Duong Huong - The Zenith

“Each of us has only one life,” she responded with an enraged heart. “Why not enjoy it? Only those who are stupid or blind or missing something in their character would not find out how to live for themselves.”

Then she told herself, “I will do it. I will do it! But then, don’t you complain!”

She imagined her gorgeous living room full of young men, with loud music and red wine and champagne pouring out in streams. Scenes of pleasures would happen not only in movies but under the light of her own chandelier.

That imaginary episode of revenge lasted only a few seconds until she saw herself as that ugly and decadent woman Mrs. Tu, which made her want to puke. She returned to her private hell of unrequited love, a hell that cannot be driven from her mind.

“Why don’t you drink some tea, dear?”

Seeing his wife quiet, Vu pours tea and gives it to Van. Not refusing but not saying “thank you” either, she takes the cup from his hand, puts it to her mouth, and swallows several big gulps. He pours himself a cup, and then also drinks it quietly. Before them, the big lake shines silvery gray. Not a pleasure boat in sight; only fishing boats that bobble on the water in unrelenting competition to make a living. The wind is strong. As soon as a net is thrown it is blown back against the side of the boat, making the boat shake with its nose diving forward as if it were being pushed down to sink. The fisherman drives his boat in circles to dismantle the net and to avoid the wind. Thus, life continues. Vu contemplates that little drama and wonders, “If I lived as that fisherman, would I be happy, or at least would life be less troubled?”

Such questions have no answers, so he continues drinking his tea. He realizes Van is looking at him.

“Tea is spilled down the sleeve of your shirt. This material cannot be cleaned. Cleaning will tear it.”

“Sorry, I didn’t pay attention…” he says, adding, “You are indeed perfect…on the material side.”

“On the spiritual one, I am a zero, a despicable one. Is that what you want to say?” Van responds, rolling her eyes like one ready to dive into a fight. At the same moment, her face becomes pale and her heart begins to beat nonstop. He looks at her with a hint of surprise and hesitation, and an unavoidable feeling of pity.

“Do you need to be reminded of the talk we had yesterday afternoon? You were also there when I was speaking in the living room. Eldest Brother congratulated me for having a wife like you, beautiful both in person and in personality. I know for a fact that, since the resistance war until now, he has sincerely admired you.”

She blushes but does not reply.

He insists: “Or do you think the Old Man was being diplomatic?” Van is silent. He continues: “You do not want to answer because you know that what the Old Man said is totally genuine. Your nicknames of ‘Miss Battlefield’ and ‘Miss City Beauty…it was the Old Man who named you so; no one else. Isn’t that true?”

Still no reply from her.

He smiles. “Yesterday, I reminded you of his compliment because he requested it. He sent his regards to you.”

“But you reminded me in a mocking manner! You know that,” she said, exploding.

“I already said no one can humiliate you but you. The same with mocking; only if your true self does not mock.”

Her face is white pale. After some inner debate, she bows her head and says intelligibly, “I kind of know that. That is why I came up here to look for you.”

“Ah, that’s why…” He lets out a cry, an unconcerned, almost insignificant one. In the meantime, his eyes never stop following the fishermen’s boats, which increasingly fade away on the silvery waves of the lake.

“He does not care about me. He does not love me any longer, not even a little bit,” she thinks to herself, and in her despair, she suddenly screams:

“You are a miserable husband. Why don’t you turn around and look at me? At least I am still in front of you, talking to you. Not even a hint of courtesy left.”

“Oh, is that so?” Surprised, he turns around and looks at her. “All right: now I turn and look at you, I will try to be courteous to please you and try to be like a gentleman…Is that all right?”

She does not answer and he continues: “I’m listening to you now. Will you go on?”

“You can’t drop that style of speaking, can you?”

“I myself do not understand when I start talking like that. Maybe it becomes a habit that is hard to break.”

“Vu, dear, we’ve had some very happy times together. Do you miss those days at all?”

“I miss them terribly, if you want to know the truth. I miss them and I am very unhappy, many times more than you can imagine. But I am not one of those who pretend to forget, who pretend to be blind or deaf. This is the crux of all the misfortune under our roof.”

“I still love you. Or else things would be different.”

“I know. Thank you.” He laughs reflexively. “But now you can do anything; including taking up Fishmonger Tu’s lifestyle. I will not intervene. You have the freedom to act to your satisfaction.”

“You do not want to understand the truth. You didn’t change, even after half a century.”

“What truth?”

“The truth that you always look at life your own way, just your own. But life follows its own course, not yours; and that is why, always, you stick your nose out to get it hit; always, you stand against rivers and in front of storms.”

“I am sorry. I’m forged and nurtured by my parents. When I met you, I was middle-aged. I cannot change to satisfy your wishes.”

“This government has only a few hundred with your rank. No one has to bear all the hardships and shortcomings that you do.”

“You can free yourself from your ties to me. You have the full capacity to start a new life.”

“But I love you,” she shouts, tears streaming down. “Why? Why can’t you understand that simple fact?”

Vu is silent. A question sneaks inside his head: “When a woman loves, she believes she can do everything, even the craziest, the most illogical of things. All in the name of love. Is that really love? Or is it a way to accommodate some spiritual demand? Or a means designed to satiate corporal desires? ‘Love’—maybe the most un-thought-through term in the human vocabulary, the one that is the most abused and carries the most hidden meanings.”

Van cries. She pulls out a handkerchief to wipe her nose while he turns the empty cup in his palm. The wind off the lake howls and reddens the coals in the stove, making them pop. Warmth spreads and envelops them. Vu looks at the stove, waiting. But his wife cries for a long while, so he pours himself another cup of tea.

“Have you calmed down?”

“…”

“We are getting old. No need to shout like that. I do not want the stall owner thinking that we’re not stable mentally.”

“I only want one thing. That we love each other as in the past.”

“I also want that. But time does not turn back. Time has its own law, like you just said. Life goes by only on the path it draws for itself.”

“I will do anything you wish, as long as you love me like before.”

“Thank you.…But I firmly believe that you can only do everything according to your wish, and because you—”

“You refer to the living room upstairs? I can ask the workers to carry all that stuff to the dump tomorrow.”

“That only creates gossip. You are aware how people look at that kind of woman.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“I cannot ‘want’; what I ‘want’ for you is impossible.”

“Impossible because you always look at things in a wrong way vis-à-vis others. It was like that in the war zone. Things that people find obvious, you fiercely oppose. Things that people think are impossible, you find ways to get done.”