Giáo trình An introduction to litearatue - Phan Thị Minh Uyên

kitchen burnt until mid-night as she sat up to make the cakes for the wedding. As I watched, I suddenly got angry with her: - Don’t care about them. Go to sleep. - When you get married, I’ll sit up the whole night. “I don’t want your help. Why do they want to put more work on your shoulders when you already work so hard? - Just to keep my head free of thoughts, you know. 134 She smiled aimlessly, and then got down to business. Knowing there was nothing I could say, I sat down to help her and finish the work sooner. She worked as carefully with the preserved vegetables as in the past. I suddenly noticed that the leaves carved out of papaya were shaped like teardrops, and looked as though they were jade. And the carrot flowers turned into blood-red drops. Chi Thoi was crying. 1. Chi stands for elder sister in Vietnamese. Translated by Manh Chuong Discussion questions: 1) What is the setting of the story? 2) What are the protagonist and the antagonist of the story? 3) What is the climax of the story? 4) Is the main conflict in the story resolved? 5) What is the main theme of the story? Task: Give your own point of view about “chi Thoi”, is she miserable? Why? (write about 150 words) ENCHANTING MOMENT By Cao Tien Le I was startled when I heard the name of Kim Oanh announced as one of the artists performing today. It had been quite a long time, about 15 years or so, since I’d met her last. But I had frequently seen and heard her sing on television, in particular in performances during national holidays. She seemed to be leading a happy life, having a great time with name and fame. And I, I was like an insect, an ant or a bee which has to face up to a biting winter no sooner than it comes out of a burning summer. I am a cadre in an office whose leaders are regarded as a source of strategic strength for the Party and the State. These leaders are used to opening their arms wide to talk with the world and with the Party Central Committee, but they seem not even to worry about a shortage of electric lighting, and all year round residents have to carry water from the public taps. These hardships are but a trifling matter for these leaders, and never do they mind it. So I have to bend my back double to support my small family, and can afford no time to visit her. On the other hand, if I do meet her, I am sure to have nothing to talk about. Also, I am of the view that my time is better spent to support the weak, not the 135 strong. I do come to the aid of friends in difficulties and have always tried to find ways to help in any small way that I can, but I would never approach those enjoying good fortune in the hope of receiving some assistance. Of course, Kim Oanh and I have never talked of anything, or harboured any attitude, however momentary, intentional or otherwise, that could offend each other. I remember meeting her when she’d just left the music school. As I looked with admiration at the epaulets on her jacket lapels that ranked her as a junior lieutenant, she surprised me by confiding that she had a new man in her life. After graduating from the Polytechnic University, her sweetheart found a job immediately as an engineer in the army, yet his talent drew him to literature and art. His poems, prose and even music made the Truong Son Range much greener at a time when the area was being subjected to relentless firing from the air. And her singing voice was like an expansive carpet of happiness that invited encouraged listeners audience to step on it, or encouraging them to up the hills and down the valleys, weathering all storms, treating death as lightly as a feather, and marching joyously to the battlefront. But the roots of love do not stem from individual success. They were mistaken. Before they had enough time with each other to have a child, they were preparing to bid each other farewell, not able to see beyond their respective egos. Both of them expected to take the other for granted, a part of his or her body, an object that he or she owned that, once placed in the drawer, should lie motionless and intact until it was picked up again, no matter how much time it took. After the divorce, Kim Oanh told me: “I feel a sense of relief, you know. As if I have just escaped danger. Fortunately, I am still young. There is nothing to tie us together.” She sang a little bit, smiling, and walked away as if everything in the world was beautiful, like a song. Two years later, her voice had become perfect. It could be heard often on radio and television and in live music program. It was as though she could, if she wished, stir up a storm in the hearts of the audience, not just in her own and neighbouring countries, but also further afield. They called her the harbinger of peace, of love and of happiness. When we met at this stage in her life, she said: “I don’t need a man with talent or of great intellect