The Zenith

by Duong Thu Huong

  At this point, the two pals laugh loudly. Vu is forced to laugh along, suspicious, not knowing if these two playful guys are telling the truth or joking. As if they understand his concern, Tran Phu chimes in with his friend:

  “Le Phuong is right. He doesn’t meet the criteria of being at least Assistant Grade Five to get treatment in this hospital. But he comes every day to visit me. His highest duty to fulfill is to ‘raise a comrade’s morale.’ Each of your Party cells has three members. Ours has only two, established in 1945 and until now unusually strong—no dagger in anyone’s back yet.”

  “That’s exactly right…” Le Phuong confirms. “Our comradeship does not rely on the grand theory of a ‘united world proletariat.’ Our cell relies on a foundation of ordinary and small-scale relationships, of pusillanimous concerns, in fact. For example, when I was in the jungle in the north, whenever the family sent provisions, whether a lot or a little, from money to clothing to medicine, it was always divided in two. When we were sick, one carried the other on his back. When at peace, we relied on one another to ‘attack.’”

  “Attack?”

  Seeing Vu’s puzzled look, the two men crack smiles at each other. Then, Le Phuong turns and tells Tran Phu, “Older Brother has no concept about the language used by those who ‘play around in midlife.’ Enough; thus it is an opportunity for us to entertain the older person at the time when he is in need of rest. I will unravel all the small secrets of our insignificant lives. Is that OK with you?”

  “OK. The cell adopts the motion,” Tran Phu replies with his everlasting happy face, which has turned red out of excitement.

  Le Phuong pulls his pipe from his mouth, and carefully resting it on a lacquer ashtray, says, “We were not as lucky as you, or all the men like you, who have a beautiful fairy for a wife and who are satisfied till the last moment of their lives. Our wives—or to be more accurate, ‘those deserving old ladies who bore our children’—always have a firm conviction that we are their prisoners for life, for life under their management, just like the heavy settee or the heirloom cupboard that sits for years in our house. Because they take us for granted, whenever it suits them they can display us from one day to the next as if we were their property, with the calmness of a judge before the conviction.”

  “You have to say it clearly. Brother Vu does not understand what you mean by that word ‘property,’” interjects Tran Phu.

  The writer nods, winking. “Property means accessories that are now old and torn. I am sure Older Brother has seen houses with peeling walls and leaky roofs, sinking or broken columns. Try to visualize people as if they were a house being hit by bombs, or storms, or by destructive time. Please, Older Brother, disregard the vulgar comparison. But it is hard to find more exact words to describe the thing. But the ‘property’ of these ladies is sagging breasts, soft, fleshy, and saggy thighs that spill over into the crotch of their pants, and pairs of eyes that no longer exhibit any brightness but only crust and pus. Not to mention ladies who sport outrageous or dirty clothes.”

  Le Phuong then clears his throat like a singer about to go onstage and empties his coffee cup. Vu cracks a smile, knowing that Le Phuong is now ready for the main story, a chapter pretentiously titled “Little Secrets of Little Lives.” But the writer puts his dragon-decorated cup on the table, turns to his friend, and says, “Tell them to brew new filtered coffee. This coffee is worse than sock laundry water. Our traditional foods have been destroyed by all these state enterprise products.”

  “You’re right. It is disgusting,” Tran Phu replies, then turns to tell the girl attendant: “Brew me a double-filtered coffee and charge me double. Just like yesterday morning.”

  “Right away, Chief.”

  Le Phuong turns back around to Vu with a twinkle in his eyes: “Definitely the things I am about to say are forbidden in your circle, Older Brother, and definitely after these confessions, we will seem to you to be immoral as compared with people of rectitude.”

  “Oh, don’t beat around the bush. Each of us lives as we see fit. Don’t compare one to another.”

