Đêm thánh nhân ( tiếng Anh )

Saints in the night

1. askew

Nguyen dinh chinh

 

 

 

 

 

                 Nguyen Dinh Chinh

SAINTS IN THE NIGHT

Edited by David Cunningh

 Jackanory Books

Ha Noi, Viet Nam

2014

 

 Foreword

This is the first episode of Saints in the Night , and I look forward to the year 2000 when I can introduce you to its sequel, which will be published by the Literature Publishing House in Vietnam.

Saints in the Night is a prose work about an old doctor working in a hospital mortuary who suffers mild schizophrenic psychosis as he reaches the end of his working life. He leaves home to go roaming, meeting a series of different characters during his wanderings.

Usually the illness, even in its milder forms, grows more acute if the victim does not live a healthy and restful life. However, this is not the case with our chief protagonist. After months of encountering all sorts of people and sharing in their day-to-day delights and tragedies, he ultimately succeeds in transcending the state of chronic uncertainty and detachment which constantly threatens to overwhelm his mind.

 How so? Through some new-found love for humanity? Or because his lust for life or has been somehow reinvigorated? Or due to the kind of sincere remorse which can bring relief from the mental maladies which dwell deep in the souls of all human beings? This is the primary concept explored in this novel.

The focus of the book is a journey through life, the path along the way populated with characters who are ordinary people facing challenges and discomfort, living lives of transgressions and guilt. They are at the bottom of society, exhausting themselves just to earn a daily crust. They are oppressed by their circumstances. They are have never been respectfully referred to as ‘Sir’ or ‘Madam’

For my part, I have spent nights dreaming of their being ennobled with holy titles. The saints in my dreams are the poor, the ordinary, and all those considered inferior. For this reason, this book is named Saints in the Night.

Hanoi, April, 1999

Nguyen Dinh Chinh

                    I

The year he turned sixty-five years old, Doctor Truong Vinh Can developed a strange disease. As he found it so difficult to describe he did not dare to inform anyone. He kept it completely secret - as he had been doing with his impotence for years. Despite having lived with it for such a long time, Dr Can still failed to fully comprehend how or why he had acquired this strange and horrible illness. He sometimes disappeared into his room, locked the door from within and began striking the crown of his head in consternation, shouting: “It’s all lies! It’s … it’s … completely irrational! Life can’t be so unfair. I’ve been trying to redeem myself ... for years. Have I not earned forgiveness yet? I don’t believe in Christ, I don’t believe in Buddha... But I believe that there must be justice somewhere among the mystery of life. It’s too ... irrational. It’s such a … a mockery. No, it’s impossible!”

We first meet him on one of those late autumnal days of drizzle and north-easterly breezes. The leaves, falling from twisted dracontomelon trees, were riding whirling gusts of air down the avenue. Dr Truong Vinh Can was changing into his overalls in his tiny office at the hospital mortuary. The doctor was leaning against the window-frame, fastening his shirt-buttons, looking out at the damp yard in front of him. While doing so he noticed a woman in dishevelled attire and a conical hat, carrying a sedge bag from which numerous incense sticks protruded. She was sneaking into the mortuary. She looked like a saturated rat seeking refuge from the rain.

The woman’s gaze darted around the yard and its adjoining facades for a while, and then her eyes lit up as she saw the doctor entering the yard. The fall that brought her tumbling to the ground was heavy enough to the marble slab which received the impact of her descent. However, she rose immediately and hurried to kneel at the doctor’s feet, clasping her hands together, kowtowing frantically.

-  “Doctor! Oh Doctor! Please! Please move him to a higher drawer,” she implored.

Dr Can would normally have refused such a request out of hand, using the bland language of some official response to deflect the personal entreaties which relatives of deceased people often have: “These are not office hours. Come back early tomorrow morning. We will deal with your case then.” However, things were different that particular afternoon. Dr Can was moved by the woman’s pleas. He calmly inquired of her:

-  “Do you mean the boy sent here yesterday afternoon?”

-  “Yes, Doctor,” answered the woman, grimacing.

-  “Follow me.”

Dr Can led her into the mortuary. In the middle of the vast, sterilised room was a huge morgue refrigerator, almost three metres high. Dr Can pulled on a pair of shrivelled rubber gloves and carefully opened the lowest drawer. The cold fumes from the refrigerator curled up, as white as early morning hoarfrost. Dr Can shivered as goose bumps rose on his skin and he cleared his throat a few times. He had been doing the job for more than twenty years but had never gotten used to the inexpressibly cold air which emanated from the morgue’s refrigerator. He bent down, and carefully extracted the stiff corpse of a boy wrapped in a red- and yellow-spotted garment, the colours of lilac and cabbage flowers. Dr Can placed the small body on a wooden bed and told the woman: “You may spend a final moment with your son. Any adjustments you wish to make should be done now.”

The doctor, with his shoes still on, then stepped onto an oddly shaped chair. Its surface was larger, and its four legs thicker and stronger, than most normal chairs. It was as though the chair had been created precisely for the task which the doctor was currently undertaking.

Dr Can gently opened the top drawer. The way he did it showed the skill which many years of practice had taught him. The liberated particles of moisture again curled up icily from the opened drawer. Suddenly, the upper half of the doctor’s body disappeared into the spreading mist. After some noisy manoeuvres and a bout of raucous coughing, his head and torso re-emerged holding the shrivelled corpse of an old woman in his arms. The doctor muttered, “Forgive me aged auntie, please give this space to the child as his mother has trekked here despite the wind and rain.” He did not notice the woman standing behind him, fervently bowing and bringing her clasped palms to her forehead. Dr Can clambered off the chair and laid the corpse in the still-steaming bottom drawer. Then, holding the child as tenderly as possible, he climbed back onto the chair and placed the boy among the swirling tendrils of evaporating ice. This done, he slowly descended from the chair. He peeled off the rubber gloves and deposited them in a metal bin. He turned towards the woman, intending to speak, but to his muted astonishment he realised she had vanished, like a mysterious wraith.

*

             

              However, the mystery did not end there. That night it was still raining and the north-easterly wind was still roaring. In a single-storey house, nine metres squared, located in Thang Loi residential area, Dr Can was sitting in bed with a blanket covering him from the neck down, reading a news article in New Sports magazine about the black boxer Tom King beating an eight-year-old rhino, when there was a knock at the door. It was still unlocked so Dr Can stayed where he was and called out for his visitor to enter the room However, the knocking did not stop. It was only when, for a third time, the doctor had bid his unknown guest to enter that the creaking door slid open. A head, wrapped in a turban, poked in. Then, after a loud exclamation, the door opened wider and a woman darted in, trailing icy draughts in her wake. It was the same woman who had come to the mortuary wet to the skin that very afternoon. Her head was covered with a piece of cloth spotted with tiny red and yellow flowers, just like the garment covering the boy in the morgue. It seemed she had appeared out of nowhere - as suddenly as she had disappeared from the immense hospital mortuary. He looked at her in amazement. The woman bent her head and shook the raindrops out of her hair, like a dog shaking water off after running through the rain. She laid some oranges on the table and said quietly:

-  “I have come to thank you.”

Not having recovered from his surprise, Dr Can, who was still sitting in his bed, spoke falteringly:

-      “Why didn’t you leave it until tomorrow morning, instead of coming so late, on this cold and miserable night?”

-      “It was something I just had to do, whatever the weather, whatever the hour.”

As she talked her face started to glow and she pulled the flowery headband from her forehead. Her hair was thick, shiny and black except for a streak of white hair - as grey as a fishing line - along the middle of her head. Her eyes glistened in the light. Her hips swayed from side to side. Dr Can was perturbed that he could not discern any trace of sorrow on the face of this recently bereaved mother and felt compelled to exclaim:

- “That boy in the freezer box mustn’t be your son!”

- “That’s right. I’m not his mother. I bought him. How perceptive of you!” She grinned as she answered the doctor and lowered herself gracefully onto the edge of the bed, speaking softly:

-      “I bought him from a demented old woman selling grilled corn at the gate of the train station. No one knows where he’s from. I bought him for seventy-thousand dong less than they wanted for other boys of the same age because he was born half-blind and had a deformed arm. It’s rare to find a child in such an awful condition because most children are faultless no matter how wretched they are. I bought him with the intention of teaching him to sing in the streets. We were going to pretend to be mother and son, travelling on the North-South train singing and begging for money. Let me assure you, I sing very beautifully. I had made my plan and was determined to put it into action. Who knows why, but I was very unfortunate. The boy suddenly passed away less than a month after I purchased him. I lost everything I invested. I have such bad luck.”

-  “Do you work as a beggar?”

-  “Just by day … but come the night...”

She paused and stared up at the doctor. Her eyes were as black as a dog’s. She rose, walked towards the table and picked up an orange. She peeled it adroitly, presenting the perfect corkscrew twist of the peel to an imaginary audience. Dr Can was distracted by a dark smear spreading across the blanket towards him, gradually soaking into the fabric.

She turned to him, smiling:

-  “Don’t worry. It’s just the rain-water.”

She then slid a segment of orange into Dr Can’s hand.

