ive million dong at his disposal! It was a huge sum that Nhan’s parents gave him after years of saving dong after dong. When they found that he had found a good job in the city, they took out a jar out from under their bed, looked around to see if anyone else was watching, and took the money out. They counted and counted. Five million in all.
"Take it," his father said as he gave him the money. "When you’re in town, try to look for a good girl and marry her," he added, filling and lighting his bamboo pipe.
"We’re too poor to provide you with more like other parents," rued his mother. "Anyway, keep it for rainy days. Everything’s very expensive in the city, so your living conditions will be much more difficult than here. Work hard, dear, and you’ll be rewarded properly." Then she looked at the mass of dried banana leaves which had been used to wrap up the bank notes to prevent them from decaying.
Nhan received the money from his parents with profound gratitude, and left for the city. Luckily, he found a good job with a salary of 600,000 dong a month. It was more than he had expected. Many of his friends had stayed jobless in this urban centre for months. Some others managed to earn three or four million dong per month, but they worked like robots. Their hands were always full and their breakfasts usually did not last longer than five minutes. There were some who worked without pay, just to gain experience for later use; and some others who were earning paltry monthly wages of 200,000 dong from piece-meal jobs. For him, the city was like a gambling house. There were so many people waiting for their turn to enter into this game of luck. He was neither a winner nor a loser, simply because he never joined it.
His earnings were divided as follows: 150,000 for the rent of his 6sq.m. room on the first floor of his boarding-house at Trung Hoa Village; 300,000 for food and 150,000 for miscellaneous items like clothes, presents for weddings or birthday presents. Sometimes he got a reward or an allowance and he tried to save these extra incomes. He did not touch the money given by his parents, and he was proud of it. He did not dare to deposit it for fear that he would be laughed at putting in such a small sum.
There was no room for a jar to store his money as his parents did, so he wrapped it in an old newspaper and placed it under his pillow. Every evening, before going to sleep in the small room that was like a bird nest, he felt under the pillow. The touch of something hard was reassuring. His money was intact.
On the whole, his life went on smoothly.
One day, he took one of his colleagues home. As soon as they stepped in, the friend exclaimed: "What a stove!" Nhan thought of berating him, but on second thoughts, found that the comment was justified though a bit rude. The friend was getting the same salary as Nhan, and often had to ask his wife for pocket money. He was being haughty.
"Nhan, you’re not going to live here for ever, are you? You’d better buy a house."
"He’s teaching me," Nhan thought. "It is as though he’s succeeded in robbing a bank."
"I’m telling you. You should buy a house as soon as possible. Only 28 million dong. A flat-roofed house. 70sq.m. Pay and take it at once."
"Is it within a cemetery?" Nhan asked.
"No, no. I was not kidding. About 10km from here, there are some cheap flats. My wife’s just bought a 200sq.m plot at Vang village for 55 million dong, just 8km away. There’s still a lot of land for you to buy. Some day I’ll take you there."
After his sharp-tongued but kind-hearted friend left, Nhan thought a lot about his advice, about a decent house on a 70sq.m plot of land and about a fairly pretty and able wife. He would take his parents to the city and let them enjoy the games and pleasures of a modern life. They would say good-bye to the poor and backward rural region.
***
Some of Nhan’s classmates in the village had given up their schooling early to make money. They had succeeded. They built 4-storey houses and travelled everywhere on expensive motorbikes, even cars, as he studied hard without knowing what his life would be like. There were times he thought of quitting school himself and follow them into doing some business, but he never followed up on it. He told himself that only when he performed well at school would he be able to overcome poverty.
Now he had to ponder things very carefully. He was over thirty years old. He had a poorly-paid, monotonous job. He had been very careful with his money for years, yet his savings were too meagre for him to do anything meaningful with them. At the office on Monday, his friend had asked him: "What do you think about my suggestion, Nhan? Make up your mind soon."
Looking at Nhan’s pensive countenance, the bureau chief told him: "Lacking money, aren’t you? Little strokes fell a great oak, remember. If you want, I’ll arrange for you to join an irrigation project at Xuan Canh District. You can earn a few million dong easily, okay?"
Usually, such proposals would have made him very happy, because his superiors rarely showed any interest in him. He frequently did many jobs for his boss, but always without payment. Recently, when the boss had learnt that Nhan was also from his native place, and was very poor, he had shown more sympathy. Yet this was a project that would take a lot of time and overtime. Finding him undecided, the chief said: "It’s up to you." Then he went out of the office with a cold smile.
