Duong Huong - The Zenith

Then it was Vu who was hesitant.

He was bothered by imposing on his brother to leave his family and his work to move to the countryside, to a life without prominence, without all the regular means of living comfortably. From supervising a large carpentry business in three hamlets, he would be forced to harvest, to garden, to pull a rickety cart to sell jackfruit, guava, pineapple, pomelo, and lichees. No longer enjoying the position of boss with staff to make your meals and get you drinks, he would have to live in a house with three large rooms in the dim light of oil lamps; he would have to cook his own meals in a kitchen filled with smoke from husks and straw. He would endure the absence of his wife and kids and his trade, because he was a craftsman with golden hands: everything he made was considered across the region as a piece of art. His mother-of-pearl-inlaid furniture was not for use but was regarded as heirlooms for children and grandchildren. Every family tried to buy some work of his — a sideboard, a buffet, or a sofa with kneeling feet — so that they could proudly boast to their neighbors, “They are Mr. Bac’s!”

Thinking of all this, Vu had become embarrassed: “However, I think…really, I have done you wrong.”

Bac had shaken his head. “Don’t be concerned. I have known my fate for a while. When you were at the northern front, Mother was sick for six long months. Before dying, she reminded me, ‘Your brother at old age will encounter much hardship. Don’t leave him alone. Others may say: “Each brother has his own fate,” but in our family we must follow this: “Brothers are like arms and legs.”’”

Then, he had put out his cigarette and gone to bed. The next day he had taken the child to the car when the dew was still wet.

Twelve years had passed; Bac had become a real farmer, just as Vu had predicted, even though he did not harvest. His monthly rice ration from the city came from his wife, who bought it and took it to him; this had given her opportunities to visit him. In the countryside, he had taken care of the gardens; he had raised poultry and had twelve beehives. All day, from morning to night, he had had no lack of things to do. Thus, he had raised Nghia since she was two; she had become a young woman who knew how to care for a house, how to help the father push a cart to sell fruit or animals on market days. The neighbors called them the “carpenter father and daughter,” because Bac had brought some of his tools, and, when he was free of chores, he would engage his hands in carving. The aunt had died seven years earlier at eighty-two, but Bac had remained in the countryside with the young child.

After some silence, Vu asks, “How is she doing?”

“She is healthy and a good girl. She is sweeter as she grows up. I fear she is too sweet and shy.”

“Like mother, like daughter. Her mother was as sweet.”

“The thing is: this year she reaches puberty.”

“My gosh! How could I have forgotten that?” Vu cries out. “Oh my heaven, time flies like an arrow.”

“Yes, you and I, we have aged quite a bit.”

“Twelve years, you had to be separated from your wife and the kids to carry my burden.”

“Don’t say that. Your responsibility is also my responsibility. I don’t mind it. Now, there is something bothering me: the little girl has grown. If we let her continue to live in the village, she will become a real peasant. In no time she will fall for some village guy and then will turn into a farmer. Thus, we will shortchange the young girl’s potential. Even though she lives under our protective arms, she really is a princess.”

“Yes, you are right,” Vu says. “This is totally my fault. I am so preoccupied and did not think sooner about this.”

Vu then grabs his brother’s hand. “Look here, Brother, your hands are rough and dark, mine are white. Thus you carry all the heavy burden in the family on my behalf.”

“You are joking; everybody who works in an office has a white face and hands.”

“I cannot use my mouth to thank you because words are ordinary and bland. But, according to the old ways, I must kneel down and bow to you.”

“Now, Brother Vu…” he says, shaking his head. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. You and I are from the same womb. A burden on your shoulders is a burden on mine.”

Tears well up in his eyes and also begin to roll down Vu’s cheeks. Vu turns toward the yard at the back of the hospital to avoid curious eyes. Bac also looks down, and drinks cup after cup of tea.

After a long while, the older brother looks up. “The business between you and Miss Van: in what way has it been solved?”

“I have not gone through the process of separation but will move into the office complex. When little Trung has summer vacation I will take him there. The other day when the secretary came to visit me, he requested that I prepare all the formalities so that, when I leave the hospital, I can go straight to the new place. Van will stay in the villa with Vinh, and, certainly, her brother will crawl in there.”

“It’s hard to resolve amicably. I think she will not agree to it.”

“As of now, I cannot find a better solution.”

“In this situation, it is hard for you to take in Nghia. Let me take her to the city with the family. Whatever happens, a girl from the city is always less deprived than a peasant from a farm.”

“I am indebted to you, but I will manage to find help somewhere. In truth, the little girl is really at a disadvantage.”

Bac gets up. “I have to return before I miss the afternoon ferry. I am not comfortable leaving the girl alone overnight. Perhaps I will have to make arrangements to sell the house and garden or hire someone to look after it when I take her to the city, the sooner the better.”

Hesitating a moment, he sighs and adds: “Do you know that plenty of guys stalk the paths day and night? She is not yet fourteen and she is quite attractive. That is why I dare not leave her by herself.”

He rubs his brother’s back. “Take care of your health. I feel all your ribs here.”

Putting his hat on, he leaves.

Vu sits down and looks at Bac disappearing into the bustling crowd of people entering and leaving the hospital. He does not like emotional good-byes in front of a crowd, which is why he does not walk his brother out. In his family, often an opposite scene was played: on his visits to Bac in the town, when it came time to leave, the two brothers dragged things out for a good hour, unable to separate. Bac always found excuses to accompany Vu to the car, then would take him around, stopping here for a while to drink tea, there to watch a fish pond or a rock garden. Then, at the end, Bac would suddenly cry out:

“Oh, my goodness! I forgot to give you a pack of tea. The lotus-smoked tea from Mrs. Lieu of Cham Lien village. During the lotus season, flowers from all the large ponds are brought to her to sell. Her toasting hand has no equal. Hanoi people always come down to buy.” Or:

“Oh, my goodness! I have packed some fish in a bag of water and have forgotten it in the kitchen. Wait for me. These fish are superior river fish. Bother yourself a little to take them back and put them in a great big ceramic pot. Ask Miss Van to make porridge or put them in wine and ginger to eat.” Or:

“Oh, my goodness! The ocean shrimp I carefully grilled — I forgot them in the chest. Wait, I will get them. Take them back to Hanoi to enjoy with beer.”

Each time, he found many different kinds of such “forgetting,” which enabled their partings to be drawn out for a little more time. On the contrary, when Bac visited Hanoi and it came time for him to leave, he would quickly run alone to the car while the younger brother looked quietly on. Their personalities were different; so were their behaviors.