-      “Have some of this sweet orange. It’s from Vinh, not China. You don’t know me but I recognise you. You sometimes go to the station on Saturday nights when you need to get your ‘satisfaction’... right?” There were cadences in her laughter as of running springs, wailing winds and wild dogs howling. All of a sudden she jumped onto the bed, sat astride Dr Can, and slid a glistening half-moon of orange into his mouth, causing the sweet juices of the fruit to squirt out and dribble down his chin. She wrapped her arms around the doctor’s neck. Her breasts, reeking of mud and sweat, squashed up against his chin. She leaned forwards onto him, forcing him to fall backwards onto the bed. She exhaled with a low moan, a pungent concoction of onion, pepper, toasted ginger and the fatty smell of noodle soup, contemplated the quivering doctor and whispered:

-  “I want to repay you for your help. You can have me for free.”

Dr Can made every effort to throw her off but he couldn’t. She was at least four times stronger than he. After struggling in vain for a while, the doctor decided to let things run their course. He lay beneath the clammy body of the excited prostitute. The heat from her torso began to spread into his skinny aged body. He remained motionless, lying in silent anguish facing the ceiling with his eyes tightly closed. His nose was buried in her plump bosom. His body felt like it was being slowly baked. He screwed up his eyes even tighter, while his nose tried to find an opening through which to guiltily inhale the ripe yet somehow pleasant odour radiating from different crevices of her body.

The bedraggled seductress growled softly into his ear:

-      “I was sitting at Crazy Tuong’s place all night but couldn’t find any clients. I went back to my hostel, intending to sleep but whenever I pulled the blanket over my head, I had visions of that child pointing his finger at me. He told me to come here immediately to repay you for your help. So I set off without delay. I was nervous and was scared to knock on your door. Now take me, either just a quick shag or you can have me all night long. Do your best. I’m very strong. The day before yesterday I was taken in a Nissan to the Arabic Embassy to do some business. Four men with black moustaches took turns with me in the toilet but it was nothing; I let them have me for fifteen minutes each. You can have me for as long as you want, I enjoy sex too. I’m yours for free.”

Dr Can was having difficulty breathing beneath her sweltering bosom. His heart was beating too quickly. His temples were throbbing in agony. The woman’s coarse, greasy hand roamed the doctor’s chest and belly, then swiftly swooped towards his groin and began rubbing his genitals as fast as she could. Dr Can curled his body up, arching his neck. She was already naked. Her body looked pale white in the harsh light. Her breasts sagged. A large dark nipple was crammed into the doctor’s nostril. Then she grinned, displaying two rows of even white teeth, accentuated by a piece of water spinach stuck between her central incisors. She lapped his face with her wet tongue. Her puckered lips pecked at his body, nibbling him like a fish feeding among coral. Her breathing grew faster as she moaned:

-      “It’s all right. I’ll make your cock hard. I’m famous for this. It’ll be hard in a second.”

A cat has found a trapped mouse. The cat’s sharp claws are only slightly pressed into the mouse’s neck. Its sharp teeth have just started sinking into the mouse’s head. It doesn’t want to eat the mouse straight away. Or, to be more precise, before beginning its meal, the cat intends to enjoy the pleasure of toying with the mouse. As the cat toys with the mouse thus the prostitute played with Dr Can. Her extreme lust made her a shameless creature, abandoning the respect she had displayed for him just minutes before. She straddled him, rocking on top of him as though riding a toy horse. Her hair hung down covering half of her flushed face, which resembled that of a patient experiencing a sharp increase in blood pressure. Her nimble fingers vigorously explored his prone body. The rickety old bed was shuddering as if it were about to collapse to the ground. The doctor’s body was also being shaken about and he was pushed up against the wall no less than four times. His entire body was aching and soaked in sweat as if he had post-ejaculation fatigue. He was lost in a sensuous bliss...

Not until the Fuji clock struck twelve did the game finish. The light in the room was still on, glaring brightly. It was still raining outside. The cold wind rattled the windowpanes with insistent regularity. The woman lay back and let out a long sigh of disappointment, then sat up staring at the doctor:

-  “It’ll never turn hard.”

Dr Can lay silently in bed, his eyes shut tight. He did not dare to breathe. He looked like a corpse. His persistent silence negated the inquisitive looks from the thwarted prostitute. Her hand gently slid up his skinny belly. She slipped her index finger into his armpit, then bent her head to bring her face closer to his, smiling:

-      “Last week I had sex with a man around your age. He was old but was kinkier than most young guys. He wanted me to shout at him. There are different kinds of old men, right?”

Her hand gently stroked the doctor’s chest. Her eyes blazed with compassion. Her murmuring voice was as gentle as a breeze:

-      “Don’t be sad. It’s normal for people who drink a lot to have weakened sexual abilities. You should drink less; it saves you money and is good for your health.”

Dr Can remained prostrate with his eyes tightly closed, pretending to be dead. She could not know that he was swallowing his tears. He was crying but she would never see the tears he cried. For decades he had lain silently with his eyes shut firmly, fighting his tears every time he tried having sex with a woman. He cried for his shameful impotence. He cried for the humiliation of his physical function. He cried because his sorrow was as deep as a bottomless black chasm. The sorrow, like a poisonous current of air, clung to his spirit and his body. And it would always be there.

Then he fell asleep...

*

             

              He was alone in the room when he opened his eyes. The door was closed. The woman had gone.

    Dawn was breaking outside the window. It had stopped raining and the cold north-easterly wind seemed have eased. The doctor got slowly out of bed, glancing at the orange peel scattered across the floor. Traces of the previous night’s visitor were still perceptible on the air, as if she had just recently left the room. It was the smell of chillies and onions, of oily sauces mixed with the salty sweat that had poured from her fat steaming body. But above all, mingling with - but slightly dominating - that odour was the very specific smell of burnt sex.

There was a sentence written in chalk on the peel-strewn floor: “Had to leave early or the neighbours would gossip. You were so deeply asleep that you didn’t stir when I got up. If I hadn’t seen your belly breathing, I’d have thought you were dead! See you soon. Le Thi Tuyet Thin.”

The Fuji clock once again struck twelve, as if it were leisurely interrupting a dream. Dr Can cleared his eyes and abruptly recalled his duties at the mortuary that day.

He got dressed and put on his ‘Eskimo hat’. This hat had been a present from a woman who owned a bar. The abruptness of his interaction with the prostitute the night before now had the feeling of a slow-motion scene from a movie. Her striking body odour and skilful touch had allowed him to indulge a sweet memory, mingled with a touch of transient physical pleasure. Not bothering about breakfast, not even a handful of sticky rice or a bowl of soup, he stepped outside and took a long breath as if he wanted to inhale all of the fresh, early morning air. He then went straight to the city’s general hospital. He did not enter by the front gate but by one at the rear, where the mortuary was located beneath the shade of several luxuriant old camphor trees.

This morning he had to shroud three dead bodies currently stored in the freezer boxes: the old woman and the boy who had changed places last night; and a bald man. Having become a skilful practitioner at wrapping corpses after decades of practice, he took care of the two adult bodies within a short space of time. It was even easier to shroud the child. “I would shroud this poor boy as beautifully as a Taiwanese doll,” he muttered. But as soon as he took the boy out of the steaming drawer, he saw a condensed orange mist circle around the top of the boy’s head. At first he thought it was air from the box. But why was it orange? The doctor laid the boy gently on the wooden drawer but the vapour did not disappear; it even seemed to pack itself tighter instead. He stood stock still with his eyes wide open. He touched it with his outstretched hand. It was as warm as the smoke from a wood-burning stove. Dr Can was stupefied. His hand trembled. The inexplicable entity writhed out of his hand and circled the boy’s head. The doctor felt a shiver run down his spine. His eyeballs bulged. He stepped back just as the door opened and a broad-shouldered nurse’s aide stepped in.

-  “Can you see it?” asked the doctor.

-  “See what?”

-  “Look, look at it.”

Dr Can turned around quickly and pointed at the boy’s body. To his astonishment, the orange mist had disappeared.

The nurse’s aide smiled.

- Oh, how beautifully the boy has been shrouded; like a doll. I really admire your skill doctor.

Dr Can dropped into a chair with a dull thud. The nurse’s aide grinned. He shook the raindrops off his coat so hard that it seemed it would be torn in two. He was a vigorous man.

-      “The flower business at Ngoc Hoi village is going to suffer this year because of this late cold snap,” the nurse’s aide began.

Dr Can just sat there, rooted to the chair. He stared intently at the stiff corpse of the boy. He looked at the open door of the freezer. He glared at the milky steam gushing from it. He glanced out at the sky which was getting gloomier by the moment. Then he let his eyes settle on the dead body of the boy again, muttering:

-   “It was just an illusion. I must be so tired that I was hallucinating.”

-      “Yes, it’s too cold,” said the nurse’s aide. “There’ll be a shortage of flowers this Tet holiday. Lots of people will wear themselves out by looking for decent flowers.”

However, the doctor had not been hallucinating.

*

At around nine o’clock the next morning, some traffic wardens brought in the mutilated body of a person crushed by a transport rickshaw. A lieutenant, the head of the local traffic police, tapped Dr Can’s shoulder, saying, “We haven’t found the deceased’s relatives. Please wrap the corpse and keep it in the freezer. We’ll broadcast a statement on television this evening to inform them.” Dr Can nodded and set to work immediately. He put on a pair of gloves and carried the badly crushed body to a wooden trolley. The mutilated cadaver was shrouded in white in less than an hour. Having completed the task Dr Can rang the bell to summon the nurse’s aide to remove the dirty garments and excess cloth. As he rang the bell the doctor saw the same strange orange fumes encircling the head of the deceased. He rubbed his eyes. The phenomenon did not disappear, but instead approached his hand. It had the same warmth as the vapour he had encountered the previous day. It was real. Dr Can was transfixed. A shiver ran down his back to his weakening legs. He tapped his forehead, exclaiming:

-   “Am I hallucinating again?”

