore? Only because of my love for you, for being your wife, did I have to go through this.”
No one heard Mr. Quang’s voice, even those with keen hearing. The neighbors listened and waited but there was nothing, so they reluctantly went to bed, their hearts unsettled with anxiety after two turmoil-filled days.
After midnight, the air was cold and full of fog. From the top of Lan Vu mountain, the dew spread down to the lower peaks and from there down the
slopes to the hills and the gardens; taking a leisurely stroll over tea stands, cassava fields, and, last, the rice fields. In the white net of thick dew sleep intensified. The crow of a rooster also sounded reluctant, as if it, too, were sleepy. And night shadows in the heart of the woods often set off strange dreams. Around three in the morning, a lad named Hoa in the middle section threw off his blanket and ran all over his house, shrieking like a slaughtered pig. His parents had to hold down his arms and legs and pour warm ginger water on him to wake him out of his dream. After opening his eyes, Hoa cried and asked that lights be lit from the house to the garden, then he slept sitting in a chair. Each time the lights went off, he opened his eyes wide and screamed. The family had to leave the lights on all night long.
The young boy slept until noon. When the sun was shining brightly at high noon, he then told of his terrifying dream. In his dream, he saw a gigantic boa that had scales like a fish, claws like a dragon, a slit tail like a centipede, a long tongue like a watchdog, and a crest like a parakeet. The huge thing rose up from a deep hole and sprawled along the crest of Truc Mountain. When it opened its mouth, a male water buffalo could fall inside. The mouth was bright red like blood, while the whole body was black with horizontal cobalt and yellow stripes. Its scales were hard as if made of coal, and shaped like a gecko’s. The giant creature rolled from the crest of Truc to those of the green and yellow Cuom mountains. When it crawled, its tail swished from side to side and flattened forest trees as if they had been blown over by a storm. Across the mountain ranges, the creature dashed to the top of Lan Vu’s peak. Halfway, it suddenly stopped and roared with agony. Its huge belly undulated like waves on the ocean; one could see clearly the thrusts of a small animal kicking and struggling inside. Agonized, the mother creature was writhing on the ground, her eyes bulging as if they would pop out of their sockets, her nostrils blowing out hot breath, her mouth spitting out bursts of loud roaring like that of thunder. After some time, her belly slowly cracked open; from the crack appeared a head identical to that of the mother—same shape, same color—as well as with the fierce look of the bulging eyes and the bright red and huge crest like that of the parakeet. This second head grew fast, similar to a rubber ball being inflated. In an instant it had grown as big as the mother’s head. After growing to a length equal to that of its mother, the head of the second monster let loose a terrifying roar, then struck the head of the mother a determined blow that injured her. From that wound, blood squirted up—like tree sap but purple like plum juice. The mother monster stretched her neck to roar, and
the battle began. Young Hoa stood at the foot of Lan Vu Mountain, right where he usually played badminton with his friends. The two monsters tore each other apart at the heads; he was terrified that their huge claws would destroy the mountainside on which he was no bigger than a fox. He wanted to run but couldn’t. Around the mountains suddenly appeared walls woven from sharp thorns and vines. First the bushes were knee high. But in an instant, these thorny plants grew in a rush, close to the height of an adult, branches intertwining, weaving one into another. At the same moment, vines from the corners of the dirt suddenly sprouted into thousands and thousands of hairy tubes, gripping tightly to the thorny walls, making this rampart thick and dense, so that even a cat couldn’t crawl through. Young Hoa looked carefully and he suddenly realized that on all four sides there were plenty of poisonous thorns and leaves; the kind of thorns whose prick will turn skin to pus, the kind of leaves that will make you will break out in hives like smallpox if you touch it. Desperate, he called out for his father and mother. No one heard his cries for help. A more terrifying thing was that his belly had started to undulate, too. He looked down, horrified to see that it was moving up and down, like curling waves, totally like the belly of the monster. He visualized his belly splitting in two and, from there, a head that looked just like his appearing, with the same split chin, same slanted eyes and turned-up nose, and also with the name Hoa. And the second Hoa would turn around and bite his neck just like the monster on the mountain and a battle would eventually commence. He was scared out of his wits, running around frantically, trying to escape. Thus, in that fit of terror, he became a sleepwalker.
From that night, young Hoa dared not sleep with his siblings, even though he was the oldest at eleven years of age. His parents were compelled to let him sleep with them, in the middle. Moreover, all night, they had to leave a lamp on in the corner of the room. The neighbors were curious about the conjugal arrangement and the two of them acknowledged that on nights when they felt passionate, they would wait for Hoa to fall sound asleep, turn up the light to make the room real bright, then quietly take their blanket to another room to carry out the insurrection.
Rural people still looked upon dreams as omens from heaven and earth, or as threats from evil spirits. Some dreams foretell good happenings, others bad ones. Often, after bad dreams, heavenly disasters or earthly tragedies do occur. And so those on earth must endure sufferings for long stretches. Whether it was only a coincidence or a divine intervention to teach humans,
the dream where parent and child did battle occurred right after Mr. Quang’s family drama. Thus all over the three sections, inhabitants of Woodcutters’ Hamlet were perplexed day and night. Perhaps only just before sleep could one lie down quietly with hands on forehead to ponder life; and from sunrise until dark, villagers discussed and passionately argued over this episode. In the evenings, they would gather by threes and fives, but not on the patio of Mr. Quang’s house, nor now at Miss Vui’s—those considered the main characters in the “current drama.”
Two days later, the village Party committee met under the leadership of the hamlet secretary. Chairman Quy was sitting in the provincial jail charged with abuse of power and imprisonment of an innocent person.
It was 100 percent certain that Quy would lose all Party and government positions, and be expelled. Thus the Party section for Woodcutters’ Hamlet had to meet to quickly elect a new chairman and assistant secretary, decisions that would be ratified by the villagers without dissent. In that meeting, the hamlet secretary declared clearly that the committee secretary, Nguyen Thi Vui, had played an outstanding role in preserving the Party’s moral prestige. Thanks to the firm spirit of Comrade Vui, who had acted quickly when village authorities had abused their powers and intimidated an innocent citizen, the district commissar had been able to thwart what might have been a very regrettable incident. For that, the district commissar highly respected the spirit of responsibility and the management skills of Committee Secretary Vui, a most outstanding Party member.
With so many words of praise from the most powerful person in the entire district, naturally Miss Vui instantly became village chairman and assistant Party secretary, to the enthusiastic clapping and heartfelt approval of Party members and assembled voters. After her induction into office, there was a fabulous celebration. Hundreds of banquet trays were scattered around the meetinghouse as well as on the patio; the aroma of wine mingled with that of roasted pig and beef, making the atmosphere happy and intoxicating and letting people forget the reason for their celebration. They didn’t even notice the absence of Mr. Quang, Miss Ngan, and Mrs. Tu during the two entire days of meeting and eating. While everybody was enjoying clinking cups with peers, friends, and elders, nobody was foolish enough to broach sensitive subjects that could easily hurt people’s feelings and give them headaches. But no matter how enjoyable, every party must come to an end.
The people of Woodcutters’ Hamlet had ample reasons to turn their heads and look at Village Chairman Miss Vui with critical eyes after she had received
the transfer of power and sat with ease on the chair where Quy had sat before. By that time, those dishes of roast pig, grilled beef in lemon grass and lard, had had time to turn into shit. Therefore, within only some five to seven days, all over the cassava beds, on the tea slopes, people brought up the story of the “Old Maid Dragon” for critical commentary.
According to the accepted account, Quy had stolen from the home of a cousin on his mother’s side an arrest warrant for a prostitute. This cousin was an assistant investigator with the provincial police. It was an old order left in a stack of documents waiting to be filed away. Such saved materials, if not used in appeals or in subsequent investigations, are to be destroyed after twenty-five years. Not at all suspecting his cousin the village chairman, the assistant investigator let Quy sit in his office while he went out to buy beer and snacks to share with his guest. After stealing the order, Quy used a solvent to erase the name of the old defendant and the old date, and replaced them with Miss Ngan’s name and an appropriate new date. Thus, when he read the order sealed by the provincial police and signed by a cadre in the office of investigation, the head of the village police suspected nothing. Besides, because they were colleagues who had worked with each other for many years, he was ready with enthusiasm to do whatever Quy asked. That is also why an entire squad of militiamen poured into Mr. Quang’s house to “apprehend one who deceives men and undermines wholesome customs, Ngan by name.” On the very afternoon of the arrest, Miss Vui had ridden her bike immediately to go tell Mr. Quang. What followed then fell out openly before everyone’s eyes, leaving no need for background explanations.
Rural folk really despise those who undertake clever and dangerous maneuvers, even though they themselves always use little tricks here and there to advance their interests. To them, those who plot cleverly always constitute a dark force that can destroy not only an individual but even an entire family; sometime a hamlet, a village. Those with such dangerous abilities bring to mind old-time sorcerers, who once used magic charms to pull people into blind passions of love, hate, revenge, and stupid acts that drain away one’s humanity. If such a sorcerer was female, then fear and hatred increased geometrically because women were created each with two breasts and two buttocks: the breasts to feed children; the buttocks to make husbands happy. A woman should never act contrary to the nature heaven has bestowed upon her. A woman who in the past presumed to sit on the chair of a village or hamlet chairman was an unpleasant sight to see. But when such
authority was seized through a betrayal, such transfer of power would meet with the utmost contempt, according to the old rule: “An honor that thousands see fit to spit on.”