anymore. I’ll marry a very normal man.” I sighed, but remained silent. I might be a close friend, but it is difficult to offer any advice, particularly to those who are great and famous, and who are more used to giving orders than to listening. She did it. Married a musician, a very normal man who knew his place was in the sidelines and was comfortable with having a very talented wife. She 136 married a man with whom there was no need to quarrel about anything. He was a soldier obeying his commander’s orders. Now she could perform at will, and was free to travel to her heart’s content. On her numerous trips abroad, she brought home both spiritual and material wealth. He built a three-storied house, constantly changing its interiors to suit current trends. However, family happiness cannot be created or confined within walls of modern homes. A larger house can allow stronger winds to blow through and create greater distances between friends. As the days, nights, weeks and months passed, he tried to escape from his loneliness by turning to alcohol and cigarettes, and going out with an assortment of friends to one bar and restaurant after the other. It did not really work, and his drinking increased steadily. Soon, he was not only addicted to alcohol and cigarettes, but also to the hands massaged him and provided other services as well. Many times, he’d had his arms around a bevy of women as he watched his wife singing on television. And she’d forgotten that she had a husband in the true sense of the word. After many happy, but tiring trips, she would arrive at home, clothes drenched with sweat. She would wipe away a thick layer of make-up from a face that had already been touched with crow’s feet. She’d give him all the money, and after proffering a few words of advice, would go up to the bedroom and sleep soundly, reassured. And off on another trip. It got to a stage where he did not want her to be home so that he could go out and lose himself in soft voices and hands that would caress him. And he kept spending the money she’d given him. Not only did he spend all the money, he also began pile up debts as he plunged deeper into addiction, until one day, he forgot his way home. I went into a small room, about ten square metres, where an artist could relax before stepping on to the stage. She was sitting with her chin cupped in her hands, staring absent-mindedly at the space filled with noises of a city racing into nothingness. She was wearing a very thin dress, her face was wonderfully made up, highlighting two bright eyes and rosy cheeks, making me wonder that she’d not changed in fifteen years, and had even become more beautiful and elegant. In a moment, we were transported to our past. “You, oh, God, it’s such long a time. How many years, do you remember? I’d forgotten you!” smiled at her sincerity. She pulled me down on the seat opposite her. Looking closely at my face, she chattered: “You’ve got grey hair? Great! I thought there would be nothing in this world that could make your hair grey. 137 You live like a model. You love your friends, you love your wife and children. You have devoted yourself totally to your family and office. Wow!” And she joyfully started singing a parody of ca tru (a folk song): The hair is different, but the heart remains unchanged... Then abruptly, she stopped and announced: “I’m going to go to the court to get a divorce.” She told me about the men in her life, livid with resentment: “All of them are ill-bred. Some are thirsty for talent, others for wealth. I cannot bear it. Its high time that I lived alone. Oh, God! Why am I so miserable!” I found it painful. I felt sorry not just for her, but for a whole generation which was closely bound to certain roots. Suddenly a song that my neighbour often sang came to mind. I’d always found it depressing, but it matched the mood this time. ... If you come back to the old place. The streets have now changed a lot I pity you for half your life’s in ruin I pity myself for a whole lifetime in exile... She was very sensitive. As if she’d read my mind, her lament subsided quickly like a summer rainstorm. She took my shoulders, looked into my eyes and rubbed her head against my forehead. Then she stood up and continued singing gently the part I’d just remembered. ...So remote is that hopeless place Missing you has made my hair grey “Yes, it’s my turn to sing now!” - She walked out. I remained sitting in the room, wondering how she could sing when so many emotions were surging through her: sadness, hatred, confusion. She hated not just one man, but all men. And people said that man occupies half of a woman’s life. And others even claimed that women is only a broken fragment of man! It had been a long time since I’d had the opportunity to listen to her singing live, and I had been waiting for that day. But now I did not want to listen to her. I was afraid that she could fail on the