Just then there was the deafening screech of a vehicle braking suddenly, followed by a woman screaming out heart-renderingly:

-   “Why have you left us, my darling...?”

The vapour pulsated, then dispersed and disappeared.

*

              That afternoon the hospital mortuary took in another dead body which had been treated at the neighbouring hospital. It was a retiree who had been a notable provincial propaganda officer. The deceased’s eldest son had requested an autopsy to find out if the step-mother had poisoned the old man in order to appropriate his three-storey villa, which had six rooms, each with a shiny marble-tiled bathroom fully equipped with a Japanese bath, an Ariston hot water heater, and an Italian urinal. As the deceased had been a respected officer, the atmosphere around the corpse was more hectic than usual. The mortuary was crowded with people coming and going all afternoon. It was not until ten o’clock at night that Dr Can finished working, when the last few relatives of the deceased had departed. Finally there remained only the doctor in the deserted room, sitting mournfully next to the wooden conveyor tray system on which the stiff corpse was lying.

The mysterious orange fumes suddenly reappeared. Dr Can sat as quietly as a mouse. His eyes were only slightly open. The surreal vapour coiled around the head of the deceased like a snake performing a subtle dance around its victim. Dr Can slowly reached out his hand to gently stroke that horrible snake. It neither ignored nor threatened him but expanded to cover the doctor’s hand. It appeared that it was putting out its soft warm tongue to lap his palm in respect. Dr Can glanced at the dead body lying stiff on the wooden stretcher. When he had been taken in this afternoon, the old man had been no more than a shrivelled skeleton, his limbs contorted and his skin very pale, while his stomach had shown signs of an overly vigorous dissection. Dr Can had done his best to reclaim some dignity of appearance for the old man. Now he looked like he was sleeping, a quiet, undisturbed, never-ending sleep. Dr Can felt a sudden compassionate affection for the stranger. He bent his head to look closely at the face of the dead man, blurred though it was by the haze. He felt like he could discern a shrill noise resonating from somewhere deep within the mist. He remained bent over the body, listening intently. It was true that there was a wail echoing through that mass of air. It sounded like the voice of a person confined to the bottom of a dark, stifling abyss. “Damn it! Why on earth are there so many inexplicable things?” Dr Can recoiled, flustered. He rubbed his eyes, scratched his ears, and stared intently at the strange fumes which were now shimmering and writhing in front of him. There came a human voice. It was a sobbing, choking, unsteady voice: “Oh woe and misery... my wife and children. What a misfortune! They did away with me just because of that house... such a tragedy... Ms Hoi... I wronged you... the bedroom... the latrine... Hang Chao Street...house number nine... I’m so ashamed... This repentance comes too late… I caused you nothing but misery all your life... My oh my! What is to be done now? Please forgive me.”

*

              When the burly nurse’s aide stepped into the mortuary the next morning, he saw Dr Can asleep next to the metal cabinet. His head was resting on the edge of a wooden stretcher. Next to him was the shrouded corpse of the old man, as carefully and regally mummified as in ancient times. The nurse’s aide stood still for a while, then muttered to himself: “He didn’t go home again last night.” He then picked up a metal casing to cover the dead body. The noise woke the doctor up.

-  “Did you stay here last night?” asked the nurse’s aide.

-  “Pardon?”

-  “It was lucky the mice did not crawl under your eyelids.”

Dr Can said nothing. The nurse’s aide smiled.

-  “You’re very pale. You look like your dreams are haunted. Go home and get some rest. The relatives are still arguing about the old man’s body. They won’t be putting him in the coffin today.”

It was drizzling outside and the morning was accompanied by a cold wind. The sky was as gloomy as bear bone glue. Coming out of the mortuary, Dr Can walked with cautious steps, like a tired old dog. He was hungry but was afraid of eating. He felt exhausted. He had a terrible headache. He walked aimlessly from tree to tree out into the street. His eyes were so tired that occasional tears ran down his cheeks. His uncertain shuffling had taken him down various side-streets until suddenly he looked up and saw a sign with the name Hang Chao Street on it, attached to an electricity pole. He was thinking of the strange fumes he had seen coiling around the heads of the deceased, the plaintive, tragic voice he had heard resounding from some deep black chasm. He trudged on with heavy steps. Something invisible seemed to clutch at his ankles as if it did not want to let him go. Dr Can sighed heavily. He spat out a gob of bitter saliva. Then he realised that he was crouching in front of an old house which had rotten wooden window frames and a number plate, blue with a white ‘nine’ emblazoned on it. It was a type of pipe house built in the late nineteenth century, intended for use as a store. In the old days each family rented one section of piping but now tens of families shared each space. People had to use plywood to make flimsy walls along the centre, leaving only a dark narrow path between abodes, so narrow that they had to squeeze their body through at certain places.

Dr Can stood hesitantly in front of the house. He cast a furtive glance at the sign. “Am I going to enter this pitch black place? What for? Why would I do this?” Then all of a sudden he felt as though someone was pushing him from behind. Dr Can bent his head and entered the shadowy, slimy alley. He could see nothing in front of him. He groped his way forwards. His steps were those of a blind man. He inadvertently closed his eyes, and when he opened them he had reached a tiny yard cluttered with jars. A skinny woman of indeterminate age with very pale skin was engaged in fanning a honeycomb coal stove, from which rose thick plumes of smoke, situated next to the dirty wall of a public latrine. These types of pit latrines always reeked of the long-lasting and unbearable stench of human excrement. The woman was resolutely fanning the flames despite a racking cough which caused her tongue to hang out of her mouth and forced her lungs to inhale yet more of the smoke. When she saw the doctor standing there in embarrassment, she pointed behind her with a scowl:

-      “There it is. Go straight on in.” She probably thought he was a stranger who wanted to use the public toilet.

-      “I ... I don’t... Could I...” Dr Can awkwardly waved his hand in denial.

-  “What is it?” the woman asked tiredly.

-  “I ... want to see Ms Hoi.” The doctor stammered.

The hand with the bamboo fan ceased moving and dropped to her side. Her withered face registered surprise.

-       “That’s me. What’s the matter?”

Dr Can felt suddenly hesitant. What had led him to this house number nine? Who had suggested to him to go see a woman named Hoi? Right now there was a real woman named Hoi standing in front of him. Dr Can did not know what to say to her. It was as though a layer of slime was clogging up his mind. His face now looked so extraordinary that the woman rose to stare at him.

They stood glaring at each other with their own embarrassed, defensive postures. Steady clouds of smoke kept billowing out of the stove. The tiny yard was soon covered in the acrid smell of burnt charcoal. Dr Can burst out coughing. Suddenly there was a clatter followed by a loud crash. A hoarse voice screamed out:

-  “Damn it. Fan the bloody stove.”

From behind the bamboo screen came a shiny wheelchair. Sitting in it was an obese teenager with muscular shoulders, both his legs were paralysed and as thin as rake handles. The wheelchair angled towards the doctor. The youth’s shiny hair was stuck up with wax. His eyes burned like furious flames. He bared his teeth showing them to be as sharp as those of a dog. He swung a blackened stick. The stove went rolling around on the ground and coal was scattered across the yard. A small piece of burning coal spat onto Dr Can’s neck and made him scream out in pain. The woman, panic-stricken, embraced the teenager, her voice hysterical: “My son, please.” Dr Can turned around and rushed out of the yard in horror. As he fled he knocked into the overturned stove. There was a hoarse wheeze from behind: “Get out. Did you come in here to rob from us?” When he reached the other side of the street, Dr Can felt like he had emerged from his trance-like state. A harsh wind entered his throat making him shiver. It was still drizzling. The street was crowded with people and vehicles travelling about despite the savage wind. Dr Can hid behind a tree and took out a cigarette, trembling. The cigarette smoke helped to calm his nerves. Standing behind the tree he smoked and cautiously took stock of the house, with its rotting timber doorway and window frames. The alley beside it was so narrow and so dark that it looked like it could be a gateway to hell. At the end of that dark alley was a tiny yard with a stinking watery pit latrine, a stove emitting condensed smoke, a pale and sombre woman named Hoi, and an obese, pale teenager with paralysed legs - probably the woman’s son. Everything was real and clearly existed. What was it though? Something inexplicable had happened … the dead body of the old officer who had been badly operated on … the orange mist which twisted and squirmed … the wailing voice which resounded from deep within the black chasm.

The rain was still falling steadily. Dr Can remained standing on the other side of the street. His back was bent, shaping him like a question mark. He then started to walk in this awkward manner. His mind was occupied with the same repeated questions: What was it? What had happened? What was it that had happened to him? Was it a dream or reality? Was it reality or a dream?

*

              Doctor Can did not return to his apartment in Thang Loi residential area that morning but wandered from street to street. The rain kept falling and the wind never relented. He ducked into a bar near the city’s central park just before noon. This had been his regular haunt for many years. He ordered a bottle of rice-wine and some peanuts, then tucked himself away into a dark corner. He poured the rice-wine into a glass. The first glass of rice-wine must be drunk all at once - ‘one hundred per cent’ - in order to get accustomed to the taste. The second one should be taken in sips. Accordingly, Dr Can drained the first glass in one gulp. However, he then poured the second shot of rice-wine and knocked it back immediately. This midday was not like any normal midday. There was a fear, a dark anxiety, pervading his mind. The second shot was followed by a third, once again downed in one. The bottle was soon empty. The doctor banged the bottom of the bottle hard on the table and burst out:

-  “What’s going on?! Am I crazy?”

