Longings, page 8
“I like to,” she responded simply.
To her, the word like didn’t need an explanation because it was a matter of emotions, and thus liking something didn’t require a justification. However, since she created a Facebook account, she had vaguely realized that the verb like oftentimes involved fears. Fear of being neglected. Fear of loneliness. Fear of being lost in a crowd. She was no different from other Facebook users who were trapped in their own egos and loneliness, surrounded by hundreds of virtual friends. Like everyone else, she had experienced the vicissitudes of life. She reflected on herself and her life and dared not abandon the online masses to be alone. In addition to her few close friends, many people whom she had never met in person “liked” her photos. That was sufficient for her—the “likes” she received filled the days’ emptiness. An emptiness that consumed her heart even when she and her husband were making love.
“Do you know the longjack plant?” the stranger asked. His question interrupted her wandering thoughts.
“I’ve never seen it but I’ve tried the alcohol infused with its roots.”
“Do you like it?”
“Not really. I had a shot last night but it tasted rather unpleasant.”
“What you had must’ve been counterfeit.”
His comment was irrelevant because she had consumed the herbal wine to help her forget her unfulfilling marriage and loneliness, rather than enjoy the taste. She wanted to be free during her weekend getaway. But the man’s face looked sincere and he was a good listener. He was probably right about the wine.
She recalled that once on her way to work, she had purchased a liter of honey from a vendor sitting on the pavement. The honey came directly from a pot with a beehive above. The seller, a member of an ethnic minority group, wore his clan’s traditional outfit and looked genuine. When she got home, she realized that she had been cheated—it wasn’t real honey; it was water mixed with honey-colored sugar. She was often lied to and cheated, and her gullibility made her bitter. Sometimes she even knew that she was being led into a maze but she wasn’t mentally strong enough to free herself from it—the maze where lies were embellished or camouflaged with beautiful and realistic images. She couldn’t explain why sweetness and bitterness were often intertwined.
“I’ll find and dig up some hundred-year-old longjack roots for you,” the man continued.
She followed him without asking how he would dig up the roots with no tool in sight. She felt safe walking behind a man in uniform who didn’t carry a weapon. His bright eyes weren’t those of a hunter or criminal, and his face was warm when he looked at her. The path became narrower and the forest grew gloomy thanks to the shadows cast by old trees with thick foliage. She almost asked, Seriously, are you taking me to where the longjack is? But somehow the words got trapped in her throat. She quietly walked at his side. The sunlight gradually faded on his hat, clothes, and face.
It wasn’t his handsome features, or his broad shoulders, or his uniform that enthralled her. It wasn’t his promise to find the longjack roots that enticed her. It was a mystical and alluring power held in his empathic eyes and the way he had seemed to appear out of nowhere to take photos for her. Maybe he was a soulmate who would always be available to provide solace via Facebook when she needed it. She wanted to say something but was tongue-tied. She felt comforted in his presence and could sense that he was genuine, affable, and reliable. They walked quietly in the woods among whirls of colorful butterflies fluttering past, a chorus of birds singing morning songs from tree branches, wildflowers blooming with timid, quivering petals, and delicate leaves floating down from branches.
She stopped at an ancient tree whose branches held a broad crown of leaves. Rough bark covered its trunk that rose with a gentle bend; the tree resembled a giant bonsai. Its thick foliage occluded the sunlight, which made the man’s face inconspicuous when he bent down.
“The more bitter the roots,” he said, “the more you remember the taste.”
She felt his breath rush past her ear and blood surged in her veins. Submerged in nature, she inhaled deeply and her mind went blank as his sturdy arms pulled her toward his muscular body.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
She was overwhelmed by his irresistible aroma. Her entire body tingled, her lips hurriedly found his, and, clumsily but passionately, he pulled her closer, claiming her mouth, hungry and intense.
During the brief rush of ecstasy, her phone rang, jolting her from the moment. It took her a few seconds to regain emotional balance as she leaned her body slightly away from the man, took a few clumsy steps away from the tree, and reached into her bag for her phone. The screen announced the caller’s name—her husband. She pressed the answer button.
“Where did you put the razors?” he asked. “I can’t find them.”
His voice was a bucket of frigid water splashed onto her burning face. She wiped away the sweat that had gathered on her forehead and replied placidly, “If there are none left in the bathroom, check the top dresser drawer where I keep your underwear.”
As usual, he hung up without asking how she was doing or if she was enjoying the trip. He often said he respected people’s privacy and thus did not want to pry. Once, while he was shaving, she had become infuriated by this perpetual indifference and shouted, “What would you do if I slept around?”
“I would cut their throat,” he replied coldly. He, of course, couldn’t have cared less about the question.
“Whose throat?” she responded.
“Both of your throats.”
The terseness of his answer enraged her.
She looked back and the stranger had disappeared. Maybe he had left or possibly ducked into the vegetation to find the longjack roots. Perhaps he had to return to his unit after what was just a break. Her phone rang again, but this time it was her roommate, Hạnh, calling.
“I’ll be back soon. Where are you?” asked Hạnh.
“I’m on my way to the lodge. I left the room key at the front desk.”