stage, afraid that I would hear only a scattering of applause. I decided to sit in the room for sometime and leave through the rear entrance. But when she walked on to the stage and bowed, the applause was loud and long. She began singing. I heard it as if it was coming from the air, from space, from the old days, from our childhood, echoing the pledges, vows and rows that pulled us near and pushed us away, leaving us looking for that which was 138 pushing us far away, that was pulling us near, forcing us to plunge into the sea to look for a needle. She was singing... no, she was not singing. She was giving herself up to the passion of love. Plenty of oil, but nobody to light up Plenty of corncobs, but nobody to roast Plenty of coal, but nobody to fan a flame Plenty of money, but nobody to spend it...” Vi dam! (An amorous duet) She was singing vi dam. Vi dam had always tied me up. I went out. She was beautiful and brilliant. Her eyes were so tender and fresh, like the Lam river in the morning. They seemed to hypnotise the people. They flashed questions that had all men, me included, bend their heads guilt for betraying their love, begging to be forgiven and to come together again... As she finished, the applause was deafening. People rushed on the stage with bouquets of flowers and compliments. Tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks... I walked slowly down Quan Su street back to my house. One question was burning within: How could she sing so beautifully despite her broken heart, her resentment, her hatred? Just then, she caught up with me on her motorcycle. “Please, let’s go and have a drink. I’m so thirsty!”“Sure, I also want to ask you a question.” We sat in a cafe. She ordered two cups of iced coffee, and stirred her glass to make the ice melt quickly. Her face showed that the joy in her heart was melting at a much faster pace... “I’m sorry, my question is a little bit trite, but I have to ask. How could you sing so beautifully when you’re so angry, so full of hatred against men?” She shook her head. “Don’t think I am being deceitful or flattering when I say this. I did feel that I sang very well this evening. But I was able to do it because I met you. Don’t laugh! Don’t be so hasty in pouring scorn on me. I am telling you this from the bottom of my heart. When I met you, someone who I’d not thought of all these years, I returned to the days of our youth. We were very poor, but our life was afire with enthusiasm and passion, rich in trust. The flame had been lit inside me when I walked on the stage... I was not singing, I was letting my emotions pour out...” 139 She went on and on. I cannot remember all of it, but I realised that when she’d walked on to the stage today, there was a moment of enchantment that only a genuine artist can catch. Translated by Manh Chuong Discussion questions: 1) What is the setting of the story? 2) What are the protagonist and the antagonist of the story? 3) What is the climax of the story? 4) Is the main conflict in the story resolved? 5) What is the main theme of the story? Task: Give your own point of view about the singer, is she miserable? Why does “the I character keep on thinking of her for many years? (write about 150 words) A THIEF By Nguyen Minh Chau The outstanding feature of women in the quarter is the habit of shouting. Whatever the emotion - anger, fear or joy - all find expression in high decibels. That afternoon, in my four-storey block, the residents were just returning from work. Some women were inserting keys into their door locks, some were preparing dinner, some were about to go to the kindergarten to take their children home. Suddenly a scream pierced the air from the second floor. “Look, Thoan has died!” “Who died?” Many women repeatedly. “Thoan.” “Who’s Thoan?” “Thoan of my husband’s unit who just returned home, that Thoan, no other!” “Oh, God! Help!” Half an hour later, outside the rooms of the living quarter, down at the public water tap, on the landings, a full-throated noise of sympathy and grief resounded, punctuated by exclamations calling for divine intervention. 140 During dinner that night, nobody ate with good appetite. Some women, having helped their children finish dinner, felt so sad about poor Thoan that they cleared the tables without being able to eat anything. Oh, God, just a short time ago, not more than a month, she was still here, living with her colleagues and other residents in living quarter. Big, tall, rice crust munching, graceful, cordial, tasteless, lazy Thoan who liked singing and sang well. Only 24 years old, and she was dead, buried in the ground. It just could not be true. Nobody could believe it. “You see,” a woman in a uniform cotton jacket who abandoned her dinner was telling, in no hushed whisper, a woman in a blue woollen pullover, “if she had stayed for another month, giving birth safely, and left later, everything would have been all right!” “She was big and strong, who could imagine that she would die?” Tears welled up in the eyes of the third woman, plastic bucket in hand, joining the other two on the way down from the room upstairs. “How terrible! Was it haemorrhage?” “Yes, haemorrhage!” The woman in uniform cotton jacket said. “Why didn’t they staunch the blood?” “In the countryside, you see.” The woman in the blue woollen pullover sniffed. “If she were in our hands in the city hospital, one would need only minutes to staunch the blood. But it was in the countryside, up in a remote area, from her house to the district’s hospital on a stretcher, it is ten kilometres. To the commune’s medical station, it is about five kilometres.” Another group of women by the public water tap were also recovering from the shock of her death, with the same regrets, the same commiseration for a woman who died during her first childbirth. “What about the baby?” Asked a curly-haired woman washing a heap of clothes and baby nappies. “The baby is alive.” “How unlucky the baby is!” “Who is nursing it now?” “Thoan’s mother.” 141 “Is the baby a boy a girl?” “A girl.” “Has Khanh been informed about it or not?” “He has just been informed. A message just came at 5pm today! How terrible for Khanh! He had just carried on the bicycle two baskets of pumpkins from the shop, and drenched in sweat, he stood by the building’s steps, nervously tearing the envelope, and having read the message, he rode the bicycle straight to the bus station. The logistics men then came to report to the commanders. When I arrived there, the unit’s car was just starting out of the gate. Mr. Quan was climbing into the car, buttoning up his shirt, sitting by driver Hai. I don’t think the two men had any dinner.” “Maybe they would arrive up there at about 9 o’clock?” “But Khanh should have gone with them, how else would Mr Quan and driver Hai know the way?” The sighs, the commiseration, the tears. All these were not reserved for the ill-fated Thoan, but also for the newborn baby, and for her husband Khanh, the manager of the kitchen of the unit. The compassion of these women was becoming increasingly intense, multiplying, in the same way it had only a few months ago. These same women the one in the uniform cotton jacket, the blue woollen pullover with plastic bucket and others had been intense and vociferous in their indignation: “Why haven’t you thrown her out immediately! Why didn’t Mr Quan send Thoan back to her home village? Why the hell did he let her stay here for another day, another hour? What for?” One woman had lost a two-metre piece of cloth after she had hung it up to dry in her garden. Surprising, it was found in Thoan’s trunk after a couple of weeks. With this discovery, people found the culprit for everything that had been lost for a long time. They were so indignant, so exultant, so satisfied! It was totally forgotten that Thoan had often picked up things dropped on the way and returned them to their owners. And fingers were pointed at hapless Thoan not just for things lost in the past, but also for things that disappeared after the incident of the two-metre cloth. “Oh, it is sure to be that Thoan again, nobody else!” “If you want to dry any thing, please dry it inside your house!” 142 “You think that if you dry it inside your house, she cannot steal it?” “Thoan just went in here, didn’t she? What the hells is she doing in here? Now check everything to see if anything is stolen?” Throughout this persecution, Thoan went about singing in her lovely voice, carefree, lazily munching rice crusts, as she worked insipidly in the unit’s kitchen. Not exactly the right attitude for a repentant thief, as far as the other women were concerned. In late November, there was a cutting down of staff. The personnel department of the unit that was considering the merits of temporarily recruited Thoan decided to relieve her of her duties as the contract had already expired. Kitchen manager Khanh, Thoan’s husband, was not very happy with the decision, but only requested that she be permitted to stay in the hospital for a short time until she gave birth, then she and her baby would return to her home village. Sometimes people are naturally cruel. The women in the quarter could not bear to have Thoan stay back. “Then when we all go to work, she is alone at home, she would feel free to steal!” “That Quan is not aware of the situation at all! What’s his use in keeping her, keeping that precious thing!” Unfortunately for all of us, just as the women were raising a hue and cry about Thoan staying back, another two metres of black silk cloth was stolen on a Sunday in broad daylight. The person who lost it lost no time in checking her room while the suspect was away. But the wooden trunk only turned out nappies for the coming baby. “She might have hidden it in another place.” “There is no doubt about it! She is not stupid enough to hide it again in that trunk!”