The owner of the bar had been keeping her eye on him since he had come in. He had been a regular customer for years. She knew his temperament and his background. He was an elderly doctor, in charge of the city hospital mortuary. He was a single doctor of a good-natured, though somewhat feeble, character. He seemed to have acquired so much negative energy that he had turned into an unbalanced character who no one dared to befriend. She noted the intensity of how he was drinking this lunchtime. More bad news than good, it would seem. Something had made him anxious and unsettled. After the second bottle of rice-wine was empty, she whispered into the ear of a waitress and call-girl named Thuy, a girl who treated the bar owner as though she were her mother. The matron of the establishment put ten thousand dong into Thuy’s hand and pointed at the drunken doctor in the corner. Thuy assented with a smile and approached the doctor, spinning a chair around so as to sit next to him. She spoke softly:

-      “Let me take you home.” As she spoke Thuy put her arm under the doctor’s shoulder to lift him up.

-  “I’m not going home,” Dr Can retorted, resisting.

-  “Mother told me to take you home.”

Thuy continued to coax him from his seat. A cyclo, usually used to give foreign visitors guided tours around the city, was called to the bar. Thuy helped to prop him up in it. She covered him with a newly-washed tablecloth. She told the driver: “Remember now, Thang Loi Residential Area.” The cyclo took off and eased its way through the city. Fifteen minutes later, the doctor was dropped off in the middle of a block of apartments at a refuse collection point as filthy as a public lavatory. Thuy appeared from a street-side store near the collection point and scurried over to him. She had probably arrived before him by motorcycle taxi. She supported him as he wearily climbed each step, ascending the stairwell which was full of large spools of nylon and badly stacked crates. The scene resembled a daughter helping her drunken father into his own home.

Dr Can was partly unconscious. His limbs felt weightless. He occasionally tried to clear his throat, hacking up wads of vile saliva which he had to immediately spit out. At the bar, he had spat on the leaves of an indoor plant. The leaves had immediately withered. When he got off the cyclo, he spat on a cement drain cover. The drain cover had hissed and foamed.

Thuy brought him up to level five. They came to a halt in front of an apartment with a solid iron door, like that of a prison. She rummaged in his pocket for the key. Suddenly a figure appeared from a darkened corner. Thuy started and instinctively recoiled. The doctor mumbled:

-   “Who’s that?”

-      “Don’t worry. It’s me. Give me the key. I’ll open the door for you.” The figure laughed like a horse whinnying.

Thuy squinted at the beggar woman. Her voice was forthright and somehow seductive. It was the woman who had tried to please the doctor the previous night. She approached the doctor:

-      “Does my scent stir memories in you?”

Then she turned to Thuy and said in a gentle whisper.

-  “Give me a hand with him.”

*

              It must be mentioned here that Dr Truong Vinh Can’s family was a strong family. The women in his family were as fertile as sows. The Truong males had required several mistresses to satisfy their sexual desires. Dr Can had inherited this dominant family gene. His health records until he was forty-four stated clearly: Eyesight: 11/10. Ears function well. Heart, stomach, spleen, liver, kidney, and bladder function normally. Nervous reactions of left knee and right knee are the same. Normal sexual organs. No malformation. It was because of these records that Dr Can was so horrified and ashamed when he learned he was impotent. Of course he kept it a secret. A cat could not have hidden its droppings as well as Dr Can hid his impotence. Being a doctor, he made every effort to find himself a treatment. He injected a variety of vitamins. He ingested an assortment of serums, syrups, and proteins. He drank a variety of rice-wine infused with plants and grasses, reputedly good for the kidneys and for one’s sexual ability. He furtively read piles of pornographic magazines and raunchy novels such as Paris Secret and To Nu Kinh in the hope of some sexual stimulation but nothing worked. His despair grew and grew, up until the time we meet him – one day in October, the year he turned forty-nine, the fifth year since he had learned that he was impotent, a knowledge which was gradually becoming more painful, as if salt was slowly being rubbed into the wound.

*

              After the strange woman had whispered to her, Thuy replied:

-  “So you take his legs, I’ll take his arms, he’s horribly drunk.”

The elder woman sneered at this. She pushed Thuy away:

-  “Let me carry him in. He is as light as a feather.”

Then she picked the doctor up as quickly and easily as a mother might lift a babe to her bosom. Thuy squealed in surprised delight. How bright and cheerful the older woman’s face was. Her last remaining doubts about the stranger dissipated. While waiting for the doctor to awaken, Thuy asked the other woman to retreat to a corner with her, saying that they needed to discuss several things. She started by saying:

-      “I used to have sex with six muscular cyclo-drivers per night. What’s your average?”

-       “One less than you, although they weren’t cyclo-drivers but foreigners with very black moustaches.”

-      “We can play it like a tag-team tonight, ok? Although this old man will be exhausted and I’m afraid mother will scold me to death!” said Thuy playfully.

-      “Haven’t you had sex with him before?” The beggar woman burst out laughing.

-      “Not yet.”

-      “I see.”

-      “What’s wrong?”

-      “He has ‘flabby cock’ forever.”

Thuy burst out laughing and dropped into a lotus position on the floor, her hands slapping the floor with mirth. The beggar woman also sat on the floor and began to laugh with her. Dr Can’s three-by-three metre room shook in merriment with the laughter of the two women. After a while, the hooker put her arm around the harlot’s shoulder and said:

-      “So we’ll take turns in ‘taking care’ of him. Who knows but his ‘flabby cock’ might turn hard like the spout of a terra-cotta teapot.”

They then burst out laughing again, beating their hands and feet hard on the ground as though they were in their own home.

Only the geckos on the walls know how the call girl and the beggar woman ‘took care’ of Dr Can that night, as the apartment was securely locked and all the lights were off. It was only known that the wind got fiercer from midnight onwards. It was such a savage wind that the five-storey block of apartments shook like it had in war time. However there was a calmer wind by the time the morning exercise program started at 5.45 a.m. The apartment door was wide open. Dr Can was lying on the floor with his arms and legs spread out. A piece of blanket was placed across his stomach. He was sleeping in a peaceful posture. Where was the call girl? The beggar woman was heating some water. She had put the old men’s vest on her shoulders and the Eskimo hat on her head. Neither were hers. The woman who worked as a beggar by day and a hooker by night, now looked like a decent wife heating water patiently, waiting for her husband to wake up to brush his teeth, clean his face and have some tea.

*

It is an odd quirk in the human psyche that people often have dreams which contradict reality after they have suffered from a physical impairment or disability. For example, people with amputated limbs whose bodies are whole, or blind people who can see, in their dreams. In the night-time reveries of the mute or deaf they can chatter like liberated parrots. Dr Truong Vinh Can was no exception. Since he had discovered that he was his impotent, he had sometimes dreamt of shedding that horrible disease and making love to a beautiful young girl who called herself a table-tennis player. He could not understand why she called herself that; he only knew that she sometimes came to sleep with him in his dreams. There was only that girl, no others, who entered his dreams, and that is something that is also difficult to explain. There was an instance when he woke up and recalled scenes of making love to the young girl. He asked himself: “Is this a common response from people with impotence?” That night, while lying spread-eagled on the floor between the corpulent bosoms of his carers, Dr Can met the beautiful young table-tennis player in his dream. As in his previous dreams, he saw himself wearing his white lab coat, with his stethoscope around his neck, writing something in the check-up room when the girl sprang into the room joyfully. She did not say her name but opened her crystal clear eyes and displayed a mouth full of unblemished ivory. She stuck a reference letter to his forehead which clearly stated she needed an urgent medical check-up for a table-tennis competition in China, which confirmed she was indeed a table-tennis player.

Dr Can shrugged his shoulders after a moment’s hesitation, and then started his job. First, he opened her eyelids. He saw two small fish, like two blobs of sunlight, swimming happily in her eyes. He wrote down in the health register: “Excellent eyesight: 10/10.” Then, he checked her ears. Her small auricles smelled and looked like two jackfruit segments, making his mouth water. He swallowed the saliva her presence had induced and calmly wrote: “Normal ears. Good hearing.” Then he told her to open her mouth so that he could examine her teeth, tongue, and throat. When Dr Can pressed the spoon handle on her watery pink tongue, a fresh, warm breath of ripe custard-apple emanated from her gorgeous mouth and settled in the middle of his face, dazing him as if he had been doped. Dr Can sat in a swoon, enjoying the smell of ripe custard-apple as his shaking hand wrote down in the health register: “Healthy throat, teeth, tongue.”