  “Most inconveniently for all of us, each person is indeed different, in different life situations, but within one common sense of what is valuable. And this value system is set in place by law and power, which forces everyone to conform. Thus, it is like setting out one standard bed and asking everyone to do whatever they can to fit on it. Perhaps you do not recall, in the old days, they used a steel bed to torture and ill-treat prisoners. Those who were longer than the bed had their feet chopped off, and those who were too short had their arms and legs stretched. Enough said. We are, nonetheless, sitting in this room, enjoying this ease—an occasion that has been long awaited. Whether we go up or down in your estimation is of no importance to me.”

  After these words, Le Phuong grins and waves his hand at the cafeteria employees, who hastily bring out the coffee. This time, the steam holds some fragrance. The two golden friends gleefully drink the hot coffee while Vu sips his tea. He does not know why he feels so lighthearted while sit-ting with these two talkative men; it has been a long time since he had felt this way. It made him think of the idle talks of his youth: a bit vulgar, a bit light-headed, and a bit playful; but not a hint of plotting or behind-the-back meanness.

  “Now, this is almost coffee. But compared with coffee from Hanoi this deserves to be called dishwater.”

  “If we keep talking about the old days, we could spend all day complaining: What happened to the green rice cakes, the candied lotus seeds, the jasmine tea of the old days? But enough: don’t say any more, as it saddens Brother Vu. He is one of the most enthusiastic authors of our new society.”

  “Correct, I am most heartbroken,” Vu affirms. “But I am waiting to hear more about how you ‘attack.’”

  “Well, we are just ordinary people who love to live ordinary lives. Therefore we always follow the call of what you called the new sources of inspiration. Our soul is divided in half: one is for duty and the other for oneself. We have to make sure our conscience stays intact but we cannot let our souls molder and wither. That is why our lives are a series of plots mediating between the two itineraries of our way forward. Monthly salaries, social benefits, we turn over to our wives on schedule, because they care for the kids and manage the home. Whatever else comes in we call the ‘black budget’ and is set aside for fun. To prepare escapades of fun, we must get to know the whole network of accommodations for relaxation. To be more accurate, we must look for all the ways in which to get close to the group of cadres who run those rest houses. This task we call ‘assuring the safety factor,’ a necessary but not sufficient condition. To reach sufficiency, we need to hold in our hands a stack of blank travel permits. When we start out, we only have to fill in a day, month, and add a scrawling dragon signature and it is done. Lucky for us we have stupid wives. They read well but can’t tell if the signature or the work order is genuine. Those two priority requirements are Tran Phu’s responsibility because he is a Party cadre and thus has more power than I.”

  “In this sense, the Party is useful,” Tran Phu adds joyfully. “Every time he accepts an assignment, I force Le Phuong to sing this song: ‘Forever Be Grateful to the Party!’”

  “Exactly,” says Le Phuong. “When you eat fruit, thank the grower. I have sung this song for more than twenty years, and hope to continue singing it. Now I will let you hear about all the fun that those who look at life as a game of enjoyment can have. Outside our duties to our wives and children and to our work, a new wind blows in every once in a while, a rose suddenly loses its way and enters our lives—some fresh and pretty girl who is lonely or sobbing because of a lost love, or who is horny and wants to escape from the steel cage of the family, or is tired of a weak husband, or is unable to endure the attacks from a witch mother-in-law. In short, gentlemen that we are, we are willing to help out in all such circumstances. If the pretty swallow flies to land on Tran Phu’s shoulder, I am the one who will write and sign the order: ‘
Immediately investigate the N, A, Z case.’ Or: ‘Make a detailed report on national festivals, in cooperation with the Ethnographic Institute.’

  “Or vice versa. In all the investigations there must be two people. I carry a bag to Tran Phu’s house to let his wife and kids see clearly that two patriarchs are on the road to carry out their duty. We eat a last meal before departure with the solemnity of the Japanese warrior who drinks the ‘Determined to Die’ wine cup before getting into his plane and diving into the American warship.”

  At this moment, Tran Phu suddenly bursts into loud laughter. “Do you remember the time we went to Tam Dao?”