***
Still at a loss, Nhan called on one of his old chums who’d been to elementary school with him. The friend had dropped out after finishing his fifth form. Now he was a rich shopkeeper in Ha Noi selling nighties and bras and briefs.
"If you’re bold enough to help out women customers choosing their underwear, then come to me, Nhan, I’ll give you a job. But frankly speaking, your scholarly attitude will not work.
After three days, Nhan quit the shop. He went to a bia hoi (draught beer) parlour and ordered a mug. He drank in great gulps, and ordered another. He drank until he felt a hand on his shoulder. He shuddered as he turned. A small man with half-closed eyes was looking intently at him. Next to the man sat a thin and pale woman indifferently eating a chicken wing.
"Want to try your luck, friend?" he asked Nhan.
Nhan just smiled. One of the first things his father had told him before he left home was to stay away from such games. "There’s no cheating here. Show me your lighter, please."
The small-eyed man snatched at the lighter tossed to him. He struck fire a few times. "It’s still in good condition. The rule of the game is quite simple: you strike it ten times and if fire appears at every strike, you win the game and vice versa. The stakes depend on you: one on ten thousand, or even one on two million or more. You can decide everything."
Nhan was surprised. Never in his life had he found such a game. Nevertheless, he would not fall into the trap. Nhan told him in stern voice: "If you’re short of money, I’ll buy you one mug of beer. As for that childish game, forget it."
The small-eyed man looked at Nhan in disappointment. Nhan ordered two more mugs of beer and pushed one towards him. "You look rather sad," the small-eyed man told Nhan after drinking up the mug in one long gulp. Then he patted Nhan on the shoulder and said softly, "Just call me Huy, by the way. You don’t seem to like games at all. But you appear pessimistic. That’s the matter of money, I guess. I invented this lighter game myself. It’s interesting, isn’t it? I’ve earned a lot of money from it, but lost two fingers in the process."
Nhan stole a glance at Huy’s hands. His left hand had only three fingers. "What an idiot you are," he said. But the other was unfazed. "Give me another mug, please. It’s a matter of psychology, you see. You still look bewildered. You must be daring, my friend."
Nhan ordered two more mugs of beer and pushed them towards the man. The woman sitting next to him seized one and began drinking it greedily.
Two tall men stepped into the parlour. The small-eyed man observed them like a cat spying on its prey. Then he carried the mug of beer with him to their table. "Play this game of luck? It’s quite new. Please give me one lighter…."
Nhan smiled, stood up and left. At home, he took out the bundle from below his pillow and began counting. Five million. No more no less. He silently reproached his poor parents. How could he get another twenty-three million to fulfil his dream: to purchase a house and take his parents to town? Suddenly, he remembered Huy’s left hand. He would have to take a risk.
On Saturday he took a bus and returned to his native village early in the morning. He found his father fishing in the pond and mother cooking food for pigs in the kitchen. In the courtyard, hens were chasing one another and raising small clouds of dust.
"I’ve thought it over very carefully," he told his parents after they sat down to eat. "You should sell this house and live with me in the city. Moreover…," he faltered.
"What! Sell this house? Why? We’re not so poor we have to live on your income," exclaimed his mother in an embarrassed voice. His father kept silent till he had finished his after-meal smoke, then said: "You think that it’s time for us to rely on you, right?"
"You only want to keep me in poverty, don’t you? Whom will you leave this house for? I don’t care for it. But if this situation keeps going on, I will …," Nhan hesitated.
"Say whatever you want to say, dear," his mother said. In fact, he had nothing to say really. To ask for a share of this shabby house left by his forefathers? He felt ashamed for what he’d said already. Anyway, he was not cut out to be a daredevil.
***
"If you don’t decide early, the flat will be sold to others," his friend told him. And, as an afterthought, "Well, try to get enough money. I’ll recommend you another, if I come across one."
Nhan felt as if he had lost the game. A fortune-teller had predicted that he would be successful in the early days of his adulthood. Nevertheless, at this pace of progress, he would not be able to go much further. He returned to his routine: arriving at the office at seven o’clock in the morning and leaving at five. At the end of the month he collected his salary and at the end of the quarter he received his bonus.
