Duong Huong - The Zenith

Thus, according to the formula that one stone can kill two birds, this expedition down the mountain was to take care of official business, as well as to settle a personal vendetta; it was indeed a well-perfected scheme.

From the secretary’s viewpoint, she was complying with an order from her superiors, the hamlet chairman and the assistant chairman, as well as satisfying her curiosity as a spinster, which she had to conceal very tightly, in the elaborate manner that people use to put a top on a brine jar that has started to ferment. In such an excited mind-set, she did not hesitate to display all her skills, which she constantly used in the role of host. If one says “strong and daring due to wealth,” then she was indeed a more daring authority than many other women. Therefore, after bidding farewell to the chairman, she ran straight to the district public works compound, where Mr. Quang was one of the three most reputable supervisors of the cement workers and carpenters and where he had met Miss Ngan. Miss Vui believed that there all relevant connections could be uncovered.

She was not wrong; in just half a day she had collected the whole romantic saga of the couple so far apart in age. At noon, she slipped some money into the pocket of a public works driver:

“Comrade, may I get a ride to Ha Tay? I need to resolve an urgent family matter.”

The driver reluctantly replied: “In principle, we are not allowed to let others ride in official vehicles.”

After stating the official position, he slowly put his hand inside his pocket, his mouth puckered up to whistle. He carefully felt the envelope Miss Vui had slipped into the oversized pocket of his laborer’s shirt, to make sure. When the music stopped, he signaled to the assistant:

“Get in the back, little twerp.”

Immediately the little twerp ran toward the truck’s cargo platform. There he sat between stacks of cement bags and curing forms. It was not jinxing him to note that if there were a swerve or an accident, he would definitely be squashed like a roach under those gigantic wooden forms.

When the assistant driver relaxed, he tied down a cloth cover, turned the truck around, and said to Miss Vui:

“OK; if you have a family emergency, Comrade…get in.”

Miss Vui climbed up into the front seat and sat comfortably next to the driver, a deeply dark-skinned fellow as skinny as a frog. With that kind of true bravado, she went all the way to Khoai Hamlet, in Hung My village, Ha Tay province, to discover once and for all the nest of dragonflies.

That night Chairman Quy returned to the village, while Miss Vui spent the night as a faraway guest in order to complete the mission that the chairman had assigned to her. She returned home in the early evening of the twenty-ninth day of the last month of the year that was about to end, her face beaming like a flower, on her shoulder a sack full of New Year’s toys and treats. Chairman Quy stood to welcome her at the entrance to the middle section:

“So?”

“In good time. Take it easy.”

“Aren’t you cocky today.”

“Not cocky, but the money for transportation and the inn is worth a ton of rice, dear friend.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Never in my life have I taken any reimbursement,” she replied with the tight tone of someone who always has a full purse. Quy wanted to help her carry the sack of New Year’s goodies into the house, but suddenly realized that it would be silly; if someone saw him, they would laugh in his face. Therefore he quietly followed the woman. Clearly detecting the excitement on Quy’s face, Vui cried out:

“Go home. We can keep the story for a couple of days without spoiling it. It’s almost New Year’s Eve. I have to clean and straighten up my house; get the altar ready for the offering. Besides, I have to boil some water to bathe, too. Two days on the road, living in inns; I am dirty and itch like crazy, with black dust in my nostrils. My hair feels full of sawdust.”

“OK. I am leaving, then. Are you going to the opera performance tomorrow?”

“Of course. It happens only once a year. Who would be dumb enough to miss it?”

Quy hurriedly left recalling that this spinster worshipped even her bathing. People often said that if Vui needed to take a bath and anyone tried to interrupt her, she would go crazy and chase after them. Her bathwater was infused with pomelo leaves and peelings, lemon grass, jasmine flowers, and other herbs. They were mixed according to a fixed formula and boiled in a copper pot. When the water started to boil, the fragrance wafted around the neighborhood. Additionally, each time she bathed and shampooed her hair, she lit sandalwood incense so that the mysterious fragrance would penetrate her hair and skin; her bathing brought back to life the habits of royal women in olden times. Yet those palace women took such care of their bodies and their beauty in order to entice love from the king; what suitor was there for Miss Vui that she might pine for in secret? Either time or the demons would tell, not before.

The chairman walked away but could not suppress his discontent: “This old maid respects no one.”

He walked and fumed quietly, his face hot despite the cold air. He wanted to forget it, but couldn’t; he kept thinking about the curt way he had been dismissed, cowardly chased out of an “Old Maid’s” house like any neighbor who came to her door asking for some favor. The veins on Quy’s temples pulsated wildly.

“She eats a mullet from the head, and thinks of shit as food. She is really irreverent. She forgets that it was I who first suggested to the subcommittee that she be made its chair. She’s the kind who forgets a favor. You can’t blame heaven for not finding her a husband!”

He walked once all around the middle hamlet, greeting others by mechanically nodding his head without really knowing who it was he was greeting. His restlessness was burning inside him. At this hour, all his official responsibilities were done and all the rest of the New Year’s chores and family offerings were tasks for his wife. Quy’s mind was transfixed on only one image, one name, one green blouse, one shy smile, and they all belonged to a whore named Ngan!

“A whore named Ngan, a whore named Ngan, a whore named Ngan!”

He quietly cursed.

Then, while so cursing to himself, he realized that he was cursing someone without having any proof. So, now the main thing for him remained how to prove that the whore named Ngan was “indeed a whore, one hundred percent a whore.”

But, sad to say, to prove this point, he needed Vui’s help — that old maid who was unpredictable and irreverent. She was the one who could provide the proof. Just as a hungry cat must find a way to scratch the throat of a well-fed cat, so too with women. Forcing this old maid to scramble for clues about this well-bosomed whore would be the best plan. But even the best plans have flaws: Vui deserved her reputation for being capable but she was more conceited and disagreeable than anyone else. These thoughts took Quy to the familiar path returning to the upper section. Suddenly he realized that he was getting close to home. The cold wind during his walk had cooled his rage. At the end, he consoled himself:

“Even if I am enraged to the point of bursting inside, I can’t do anything. Vui knows all the ins and outs of the story, not me. And this old maid will not listen. Well, if earth won’t give in to heaven, then heaven will have to give in to earth. I have to be flexible with her.”

He crossed the entrance just as his two daughters carried the kumquat plant from the garden to the inside patio. Back in the kitchen, a pot of rice cakes boiled briskly, the appetizing smell spreading through the air. Here and there, the sounds of small firecrackers were heard around the hamlet. The feeling of the New Year approaching was starting to spread. Quy went inside the house, threw his leather jacket on the table, and lay down on the settee, stretching his legs. He closed his eyes and visualized what would happen tomorrow night: New Year’s Eve, the last night of this unfortunate year. The district opera troupe will arrive here to perform Thi Mau Will Go to the Temple . For sure, Mr. Quang and the whore Ngan would stay home and not attend. Their absence would be the best excuse for the villagers to gossip, and, at that moment, Vui would do her thing. Her trip must bring success to him. Tomorrow night would be the night of victory. He stroked his belly, inhaled deeply, and screamed: