“I believe what you say, but we should see a doctor. I want to make sure there’s nothing wrong with us,” she said softly and affectionately.

  “Of course there’s nothing wrong with us. We’re completely healthy,” Thành huffed, and yanked her hands from his chest. Then, he turned his head back and looked at his wife furiously, saying, “My faith in my ancestors’ blessing is immutable. Don’t ever mention this again.” He then stormed out of the room and slammed the door.

  On the way to visit Thành’s parents two months later, Lam’s heart was heavier than ever. She was slumped in deep dejection and tears rolled down her cheeks. She watched the world race past in the train window. The rush of the wind and the clamor of the train were suffocating. Next to her, Thành’s eyes were half-closed. She wasn’t sure whether he was sleeping or not.

  When Lam walked through the gate of the house, her mother-in-law looked down at her belly critically. Red lanterns dangled in the wind, and as she walked along the veranda, Lam felt as if the house’s pillars were about to fall on her. In the afternoon, her mother-in-law dried herbal leaves in a frying pan while her father-in-law sat quietly at a tea table in the garden. As usual, Lam went to help her mother-in-law but when she got near the kitchen, she heard her talking to Thành.

  “So, still no news? It has been two years! Her chest is so flat that it’s difficult for her to get pregnant. Did you tell her about the red cushion?”

  “She did ask about it, but I told her nothing,” Thành replied.

  “That’s good. Our ancestors will bless us. You’ll have a son soon.”

  Their conversation made her feel uneasy. What is so secret about that cushion? Lam asked herself.

  That night, Lam couldn’t sleep and instead stared at the dim lantern light seeping through the cracks of the wooden wall. She was obsessed with the image of the locked room that she was forbidden to enter. Once, she noticed that her mother-in-law kept the key to it in the room where she prayed every night.

  Lam sat up while Thành continued to snore beside her. Her mother-in-law would still be sleeping too. She trembled as she entered the Buddha room clandestinely. She fumbled around searching for the key to the forbidden room. There, beneath a stack of thick Buddhist prayer books, she found it.

  Lam walked back across the veranda beneath the red lanterns. When she reached the door to the forbidden room, it felt as if her heart might stop beating at any moment. She almost turned back around, but her curiosity was irresistible. She gently opened the door and used her cellphone light to look around. In the center of the room stood a table with an antique incense burner. On the table was a thick book written in classical Chinese that might be the family’s genealogy book that Thành had once mentioned. Hand-painted portraits of Thành’s ancestors lined the wooden walls, but there wasn’t one of Thành’s parents. All the figures were dressed in strange clothing and had expressions that were half somber, half confused.

  Then Lam saw something that frightened her to her core: a painting of the woman who appeared in her dreams. Lam covered her mouth so that she wouldn’t scream. When she was about to run away from the room, she realized her mother-in-law had been standing behind her, watching her.

  “Mother . . .”

  “Shut up! How dare you! If you give birth to a son, you’ll have the key to this room. Why can’t you wait?”

  “I . . .” Lam couldn’t finish her sentence. She dared not look again at the woman with a ponytail in the painting. She pointed her finger at the painting and asked, “Who is she, Mother?”

  “One of our female ancestors.”

  “Not true. Sometimes I see her in my dreams, but I’ve never seen her in person.”

  “Are you telling me the truth? Does she really appear in your dreams? How could that be?”

  Lam said nothing and nodded.

  Her mother-in-law, after a long while, spoke slowly, “Well, I won’t hide anything from you now because you’ll eventually find out anyway. She was the first woman to give birth to a son after the Hoàng clan resettled here. She was sixteen when she married Dục Đạt and became his fifth wife. She was born into a poor family but was chosen to be his wife because her lower body fit into the cushion perfectly. You and I, the Hoàngs’ daughters-in-law, have been chosen simply for the same reason.”

  She smirked bitterly after finishing the explanation and continued.

  “You must’ve asked my son why you have to sit on the red cushion every night when you’re here. It was made when Vĩ died, as the soothsayer had instructed. They poked his finger and the finger of his only living son, and their drops of blood fell onto the cushion. Thus it holds the cold blood of the dead mixed with the warm blood of the living. Dục Đạt’s fifth wife sat on the cushion every night and that was how she became pregnant and later gave birth to a son. Although she came from a low-class family, she later became his most respected wife. Unfortunately, she didn’t live long.”

  Lam cowered as she listened to the story. It was like listening to a dream. Her mother-in-law’s voice was soft and emotionless.

  “One stormy night, Dục Đạt’s fifth wife was in labor. It wasn’t an easy childbirth, and the midwife was late. She writhed in pain on the wooden divan but the baby would not come out, despite how hard she pushed. Dục Đạt was nervous and scared. He desperately wanted a son and lost his patience, so he used a sword to open her belly and pulled the baby out, although he had been advised not to. The baby boy survived, but his wife convulsed painfully and bled everywhere. Her eyes rolled upwards before the midwife arrived. Her blood was all over the mahogany divan and the cushion.”

  Lam’s eyes felt greasy. Two teardrops slowly escaped her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

  “That son grew up,” Lam’s mother-in-law added, “and then when his wife was pregnant, she was overfed with nutritious food. The baby in her womb grew so big that they had to open her vagina up with a surgical knife to deliver it. Ten days after the birth of her son, she took her last breath. And when that boy grew up, his wife also gave birth to a single son. But when his son was young, he broke his arm while playing. The child’s father blamed his wife for not keeping an eye on him and beat her so badly that she became permanently paralyzed. These stories are all written in that genealogy book over there. As for me, I gave birth to two girls during the first four years of my marriage. Just when my mother-in-law was about to get another wife for her son, Thành fortunately was born. I would’ve been in trouble if he hadn’t been.”

  Lam looked at her mother-in-law and then at the portrait of the woman with a ponytail.

  “Mother, what if I can’t give birth to a son?”

  “Impossible! The ancient grave is still there in the garden. The cushion is still in this house. How dare you say this will be the end of the Hoàngs? If you can’t give birth to a son, that’s your own fault.”

  Lam laughed sarcastically. She quietly left the forbidden room. The veranda remained lit with red lanterns.

  The next morning Lam disappeared, and nobody knew why. She left a note sealed in an envelope on the red cushion. When Thành opened and read it, he fell to his knees. His wife had secretly collected his sperm and had it tested. The results came back that he was sterile.

  Waiting for the train by herself at the station, Lam stopped weeping. The train’s iron wheels began to inch forward on the tracks among rows of black eucalyptus trees. The blustery wind outside the window that seemed to pull the scene back sounded as if it were calling her name.

  Green Plum:

  Trần Thùy Mai

  Plum’s temporary home was nestled in an alley, next to a school and overlooking a temple. It was a somber neighborhood except for that flamboyant red house that the locals considered an ostentatious eyesore. Its front sign, Chastity Inn, drew attention to itself like a shameless grin.

  When I stopped by, Plum* was holding the hem of her dress in her hands and jumping back and forth over a charcoal stove. The inn’s owner, Madam, and the other girls were not around. Her friend was squatting on the floor, throwing some plastic bottles into the fire, which produced a disturbing odor.

  “Thank God, you’re here!” Plum screamed gleefully, shaking the ashes from her dress and rushing toward me.

  “Only a moment earlier, you were craving a customer,” her friend, looking at Plum, said, enviously. “Then you took my advice and fumigated yourself. Look! He arrives.”

  Plum’s friend then began jumping back and forth over the smoky stove like a sewing shuttle.

  Leading me into another room and slamming the door shut, Plum turned on the karaoke system. I flung myself onto a couch, grabbed Plum’s arm, and said, “Let’s turn it off. I’m not here to sing, babe.”

  Plum turned down the volume.

  “Well, we should play some music as if we are singing karaoke.”

  Then Plum came near me and dropped onto my lap, throwing her arms around my neck.

  Leaning her body into mine, she caressed my forehead, rubbed my shoulders, and pressed some pressure point on my neck. Plum knew what I liked: first, my tense nerves and face muscles needed to be relaxed. After hours of driving with a brain congealed and eyes throbbing, I would complain about anything.

  The backs of Plum’s hands were rough, but her palms and fingers soft and warm. She once told me that during her first days working at the inn, she watched her Madam soak her hands in warm water to slowly remove all their calluses. It took Plum several months to cultivate such gentle hands. She turned me around and vigorously massaged my spine, refreshing my frail body.

  I stretched out on a couch that was as large and soft as a bed. Plum sat up and removed her shirt. I stared at her tender, supple breasts, feeling some uncanny warmth move into my body. My passion was like a fire that blazed intensely and then vanished as swiftly as it had arrived.