“Eh, ladies, Thoan is really lazy, but she is surely not a dishonest person!” “Stealing is not dishonest? How dare you take her side!” “She loves her child, she wants to give her baby a piece of beautiful cloth, so she is not clear- minded enough!” “So you think I do not love my child? But should I then go and steal something?” “How sad that Khanh has such a lazy and dishonest wife!” “When he intended to marry Thoan, I had advised him not to, but he did not listen to me!” 143 “I also told him that he could marry anyone but that woman. And the result is as you can see, is debt, not a wife!” “And it is not only Khanh’s own debt, if that woman will stay one more day, we all here will have to keep an eye on her one more day, we will have to protect ourselves, we will have to be miserable because of her!” “You, ladies, I agreed with you that she is a dishonest person, but they have become a couple, and they are going to have a baby, so we had better not say anything like that!” “Ah, you want to protect her, do you? Why do you protect her so strongly?” “She will give birth to a child like we have done.” “Let her rely on our help, let her give birth safe and sound first!” “But if she steals something from me tomorrow, will you pay for that?” “I will go to work tomorrow, will you stay at home and keep an eye on my house?” “ What a man Mr. Quan is! He still lets her stay, what’s the use? Oh, God, why do we have to let her continue to steal things in this quarter!” Khanh was burning with shame. He could let her stay for only a few days more. He could not bear hearing these women talking incessantly about his wife in this manner. In the middle of the week, he decided to take his wife back to the village and have her give birth to their child there. One week later, all the women cried in chorus, when it was discovered that the wind had blown the black cloth away to a sweet potato garden behind the building. Somebody who went to dig the potatoes found it there. The women still remember very well that morning, a cold morning, as she followed her husband to the car station, Thoan was carrying only a jute hand basket with a new conical hat placed upon her pregnant belly. She came to say goodbye to every house, with that same simple, cordial attitude of a care free person. All the women took her hands into their own, asking her to stay, the longer the better, and all of them said: “You now, return to that remote area, sooner or later this quarter will become empty without joy! We’ll miss you very much!” 144 All the women seemed unwilling to take leave of her at the parting time. I think it would be unfair to say that the women in my quarter were showing a false attachment to Thoan. They are simple, easily moved, and true to their fickle emotions. Translated by Manh Chuong Discussion questions: 1) What is the setting of the story? 2) What are the protagonist and the antagonist of the story? 3) What is the climax of the story? 4) Is the main conflict in the story resolved? 5) What is the main theme of the story? Task: Give your own point of view about Thoan, why is she died? (write about 150 words) DEATH WISH By Lawrence Block he cop saw the car stop on the bridge but didn’t think too much about it. People often stopped their cars on the bridge late at night, when there was not much traffic. The bridge was over the deep river that cut the city neatly in two, and the center of the bridge provided the best view of the city. Suicides liked the bridge, too. The cop didn’t think of that until he saw the man get out of the car, walk slowly, along the footpath at the edge, and put a hand on the rail. There was something about that lonely figure, something about the grayness of the night, the fog coming off the river. The cop looked at him and swore, and wondered if he could get to him in time. He didn’t want to shout or blow his whistle because he knew what shock or surprise could do to a probable suicide. Then the man lit a cigarette, and the cop knows he had time. They always smoked all of that last cigarette before they went over the edge. T 145 When the cop was within ten yards of him, the man turned, gave a slight jump, then nodded as if accepting that the moment he passed. He appears to be in his middle thirties, tall with a long narrow face and thick black eyebrows. “Looking at the city” said the cop. “I saw you here, and thought I’d come and talk with you. It can get lonely at this hour of the night.’ He patted his pockets, pretending to look for his cigarettes and not finding them. ‘Got a spare cigarette on you?’ he asked. The man gave him a cigarette and lit it for him. The cop thanked the man and looked out at the city. ’Look pretty from here,’ he said. ‘Makes a man feel at peace with himself.’ ‘It hasn’t had that effect on me,’ the man said. ‘I was just thinking about the ways a man could find peace for himself.’ ‘Things usually get better sooner of later, even