His next job was to examine the girl’s heart and lungs. Something abnormal was happening to Dr Can now, like he had been intoxicated by the first draft of some exotic poison. However, he was still conscious and, remembering his role, requested that the girl take off her T-shirt. “Should I take off all my clothes?” the girl asked gaily. She proceeded to strip off her short-sleeved blue T-shirt, which had a dark red logo emblazoned on the front, without waiting for his answer. She was wearing neither a vest nor a bra. An astonished cry burst out of his mouth as soon as he saw her naked torso. Ten thousand fire-flies issued forth from his eye sockets, flashing and skittering through the air. This multitude of fire-flies suddenly turned into ten thousand sparkling stars, each with two fragile tiny wings beating in unison. These ten thousand stars soared and plummeted, like a flock of birds they swooped and alighted on her light brown nipples - which looked like two knolls of soil, covered with silky hair as suggestive as afternoon sunlight. Dr Can knelt down in front of the chair. His face turned red hot as though it had been lit by flame. His nose stung as if he had received a punch to it. As he placed his stethoscope on the girl’s warm, smooth breast, something between his groins began to stir. However, the doctor tried to calmly maintain the motion of the stethoscope on the girl’s naked breast. But the truth was his ears had temporarily lost their function and he could not hear her breathing or her heartbeat. He was concentrating on his groin where something strange seemed to be moving, like an almost sightless fish which was used to dwelling in the murkiest depths of the seabed. The girl did not wait until the doctor had told her which part of her body needed examining next. She gently pushed the stethoscope away and turned on her side, slowly slid off her yellow skirt, then her petal-thin underwear. Dr Can felt like his heart was breaking. He clasped and unclasped his hands in mid-air. His teeth were chattering. When the girl turned her face to him, he knelt down on his knees and barely had strength enough to open his mouth and peer through his squinted eyes. The girl disappeared into thin air, like a mirage that blurs and fades. In front of the doctor a dazzling white plain as smooth as velvet rose gradually to the sky, stretching out towards a dark forest from whence the gurgle of hidden springs, the sounds of creaking boulders, the wail of the confined wind and the soft groans of trees which rose like rooted snakes from the soil. The forest loomed at the border of two steppes. Secretive and vulnerable, tired but not discouraged, bashfully but with fervour, Dr Can buried his face in his hands and knelt on the ground when he saw a stream of milky white spring water running from a secretive and bottomless cavern. The milky stream ran between the two plains and overflowed onto the floor, spreading towards the corner of the room where Dr Can was hunched like a male rat. At that moment the room was flooded with a strangely passionate sense of magic which could never be found on earth. Clothes, his scarf, the doctor’s hat, and even the stethoscope detached themselves from the doctor’s body and floated in the air as though bewitched. Dr Can crawled towards the stream of liquid, despite the growing burning sensation in his groin. When he collapsed with his face buried in the girl’s golden hair, the strange object in his groin had become as hard as cold iron and began the job of a healthily endowed man.

Dr Can was startled into wakefulness, and as usual, the very first thing he thought was that he was no longer impotent.

How bitter the realisation, after a second or two, that it had just been a dream. What further torture!

*

A monsoon lasting three days and nights had flooded the city with mud and rainwater, soaking it like a bird’s nest plunged into a pond. The never-ending rain, the dull weather and the fading north-westerly wind brought about a warmer atmosphere. The gentler air soothed the doctor’s nerves. Unusually, the hospital received no patients during the onslaught of torrential rain. The mortuary was deserted. Leisure and calm weather helped ease the sense of anxiety that had been plaguing the doctor’s mind. He went to work as usual the day after he had been ‘taken care of’ by the prostitute and the call girl.

During the rain Dr Can never shed the black Chinese boots or his thick Eskimo fur hat. He didn’t even remove them to eat, defecate or sleep. It was not that he was lazy but he was afraid of catching a sudden cold that might bring about his premature death. It was a typical recurrent concern for an elderly man living on his own. He was in good condition despite the difficulties inherent in living through a monsoon. His blood pressure was normal. His head did not throb. His back did not ache anymore and his legs did not feel as arthritic.

On the fourth day, when it had stopped raining, while the trees and streets were drying, Dr Truong Vinh Can wanted to go somewhere for a walk. “To reduce the tension in my mind” was what he thought to himself. His unguided feet slowly took him to a quiet street which had two lines of old dracontomelum trees along its verges. Dr Can came to a halt in front of a three-storey house with a tiled roof and a curved gate built in the style of the ancient villas. Tiny droplets of violet flowers hung from the arch of the gate. This all seemed styled to deliberately recall a bygone era which was now undoubtedly fading and such would have been the effect if it hadn’t been for a large lacquer sign painted crimson with lines of majestic golden writing on it: ‘Neighbourhood Patrol Headquarters’ The doctor’s eyes stared at the Gothic arch and the two solid iron gates with their intricate patterns. The gates were both rusty and had lost some bars, which made them look like a set of chipped teeth. However, upon closer consideration, it was possible to make out two letters, curved with the curlicues of traditional font, which looked very elegant indeed.

Dr Can pushed open the rusty iron gates and walked slowly into the spacious yard of the three-storey house. A flock of sparrows flew up from the cracked brick veranda which was covered with green moss. The sky was an unrelenting grey and all the doors and windows of the three-storey house were shut tight, which created an atmosphere of desertion. The patrolling unit wasn’t working that day as it was Sunday. Dr Can spotted a spiral of smoke rising from the chimney that protruded from the roof of the second floor balcony. The smoke grew thicker and thicker and soon covered the outside steps, the house, the quiet yard, and the old brick walls. It appeared someone in the house had lit a fire in the fireplace. He was using firewood or crushed paper or old rubber tires. The acrid tang of the smoke crept up Dr Can’s nostrils. The stifling burnt smell of the smoke reminded him of the day he had been choked with smoke in the alley off Hang Chuoi Street.

Dr Can sat down on a cement bench, cracked all over and revealing a dark iron framework. He stared intently at the deserted scene of the public place before him: the fractured tiles; the clumps of green moss which looked fermented by time; the aged gianh bush with yellow leaves clinging to the foot of a tropical almond tree which was so gnarled it was difficult to tell its age; the carefree sparrows dancing on the roof which curved upwards like scalded fingers. His heart suddenly wrenched with pain and two teardrops rolled down his flushed, wrinkled face.

People are born to have a childhood and a home, and normally both of these remain idyllic memories. On that morning, the three-storey western-styled house, with its rusty iron gates and gothic arches, its flock of sparrows and clumps of green moss, roused an indescribable feeling in the doctor. The ambient scenery of the house newly encountered yet strangely familiar slowly led his thoughts down a trail of associated thoughts. The house reminded him of another which had also had flowers, trees, clumps of green moss and the familiar chatter of sparrows. Thoughts of his childhood which seemed to have fallen into oblivion were revitalised and made their way into his heart and his lungs, lulling him gradually into a world where reality overlapped with illusion. On the left side were the squares of an o an quan game drawn carelessly with chalk. To his right were a mountain, a river and Ba Be lake - composed in black, white and golden sand. And next to this was some firewood propped up against a post. A few steps beyond lay the deep blue sea, its waves constantly lapping the shore.  It beckoned the observer to cast off his garments and set sail on a makeshift raft. The far corner of the yard was like the palace of the toad princess, a place where representatives of great literature and myriad martial arts had had their parties and where the boy Truong Vinh Can had lifted up his cousin’s dress and thrown a handful of black sand at the delicate flowery knickers that failed to cover her smooth white groin.

As these faint remnants of his childhood subsided Dr Can reoriented himself. The last raindrops had disappeared although the sky was still the colour of bear bone glue. The thick acrid smoke which had filled the yard was gone too.

A fat woman in a pair of black boots dragging a broom approached him from a row of public toilets in the corner of the yard. She talked to him in a monotone:

- “I’m done now. Go on in. You can crap in the pit but remember to throw your toilet paper in the rubbish bin. Don’t forget to flush with lots of water or the drain will get blocked up. There’s no shortage of water. Two full water tanks.”

Dr Can was startled and could only muster a muttered response. He waited until the woman had gone away and sighed heavily. He then looked around, stood up and slipped back out into the street.

*

Dr Truong Vinh Can’s family was a physically strong and mentally robust family. His grandfather on his father’s side had passed the Confucianism examination at local and provincial levels and had been a government official at district level in the last years of his life. Dr Can’s father had not been so adept at using Sinology, so he had chosen to study Latin writing.  This had led to position with a secretary for a train operators’ office. He was a shy and hardworking official who went to work early and got home late, labouring to support his wife and fourteen sons and daughters, among whom Dr Can was the eighth child. The war against the French started in 1946 and at that time Dr Can was a final year student at the Indochina School of Medicine. He and his family were evacuated to the area of Vinh Yen Phu Tho and he then joined the army and worked as a physician. In 1948 his mother developed tuberculosis, so his father took the whole family back to Hanoi and two years later they all moved to Algeria, which was still at the time a French colony. In 1953 Physician Truong Vinh Can took a professional development course for doctors which lasted six months. Also in that year he married Pham Thi Ngot, a key cadre in a political ideological interpretation unit, although of peasant stock. The love story of Dr Can and Ms Ngot shall be explored a little later. For now, it will suffice for it to be known that they were together for more than ten years, until Dr Can was expelled from the Party and dismissed from his post as head of the medical clinic. As he was not affiliated with any national post he was then granted privileges by the organisation to work as a contracted employee, guarding the mortuary. It was then that they divorced. It was easy for them as they had no children.

*

The love story of the former student at the Indochina School of Medicine and the key political official Pham Thi Ngot was a satisfactory love story in that they spontaneously fell in love with each other and got married. Can met Ngot during a lesson at the professional development course in Viet Bac. He was at that time a student and Ngot was a political teacher in a small hamlet which had been selected as an experimental area for a political course aimed at wiping out model ideology. They liked each other from the first day they met and their marriage, which took place four months later, caused great excitement in the hamlet.

