Who in the past had come up with this ridiculous challenge? Tuc thought, blushing. But she was by nature a kind and gentle woman, so throughout round three her assigned child only held onto Tuc’s neck and waved cheerfully at the crowd while she finished cooking the rice. Her pot gave off a nice smell, the steam pushing the lid off.

  When they announced Tuc as winner of the contest, the crowd roared as loud as thunder, which almost made her and the child fall into the water.

  “You are indeed Tam, with hundreds of magical talents. You’re not a flesh-and-bone being.”

  It was Hao who said this. As Tuc made her way through the crowd, he followed a few feet behind. The way he moved seemed sluggish and full of sorrow, as though he were an abandoned person. Tuc felt somewhat sorry for him. But why hadn’t he joined the military? Back then, this was a dangerous question for any young man who had been “left behind.” Was he afraid of death? Or was he ill or disabled?

  Now, out in the middle of the deserted rice paddy, under the bright moon, Tuc felt nervous and annoyed that Hao had surprised her.

  “Why did you follow me?” Tuc asked, lowering her voice.

  “Finally my patience is rewarded,” Hao said.

  “Nobody is forcing you to be patient and stay in one place, just waiting,” Tuc said gently.

  Hao picked up immediately on what she meant. He replied quickly, “Don’t think that I am afraid of death. Tomorrow morning I will put on my rucksack and go to the battlefield. Only tonight …”

  A cold shudder ran up Tuc’s back. Hao moved toward her.

  “The moon is so lovely tonight,” Hao said, inching even closer. “But why is your soul as cold as ice?”

  “Watch your mouth, or I will take you to the village authorities,” Tuc said.

  “Tuc, why won’t you give me a chance? Do you know why I haven’t left yet? Because I love you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” Tuc said. “Aren’t you ashamed to talk like that?”

  “I’m not going anywhere before you tell me that you’ve never loved anyone,” Hao said, suddenly insistent.

  “I would appreciate it if you only cared for me as a friend,” Tuc said, still trying to be gentle but also firm now.

  “Why are you so cruel? You know very well that I love you and cannot live without you. You know that my life would be meaningless if I didn’t include you in everything I do. Go ahead and curse me, scold me like a dog, but please don’t be cruel to me.”

  As a woman, Tuc suddenly felt sorry for Hao. She could see that he was indeed a very lonely man. He was an attractive, elegant person who could get a wife easily, especially when all the other men were gone. She pitied him.

  “I need to be honest with you,” Tuc said. “My heart is already devoted to someone else. There is no room for your affection, though I believe it is sincere.”

  “Don’t lie to me!” Hao screamed, acting all of a sudden like a petulant child. “I beg you! Tell me that you love me, and tomorrow I can leave for the battlefield with no regrets. I will make great contributions, I will …”

  Hao stopped talking when he noticed the distant stare that had come over Tuc’s eyes. He did not understand it. He did not know that there was only one person, and that person wished to see her holding a bunch of flowers tied with a blue silk ribbon as she stepped out from the moon. Hao was merely someone who evoked this other person’s image.

  Tuc’s eyes grew even more distant. It seemed like she was contemplating the very mystery of the universe.

  Then all of a sudden she felt a sensation of falling, as if she were tumbling down into a dark abyss. The starry night sky spun around her uncontrollably and she heard the sound of grass crunching under heavy footsteps. She was on the verge of screaming out, but Hao’s hand already covered her mouth. Like a giant reptile, he crawled over her body, his hands clawing wherever they could. Tuc felt like she was suffocating. She wanted to throw up. She felt her body curling up into itself like a piece of dried fruit left too long out in the sun. She felt the moon in the sky above breaking apart and starting to bleed. But in that moment, she gained a kind of power she’d never known before. Righting herself underneath Hao’s weight, she managed to pull back and then kicked him with all her strength. Hao screamed like a beaten dog. Tuc grabbed her rifle and stood up.

  “Is that how you express your love to me?” she demanded, her voice like fire.

  Hao held his stomach, where she had kicked him, and rolled on the ground in agony.

  “You avoid death just so you can do more terrible things!”

  “All I wanted was to show you my love,” Hao said pitifully.

  “It’s an evil kind of love.” Tuc raised the rifle to her shoulder and pointed it at Hao. “Get lost before I pull back the bolt.”

  Hao stood up clumsily. His clothes were all disheveled. With his head bent, he walked past the barrel of the rifle. Then he stopped and said, “You’re just playing hard to get,” before running off into the night.

  Tuc bit her lip and followed Hao’s black shadow with her rifle. She aimed directly at his back and closed her eyes.

  No, she thought finally, her hands loosening their grip. Let him live. People like him suffer more in life than in death.

  * * *

  I don’t remember exactly how many military units stayed in our village during the war. Probably at least a couple dozen. The young soldiers always promised that they’d return one day. The war back then was at the height of its cruelty, and that “one day” seemed very uncertain. As the years went by, we didn’t see any of them return.

  But our village did receive letters from the soldiers. Some were from the North, which meant the sender was already dead. Other letters were only a few scribbled lines, as if these were their last words before death. Tuc was the person who received the most letters. Many of these soldiers probably died in a jungle somewhere before they received her kind reply.

  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 no time. Hao sighed with relief as the woman quietly passed him; then he made his way back to his father’s house.