“You’re lucky that you didn’t join us today.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because my legs and arms are swollen with mosquito bites. But the tour was wonderful, otherwise.”
While walking the worn path back to the asphalt road, she kept picturing the man in his uniform, his warm embrace and passionate kiss. She tried to understand everything that had happened. His unexpected presence while she was taking photos. His eagerness to find longjack roots for her. His intimacy, and the inexplicable feelings they conjured, which were probably related to her desire for adventure and discovery.
The experience forced her to reexamine the emotions she was suppressing and the loneliness that led her to escape into the woods. She contemplated death and the continuity of life; the small, secret worlds all individuals hold inside themselves; and nature’s complex, intertwined operations. According to the tour guide, this region had been the site of a bloody battle in which we and they fought vigorously. It bore witness to tragic separations, deaths, sorrows, and sufferings. But nothing could extinguish humanity’s aspirations for life. The woods, the trees, the river, the soil, and the lake had been a refuge for thousands of soldiers. Many of whom had lost their lives, and their bodies then become fertile soil that nurtured the trees and plants around her.
She walked slower and reached into her bag for her phone. She opened the photo album to look at the shots the man had taken of her. But none existed. She turned the phone off, restarted it, and searched through the album again. But again she found nothing. She turned it off and restarted it one more time. But the most recent photos were the two selfies in which her expression looked silly and her face distorted due to poor lighting, and the string of her floppy hat hanging down like a noose.
The sun had risen high into the sky and the asphalt road was roasting under her feet. She adjusted her hat to avoid getting sunburned. Sweat streaked her face and a glare danced across her phone’s screen. She opened Facebook, hoping to find the photos that she had posted earlier, but they were gone too. A shiver crept up her spine. She scratched her wrist and pinched her forearm. She could indeed feel pain, but she was sweating and shivering.
Had she been hallucinating?
The desires she had been suppressing could have led her to imagine the man she had encountered.
Did she wake from a dream?
She was grateful for whatever it was that had given her an opportunity to meet him, to discover herself, and to mentally escape, for even a few hours. Being in physical contact and talking with the man, feeling desired in the dark, ghostly forest where death had an important place in the cycle of life was an invaluable gift. Her heart had leaped up when the stranger looked at her with kindness, and the photos that were now mysteriously lost had captured a moment when she felt younger and freer than ever. That ephemeral instance came and went like a gentle breeze. But she believed the stranger must be around somewhere. She gazed at the road stretching endlessly behind her.
She saw a motorbike driving toward her, and her heart beat faster. Could it be the man she just met? Could it be the man who awakened desires she thought were long dead?
Her phone rang again. It was her husband. She could tell that he was drinking in a swarming, clamorous bar.
“If you see any raw wild forest honey there,” he said loudly in the phone, “don’t forget to buy me some.”
“I’ll try, definitely.”
“In fact, not just for me,” he added, “but for our family to use.”
“I know,” she said gently.
“By the way, I’ve heard that the loach in Trị An Lake, when dried, are quite tasty . . .”
“OK. I’ll buy some,” she interrupted.
“Oh, and don’t forget to buy a few bottles of longjack wine. It’s good for one’s health and improves virility.”
“I’ll remember.”
“Make sure it’s made with authentic longjack roots. I don’t want any fake stuff.”
The lone motorbike passed her, kicking up plumes of dust. She could only see the driver’s helmet and its white and blue stripes.
On her way back to the lodge, her husband called again. He was drunk, and over the phone he cursed the wicked, greedy, filthy world they lived in. She knew her husband was reveling in a bar with a mug of sudsy beer in his hand, but somehow she pictured him shaving in the bathroom, with white foam all over his face and mouth. The white foam looked like the clouds above her. She didn’t know why she suddenly thought of the flashlight and the mosquito repellent she had bought for the trip but never used.
Selecting a Husband:
Kiều Bích Hậu
Where are you, my darling kitty?—a text message from Takashi punctuated with bright, throbbing hearts pops up on her phone.
n is inundated with business matters and anxiously awaiting the arrival of shipping containers from China that are stranded at customs, but wants to cast everything aside. She wants to be able to savor relaxed moments, free of any obligations. Pursing her lips, lust swirls between her legs. If she were not so busy, if it were not a workday, she would have dropped everything and raced to Takashi’s.
I’m starving, n texts back. Can you feed me today?
You’ll have a feast, my love. His message is a promise that makes her heart race. She holds her breath, attempting to contain her excitement.
n’s assistant rises to his feet and strides across the room. n tries to avoid his inquisitive eyes, flipping her phone upside down on her desk and handing him a signed contract. Alas, she didn’t have time to read it closely. But she trusts karma, and the contract isn’t worth much anyway. The only problem left to deal with is figuring out how to retrieve the cargo stuck at the border. Everything must be resolved by noon. The spa chain in which she invested in Hà Nội and Hồ Chí Minh City is always packed with customers as the weight-loss industry is booming. The slimming procedure they offer, which combines fat-burning therapies with weight-loss pills to enhance a body’s firmness, makes her beauty salons increasingly lucrative, with profits pouring in every day. The stress is worth it. n marvels at how she is able to make such a fortune, when only five years ago she had to struggle to make ends meet. Where had all that money been when she needed it?
n is relieved when she is finally able to get into a cab. She took care of the customs paperwork. Thousands of packets of weight-loss supplements have been rescued and are on the way to her warehouses, which will bring in even more cash. Now, she doesn’t have to worry about anything, not even money. She turns off her phone. Her head is empty except for Takashi and the meal that awaits.
n reaches for her key to Takashi’s apartment, but as if the door recognizes her, it swiftly opens before she touches it. The magic eye on the door blinks in complicity. n sheds her jacket and transforms instantly from an iron-minded businesswoman to a tender woman craving love as she enters Takashi’s living room.
