Chapter 10
Faces from the past
After a day of toil, Thiet Nam sleepeth soundly and awakeneth not until the afternoon of the next day. Still drowsy, he is suddenly startled by a monster circling above his head. That strange form resembleth a ghost with yellow fangs, striking fear into his heart at once.
He rubbeth his eyes calmly, and upon closer look discovereth it is but a picture drawn upon paper, hung at the end of a bamboo stick bound to a chair. The image swayeth, and turneth to the other side, revealing the image of child Thien grinning wide upon the paper.
Thiet Nam cannot help but laugh at this grotesque jest. He striketh his forehead and awakeneth fully, then swiftly packeth his belongings, preparing to leave the tent. The masters of the eating-houses earnestly seek to detain him, wishing him to stay a few more days. He declineth:
- I have urgent business that must be done at once. Till next we meet, good fellows.
The people invite him again and again, yet cannot keep him. They only send him off with food. Thiet Nam giveth thanks, gathereth all the gifts into his bundle, and departeth the ethnic market.
Ten days yet remain before the grand assembly openeth; he is not in haste to go unto Mau Son to record his name. What he most desireth now is to bathe, to rid himself of the lingering odor of animals.
Thiet Nam recalled in detail, and sought pond, lake, river, or brook. His memory was mingled with tales that this land had once suffered drought. It was said that in tempest and storm, a white divine water‑ox smote the cliff by the lake, then entered into the heart of the mountain, thus did it create the fissure of Bo Loong Well.
The underground waters of Bo Loong Well flow unceasing, feeding the broad lakes, which never dry. The source is bitter cold; even in midsummer, the hale can scarce endure half a moment within.
Though uncertain if all is as before, he resolveth at last to return to that familiar place. Yet alas, the road is thronged with wayfarers. Long he laboreth to pass through the crowd, until he reacheth a quiet tract, and hasteneth his pace.
As he neareth the destination, he beholdeth from afar a familiar figure. Having had discord with this acquaintance in former days, he wisheth not to meet, and so he runneth swiftly up the slope.
Thiet Nam goeth yet farther, gazing down upon the scene. The landscape remaineth intact, and Bo Loong Well lieth hidden among ranks of aged trees.
The folk once said: if one cooked fish with the water of the well, fish taken from Pac Mo Lake[1], then by virtue of the water's clarity and azure hue, the food would be more savory.
Thiet Nam remembered: in those years many were credulous. The woman he loved dearly had once tried it, yet the result was no different: fish remained fish, fish soup remained fish soup, no matter how cooked, no marked change. Perhaps the rumor mongers and the credulous had long since departed this place.
Time hath altered all. From past unto present, Bo Loong Well hath abided silently beside Pac Mo Lake. The lake's surface hath remained clear as a mirror, unchanged.
At times, the shoals of fish, striving to seize the sunlight, leap for the Dragon Gate. They spring from the water, then plunge back, stirring ripples upon Pac Mo Lake. Yet the creatures unable to become dragons lose hope, and at last sink beneath, vanishing.
The circles of ripples fade, restoring silence to the lake, and upon its surface appeareth the outline of stilted houses, faded and moss‑covered.
All things endure with the years. Man may seek to flee the past, yet must face remembrance; for the memory of time cannot be effaced.
- Van, do not tease your sister!
Thiet Nam heareth the familiar call, and is startled. Looking back, he seeth a young woman calling unto her son. She washeth clothes beside a humble house, her gaze fixed upon two children chasing each other around Bo Loong Well.
Thiet Nam watcheth in sorrow, seeing Van playfully splasheth his sister. Van sticketh out his tongue, feigneth himself to be the Three Bag Goblin, and frighteneth her to tears. The mother hasteneth to lift the girl, soothing her softly. The father standeth nearby, whip in hand, and pursueth Van. Van crieth out in pain and shrieketh:
- I only splasheth water, I did nothing…
The father swingeth the whip, striking hard upon his buttocks:
- You are ever so mischievous; I shall forbid you from joining the festival!
Van quickly foldeth his arms in apology, then runneth to caress his sister's cheeks:
- Weep not, I cherish thee!
The parents behold their son comporting himself as though an old man in child's guise, and cannot refrain from laughter. The father layeth his hand upon his head, urging him to change raiment and attend the festival. Yet that scene of felicity scattereth salt upon the heart of Thiet Nam. He gropeth at the scourge marks upon his body, seeking to ease the anguish of his spirit.
Thiet Nam, in melancholy, recalled his childhood. His father, before neighbors and villagers, ever maintained a façade of dignity, fearing reproach as suspicious, overbearing, and despotic. Thus he at times permitted the mother to lead Thiet Nam unto the market. At another time, he likewise permitted her to take the younger sister. Such favor bestowed upon the wife was but to let her weave ties with merchants, that he himself might gain wealth to drink deep and consort with harlots.
