Duong Huong - The Zenith

“Who is up there?…Why light the fire so early?”

No answer. The bodyguard whispered in his ear, “Perhaps the woman from the women’s association.”

“Yeah…” He suddenly remembered.

The bodyguard asked, “Do I need to stay to prepare water for your bath?”

“Of course.”

For a long time now that guard had always prepared hot water for him to bathe. The pot was fairly big, made of heavy copper, and the wooden container to hold the water was also very large. Only the strong arms of young men could roll it around. After two days on the road, having a bath, cleaning up, and changing into new clothes were happiness for him; a small happiness but happiness nonetheless.

When they entered the house, Miss Minh Thu was already there by the stove, knitting away: the traditional epitome of a wife waiting for her husband. He felt trapped and uneasy; nevertheless he had to smile in greeting the woman. The guard went directly to the bathroom then turned around:

“Mr. President, there is hot water in there. Now I only need to get your clothes ready, then I am done.”

“Thank you.”

He turned to the woman and asked, “That tub is pretty high, how did you manage it?”

“Yes, I could do it.”

“Thank you…Next time let the guard do it. He is at the young age when he can break buffalo horns.”

“Yes.”

He walked into the bathroom, stripped off his sweaty and dusty clothes, but suddenly sighed. Outside, the young guard had withdrawn, his footsteps heard on the stairs. When he withdrew farther, the only remaining sounds were of the fire — the bubbling of the wood sap and the crackling of the charcoal. In this familiar space of his where he had been the only resident, now there was that strange woman sitting there. From her awkward movements it was clear that she had never handled knitting needles before and that she had been put up to learn this craft by her comrade sisters in the association. They cast, choreographed, and directed actors, especially among the poor. He felt sorry for them both: for Miss Minh Thu and for himself.

“C’est la vie; toujours la même comédie!”

The first bucketful of water he poured carelessly over his head and his eyes smarted. He quickly wiped his eyes with a dry towel, cursing his own inattention. Waiting for the burning to subside, he continued to bathe, while remembering the promise he had made to the woman. The situation did not look any brighter, especially after a long and weary journey.

“It’s terrible. The fates don’t smile on her. In which hour was she born to be so unfortunate?” he thought to himself. And a real fear took hold of him.

“But I cannot twice push her into humiliation. She is a human being nonetheless, a woman. Humiliation can drive a person to seek death…”

When young, he had read quite a few tales of palace life. He remembered deaths by the poison-filled golden cup, by slashed throats, or by a piece of white silk hung over stair rails. From queens to concubines, from ladies-in-waiting to maids…how many women had sought death to end humiliation arising from unrequited love? But the majority had been real beauties. Miss Minh Thu was not a beauty, of course, but had accepted the mission of “serving the revolution.” Her reaction thus would be increased manyfold. No need for a rich imagination to know that after the previous Saturday she would have confessed to her superiors: “To report, I did not accomplish the mission assigned to me.” The older sisters had met, and all week had looked for ways to help her. Luckily for them, he had had to go to prepare for a forthcoming military campaign, giving them time to work on a plan: “The lady will prepare scented water for him to bathe and sit by the fire knitting.”

Pity the fate of humanity!

But even if he complained on his or her behalf, he could not forget that in a little while he would have to “enter the room,” according to the old saying. But what was under his belly button still refused to play its part. This worry over failure mixed with fear of all the consequent humiliation that could set in made him lose his bearings. But at that moment the work of toweling dry brought to him an old but always effective solution. He caressed himself. He brought vividly to mind a memory of the most sensual woman he had ever met in his life, the one with the slanted eyes. He visualized the sight of her straddled on his stomach, her flesh, her breathing, her charcoal black hair spread on her forehead shining under the light.

And his youth returned.

The loud ringing of the telephone startles him and wakes him from his revery. He is about to get up but the guard runs straight into the room and picks up the phone.

“Mr. President, Vice Minister Vu.”

“Thank you, leave it there for me.”

He holds the phone to his ears, hearing the panting breathing on the other side of the receiver.

“What happened to you? Do you have bronchitis?”

“No, I just have a cold from yesterday afternoon.”

“Be careful. You may be much younger than I, but you’re no longer so strong and youthful. Don’t tease the Big Boss.”

“I know. Are you well, Eldest Brother?”

“I am OK. After you left I had someone bring me more money to offer to the woodcutter’s family. They had prepared the envelope too skimpily.”

He hears Vu’s laugh on the other end of the line, then continues:

“We always forget the details. We are always indifferent to the concrete facts.”

“But those very details and all such ordinary calculations are life.”

“Agreed. These days you have the inclination to become a philosopher of dialectical materialism. Do you plan a transfer to the training department?”

“What?”

He hears Vu burst into laughter in his familiar playful manner.

“What? Will you spare me!”

He also laughs and quickly changes the subject:

“What is going on in Hanoi?”

“Tomorrow there will be a wind from the northeast. Don’t forget that it will be cold for a long while.”

“I do not forget: in January it’s a drawn-out cold, in February it’s a fortunate cold, and in March it’s Lady Ban’s cold.”

“Yes. That’s why I’m calling you. With the north wind, it will be cold up there first. Don’t take a walk in the woods; a sudden rain will bring the flu.”

“I will remember.”

“I have to go now. They just informed me of a sudden meeting at central administration, followed by dinner…after dinner, for sure we will continue the meeting…Eldest Brother, take care.”

“You, too,” says the president. “Give my best to Sister Van. You are lucky to have her. She is beautiful both in person and in character.”

“Yes, thank you,” Vu replies in a joking manner that the president has not heard before, and repeats on the other end of the line: “Eldest Brother sent me congratulations on the beautiful woman with attractive character.”

Then, right away, the younger brother turns back to the phone to say, “I am going now.”

The president hears a strange noise when Vu hangs up the phone. A suspicion flashes by. But he is unable to guess what.

Hanoi becomes cold. The north winter wind returns.

The rows of trees turn deeper green in the freezing cold and the surface of Ho Tay Lake ripples with millions of wavelets. The rows of jacaranda along the lake’s edge are purple, a solitary kind of purple. Pedestrians pick up their pace along the Co Ngu road to shield themselves from the strong, wild wind blowing above the water. Right at that moment, too, a pair of lovers sits at the edge of the lake holding each other, their faces toward the wind.