Takashi opens his arms wide and then holds n tight. She snuggles her head against his shoulder, inhaling his Hugo Boss cologne. Leading n to the couch, Takashi hands her a glass of cold mineral water with lemon slices. It calms her. Takashi lifts her left hand to his lips and kisses it. In his rough hands marred by age spots, hers seem smaller and softer. She is twenty years younger than him and their age difference allows her to appreciate her own youthful, supple allure.
As she approaches the dining table, n is amazed by Takashi’s flair for preparation and presentation. The broiled salmon topped with orange sauce resting on a white porcelain plate is the perfect harmony of colors and flavors. Takashi pulls out her chair, places a napkin in her lap, and pours wine into her glass as if he were a professional waiter. When she closes her eyes to savor the food, Takashi stares at her. She can feel his gaze admire every inch of her body, which makes her cells tingle. More than anyone before, he knows her most sensitive places where pleasure resides. She drops to the floor, inviting Takashi to join her. He is powerless as she holds him down. Overwhelmed by passion, she swirls like a raging storm. It’s too much for Takashi who tumbles off the cliff in ecstasy before she has been fully satisfied.
In the haze that follows, n drifts back to Núi Xẻ Village. She was just a young nineteen-year-old, gleefully following her new husband to his family home. She rejoiced in the fantasy that she eventually would become a mother, holding in her arms a little baby she would cuddle and breastfeed. Her nipples hardened with anticipation at the thought. But n didn’t even know where babies came from. n’s mother never taught her about that. Neither did she learn it at school. She did know, however, that all married women sooner or later had babies. She only desired to have her own child so that she could nurture it herself; it didn’t matter whether her husband would be Quân or Hùng or any of the other men in the village. n had no special feeling for Hùng, except for the way he looked at her like a dog staring at a bone being dangled above its head. She would have to end up as someone’s wife, anyway. Marrying early would make n more popular because, unlike many other girls her age in Núi Xẻ Village, she would no longer be available.
While n was carefully hanging their bed’s mosquito net, Hùng shoved her back onto the bed. The foul smell of alcohol suffocated her. She tried to endure it. But when Hùng pressed n’s head into the wall, she grew terrified and struggled. Hùng almost tore her apart. He acted like a crazed beast tearing into its terrified prey. He ripped off her pants, flipped her upside down, and split her legs wide so she was splayed out like a frog. She snapped back and forth as he thrust over and over from behind. It felt like her bones would snap.
That wedding night’s brutal rape was repeated again and again. n was always horrified by the sight of the sun slipping below the horizon. She grew paler and gaunt. It was as if she had developed a serious illness. Every night, Hùng flipped n upside down and pinned her legs back; the crushing pain seemed unceasing. After a year, n still hadn’t gotten pregnant, but she kept enduring her husband, never telling anyone about how he tormented her. She assumed all women had to undergo the same trauma to have babies. Only when she had a baby would the suffering end. She would take the baby with her and leave.
n is so thankful for Takashi’s love. When he drops to the floor, she takes possession of him and regains her femininity. Ten years earlier, Hùng killed himself, and n left Núi Xẻ for good. Hùng died only after robbing her of her virginity and destroying her capacity for love. She had become scared of men. Deep down, she believed relationships with men would always lead to dreadful anguish. It was too horrifying to imagine.
For many years, Hùng’s ghost haunted her. Night after lonely night, n would return to that first dark night in Núi Xẻ. Eventually, when a baby had still not appeared, despite her husband’s nightly, merciless rapes, n fled to her mother’s house. She didn’t return until her husband threatened to kill himself if she didn’t. n was packing her luggage to go back when her mother held her back. She locked n in her bedroom because she worried that if she let her daughter leave, she would never see her again.
That night, Hùng tied a rope around his neck and killed himself. He left n a scathing letter blaming her for forcing his suicide. Hùng’s family and everyone else in the villages blamed her. n’s mother used her entire savings to pay for her son-in-law’s funeral and then secretively helped n escape far away from Núi Xẻ.
n was blessed. Her mother sent her to a teacher named Thanh in Hà Nội who became n’s second mother. Thanh was her mother’s former classmate, but Thanh left Núi Xẻ as soon as she graduated from high school. n’s mother stayed in Núi Xẻ and got married while Thanh found work as an assistant to a director of a Japanese company. She taught n Japanese, and it was through her work that n met Takashi.