Many years after their divorce, Dr Can could not explain why he had fallen in love with Mrs Ngot. Because of her beauty? Certainly not, as she was two years older than him with dark skin and buck teeth. Her shoulders were as square as those of a sturdy peasant and she had a lisp so could not pronounce n or l sounds correctly, and could not say em without opening her mouth too its limit. So why did he love her? Was it because of her solid political ideas or simply because she was a political teacher and a party member, and at that time he desired to join the Party? Whatever the reasons, it was clear that it was not an overly exuberant type of love. It was spontaneous and conscious. As a result, the families of Can and Ngot were united for years to come. It was almost a model family of officials, in which their love was the combination of the two social backgrounds in the revolution, the leaders and people under that leadership. That relationship was both a conversion of each other and a commitment to improve oneself in order to move forward together.

However, it did not mean that they were without problems during their years of married cohabitation.

However, these were generally only small differences in their ways of living. For example, Mrs Ngot had the habit of taking a ladle of soup from the bowl to drink half and pour the other half back into the bowl. She did not like washing her feet but preferred clapping the soles of her feet against each other before getting into bed. She usually forgot to brush her teeth and when she was forty, she insisted on abandoning brushing her teeth in the morning in favour of just washing her mouth instead.

However, these were only small things. In general, it had to be admitted that the unified clans of Can and Ngot had produced a model family. And it would have been ideal if they could have had one or two children. Why didn’t they have any children? Because of him? Or her? Or because God punished them? This was the secret that neither of them ever revealed nor would not allow anybody to pry into.

The impotence Dr Can experienced when he was forty-five was not the reason for their divorce. The evening they last talked to each other before going to court, Mrs Ngot said: “I would accept living with a husband with a physiological disability, but not a husband with no will, with corrupt morals, and without hope in politics.”

Dr Truong Vinh Can was a quiet and courteous man. He was afraid of quarrels and rudeness. It was probably because he was constantly aware of his petty bourgeois background, and because he was from a civil service family which had compromised itself during the war, that he was afraid of organisations, and afraid of wrong-doings. He had lived cautiously since he had volunteered to join the army and become a doctor. He almost never did anything illegal or immoral. It could be said that he had committed only one serious misdemeanour during his entire life. So how hurtful it was that his sole misdeed had destroyed his entire career and plunged him to the depths of shame and destitution.

*

The person who uncovered Dr Truong Vinh Can’s adultery was an anaesthetist and post-operation recovery physician, named Nguyen Van Su, who did not work in the operation department but in the administrative department of the hospital.

Physician Su came from a northern province. It seemed that he was born to be the antithesis to Dr Can. Dr Can had fair skin while Mr Su was of a darker hue. Dr Can had long tapering fingers while Mr Su had short blunt ones. Dr Can was quiet while Mr Su was talkative. Dr Can walked slowly while Mr Su scurried about the place. Dr Can liked sitting at his desk all day while Mr Su could not sit still in one place for more than five minutes. Dr Can usually covered his mouth when picking his teeth while Physician Su usually showed his two sets of teeth and flicked the toothpick around his mouth. One worked in the check-up room and the other in the administrative department. Dr Can and Physician Su knew little about each other and hardly talked to each other except to exchange occasional greetings. It once happened that Mr Su came and shook Dr Can’s hand at a general assembly for officials and employees, saying: “I heard that Mrs Ngot won the election for membership of the provincial party committee by a large margin. Congratulations. By the way, Mrs Ngot and I are from the same province, the same district but different communes.”

It should be mentioned that Dr Can and Mr Su hadn’t had any prior conflicts. The discovery of Dr Can’s improper conduct was happenstance. In the documents signed by Mr Su to reprimand Dr Can, it was clearly stated that he had accidentally walked past Dr Can’s check-up room. That’s right. He had only walked past by chance on the morning of that very beautiful day in October...

It was Physician Su‘s habit that he organised his routine to allow himself time to walk around every department in the hospital every second day. In other words, he went on an inspection tour of the activities and behaviour of the hospital’s staff, as well as taking time to listen to the confidences and expectations of various doctors and department heads. “Such is the responsibility of every good administrative operative,” Physician Su was only too happy to explain. While on his rounds the act of secretly peeping through the narrow gap of any door left slightly ajar was one of Physician Su’s guilty pleasures. So it occurred that on one fateful October morning, a morning of most charming beauty, Physician Su accidentally walked past the hospital’s check-up room. He wouldn’t have stopped if it had not been for a strange smell of rice-wine emanating from the room he was passing. He could never forget that smell having smelled it that once. It was so intense; it was warm and pervaded with the aroma of some mysterious herbs which come from the types of primitive forests and mountainous regions never reached by humans in fairy tales. Physician Su felt his mouth watering as he inhaled the smell of the exotic rice-wine. He tip-toed towards the door and peeped into the room, but just at that moment the door closed with a bang, causing him to lose interest. He strolled away with an awkward, self-conscious smile. Two days later, as Physician Su was on his next tour of inspection, he was surprised to once more smell that mysterious and suggestive fragrance in the vicinity of the check-up room. This time, however, he also heard the giggles and satisfied moans of a young girl. Unable to resist his curiosity, the physician once again tip-toed toward the door and stealthily peeped into the keyhole. The room was empty; he could only see Dr Can’s working desk next to a document storage cabinet, which was about two metres high. Strangely enough, the smell of rice-wine had gone and the girl’s giggling and moaning had also disappeared. Physician Su shook his head in anger and again strolled away. But then, two days later, maintaining the regularity of his tours, he once again smelled that mysterious rice-wine and heard evidence of a girl in an excited state as he walked past Dr Can’s check-up room. But he did not see anything through the lock-hole except the soulless working desk and the document storage cabinet, and of course the smell of rice-wine and the girl’s giggling and moaning had disappeared. Why was it? Were there ghosts in the room? Physician Su was an atheistic man and had never been superstitious, so he was curious and somewhat aggravated that he could not explain this strange phenomenon. However, Physician Su had started to pay more attention to Dr Can’s check-up room, as he sometimes had to do with the paediatric department where some nurse’s aide on lunch-duty might be stealthily helping themselves to the children’s milk powder. And he reported every detail, from the suspicious smell of rice-wine to the giggling and moaning of the young girl in Dr Can’s working room in a periodical report to the hospital’s board of directors. He came to the conclusion that it was probable there was a love affair going on in Dr Can’s work space but the lack of actual evidence meant he could not directly accuse anyone. At the end of the report and after the conclusion, Physician Su promised to make every effort to bring this affair to light. He believed he would identify the people involved as he had a clear subject of suspicion. He did not reveal who that person was but waited for the truth to reveal itself. The person he suspected was Dr Truong Vinh Can. It was a very simple case, as the room was Dr Can’s working room and he usually took his naps there.

In order to gather more convincing evidence, the physician went to the doctor’s home to see his wife and talk with her in private.

After listening to Physician Su explain the situation as he had come to understand it, with repeated references to the sense of responsibility he felt towards protecting the hospital’s reputation, as well as those of its staff, Mrs Ngot burst out laughing happily. She offered him a cup of peach tea and then bluntly informed him that her husband had been impotent for five years and his sexual ability had dwindled, so he could not be having a love affair. He could not do anything even when there were women available. To prove that what she was saying was true, Mrs Ngot fetched Dr Can’s medical records and a thick pile of receipts for aphrodisiacs and fortifying medicines that he had been taking over the past several years. Mrs Ngot smiled and, seeing that the physician remained doubtful, said:

-      “You don’t believe in the validity of these documents, right?”

-      “I’m not quite sure if I do. Do you have any witness other than these medical records and that pile of receipts?”

-      “Of course I do. Me.” Mrs Ngot covered her mouth with one hand and blushed:

-      “To tell you the truth,” Mrs Ngot subtly altered the way she addressed Physician Su and talked in the way a senior addresses a junior although she was two years younger than him. “To tell you the truth, your brother Can has been like a castrated cock for many years. I am his wife, and I understand him better than anyone else. Although we have been separated for a long time, I know everything he does, where he goes, and all his relationships. I thank you very much for your sense of responsibility and for keeping an eye on him. For my part, I am always taking care of him. I have to protect our happiness and reputation. I have much more responsibility than you. I am Can’s wife but I am also the one who introduced him to the Party. You ought not to doubt me anymore.”

Physician Su responded courteously, then respectfully bent his head to say goodbye to Mrs Ngot and left after he had apologised for his sudden visit. He did not forget to add that he hoped Mrs Ngot might sympathise with him as it was his responsibility to protect Mr Can: “Having had a chance to report to you directly and listen to your side of things, I am convinced now.”

Those were the words that emerged from Physician Su’s mouth but he was not convinced at all. An administrative officer could not be as credulous as that. “I need patience and the right method to get closer to the truth,” the physician thought to himself.

*

Having shown the physician out Mrs Ngot locked the door from inside and sat in the living room, thinking. For all that she had been open and cheerful several minutes before, she was now thoughtful and anxious. She wondered what Physician Su’s intentions had been in inventing this affair. Did he intend to undermine Dr Can? But why? Can was not important enough to warrant such attention. Or had he intended to use the excuse of her husband to forewarn her? But who was he to oppose her? He was only a humble administrator at the provincial hospital, with no contacts among high-ranking officials. He must be crazy to publicly go against a member of the provincial party committee. Or might there be some other forces at work behind this crazy physician? Mrs Ngot thought of all her friends and enemies in the province. There wasn’t anybody who seemed hostile and her experience had shown her that opposition only rose up before general party assemblies. So why was such an unbelievable thing happening?