  Hao didn’t know that Tuc had glanced behind her, seen his chubby face, and been unmoved.

  Hao left the village very early the next morning, when the roosters were crowing. Village dogs chased after his motorbike all the way to the rice fields on the outskirts. The road was full of potholes from the heavy footprints of water buffaloes, so the motorbike jostled and bounced as it sped away. Hao never looked back.

  * * *

  From Tuc’s diary:

  I have gone through huge stacks of letters at the Hanoi post office. The postal staff was very kind. Every day they have to satisfy the requests of various customers, as well as my particular request. I still haven’t found him. I pick up another letter that might be the one. Which Kieu is this? If it is the Mr. Kieu that I used to know, then maybe I can find out some information about him. My heart beats like mad. I feel a little sick and disoriented. What’s going on? Nervously, I turn the envelope over in my hands. Damn it! It’s Mrs. Kieu, not Mr.

  There are other people also searching through the stacks of letters. Sometimes one of them screams and runs frantically out of the post office. When will it be my turn?

  It has been two days since I left the village. I wonder what people think about me now. Maybe that I’m a crazy woman? Who cares anyway? I find myself thinking instead about my friend Le. I love her so much. She has suffered tremendously. Le has been married for seven years but is still childless, so she has to put up with all the village rumors. Her father-in-law is an evil person, a devil camouflaged in human form. He’s the one who convinced his son to turn the bed upside down and throw Le out of the house on a stormy night. But of course the father-in-law is always the first person to come to the village shrine. Le has not admitted it to me, but I can see it written on her face: she took revenge by giving her body to him. She wants them all to be imprisoned in an incestuous maze so that their family will one day be extinct.

  The village is very different now. People have started to become indifferent to everything.

  …

  I can’t find him anywhere. There are forty people named Kieu, but none is the one I know. Maybe he wants me to go to the afterlife to find him. How unfortunate! If he is still alive, I believe he will return.

  The moon is blue this season.

  …

  A disabled veteran was sitting alone on a stone bench, oblivious to the noisy world around him. Why did he look so sad? I could see that he’d lost a leg and an arm and had several scars on his face. His eyes looked full of sorrow, quietly lost in the twilight. He stared off into the distance, not looking at anything specific. Who, besides me, even noticed him? A few feet from where he was sitting there was a couple, cuddling and caressing each other like a pair of cats. My god! How could they do that in public when it’s wasn’t even dark yet? I felt like running away, because there was nothing more gruesome and cruel than this scene. Gruesome because … (Because I envied them, perhaps?) They were cruel. They should at least have known that there was a person who had lost almost everything sitting right next to them. But how strange! Even that scene didn’t affect him at all. He was still sitting there quietly and looking up at the evening sky. He looked like a shadow in a black-and-white painting.

  Suddenly he looked at me. (Why did he do that?) I had trouble handling how sad his eyes looked. Now it was my turn to sit still. The modern couple had finished what they wanted to do. Now they were tired and bored. They would probably go to a restaurant to try to relieve this burden. It looked like they, in fact, were the lonely people.

  “It’s getting dark already.”

  I was startled and looked at him fearfully.

  “Yes, it’s getting dark,” I replied mechanically. “Who are you waiting for?”

  “No one. I just wanted to be alone.”

  “Every day?” I asked.

  But he didn’t respond. Instead he stood up and started walking away, his wooden leg clopping against the ground.

  Maybe Kieu is disabled just like that veteran. Maybe he imagines that I married long ago and have lots of children. Is he tormented by memories of the past?

  No—I will keep looking for you and slap you in the face before I shed tears against your chest.

  …

  I have visited eighteen military hospitals where seriously wounded veterans are being treated, but he is not there. All the other veterans say, “He is probably dead,” when I ask about him. Why do they say that about their comrade? Maybe they are talking about themselves. They’re trying to test me. He must be alive, and probably suffering—maybe in the final military hospital, which I have yet to visit.

  “But how do you know how many military hospitals there are in this country?” I hear him saying to me.

  I don’t like this question at all.

  …

  I don’t know what inspired me to visit the war museum. Life is such a cruel game! All the personal belongings on display—reminders of the thousands of people who died for our country. I stopped in front of an old photo of a young female guerrilla. But wait! My god—I recognized my own image in the photo! I must have been mistaken. The photo was so warped and blurred that the image looked like it was composed of decaying leaves. But why—why did I want to run immediately from the eyes staring back at me from this photo?

  Suddenly I heard the voice of the museum guide behind me.

  “This is one of the most treasured mementos from the war,” he said. “It was found on the body of a fallen soldier on the outskirts of Saigon.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes from the picture.

  “Perhaps he carried this photo with him during the entire war,” the guide continued. “A visitor from the country that lost the war offered a million dollars to buy this photo and take it with him back to the United States, but we refused to sell it.”

  I left finally, because I didn’t want to let myself be deceived. It must have been a different woman. Because if it were me …

  No, it’s impossible! He is still alive and in the military hospital that I haven’t visited yet.

  But that mole under the lower lip of the woman in the photo …

  How have I never noticed that mole before? I want to smash the deceitful mirror!

  …

  For three months I’ve been wandering around desperately with this sorrow.

  I returned to the stone bench outside the military hospital. The same veteran from before was sitting there again. I had the sense that he had been alone for a long time. Where the cuddling couple sat before, someone had left a flower, a purple flower that looked like spilled blood.