Thiet Nam remembered: never did the father allow the mother to depart with both children together. He feared wife and offspring might flee. Therefore if the mother sought to take both brother and sister, that patriarchal man must needs follow to keep strict watch.
The father once compelled wife and children to drink poison, threatening that unless they returned for the antidote, all three should perish. This was but menace, the purpose being that he might indulge in riotous revels and seek women to sate his lust.
Later, the mother and the two children beheld him within the house sporting with courtesans. If at home he was thus shameless, how much more upon arrival in a land of strangers.
To visit the ethnic market was for Thiet Nam a rare delight of childhood, though never complete. Whatever fault he made—slipping hand and breaking a dish, playing idly, dropping grains of rice at table, or rising late by less than a quarter of an hour—the father scourged him till blood streamed from his body. None could restrain that cruel and venomous nature.
Thiet Nam never forgot how once a neighbor's child reviled his father as a drunkard. Straightway he struck that boy who dared insult his sire until the face swelled.
Such was but childish folly. Yet because the father was diseased with vaunting authority, holding face above all, he coldly bound his own son and plunged him beneath the well.
Thiet Nam could not count how many times he was suffocated; he remembered only his visage turning purple, his body frozen. Only then did the merciless father spare his own flesh and blood.
Thiet Nam remembered not how many cruelties he had endured, but the wound of heart never forgot the mother's entreaties. The father still vented wrath, to manifest his deep‑rooted patriarchal habit.
The mother's hand was once broken by the father. Thenceforth the sister suffered dread, so that whenever she heard the sound of something shattering in the house she cried aloud in terror. Each time such befell, the pillar of the household brought the house to wreck and ruin.
Though tortured unto the border of life and death, Thiet Nam feared not, but hated his father's brutish nature. That savage beastliness made him doubt whether the old man was truly his sire. If indeed begotten of him, why were the children dealt with worse than animals? This question haunted his heart by day and filled his nights with nightmares.
Misfortune would not relent, and days of anguish endured, until the hour of fate that altered his life entire. On that morning, the mother hastened to depart, but the father suddenly changed his mind, forbidding her to take the brother and sister, insisting the children remain at home. After the mother left, the father drank himself insensate, snoring loud.
Thiet Nam sorrowfully recalled: at that time he and his sister were of the same age as the two children of a certain young woman. He and his sister once at dusk played chase about the well…
- Brother, wait for me!
The boy, mischievous, thrust out his tongue and ran hither and thither. He pursued his sister, and even cast stones at birds in flight. That reckless play struck the sister with a stone upon the head, so that blood flowed, and she fell unconscious.
He ran in panic to awaken his sister, but the little girl already lay motionless upon the ground. He touched her head, and beheld it covered in blood. Thinking she was dead, he collapsed upon the earth, his face pale, his whole body trembling.
Fearing his father's punishment, he fled from home. He ran straight ahead, not daring to look back. His small legs stumbled again and again in confusion; his knees were torn, blood streamed from flesh rent by thorns, yet still he strove to run until utterly exhausted, falling upon the ground.
Hunger had left his limbs powerless, fear had made him believe he had indeed slain his sister. Pain coursed through his body, darkness encompassed him, and forced him to cry out for his kin:
- Father, Mother, save me, I know I am wrong! Sister, I am sorry!
The only reply had been the cold wind striking the cliff. Each blast of gale had come as though his father's cruel scourge were punishing him.
From afar, the howls of hunting wolves had broken the silence, dreadful sounds as if rushing upon the child. He had shrunk into the thicket, trembling, sweat falling like rain. His pale face had been drenched with sweat, mingled with tears that slid down his cheeks.
He had clenched his teeth so hard that blood had seeped from his lips, striving to stifle sobs. In terror he had glanced about, his eyes wide as if to burst from their sockets, secretly peering into the shadows of the night. At every moment, fear had slowly invaded that tender soul. His body and spirit had been twisted until at last he had sunk into slumber. Before losing consciousness, he had dimly seen a light in the distance and had heard voices:
- There seems to be someone there?
- Come, let us see…
- Sir, it is a boy…
Those voices had roused him from faintness. His eyes had opened slowly, yet the torch light had pierced them so that he squinted. In the dim glow he had discerned the figure of a man. The man's visage had been unclear, but had borne some likeness to his father. Believing his parents had come to fetch him, he had clung tightly to that man:
- Father, forgive me, I do not cause hurt to my sister!
The man had gently patted his back. Though he had hated his father, when his father had been despised he had still instinctively defended him. The boy, in innocence, had believed that if he protected his father, the father would change his nature, cease his cruelty, and love once more the mother and children.
A small dream had seemed fulfilled in the warmth of a father's embrace. In that moment, feeling had melted the frozen soul and soothed the wounded heart of the child.