A popular saying suddenly came to her mind: “There’s no smoke without fire.” So what was the so-called ‘fire’ in this affair? Asking herself such questions, she realised that it was the girl.

But then she questioned herself again: “It couldn’t be, as my husband is impotent. How can he have sex when his reproductive system doesn’t work? It’s impossible.” Every month Mr Can still gave her every penny of his salary. She knew where he went and what his relationships were. He always showed her consideration and respect. There had been absolutely nothing strange in his behaviour towards her. So why had this man Su brought this ‘fire’ into her house? It was perplexing. Mrs Ngot wandered around the room with her mind fixated on that question. She got her thoughts all in a tangle and then suddenly remembered an old adage that elderly men with impotence often felt as curious and excited as teenage boys about making love to teenage girls. The more seriously the organs malfunctioned, the raunchier and more lustful a man became. So the affair gradually became a certainty in her head. She was convinced that her husband was having an affair with one of his teenage patient. So, although Su was clearly a devious character, he had actually wanted to help, which was why he had come to raise the smoke. It was clear.

Late that afternoon, as soon as Dr Can got home from work, Mrs Ngot invited her husband into the living room to talk. To the doctor, Mrs Ngot was not only his wife, but also the person who had introduced him to the Party and his seniors. She earned one and a half times as much as him. Her party membership status was type B, the special rank for senior officials. Dr Can’s was type E - the type for more humble staff. As a result of these quirks in their relationship and because of the weak character of the petty bourgeois, ashamed of the upper middle class, Dr Can was afraid of his wife, like a junior who lived in fear of his direct senior. It seems like an exaggeration, but as a mouse cowers in front of a snake, so Dr Can behaved towards his wife.

Dr Can immediately admitted that he had indeed been having an affair with a cardiac patient, named Ma Thi Thao, for the last four months. He sadly tried to explain that this was a symptom of the physiological impact of impotence but was nothing to do with his affection towards her. Understanding her husband as well as she did, Mrs Ngot sat there calmly and listened to him. She asked:

-      “Why is her surname Ma?”

-      “Because she is from the Tay people.”

-      “What department and province does she come from?”

-      “She is not a cadre member. Miss Ma Thi Thao is an elementary student at a school of culture and arts in a mountainous province in the North-West”

-      “How old is she?”

-      “Sixteen.”

Mrs Ngot was so shocked that she did not ask any more questions.

That night she slept in the same bed and covered him with the same blanket and in a soft voice, told him what she knew from Physician Su. Then she asked: “Did Physician Su lie?” Dr Can shamefully shook his head: “No, he didn’t. Miss Ma Thi Thao has a gourd of rice-wine. That strange pleasant smell was from the rice-wine gourd. I didn’t drink that rice-wine but Ms Thao did. And the giggling came from the document storage cabinet. As she was afraid that somebody might see us she suggested that we get into the cabinet.”

Mrs Ngot said in a calm voice:

-      “Because of your weak character, you will let women take advantage of you for the rest of your life. It has already happened, so we should not talk about this anymore. I do not blame you. But you have to stop it from now on. You must impose your will to stop it immediately if you still have any respect or affection left for me and this family. You must promise me this.”   

Of course Dr Can felt touched and promised her he would stop.

That night Dr Can had a good sleep but Mrs Ngot couldn’t sleep a wink. If this love affair was uncovered, it would have tremendous consequences as Miss Ma Thi Thao was from an ethnic minority and also a minor. Her husband was not only involved in sexual relationships with a minor but had also violated the ethnic integration policy. Her husband would be excluded from the Party, dismissed from his job and could be prosecuted. If so, it was certain that her political prospects would also be seriously affected. Her efforts over the years would be rendered meaningless because of this nonsense. She had to do everything in her power to move him out of the hospital as soon as possible before this love affair was uncovered.

She made a plan to get a quick transfer for Dr Can. This was within her capabilities as the president of the city’s Administrative Organisation Committee was in the same party as her. However, Mrs Ngot could never have expected that Physician Su would act even more expeditiously than she. One week after the night Dr Can had admitted to his love affair with Miss Ma Thi Thao, Mrs Ngot arranged her work to allow her time to take him to the beach on vacation. It was then late fall, so it was a little chilly. The beach was as empty as a desert. They stayed in a luxurious room in an exclusive resort, often reserved for such high-ranking officials as Deputy Ministers or Ministers. It had been a long time since she had last taken him on vacation. On this trip they had more time to discuss the situation and make plans for the future of Dr Can. Mrs Ngot recommended that he volunteer to work in a communal clinic in the suburbs near the sea for a while and then they would make another plan. That way he could firstly get rid of Miss Ma Thi Thao and the attention of Mr Su and secondly so as people would speak well of him as a individual who had volunteered to work in a difficult location. After listening to his wife, Dr Can cried in regret and expressed his gratitude to her. He held her hand and said with his tears welling up: “Thank you so much. You have saved my political life once again. You almost have re-admitted me to the Party. You have given me a second birth.”

After they arrived home from the luxurious vacation week on the beach Mrs Ngot went to see the president of the city’s Administrative Organisation Committee to ask for a transfer for Dr Can. Mrs Ngot, of course, gave another reason which was subtle and very rational. But while everything seemed to be proceeding smoothly, there were ructions as great as if a bomb had exploded in the middle of the provincial hospital. Dr Truong Vinh Can was caught in the act of having sex with Ma Thi Thao in his office, both of them as naked as the day they were born, all of which was clearly stated in the report. It should be added that the spider who was the architect of this particular web was none other than Physician Nguyen Van Su.

As Dr Can was by nature a man of weak character, he completely collapsed after the sudden confrontation as though he had been beaten. The guards rushed into the room, tied the lovers up, dragged them both naked out of the cabinet and left them in that condition for over an hour in front of the scornful sneers and downcast sympathetic eyes of passing nurses, doctors, and nurse’s aides. While the report was being made, Dr Can fell into a fit. His limbs convulsed like a person someone who has suffered a stroke. His mouth went slack and tears streamed endlessly down his face. Whenever he tried to speak, he stuttered like a person with a cleft tongue. Owing to his condition, he was not prosecuted. He was, however, expelled from the Party, relieved of his functions and dismissed from his job. The disciplining of Dr Truong Vinh Can was publicised in offices and departments throughout the province. This was probably the most standard punishment for committing adultery and completely shamed the culprit. Dr Truong Vinh Can’s reputation and political life were in tatters, especially after his divorce from Mrs Ngot. He was more dishonoured than an abandoned cur. He had no way to live. However, repentant sinners are always saved. After two months of serving his punishment Dr Can was allowed to work in the hospital mortuary. There was nowhere more appropriate and peaceful for him to work than the mortuary as he himself was a decaying entity regarding political morals and working ethics.

*

There came a chain of days of never-ending drizzles and north-easterly winds after a week without rain. It turned cold when the north-easterly wind started blowing. The gloomy, cold, wet, and steamy weather resulted in the pervasion of tuberculosis, rheumatism, and respiratory diseases. People become sullen and emotional easily at such times. Dr Truong Vinh Can still went to work as usual. The inexplicable thoughts about schizophrenia and the seemingly forgotten orange fumes that coiled around the heads of the deceased now came back and obsessed Dr Can and bewildered him until he felt no more than a hollow corpse. The mortuary also took in the dead body of a famous painter who had died suddenly, owing to drinking so much snake rice-wine that it caused an abdominal fissure. The remains were moved from the hall of the provincial office for culture and arts to the mortuary at eleven at night and stored in the freezer cabinet. At nine the next morning Dr Truong Vinh Can and the brawny nurse’s aide opened the cabinet and took the corpse of the famous painter out and put it on the wooden trolley to shroud it. Just then as the nurse’s aide lifted the head of the painter to pass a piece of white garment around his neck, Dr Truong Vinh Can once again witnessed the orange wraith coiling around the head of the deceased. He was neither surprised nor panicked. He stood silently staring at the misty apparition and then calmly turned round to ask the nurse’s aide:

-      “Can you see it?”

-      “See what?” the nurse’s aide stopped asked..

-      “There. Right in front of you. Like smoke. It’s orange,” Dr Can pointed at the shifting mist.

-      “You’re joking,” the nurse’s aide burst out laughing.

-      “I am not kidding. It’s right there,” Dr Can said seriously.

-      “What do you mean?”

-      “Don’t pretend you can’t see it. It’s there. There.” Dr Can lashed out at the rush of air but only ended up slapping the face of the deceased. The nurse’s aide immediately stepped back and looked at the doctor with his eyes wide open.

-      “Oh.... you…”

-      “I had to destroy it, even if it was ghost,” Dr Can glowered.

-      “But I don’t see anything.”

-      “Irrational. That’s it. It was coiling around the corpse.”

-      “Are you hallucinating?”

-      “No.” He shouted and leapt forwards to catch the orange mist. The nurse’s aide gaped. His hands started trembling violently. He gradually stepped back to the door. His eyes had glazed over.

