“If you keep talking like that, get out of here, and don’t ever come back,” Dung’s mother, out of frustration, yelled back at them.

  After her husband’s decease, the villagers spread the rumor that Phen must’ve been possessed by a ghost that brought misfortune to the family. If not, how could Dung’s brother die from falling from a tree?

  The rumor made Phen miserable. Every early morning, she would wake up before the rooster crowed and go to the farm and stay until well after dark. She didn’t talk or laugh like she used to. She was a mere shadow drifting through the world.

  Once, at dinner, Dung’s mother told Phen, “We can’t stop people from spreading rumors, but we don’t have to take what they say to heart. Why must we let them disturb our lives? If a tree wants to survive in a dense forest, it has to grow higher and snatch the sunlight. We’ll have to strive to grow above the gossip and grasp our happiness.”

  Phen burst into tears. She hadn’t wept in two weeks but now she couldn’t suppress her agony any longer and cried endlessly. Dung thought Phen had become emotional because her mother didn’t truly understand what was in her mind. But Dung’s mother loved her dearly. Dung loved Phen, too, and wished she had a good man whose shoulders she could lean on when exhausted, and someone to have children with and build a family together.

  But when Phen did find that man, Dung was tormented. If it had been someone other than Y’Thôn, Dung wouldn’t have been so bitter. Dung had loved Y’Thôn and his thick muscles and kind smile since her breasts were first starting to develop. She would blush and run to hide behind her friends whenever he came around.

  Did Y’Thôn know Dung had had a crush on him? Dung had no idea. By chance, when it rained the previous day, Dung’s mother asked her to take a raincoat to Phen as she was staying in a temporary hut to watch the family’s farm during the cultivation season. When looking through the bamboo screen, Dung shuddered when seeing Y’Thôn and Phen so lost in each other’s bodies that they didn’t mind the torrential downpour outside, nor did they know that Dung was standing out there in the thunderstorm.

  Dung sprinted through the field. She didn’t go home. She didn’t know where she was going. Running through thorn grass and spiky weeds she reached the top of a hill and dropped down to the ground beneath an imposing knia tree. The rain stopped and her body shivered but Dung still didn’t go home. How could she? How could she fight back tears when she saw Phen?

  After that day, Dung said nothing to Phen, and only replied to her questions with curt statements. After Phen went to the farm, Dung’s mother held her hands with her bony fingers.

  “Is there something wrong between you two? Bowls and dishes in the same basket can clash; it’s the same with sisters. If you can, why don’t you just let those troubles flow away with the stream in the forest?”

  “How can I forget them, Mom? Don’t you know Phen is seeing another man?”

  “Your brother passed away a long time ago. And your sister-in-law is still young.”

  “I’m your daughter but you don’t feel sorry for me. Why do you love a stranger more? Only a stranger would steal your daughter’s man like that.” Dung burst into tears, dashed down the stairs, and ran to the entrance of the village. She went far away from everyone so she could cry alone.

  Alas, Y’Thôn never smiled and chatted with Dung because of her sister-in-law. If Dung happened to meet him at a festival, his eyes were always longing for Phen’s, even though Dung was younger and more beautiful. How could he love a widow but not a single girl like Dung?

  Her heart was shattered.

  Dung’s mother sat quietly at the door and let Dung sob inside without saying a word. Perhaps her mother thought that if she let Dung cry till her tears ran dry, her agony eventually would flow out.

  Three days went on this way until Dung’s mother woke Dung up.

  “How much longer would you stay in there? Are you going to die a spinster in that dark room?”

  “What can I do now, Mom? I don’t want to see Phen’s face again. My heart is broken.”

  Dung wept. Her heart pounded but her body was frail. Dung and Phen never hid anything from each other. But this time she didn’t tell Phen about the cause of her anguish.

  Dung’s mother rose to her feet and turned on the light.

  “In this village men are like leaves in a forest. If one doesn’t love you, look for another. You’ll find someone who loves you more than he loves himself. But you have only one sister.”