  “I do, as if it were yesterday,” Le Phuong replies and turns to Vu to explain:

  “This is a recollection that belongs to the category of ‘never to be forgotten.’ That time, there was an apprentice actress who had been fired from her troupe because she was pregnant out of wedlock. I do not know the reason or who told her to come to my house crying. I was scared because it was after ten in the morning, just an hour before my wife and my two kids would return for lunch. If they saw her crying on my shoulder, I am sure the tray of food would have gone flying out to the patio followed by other noisy chaos. But I could not rudely force a pretty girl like that to leave the house. For the longest time, I could not find a solution and the hands of the clock zipped around the dial. In the end, too terrified, I took her to the flower garden, bought ice cream for her, and went to Tran Phu’s house. Down at his gate, I called up to the second floor:

  “‘Phu: get dressed right away. Doan is dead!’

  “Tran Phu’s wife stuck her head out:

  “‘How can he die so quickly? Last night he was here drinking until dark before he left.’

  “‘I don’t know, I just heard the news that he is dead, therefore I quickly ran here.’

  “After I said that, my tongue froze. I had no idea why I had made up such a crazy story. But then I heard Phu’s wife rush her husband to get dressed, followed by the noise of his steps on the stairs. We looked at each other then burst into laughter, not suspecting that Phu’s wife was also running downstairs. I just had time to say:

  “‘There’s your wife!’ Then I bent my back, bowed my head down to my stomach, and began to cough loudly. One series of coughs led to another. I couldn’t stop it. Tears rolled down, and when I stood up straight, I definitely had the face of someone who has the croup. I took out a cloth and wiped my tears. Before me, Phu’s wife also sniffled:

  “‘Tell me when the funeral is. He was strong like an elephant and died so quickly. Nobody ever knows the plans of heaven!’

  “‘That’s all right. Go back up. When the agency decides on the funeral I will go with you,’ I said and then told Phu to get in the car to go to the flower garden. On the way, Phu cursed:

  “‘You crazy bastard! Why make up such an outrageous lie?’

  “Then I felt remorse because Doan had been Phu’s loyal friend since childhood, but facing a very stressful situation I could not find a more appropriate tale to tell. Because I had to get him out of the house immediately, only an accident or the death of a close one could ensure complete success. Taking my friend to the flower garden, I introduced him to the beauty as the gentleman who could protect her. Then I left the two of them together to reach a mutual understanding. I rushed home just in time for lunch, the old woman who had given birth to my kids annoyingly looking at the hands of the clock. If I had come twenty minutes later, the bean and fish sauces would have been spilled on the tray followed by a never-ending presentation of recriminations.”

  Vu bursts out laughing. Surprisingly, he is drawn to the story, and, perhaps because of his honest disposition, he worries for the two old playboys:

  “So how did you explain the pretended death?”

  “Oh, every tall mountain has a trail to the top. After eating, I waited for my wife to go back to work and for the children to return to school. I then sat at the table to write Phu’s wife a short letter saying that there had been a misunderstanding. My cousin in the countryside named Toan had just died but, when I received the telegram, in shock I had read it wrong as ‘Doan.’ In short, everything was fine, except that I had to go to the village for the funeral. After the letter was written, I asked a colleague to take it immediately to Phu’s house.”

  “I doff my hat to you guys!”

  “I already told you, people with hats and formal gowns like you take care of the big things. We only play little tricks to enjoy some fun and we harm no one.”

  “So how did you help that unfortunate actress?”