***
One day Nhan’s adopted brother, Hau, dropped in at his office. When Nhan was seven years old, Hau, then a baby, had been abandoned in front of his house. Having only one child because Nhan’s mother had miscarried many times, they decided to adopt the baby. Nhan would have a brother to play with, now. The two boys were poles apart in their character. Unlike Nhan, Hau was short-tempered but determined. When Hau decided something he did it at once without letup. Hau was now a serviceman.
"It’s been seven years since we last met," Hau remarked. "So I thought I will drop in on my way back home. How are you doing these days?"
"I thought you were…," Nhan responded, without answering his question.
"You thought that I was still in the army? I’ve been released because they found I have cancer in my spine," Hau said matter-of-factly.
Nhan did not dare to take his brother to his "stove," because he was afraid that his mother would be sad to know how he was living. He took Hau for lunch to the pavement restaurant that he frequented. After the meal, Hau went home without any doubt about the easy life his brother was living in the city.
Six months later Nhan returned home. He was still a bit sad about his unsuccessful bid to sell his parents’ house. He met Hau on the alley leading to the village. Hau wore a crumpled hat and a greasy shirt tucked into a pair of shorts. He was sweating profusely as he drove an old truck on the rough country road. He braked suddenly when he saw his elder brother, and some bundles of rice nearly fell off.
"Hello Brother Nhan," his voice boomed as the vehicle shuddered to a stop and Hau jumped down.
"You’ve not been home for such a long time. Father and mother miss you very much. Now get on and I’ll take you home. Nhan was hesitant and Hau laughed: "Don’t be afraid. I won’t let you fall down into the fields. I’ve been driving it for over four months."
At home, Nhan felt like a stranger. Everything had changed so greatly, that he felt as if he was lost in some new place. The old orchard was gone. In its place were new trees. Several flower beds had been replaced with a kitchen garden. Half the pond was occupied by ducks. On the left wing of the house, there were five pigsties, each with four pigs. A pack of dogs rushed out barking when he went in. Then the oldest of them recognised its master and began licking his feet, tail wagging vigorously.
There was nobody in the house. Nhan sat on the step of the veranda. A little girl rushed in through a hibiscus hedge and confronted him. "Who are you?" "What?" he burst out, taken aback. Then, recovering somewhat, he said sternly: "Go and ask your grandparents to come here." "They’re on a pilgrimage with other old people in the village," she answered.
"When will they return home?"
"Tomorrow afternoon, I think. But who are you?"
"The owner of this house. Don’t you know?"
"Well, yes …" she stealthily went into the kitchen. Time and again she looked up at him with vigilant eyes.
Tired from the long journey, he got in and fell asleep on one of the two beds that had been placed close to each other to make room for storing paddy.
Hau woke him up for lunch. The food tray was waiting them.
"How many people do you serve with so much food?"
"This is for both of us only."
"Where’s the little girl?" Nhan asked.
"She had her meal first to look after the rice-husking machine. We’ve been very busy these days. You may have talked to her… Well, I found her wandering and begging, with no one in the world to look after her. So I took her home."
"Really? What else do you want to do here?" Hau’s confusion made Nhan even more angry. "So, you intend to make father and mother your tenants, don’t you? You must know who you are here." His whole body had turned hot, and he felt something choking his throat, so he ran out of the house to the courtyard. Hau remained standing motionless. Then he covered the food-tray and silently drove the vehicle out of the gate.
Nhan lay down on the bed, tired of the family affairs. Later in the afternoon, he picked up his bag and returned to the city.
***
Nhan fell ill.
He had been lying half-conscious on his bed for three days when his friend and colleague called on him after not seeing him at the office for a couple of days.
"Oh, my God! You are sick," exclaimed his friend. "Why didn’t you go to the hospital? Or tell your relatives to come and look after you. You’ve been lying here like an old dog waiting for death, eh?"
They took him down to an ambulance waiting outside. Nobody told him anything about his illness. Nurses passed by him and whispered to one another. He was at a loss. He’d had many accidents as a child, but nothing remotely like this.
"Send a message to Dad and Mum and tell them that I’m dying," Nhan told his friend.
"OK. But how can you die so easily? You must get healthy, buy a house and get married as well."
His parents arrived a few days later. They guaranteed their son’s operation. After a month in hospital, he was taken back to his native village so that his parents could take better care of him. He learnt that his hospital fees was about five million. "Don’t worry. It is man who makes money," his mother said.