  “Mom, it’s not that easy. Love isn’t so simple. My heart is disobedient; it can’t be forced to do anything.”

  Dung was so aggravated that she couldn’t sleep that night, rolling side to side until the rooster crowed. Dung didn’t know that on the other side of the divider, her sister-in-law was also awake. And across the house, in a small room, Dung’s mother was also sleepless. Their home was frigid, even with a burning fireplace.

  Y’Thôn’s family ferreted out his affair with Phen. Early one morning, just as the sun had emerged from behind a bamboo ridge, Y’Thôn’s mother rushed into Dung’s house, yelling like crazy at Dung’s mother, “Did you know your daughter-in-law is having an affair with my son?”

  The two women faced each other, but looked like they were in different worlds. One was seething, the other sober.

  “So what? My daughter-in-law is still young and has no kids. I consider her my daughter. Your son is an adult. If you approve, I’ll take him into my family.”

  “Impossible.”

  Dung had never heard such a loud voice in her house. Y’Thôn’s mother stood straight up, her hands shook frantically, her head jerking.

  “I would never allow her to live with my son. Sleeping with a woman like her will make him a ghost the next morning. Don’t forget how your son died. Please tell her to stop seducing my son. Otherwise, don’t blame me for what will happen.”

  Dung’s mother collapsed, enraged. Dung came to hold her. On Y’Thôn’s mother’s way out she passed Phen at the door and stared her down without saying a word. Phen was petrified; her face took on a sickly pale hue. Tears streamed down her face. Suddenly, Dung felt sorry for Phen and all her earlier resentment vanished in an instant.

  Dung’s mother skipped lunch and then dinner. So did Phen. The house was somber. Meals were prepared but no one bothered to eat them. Dung’s tongue tasted bitter and she put the food away without being able to eat a single bite. She fed the pigs and sprinkled rice in the yard for the chickens, but her dolor lingered. Time and again, she would hear Y’Thôn’s mother’s shrieking voice reverberating in her head.

  After Dung’s brother died under a tree, the villagers spread a rumor that Phen had bad karma and whoever became her husband would die, sooner rather than later. Men in the village had been climbing trees for honey for generations and there had been only a few accidents that caused broken limbs but they got healed in a couple of months. Only Dung’s brother had died. The villagers spread other rumors, but Dung’s mother ignored them. She loved her son as much as she felt sorry for Phen’s loneliness. When Y’Thôn’s mother yelled at her that morning, she, however, was shaken, confused, and unsure how to talk to her daughter-in-law. Did she need to tell Phen to stop seeing Y’Thôn, or did she need to tell her to ignore what people said, since the villagers would soon find something else to gossip about?

  She mulled it over that night but came to no conclusion about what to say.

  It all made Dung love Phen more, especially when Y’Thôn called Phen softly from below the house one night. With a bamboo stick, he poked open the window above where Phen was lying. Dung was sleeping with Phen so the stick hit Dung’s arm. Dung nudged Phen but she refused to sit up. Her face simply turned away toward the divider. She pretended to be in a deep sleep, but an occasional gentle sigh revealed that she was awake the entire night.

  At dawn, Dung shook her sister-in-law, whispering, “Phen, do you genuinely love Y’Thôn?”

  “I don’t know. Come on! Please forget what you have learned. I enjoy living with you and Mom like this.”

  Phen’s voice was neither gleeful nor sad. She sat up and tied her hair into a bun. Then she sat with her arms around her knees, staring blankly ahead.

  “How about you and Y’Thôn leaving this village for somewhere far away?” Dung suggested softly. “Live together for a few years, have kids, then come back. Nobody will blame you for anything.”

  “I don’t want to leave our house. Must I leave this village to live a contented life? I love Mom. I can live without men, but my life would mean nothing without you and Mom.”

  Then she turned to touch Dung’s face gently. Dung loved her sister-in-law’s warm gesture. Just days ago, Dung didn’t want to see Phen’s face ever again and had wished she would vanish forever.