Never had his father loved him as then; he had thought his sincerity at last had won his father's recognition. This sudden joy had brought tears streaming down his face. The man had softly coaxed:
- Peace now, child, weep no more!
Hearing a strange voice, he had quickly pushed away the one who was not his father:
- Who are you? Where is my father?
The man had wiped his tears and said:
- My name is Lam Binh. Child, what befalls you?
He had thought his sister already dead, and so had fled from home. At that moment he had suddenly felt perhaps she yet lived. He must return to beg forgiveness, hoping his parents and sister would pardon him. The boy had pleaded with the man to take him home, but Lam Binh had laid his hand gently upon his shoulder:
- Be calm! What is your name? Why did you faint in the thicket?
He had told the reason of his swoon, answering:
- My name is To Van. My home is in Binh An Village on Bac Giang Circuit.
Lam Binh had thought that after his death, no son would plant the tip of the mourning staff on the ground while walking in mourning for him. Sadly he had looked back upon himself—he was soon to be near to earth and far from heaven, and yet he must live his remaining days alone.
Lam Binh had thought that after his death, no son would plant the tip of the mourning staff on the ground while walking in mourning for him. Fate, however, had brought him a boy of fair countenance and fluent speech. Perhaps Heaven in mercy had bestowed this comely child upon him. If this were Heaven's gift, he would never let the boy depart.
The longing to be a father had grown in his heart, and soon had turned into selfish desire. Thus the man had lied:
- Your parents and sister are dead!
The boy, shocked, had faltered in speech, his voice choked and broken:
- How do you know?
The man had bowed his head in confusion, striving to conceal the shame that tore his conscience. Whenever he had hesitated to utter falsehood, reason had restrained him; yet at last the demon of lies had overcome his conscience.
- I had but just passed through Binh An Village.
He had said:
- And beheld folk preparing to bury a little girl. The neighbors all declared that the child had perished, struck upon the head by a stone. None knew whither the son of that household had gone. The parents, grief-stricken beyond measure, leapt together into the river and perished, their bodies lost!
The child, seeing Lam Binh so sorrowful, believed it to be true. His lips quivered, and he broke forth into loud weeping. The cry pierced deeply into Lam Binh's remorse. The old man faltered, loosening his hand. Lam Binh longed to embrace the boy, yet felt guilt before his own conscience.
Conscience, shame, and remorse—those emotions surged upon that solitary man, condemning his self-seeking. Yet those very emotions yielded to his fierce yearning to be a father. Lam Binh struck his head again and again, seeking to quell his tumultuous thoughts, then sought to succor the child:
- Son, be calm! You have no kin left; I shall be your kin!
He had ever longed for the father who would cherish and protect him, yet the one he had defended with all his heart had departed forever. Those who loved him most were his mother and sister, and they too were gone from this world.
Who would love him? Who would stay awake through the night to soothe him to sleep? Who would each day play with him in joy? None were left.
Henceforth he must dwell alone in this desolate world. Heaven was not without mercy. When he had lost all, Heaven bestowed upon him a father. The boy sobbed, tears upon his cheeks, and cried:
- Father!
For the first time in his life the man heard the child call him "Father." Tears fell like rain. He smiled in gladness and clasped the boy tightly in his arms. Upon his sorrowful face now flowed tears of joy.
- Son, forget the name 'To Van'! That name would only increase your pain. From this day forth, you are Lam Thanh, my son!
The lament for lost kin mingled with the selfish father's voice of solace. Alas, the irony! The man was better than the one who had begotten the child yet was unworthy to be called father. That simple joy was the very form of fatherly love he had long craved. He never doubted Lin Ping's deceit. The lie veiled the truth, stinging his wounded heart as salt upon a sore. The wound lingered, never fading, like a foul specter with yellow fangs, ever lurking to disturb his spirit.
Thiet Nam is immersed in memory until he hears a young woman call:
- Van, hurry, it is already late!
- Mother, wait, I shall come forth at once!
The familiar name draws him back to the present. When that household departs, Thiet Nam goes alone to the dwelling where he had once lived with his beloved. Upon the wall of the well were once carved the characters "Thanh - Loan", yet now they have been blurred by children's scribbles, crossed and tangled, the former shape no longer discernible.
In former days he and his beloved gazed each day upon their reflections in the clear water of the well. All has faded with the passing years; his cherished companion is no longer at his side, and now the image reflected is but his solitary form.
Thiet Nam falls into deep thought, memories surging like the tide. Suddenly the water of the well turns turbid white; with every instant the water alters its hue, visions manifest. This time, what Thiet Nam must endure is his own shadow stripping the skin from his body. "He" becomes a foul specter, baring yellow fangs and uttering a ghastly laugh:
"Even your sister you did not spare! You are but a beast!"
Foonote
[1]This place is now an irrigation lake, supplying water for production and daily life.