To his surprise, the parcel of money lying under his pillow remained intact. His mother took it home and placed it in the cupboard. His brother was still afraid of him, so he rarely appeared in front of Nhan. Nhan found that he was doing everything in the house properly: arranging jobs for everybody, carrying goods for customers and giving money to mother to buy medicines for his elder brother. Nhan felt sorry for what he’d said earlier.
Fortune smiled on him again. Shortly after Tet, fully recovered, he was ready to leave for the city again and resume his work. Again, his mother put the five million doing into his bag. His father was sitting at the veranda watching him prepare to leave. "If you find that life in the city is too hard for you, return home. Nobody dies of starvation here."
Nhan returned to his former "stove." He tidied it up in a few minutes then went to the office. His boss was clearly ill at ease on his return. "What! You don’t know that you were working here on an employment contract. So when you stopped working, your salary automatically came to an end. We have hired another person after waiting for you in vain for nearly four months."
Stunned and confused, Nhan quickly walked up to the director’s room. The old man was trying to drink up a cup of black traditional medicine while listening to Nhan.
"Well, because you haven’t made any mistakes at work and have been working here for a long time, I’ll transfer you to the archives section with a salary of 400,000 dong per month. You must work there on probation for two months before you can receive any further notice," he said in a weary voice.
In the new section, Nhan did not see anyone else the whole day. He was like a cockroach that paced up and down the damp and bad-smelling room. His expenses had reduced remarkably. The rent remained the same – 150,000 dong per month. He tried to reduce his food cost to 150,000 dong a month, or 5,000 dong a day. The remaining 100,000 dong was for other items. He ate instant noodles or bread for lunch. Dinner was rice and vegetables, and sometimes, a little meat. Leftover from dinner was next day’s breakfast. He became a taciturn, non-romantic person. Every three or five months, he visited his parents. Life in his native village had changed so greatly that he was bewildered. And he no longer exerted his seniority over Hau.
One morning, Hau came to the office looking for him, a bag of clothes slung over his shoulder. He was broken-hearted when he saw the state his elder brother was living in. Nhan dragged his brother into his deserted room as if he was afraid that somebody might see him.
"Why did you come here during office hours?" Nhan asked him.
"It doesn’t matter, really. I brought some money to see if you need it to invest into your job. Nhan felt a bit ashamed, so he let Hau hold forth on life in his native place.
"In the country, life’s simple. Everything’s OK. Dad and Mum told me that because you did well at school, everybody in our clan was placing their hopes on you because you will be the example for our children to follow. Everyone will try their utmost to invest their money in your career. Money doesn’t matter here. What you’ll have to do is to get a PhD degree, then you can place it on the altar of the clan. Other people in the village will admire you greatly. Everyone can make money. But very few people can obtain a PhD degree. Later, you might be a boss as well." Hau, with trousers rolled up to his knees, put his feet on the table, and giggled.
Nhan was startled to hear another giggle from behind the half-closed door. "Pick up the money and return home as soon as possible," he said. "Now I’m still at work. I’ll come home at the end of the week and talk with you."
Unfortunately for Nhan, the talk between him and his brother had been overheard and soon spread all over the office. "Hi, Dr. Nhan, when you turn over a new leaf, don’t forget me." His colleagues teased him wherever he went in the establishment. He was livid with his brother from the countryside for making him a laughing stock. Maintaining the current post was hard enough, let alone attaining another academic title. But he felt afraid of urban life. He thought hard. Under such circumstances, returning home to lead a normal life might be the best solution. But what would happen to him when he settled down in his native village?
He discussed this with one of his former school classmates. "Well, that’s the best way for you. Our commune authorities are going to open a vocational class for teenagers in the village. You can be their instructor. And there are still a lot of other jobs: setting up an irrigation network; building new schools, etc. Nevertheless, do you really want to come back with us?"
Nhan did. He did not understand how he could suddenly become very determined and act without any hesitation. Recalling the hard days at university and at the office, he realised he was not born to be a city-dweller. "Well, go home. There’s no place like home," he told himself.
"What about your PhD degree?" Hau wanted to know. "Such academic titles don’t matter much here," he replied.
That night, under a starry sky lit by the full moon, Nhan sat in the veranda. He filled and lit his father’s pipe.