  Phen went downstairs and Dung opened her sister-in-law’s small window. Y’Thôn was standing below the window. Perhaps he had been there all night. His hair was soaked with dew. His eyes were deep and filled with sorrow. Dung felt a surge of adrenaline, but it wasn’t the same as when she saw him and Phen entangled. She just felt sorry for the couple.

  What could Dung do to help the man hold her sister-in-law’s hand again? She couldn’t do anything. Every day, Y’Thôn stood below the window where Phen sat weaving a brocade. Her lover was waiting, but she never opened the window.

  One week. Ten days. Then one month.

  She never went to the farm; she just stayed indoors and wove brocades. She said if she stayed inside like this, the thread of love would be broken; such a thread was fragile. One morning Dung didn’t notice Y’Thôn at first when she opened the window, but then saw him standing right before her. Y’Thôn was bony, his hair fell across his forehead, and his beard was wild. He looked like someone who had spent months in the deep forest. His eyes were even sadder than the last time she had seen them.

  “Phen doesn’t want to see me anymore, does she?” he asked Dung.

  “Please go home. How can you live like this, Y’Thôn?”

  It was agonizing to see. Y’Thôn had stood for so long outside Phen’s room. Why didn’t he go home and persuade his mother and his family that Phen was a good girl? It was simple. Phen was only an in-law, but her husband’s family loved her just like one of their own. Phen was talented, taking care of the housework and the farm work without complaint. And although Dung’s brother had passed away a long time ago, Dung’s family still lived a comfortable life—they had a motorbike, a TV, and everything else they wanted. Who could compare with Phen? Only a few could match up to her. He should’ve told his family about this, and if they still rejected her, he should’ve kept trying to convince them. But Y’Thôn only stood there and watched. He waited so long that the leaves outside the house turned brown and fell.

  Early one morning Phen opened the window above the loom. Y’Thôn was nowhere to be seen. She told her mother that she would go to the market to sell the brocade that she had just finished weaving. While she was disassembling the loom to remove the fabric, Dung sat down next to her and spoke in a light voice, “Sister, I’ve heard that some girl in the village came to ask Y’Thôn for his hand in marriage.”

  “Uhm.”

  “Why uhm? Are you sad?”

  “Dung, do you think this brocade is pretty?”

  “Why do you ask? I’m talking about love.”

  “This morning, I’ll take it to the market. If people don’t like it, I’ll bring it home and reweave it. If I work diligently enough, I’ll have a worthy brocade to sell.”

  Dung didn’t know if her sister was disconsolate at the news that another girl had come to marry Y’Thôn because she showed no emotion. In a few days, Y’Thôn would become someone’s husband. After that, if Phen and Y’Thôn ever passed each other in the village, they would gaze at each other like strangers.

  What does it look like when a lover becomes a stranger?

  The thread of love, once broken, can never be mended.

  Why not seek another thread? If it can’t be found in the woods, it can be found in the mountains where birds sing and streams babble. Would there be men there? Very likely. Men always go to the woods to collect honey.

  After the Storm:

  Trần Thị Thắng

  I was looking for a caregiver for my hospitalized mother when I was introduced to a young woman named Cẩm Thúy from Cà Mau. She was carrying a duffel bag when she entered my mother’s room and greeted her with a smile. When my mother sneezed, Thúy patted her on the back and quickly pulled out a tissue to wipe my mother’s nose. Seeing that Thúy clearly had experience with this kind of work, I asked her to take care of my mother.

  “Mom, I’ve got to go home now,” I said.

  My mother gently released her hold on my hands so that I could leave. I was her only daughter, so when I got married, she moved in with me. She was used to having me by her side. I was her breath; she was my refuge.

  Sài Gòn was packed with vehicles and people. I didn’t pay much attention to how crowded it was until my mother was hospitalized, which forced me to travel back and forth from the suburbs. I always wondered why so many people poured onto the streets every night as if there were a festival going on. A traffic jam ahead forced some motorbikes to turn around in search of another route. Cars and trucks stood still and I was stuck between them. I loosened my grip on the handlebars and thought about my mother.