*

    Dr Can went home that afternoon. He did not eat anything but sat in bed, covered in the blanket, immersed in thoughts. The wraith was real. He had not been hallucinating. He had touched it and it had lapped his palm. It existed. But how could the nurse’s aide have failed to see it? There was no reason that he alone should be able to see the phenomenon. Why was he the only person who was able to see it, feel it, and communicate with it? What was it? Was it the soul of the deceased? If so then there really existed a human soul and it parted from the body when people died. It hung about the head of the deceased. It was long said that for three days after people’s death their soul always lingered by the corpse. It travelled to heaven after seven days and forty-nine days later it was reincarnated. However, this was the belief of previous generations and Dr Can did not sincerely believe in it, so how to explain what he had experienced? It was a matter beyond human comprehension of the universe. It lurked in human bodies when they were alive and became visible when people ceased their biological existence. So this must be a supernatural phenomenon. But if all those things were impracticable reasoning and the orange mist was only illusion even though Dr Can could touch and communicate with it; so, it had to be accepted that he had developed a special type of schizophrenia. It was like some constant delirium.

    In order to find the answers for his stirred and troubled mind, Dr Can took his sick leave and stayed home. He locked himself at home for seven days. For those seven days he ate only noodles and drank boiled water, as well as the occasional a cup of rice-wine. He excreted crimson urine and clots of dung which were as hard and black as goat dung all week. For seven days he sat in bed, covered in the blanket, devouring piles of books on physiological operations, haematology, skin and venereal diseases, genetics, immunology, psychoanalysis, neurology, etc. He read until he had weak eyes and a constant headache but he couldn’t find a line about the mysterious wraith. By the eighth day he was quite disheartened and desperate. He put on his boots, a warm coat, and the thick Eskimo hat and then went out for a walk to release the stress within him. His feet took him about the town. He finally stopped at a large intersection where red and green traffic lights were flashing. This intersection used to be very narrow with temporary adjoining low-roofed stores and houses. Over the past year they had bulldozed those stores and houses to broaden the intersection and installed a high-tension lighting system. From the marble pavement there rose multi-storied buildings with colourful and sparkling glass in aluminium frames. However, upon getting closer to the brand-new modern intersection reeking of bitumen, lubricants and foreign paint, Dr Can suddenly smelled a waft of incense. The smell of incense rose out of a dark corner at the foot of a dizzily high cement pole with an advertising board showing a huge Japanese Honda motorcycle soaring like a demonic witch. As he moved closer Dr Can saw hundreds of burning incense sticks flickering around a small old shrine lying close to the foot of a bushy and unsightly old dwarf Si tree with its zigzagging roots like a nest of poisonous snakes. A pale mystic appeared out of a dark corner and grasped Dr Can’s arm, muttering:

-      “Burn some incense for Chua Mau. If she grants you her support, please don’t forget this beloved brother. Now give me some offerings.”

    The superstitious master clasped Dr Can’s back with sudden haste and his hand promptly delved into his pockets. Dr Can was startled and flung the invading hand away. He quickly escaped to the bright pavement under the towering buildings after he had tussled with the spurious shaman for a while.

*

That night, on his way home from his walk, Dr Can bought some chicken thighs, a handful of spiced vegetables and some chilli sauce, then closed the door to drink rice-wine. He had no friends to drink with. For over twenty years since he had started working at the hospital mortuary, Dr Truong Vinh Can had lived a solitary life, like an old rat huddled in a sewer. It appeared that people were all trying to keep away from the grey-painted building, the last terminal of his life. Everybody was trying to avoid him as though they were afraid of acquiring the cold miasmatic atmosphere of dead bodies. Dr Can sat in his house drinking alone. He had gotten used to this solitary life. He had totally lost the need to have another person to share strife and woe. He had been a shy and solitary boy when he was young. He was still that way at school and at work. Dr Can sat alone in the room with some food to eat over the sips of alcohol he lined up in front of him. He had become addicted to alcohol since he had started working at the mortuary. A shy and solitary man could only be friends with alcohol. The way he drank was no different from his shy character. He slowly poured the rice-wine, slowly lifted the cup, slowly drank it, and slowly put the cup down. As he drank it slowly, so he got drunk slowly. Over the years, whenever drinking alone, Dr Can felt creepy when he remembered Ma Thi Thao who had played some obscene but very abnormal sex games that he had never found in any book, even the ancient Chinese favourite, To Nu Kinh. It could be said that Dr Truong Vinh Can’s sexual life, since he had gotten married until he had become impotent, had been very insipid, like stale rice. The only happy times he had had in his sexual life were the days of the love affair with Ma Thi Thao. Whenever he recalled it he still couldn’t understand why a sixteen year old girl of Tay minority knew such tricks and secrets. Who had taught her? Her grandparents and parents had taught her, mountains and forests had taught her, or it was an unconscious instinct secretly passed on from long ago. Although he was an alcoholic and had tasted many types of rice-wine, the mysterious and pleasant smell of the liquor that rose from the gourd that Ms Thao carried around her waist still obsessed him. Ms Thao had neither fair skin nor a lissom body. Her hair wasn’t long and her breath was a little bad-smelling like the smell of wild weed that was trampled down. However, above all these shortcomings in appearance she had enchanted fingers and a magical tongue. Her fingers and tongue had obsessed Dr Can for the past tens of years and he could never forget them. After the punishment had been announced, Ms Thao was suspended from school forever. She had returned to her mountainous hometown and no one had heard anything about her since then. Many years later when he had started working in the mortuary, Dr Can sometimes secretly tried to find her address but his efforts resulted in nothing. One day, he accidentally overheard that Ma Thi Thao had married a forestry official of Nung minority who was the chief of a forest protection station in a remote mountainous commune in the western border with Lao. He bought a bottle of rice-wine and drank alone in his house. Only God knew whether it was the feeling of pity or happiness for him and Thao. That day Dr Can got so drunk that he put his head into the space under the bed to throw up everything he had in his stomach. In a state of semi-consciousness, he suddenly felt Thao’s delicate fingers stroke his whole body and her burning tongue lap his face with smacking strokes like a dog laps its owner’s face.

    It was raining again now. The zigzag bitumen roads running within Thang Loi apartment blocks had had high-tension lights installed for over a year. Looking through the narrow window, Dr Can could see the raindrops falling in different directions in the lights. The night scene had suddenly taken on a mysterious ambience, like in a detective movie. Dr Can picked up the bottle of rice-wine. It was only half drunk. He slowly lifted the bottle to his mouth. He already felt as hot as if he had been sitting near a cooking fire. “Perhaps I’m drunk.” He rose up and stood on his right leg, slowly counting from one to four... The itch tumultuously ran from the soles of his feet to his calf, up his thigh, groin, stomach, chest, neck, face, and when he got to sixty-two, the itch rushed in his head and he collapsed immediately. That I can’t stand on one leg until I have counted to one hundred means I am drunk. Dr Can pulled off the Eskimo hat and cast it onto the floor. The bottle of rice-wine had already fallen over and he dragged his body toward a piece of stained mirror. A wrinkled face appeared in the mirror. It looked battered and despicable. “It’s your face.” Dr Can burst into tears and fell down into the floorboards his hands scratching the wood. He sobbed his heart out. There was rice-wine and chilli sauce all over his face. In his delirium, Dr Can cried with all his heart for his bitter life. A worry suddenly flooded his drunken mind. If he was mad, how would the remaining days of his life be? Strolling naked in the streets, scratching among garbage for food or sitting like a castrated old dog behind the bars of a mental hospital until he died?

    Dr Truong Vinh Can’s life had become meaningless ever since he had received the disciplining, been dismissed from his position as a Doctor and rendered anonymous, a man who did the abhorrent job of cleaning and shrouding human corpses. As he was a man of weak character by nature, Dr Can couldn’t pull himself together after the shock. Having worked on dead bodies in the mortuary, he had become a little crazy like other people who spend their whole life doing such a job. After busy days working in the deserted mortuary, Dr Can sometimes stealthily walked to the station and huddled into dirty and dark corners, there undressing himself to have sex with cheap prostitutes to somehow satisfy the sexual desire which was impulsive for people with impotence. Dr Truong Vinh Can had fallen and was drowning in a despair which was even worse than the pits of hell. He was sometimes on the verge of committing suicide, but it was his weak character that saved his life. He then silently accepted to live a desperate life with the shame and regret of a recalcitrant wrongdoer who would punish himself. Dr Can would never know how tragic and ignominious his life would have been if he had not accidentally seen that extraordinary phenomenon.

*

    One afternoon, a week later, when the nurse’s aide who assisted Dr Can in the mortuary was on his way to the station to buy a bowl of noodle soup, he caught sight of the doctor in his black Chinese boots and his thick Eskimo hat, clasping old leather suitcase in his hand, back bent, jostling his way through the crowd of people who were almost trampling upon one another to get into the trans-Viet train on the northern platform of the city station

    Where was Dr Can going?

Saints in the Night is a prose work about an old doctor working in a hospital mortuary who suffers mild schizophrenic psychosis as he reaches the end of his working life. He leaves home to go roaming, meeting a series of different characters during his wanderings.

Usually the illness, even in its milder forms, grows more acute if the victim does not live a healthy and restful life. However, this is not the case with our chief protagonist. After months of encountering all sorts of people and sharing in their day-to-day delights and tragedies, he ultimately succeeds in transcending the state of chronic uncertainty and detachment which constantly threatens to overwhelm his mind.

 How so? Through some new-found love for humanity? Or because his lust for life or has been somehow reinvigorated? Or due to the kind of sincere remorse which can bring relief from the mental maladies which dwell deep in the souls of all human beings? This is the primary concept explored in this novel.

Cover Photo: painting by Nguyen Thi Mai Nga                   Jackanory Books