Love Like Hate (21 page)

“How does he dress at night?”

“Well, he puts perfume and makeup on and he wears my panties!”

“Your panties?!”

“My panties!”

“Why don’t you buy him his own panties?”

“I did, but he won’t wear them. He wants to wear
my
panties. I think my son became gay from using dirty needles. You know, other people’s blood got into his blood.”

“You mean he’s HIV positive?!”

“No, just gay.”

Kim Lan finished her coleslaw in silence and did not ask any more questions.

One morning, there was no fishmonger squatting in front of Paris by Night. Kim Lan had softened to the point of allowing Phuong inside the house. Her son wasn’t such a great catch either, she finally realized.
Any girl I might find for him would only marry him for money. At least this one knows how to work. The fishmonger is stubborn all right, but at least she doesn’t have a smart mouth. Her lips rarely move, she barely seems capable of speech. I can deal with a dumb daughter-in-law. You don’t want them too smart or they’ll challenge all your decisions
.

30
COMING HOME

G
ood tidings come in pairs, they say. The same week that Kim Lan welcomed Phuong into her household, someone else showed up and demanded to be let in. It happened on a Wednesday evening, at about nine o’clock. It was September 12, 1990. The café was crowded and Sen was playing chess as usual. Busy giving change to a customer, Kim Lan did not see Hoang Long until he stood right next to her with a huge smile on his face. “I’m home!” he shouted so everyone could hear. Then he gave Kim Lan the tightest squeeze of a hug ever. He pecked her cheek then buried his face in her hair. He ran his hands up and down her back. With her head turned sideways, she could feel his hot breath and wet lips in her ear. Since most customers knew Sen as Kim Lan’s husband, they were astounded by this display. They looked in Sen’s direction and saw him standing up, his face fierce, announcing to everyone, “Please finish your drinks. We’re closing in five minutes.”

“Who is that?” Hoang Long asked Kim Lan, though he already knew.

She answered flatly, “He’s my new husband.”

After everyone had left, the three of them sat at a table, their chairs equidistant from each other, to try to unravel their situation. No one else was allowed in the room. Sneering, Hoang Long leaned back in his chair while his adversary, all grim concentration, hunched forward. “You must understand, I married Kim Lan in good faith. We all thought you were dead.”

A Chinese accent, Hoang Long detected, grinning, sensing an advantage already. If his rival had come from Hanoi, he would have had to start calling him sir. “But I’m far from dead. I thank you for raising my son and keeping my wife company all these years, but now that I’m back, I’d like to live with my family again.”

“I had no choice but to marry Sen,” Kim Lan said in a consoling voice. “You must think back to 1975. If I didn’t claim him as my husband, they would have taken the house. I had to say you had died.”

“I’m not trying to blame anyone, but this is still my house, and you are still my wife. Sen, you’re welcome to stay here until you can find new arrangements.”

“But I’ve lived with Sen for fifteen years now and we have a daughter. If he leaves, then I’m leaving with him.”

Hoang Long really hadn’t expected his wife to say this. “You’re telling me you’re staying with this Chinaman instead of returning to your rightful husband?!”

Sen immediately stood up, knocking his chair backward. He was ready to kick Hoang Long in the face. The just-released prisoner looked terribly fragile. Spraying spittle, Sen raised his voice. “Listen, asshole. This house is under my name now. If you don’t believe me, just ask Kim Lan to show you the papers. I understand all the shit you’ve gone through and I’m not going to be unreasonable. You’re welcome to stay here until you can find new arrangements.”

In his prime, Hoang Long would have torn into Sen—killed him with his hands, if necessary—but he had no fighting spirit left. Fifteen years of prison had conditioned him to accept any sort of humiliation with resignation. Threatened, he became speechless, his eyes blurred, and he sat still like a scolded child. Kim Lan felt so sorry, she wanted to pull him to her bosom. Seeing no reaction from Hoang Long, Sen lowered his voice. “You can stay here as long as necessary. Up to a month even. There’s plenty of room in this house. There’s no hurry.”

That night Hoang Long slept on a cot downstairs while his hosts slept in their usual bed upstairs. Kim Lan was afraid he would break into their bedroom and kill them in their sleep. All night long she listened for the creaks of the stairs, but heard nothing.

In the morning Hoang Long took Kim Lan aside to say he was leaving. “I can’t stay in the house a minute longer under these conditions.”

“But where will you go? Stay here and relax, for a month at least. We’ll work something out. I’m sorry things have turned out this way.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“I’m not whispering.”

“Yes, you are.” Hoang Long shook his head and chuckled. “I’m staying in my own house as a guest, a house I bought with my own money, and my wife’s speaking to me in a whisper because she’s terrified of her new husband. She’s also terrified the neighbors will find out she’s a polygamist. That’s why I’m leaving.”

Kim Lan did not respond. She only sighed, her face hot. They stared at each other for a minute in silence. Suddenly, she understood what he wanted. “I’ll be right back,” she said. Then she went to her safe and cleaned it out, all of her savings, a very nice sum, returned and gave it to him. He took the money without saying a word, nodded and walked away.

