Thanh, the bride, wore a pair of elegant silk pants and a white blouse. She walked from table to table offering the guests more food. Mr. Quang, San’s father, was obviously very pleased with his well-mannered daughter-in-law.
“Lam, where are you?” Mr. Quang said, calling out to a young relative.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Truong’s table needs more wine.”
“Yes, sir,” Lam replied and then busied himself with bringing more food and liquor to the guests.
Mr. Truong pointed at the bride and drunkenly droned on, “You … you … you’re lucky to join this family.… If we hadn’t heard about May’s death, this marriage never would’ve never happened.… Try to have a son soon.”
An older woman named Ba spoke up, raising her voice to be heard over the music coming from an old cassette player.
“You’re just drunk and don’t know what you’re talking about. Thanh and San are very compatible. Look at those hips, and that butt! She’ll have plenty of children!”
Everybody at the party laughed.
Mr. Truong angrily slammed his wine glass down on the table.
“What are you laughing at?” he yelled, reprimanding Ba. “You think you can lecture me, huh? Go home and lecture your bastard son instead.”
Mr. Quang stood up and ran toward Mr. Truong.
“Please, Mr. Truong,” he begged obsequiously. “Today is my son’s happy wedding day.”
“But she was rude,” Mr. Truong said.
“She realizes her mistake,” Mr. Quang said. “Lam, turn up the music.”
The music was already quite loud. Ba quietly moved to an isolated corner of the party and began to cry. Three years after her husband had died, Ba had given birth to a son named Cun. When the villagers asked who the father was, Ba had remained silent. Stoically she’d accepted the consequences. It was said that the benefits she’d been receiving for being the widow of a fallen soldier were cut off.
Nobody at the wedding party knew that May had returned. On the porch now, Grandpa asked her about things from long ago when she was a child. Mai’s father commented that May was lucky to have survived the war at all. Their conversation was neither particularly sad nor particularly happy. Mai’s mother was the only one who seemed especially nervous; she broke anything her hands touched. Mai’s heart was beating fast as she observed all this. Every now and then Mai’s father would ask May another question, but it was obvious that her mind was occupied with thoughts of what was happening next door at the wedding party in San’s home.
May hated herself for feeling lonely and resentful. She had fought in the Truong Son Mountains hoping for the day she would be reunited with her fiancé. But now he was completely oblivious to the fact that she had returned, and he was enjoying his newfound happiness and laughing. May shut her eyes. The light from the wedding party next door was like a thousand needles piercing her bleeding heart. She opened her eyes and, with great sadness, looked down at her amputated leg.
“My poor sister!” Mai’s mother called out, pointing toward San’s house. “Look! They’re holding hands! I can’t stand this scene any longer! May, how can you just sit here while this is going on?”
“What else can she do?” Mai’s father asked. “She can’t stand here screaming. Besides, before he got married, San’s family came and talked with us very politely.”
Mai’s mother cried out, “My gosh, my gosh! They’re happy while my sister is suffering!”
Mai’s father ground his teeth.
“Will you just shut up, please? She’s lucky enough to have come home alive. What else do you want?”
A shout from San’s house brought the music to a sudden halt. Ba was standing over San, whispering something in his ear. San slumped down into a chair and held his head in his hands. The noise from the wedding party had stopped. All one could hear now were the sounds of people cleaning up the tables.
Then, without hesitating another minute, San got up and walked through the hibiscus hedge to the house next door. He was covered with vines and leaves as he emerged onto the porch in front of Mai’s family. Mai’s father held his knees and turned his face away. Mai’s mother grunted a perfunctory greeting. Grandpa added tobacco to his pipe and began puffing away incessantly.
San apologized for his intrusion and said he wished to speak with May.
May swallowed her tears. “We have nothing to talk about,” she said. “Please leave.”
She stood up and walked with her crutches to the gate. San followed her.
“Please, let me explain,” he said.
“You don’t need to explain anything,” May said.
“Please, May.”
May breathed heavily and leaned against a pomelo tree.
“It’s my fault,” San said, beating his fist against the pomelo tree. “I’m a bad person. May, I want you to curse me.”
“I didn’t know that the day we said good-bye was the day we broke up,” May said bitterly.
They were both silent and said nothing else. The pomelo tree gave off a pleasant citrusy smell.
On the day they had said good-bye, years ago, the river pier had been covered with fallen red petals from the surrounding hibiscus shrubs. In the distance, they could hear the sounds of American bombing and the firing of anti-aircraft artillery. Plumes of gray and black smoke floated up into the blue sky. May was rowing the boat as San sat watching her. She was dropping him off because he was going abroad. The boat bounced gently against the waves of the river. Planes streaked through the sky above them. May let go of the oars and leaned her head against San’s chest. The boat drifted freely on the river as the couple held each other, trying to forget about the war and their impending separation.
San looked at May now underneath the pomelo tree in the