  I got home late and my husband and young daughter greeted me at the door. She embraced me, sobbing, and said, “I miss Grandma. I miss Grandma!”

  We had to console her for a bit before she stopped crying so that we could sit down and have dinner together.

  That night, Thúy suddenly appeared in my mind: her oval face, ivory skin, bright smile, and maroon fingernails. How could a person like her become a caregiver? Although my daughter was sleeping next to me, I wanted to leave the house and run to the hospital immediately to check on my mother. But I had to wait until morning when my husband could look after my daughter.

  Sài Gòn was rarely foggy in the early morning, and when it was, the cool air was refreshing. I gently pushed open the door of my mother’s room and walked in. Thúy was lying on a mat on the floor while my mother slept peacefully in her bed. I quickly and quietly closed the door behind me and stood in the open hallway enjoying the fresh breeze. When Thúy walked out to get hot water for the thermos, I rushed inside.

  “Was everything OK last night, Mom? Is Thúy taking good care of you?”

  “No need to worry. She knows what she’s doing,” my mother replied softly as she caressed my hand.

  The night before was the first time I had not been with my mother to take care of her, and hearing she was doing just fine was a great relief. Thúy entered with a smile. “You must be worried about your mother. Last night, I helped her walk to the restroom twice. She slept well. Please don’t let her know you’re worried. A patient needs peace of mind.”

  I gave my mother a bowl of porridge. She held my hands and then gently pushed them away. I felt comfortable trusting Thúy to watch my mom so that I could go to work.

  Because Thúy had been with my mother for only one night, she remained enigmatic to me. I called my husband on the phone to ask him to pick our daughter up after school, and then returned to the hospital. After helping my mother eat her dinner, Thúy accompanied her for a walk on the rooftop terrace. My mother needed to lean her old, enervated body against Thúy so that she wouldn’t fall. When she was sapped by walking, she sat down. Her gray hair spilled across Thúy’s shoulder when she rested her head on it. A breeze blew in and tussled her locks so they resembled a layer of fog. I whispered to myself, Mom, Mom.

  I walked toward her and sat down. She intertwined her old, dry fingers with mine and moved them gently as if expressing endearing words. Thúy massaged my mother’s shoulders. Her maroon fingernails moved back and forth like waves while my mother closed her eyes with a contented look on her face.

  After putting my mother to bed, I asked Thúy to sit with me on the rooftop.

  “How long have you been working as a caregiver?”

  “Eleven years.”

  “You must have been very young and beautiful when you started.”

  “When I left home, I cried until I had no tears left. I told myself that I would be gone for ten years, until I was thirty-two, and then I would come back. It’s already been eleven years. I have two children, and I haven’t been back once.”

  “So when will you return for good?”

  “It’ll take me one more year to pay off our loan. After that, I can go home and we’ll start from the beginning again.”

  Thúy had left her hometown of Cà Mau after the storm in 1997. The typhoon sank her husband’s fishing boat, but he survived. Her mother-in-law gave the young couple ten taels of gold that she had been saving her entire life to help them pay off a portion of the debt they owed to friends who had loaned them the money to buy their boat. Her father-in-law had been more fortunate in his fishing career than his son, so her parents-in-law had done quite well financially. Originally from Thanh Hóa, her mother-in-law moved to Cà Mau, where she had met the indigent young man who later became her husband. When their unfortunate son lost everything in the storm, they used their entire savings to help him.

  The elderly couple was disheartened by their son’s misfortune. After it happened they took a walk along the beach, hand in hand, and reminisced about the husband’s life fishing on the open ocean. The old man had never experienced a storm like the one that stripped his son of everything. The son’s misfortune became his father’s financial burden.

  “It seems like the sea provided us fish so that we could earn enough money to raise our kids. And then the sea took everything from us,” the old woman said, looking out across the waves.