Hoang Long took a van to Cao Lanh that afternoon. It was freakishly thrilling to see the landscape speeding by. Rice paddies had never appeared greener. Another weird sensation was to have a wad of money in his pants pocket.
I lost my wife and a fifth of my life
, he reflected,
but I’m a free man now. Just two days ago I was without hope
. The town of Cao Lanh had not changed much in the intervening years. Walking through its crowded market, he became reacquainted with many smells, shapes and colors. He paused often to inspect a once-familiar fruit or vegetable. Tempted to buy many things, he bought nothing, since he was still in awe of the small fortune
he had in his possession. The sight of a policeman made his heart skip a beat. He stood still until the shopping cop disappeared. Laughing at his own nervousness, he had to shake his head. A young female suddenly brushed against him. Turning, he glimpsed her pretty face disappearing.
Life is good
, he thought.
There’s a world of wars, prisons and hospital emergency rooms, and then there’s ordinary life, where pretty girls go shopping and bump into you. Sometimes they even do more than bump into you
, he grinned at the dim memories.
Everyone’s going about their business and no one cares that I’ve been in prison. No one cares that I’ve killed either
. A killer lives on borrowed time. To him, life has a lurking sharpness that those who haven’t played destiny could never imagine.

Remembering the streets, Hoang Long had no trouble locating his mistress’s house. The coconut tree in the yard seemed aged and diseased, its fronds ragged, its fruits the size of oranges, but everything else looked the same. He rang the bell and waited impatiently outside the gate.
I hope she’s neither dead nor married
. Suddenly he panicked and touched his pants pocket. Sure enough, all the money was gone.

31
CONJUNCTIONS

S
en did not know that Hoang Long had left. To avoid his adversary and to give himself space to think, he had spent the morning at a café down the street.
A month is too long
, he thought.
I must figure out a way to get rid of him much sooner. There’s no way I’m going to stare at his ugly mug three times a day, breakfast, lunch and dinner, for an entire month. The longer he stays, the more comfortable he’ll get and soon I won’t be able to get rid of him at all. He’ll also grab my wife when I’m not looking. Hell, they might be doing it right now.… The guy’s also a combat veteran. He’s used to killing people. I’m surprised he didn’t fight me last night. He didn’t want to go back to prison, I guess. He’s still a killer inside, however. The next time I cross him, or look at him cross-eyed, he’ll stab me
.

At lunchtime, Sen returned home undecided about what to do with Hoang Long. He sat down at the table dreading the other man’s presence. Noticing no extra bowl, he asked Kim Lan, “He’s not eating with us?”

“He’s gone.”

“He’s gone?!”

“He left this morning. For good.”

Sen couldn’t help but grin. He felt so happy, he even farted a couple of times.

“Why are you laughing?”

“I’m not laughing.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Do you expect me to cry?”

“I don’t expect you to do anything, but you shouldn’t be laughing. He spent fifteen years in jail. You should at least respect his sacrifice.”

“Listen, I don’t appreciate your lecturing me about how I should feel, OK? You should just be glad that I’m not angry, OK?”

“You angry?! What are you talking about?!”

“Why don’t you calm down for a moment? If I’m not angry at you for deceiving me, then you should just calm down, OK?”

“Deceiving you?!”

“Don’t you think I know where you went last year?”

“What are you talking about?!”

“You’re so full of it.”

“Yeah, I’m so full of it!”

Sen got up and walked away from the table. He had not touched his food.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to Phan Thiet.”

Outside, greeted by brilliant sunshine, his mood improved immediately. It’s all nonsense, he said to himself. He walked briskly down the street, feeling better with each step. He knew exactly where he was going and marched right inside. As soon as he sat down, a girl in a miniskirt ambled up to him and said, “How are you doing?”

A whore ages slower than a dog, but faster than a dentist or a secretary. A two-year-old dog equals an eighteen-year-old whore or a twenty-four-year-old dentist. When Cun met the how-are-you-doing girl a year ago, she had looked about sixteen. Now she looked twenty-two. Pinched and kneaded daily by an endless procession of slobbering boys and men, entertaining them, her flesh had slackened, her face hardened and her soul cracked. A year later, people would think she was twenty-seven. Sliding quickly down the longevity grease pole, she became careless and no longer insisted that her customers use condoms. By nineteen, her real age, she was dead.

Sen enjoyed her services that day and was back at the café an hour later, feeling much better. Cun stood behind the till and A-Muoi was playing with Hoa. A-Muoi had hardly said a word to Sen all these years but suddenly she spoke to him in Chinese. “You should never trust the Vietnamese. They are all dishonest.”

Sen stared at A-Muoi’s chubby face. “You shut up, all right?”

That night Sen went up to the bedroom and lay down next to Kim Lan. Though she faced away from him, he could tell she was not sleeping yet. Feeling a mixture of guilt and tenderness, he touched her on the shoulder, but she simply said, “No.” They slept together that night and many nights after that, but they would never make love again.

In January of 1991, Kim Lan became a grandmother. Phuong’s baby boy was solid and handsome, his heft surprising considering his parents’ puny sizes. Two months later, Kim Lan gave Phuong money to open a stall at the market to sell pork. Cun got up at five each morning to help his wife pick up meat. Relations between Sen and Kim Lan were lukewarm during the day, chilly at night. She continued to feel an aversion to his touch and he no longer persisted. Whenever he was tired of playing chess, Sen would go to the hostess bar. All the girls liked him there and they even gave him a cute nickname: “Biggie Sen.”

Sen always tipped the girls a little extra. Talking to them before and afterward, he’d ask them about their villages, and whether they had boyfriends, husbands or children. He’d ask them about their family lives, about their husbands’ job and vices, and listen to their complaints.