Tuc turned thirty-five the year the war finally ended and millions of people were smiling and crying out of happiness. Whenever they saw each other, my mother and Tuc would embrace tightly and lie on the bed together crying. They cried joyfully because of the glory of victory, but they also shed unhappy, miserable tears. When she regained her composure, Tuc would go to the post office to look for letters sent from the South. For over a month she looked for letters at the post office but didn’t find any sign of the soldiers who had once visited our village and promised to return. Had the war killed them all?
Meanwhile, people started to gossip. The village women thought each person had a responsibility, and Tuc’s responsibility was to marry someone, whoever was available, in order to fulfill her female duty prescribed by heaven. What was she waiting for? And what did she think she’d eventually get? Was it simply her karma to be a tired, lonely woman?
Then one day Tuc left the village quietly, like a lost bird. As usual, rumors were ubiquitous. One claimed that Tuc had left in search of men to satisfy her libido. Another said that Tuc couldn’t stand the sound of firecrackers during the wedding season. The weather then was cold and unpleasant from the northern winds. It must have been hard out there, wherever she was, for a thirty-five-year-old woman all by herself.
After Tuc had been gone several months, Hao suddenly returned to the village. Everyone had assumed that he’d been killed in the war, and his return was an important event in our village. Hao wore the stripes of a major on his uniform and rode a black ’67 Honda motorbike that kicked up lots of dust. The village dogs chased after him, barking loudly, and children rushed out to greet him. On the back of Hao’s motorbike was a large, modern-looking suitcase. Physically, Hao looked strong and healthy, which made the war seem like only a wholesome game. He talked and laughed loudly and pinched the girls’ cheeks. Vice-Chairman Doc’s house became a site of attraction and curiosity. People came by on the pretext of “village solidarity” to smoke Ruby cigarettes that smelled like burnt dog hair and to touch the Japanese blinking-eye dolls that Hao had brought from the South. “Is it true,” people asked, “that in the South valuable goods are discarded like trash in the North?” Everyone was curious how Hao had managed to accumulate such wealth. And of course, they also congratulated Mr. Doc on his son’s promotion to the rank of major.
In the village, Hao became something of an idol. “Look at Hao,” people said. “Not only is he successful, but he also brings back these pilfered treasures for his father.” Hao’s words had an even greater impact on the people of the village. He talked about the spoils of war like market women talked about haggling for a good price. Abandoned French wineries where you could take as much wine as you wanted. A storage manager who handed out silver watches to whomever he liked. Apparently the black ’67 Honda motorbike Hao drove was nothing extravagant, because every family in the South had four or five motorbikes that they used to take their children to school. Hao talked about these things with great excitement, as if the sacrifice of millions of lives was simply a personal opportunity for him to collect valuables from wealthy aristocrats and landlords.
Once the parade of villagers coming to Mr. Doc’s house slowed, strangers from out of town started to arrive. They entered quietly, using eye contact to communicate, and left only when Mr. Doc’s guards standing at the gate indicated that it was safe. Mr. Doc quit his chiseling job, and on Saturdays he carried a small purselike bag with him. Nobody knew exactly where he went. Nothing escaped the scrutinizing eyes of the villagers, who figured that Mr. Doc must be making a lot of money selling the goods his son had brought back from the South. It was a mystery exactly how Hao had reached the rank of major in the military, since everyone knew he had no basic knowledge of how to shoot a gun.
Nobody, including Mr. Doc, understood why Hao was still delaying the decision to find a wife and get married. The reason, of course, was that Hao was waiting for Tuc. He still resented her for what had happened that night out in the rice fields. But he couldn’t forget her beautiful, angelic face, which seemed like a challenge to him and dominated his burning desire. If necessary, he would kneel down in front of her and beg as he had done before.
Hao had already overstayed his leave by three days when Tuc suddenly returned to the village. Within ten minutes, the topic of Tuc replaced that of Hao and his pilfered goods among the village gossips. Almost immediately, Hao put on his uniform with the major’s stripes and bright red chiffon scarf and went to find her. He was sweating from head to toe. It was strange to hear the villagers refer to co Tuc, but it made sense, Hao realized, since she was now almost forty years old. How had he forgotten this fact? Hao waited for Tuc out in the rice fields, near the spot where she had once aimed her rifle at his back before sparing his life. Because he was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to recognize her, he hired a young boy and paid him a Ruby cigarette to help him. When the boy cried out, “There she is!” Hao felt his heart leap up and begin beating frantically. Was that Tuc? A pale, droopy-faced woman walked directly toward him. He had the urge suddenly to run away, but there was