  “She hooked up with Phu, becoming his mistress until love’s debt matured. Her coming to me was a mistake, like sheep ending up in a duck pen, because she only ever fell for guys who are good-looking cads like Don Juan. People are stuck with their looks. Once you pick a standard for what is beautiful, it will stick with you forever as the epitome of giving and receiving love. Given this understanding, she would pick Phu because he is much more handsome than I. As for me, I am both small and ugly but good at talking, so those who liked to hear sweet words would lean on my shoulders. That was the allocation according to the law of ‘natural selection.’ Nine years of protracted resistance taught us the spirit of supporting the attack and the ability to take care of each other. Between us the tradition of jealousy and animosity that is notorious among Vietnamese has had no effect. That national character doesn’t enter into our friendship. That is why, after twenty years, this cell is absolutely rock solid. That solid frame of our friendship rests on the rule of complementarity and mutual support. Phu is handsome; I am dark and ugly. He is generous because he is a dandy from Hanoi; I am tight—‘Eating small shrimp and shitting out hair; exchanging nine pennies for a dime’—because my parents died early and I’ve had to take care of myself since I was ten. He is more fastidious than those well-groomed women, like a duck taking a bath every day whether winter or summer. Before he goes anywhere, he grooms in front of a mirror. He puts his nose on the collar and to the armpits and sniffs to see if it smells good, because, if by any chance a woman were to lean her head on the shoulder of a hero, then they would not faint because of a bad smell. Me, on the contrary: I don’t like to bathe. In winter, I do not go into the bathroom for one or two months, but my conscience is fine and my soul shows no pain. Sometimes my wife could not stand it; she would pour crab or meat soup on me to force me to take a bath.”

  Vu cannot help but laugh again and asks, “If the ladies poured broth from steamed watercress soup over you, you would not go bathe?”

  “No! Vegetable-flavored water is like plain water. I would just change my shirt. The leaders often boast that in the imperialist prison, they defiantly made public the revolutionary organization. I think when ten of them talk, not one is to be believed. But me, I am much more convincing. If you are not really dirty and there is no urgent need to take a bath, then I wouldn’t bathe. Now, to satisfy your curiosity—you, a person who has no inkling at all about the ordinary and irrelevant lives of playboys—I will tell the ending. We took the pretty and pregnant actress to the rest house in Tam Dao. There she played the role of Phu’s wife. Me, I took the rest-house manager to hunt quail in the neighboring forests. After three weeks, the manager was dead tired after all kinds of comical episodes. Every evening he stuck to me like paint. After dinner, we’d go through two teapots while chatting. In the fourth week, almost at the end of the assignment, I asked his help in taking the pretty lady to a clinic for an abortion. He enthusiastically agreed. The next morning, a car from the rest house came to take Tran Phu and his ‘wife’ to the hamlet clinic to end the sad situation, which had occurred due to ‘bad planning.’ In summary, everything was arranged to perfection. When we returned to Hanoi, the pretty young lady was already laughing happily, no sign of despair or fear on her face as on the day she had climbed the stairs of my house. Then, three years later…”

  “You are wrong, more than four years. To be accurate, it was four years and two m
onths.”

  “Well, I forget. It’s been too long to remember exactly. Four years later, we helped her get selected to join the troop of the General Political Department. In her new environment, she found her true love—an average actor but an ideal husband. The day before her wedding, we organized a farewell dinner. It was as elaborate a meal as it could have been, given the living conditions in those days. The farewell meal was intended to recall all our memories together. A few sad tears were shed and a few heartfelt thank-yous said. After that, the road took many turns. She left—forever a pink shadow. And us, we returned to our respected ladies that had birthed our children.”

  The writer stops talking, lifting his hand to adjust his glasses on his nose, then asks Vu, “Well, have you ever heard such silly stories before?”

  “No, for sure not,” Vu replies, somewhat embarrassed. “In my department, such goings-on must be brought before the cell for grading and the cadres must undergo discipline.”

  Both Le Phuong and Tran Phu burst into peals of laughter. Then Le Phuong wipes his tears and asks Vu: “Then, do those who must impose the discipline dare open their mouths to propose that the cell grade the behavior of higher-ranking leaders? Because everybody knows that more than half the Politburo members have two wives. And General Secretary Ba Danh not only has two wives but, in addition, a harem of women pretending to be nurses.”

  “Of course I have thought about it. But I am a lone rider and of no effect,” Vu replies, sighing helplessly.

  Le Phuong continues: “This gigantic machine of dominance just keeps turning; just keeps chewing up so many people with its stinking pretense of morality and its injustice.”

  Not knowing what to say in reply, Vu remains silent. His soul is overwhelmed. What this dark and ugly guy has just said is not news to him. Vu has thought about it, but only clandestinely, and has never dared, or wanted, to believe that it was the truth.