  I got up and fumbled around for my shoes.

  “Wait! Let me give you a massage.”

  I remained on the bed, letting Plum rub my neck.

  “Did you stop by Cổ Kỳ? How was it? Anything new?” she asked.

  “Of course! I went by that barren village filled with nothing but simple adobe houses with unplastered walls and warping planks.” Every time we met, I had to make up a new story to please Plum. “Recently, people have shipped more bricks to the village to frame a new well. They just built some dams near the fork.”

  “Is that all?”

  “I guess.”

  Preparing to leave, I took out my wallet, and Plum waved her hands, saying, “It’s free for you.”

  “Business is tough, and you always exorcise my bad luck,” I insisted. “Why free?”

  “Please go.” Plum pushed me away. “When you drop by next time, tell me again about the village.”

  “That’s easy.” I smiled, nodding.

  As I buttoned up my shirt, Plum sat with her arms around her knees, staring at the wall. “Time flies. I’ve been away from home for six years,” she said.

  “Haven’t you been back?”

  “I told my neighbor that I was moving to the city to get a hair-styling license and during the first two years, I came home frequently. But then, my neighbor, On, happened to stop in here and saw me. I was stunned. My grandfather hasn’t allowed me to return home ever since. He would kill me if he saw me again.”

  Plum chuckled. Her laughter sounded like a groan.

  “So when you asked me to send your family money, didn’t your grandfather question where it came from?” I asked.

  Plum sighed, her eyes vacant.

  “My grandfather might’ve had a vague idea about what I was doing all along. But now the neighbors know, which is a real problem.”

  I couldn’t understand her family’s logic.

  Cổ Kỳ Village, Plum’s hometown, was not far from the national highway. Surrounded by hills that stretched down from the mountains to the highway, the road to the village ended in a fork. The magnificent hills provided Cổ Kỳ with a spectacular view, but they also separated it from the surrounding towns. While tile houses were being built on both sides of the road’s entrance, they didn’t make the village look any different from fifteen years ago. Now I knew why Plum didn’t take my money. If it weren’t for her request, I wouldn’t swing by the village. It took me only thirty minutes to rush in and out. It was nothing but a glance at something new.

  Sometimes, Plum asked me to drop off money and gifts to her family. She never gave me the address though, only telling me to stop by the commune post office and deliver them to her acquaintance who would hand them to Green Plum.

  “Another Plum?” I asked the first time she told me.

  “I’m Ripe Plum. She’s Green Plum.” She nodded.

  The words Green Plum made me drool, only because they reminded me of my childhood spent climbing trees to pick green fruits I would enjoy with salt and chili. Plum glanced at my bobbing Adam’s apple, her eyes narrowed in an inscrutable smirk.

  “Why don’t you give me the address?” I suggested. “I’ll deliver the gifts to your family myself.”

  “Well . . .” Plum hesitated, and then evaded my question. She later said, “Green Plum is still in school. Let her be, please.”

  “Why did you say that?” I was furious. “Do I look like a pervert?”

  “I know, but if you went to my house, the neighbors would suspect the gifts are coming from me, and my grandfather would throw them away. Also, I’m afraid that Green Plum would beg you to tell her where I live.”

  I nodded, emphatically.

  With my jeans, necklace, and watch, I exuded an urban lifestyle. The appearance of a prosperous city man might stir something in Green Plum’s innocent heart, urging her to leave the village for the city, like Ripe Plum had done eight years ago when she hitchhiked here in my car. Back then she didn’t even know how to wear perfume, high heels, or trendy clothing.

  Driving long distances is harrowing. I crossed central roads bordered on both sides by dry fields. The bolero music floating out of the radio soothed my sorrows: Long distance, I keep going . . .

  I arrived in the city after dusk and parked safely under a crepe myrtle tree. A shadow approached from afar.

  “Who wants some balut?” asked a scrawny woman holding a lamp, scurrying to and fro with a basket in her hands.

  The noise of selling fertilized duck eggs echoed in the rainy night, making me sad at first, but then bringing a smile to my face. Seeing the shadow hovering around without leaving, I quipped, “Is that all you are selling?”

  “If you need something else, I’ll go and get it,” the woman hearing my voice offered right away.

  “Alright. I’m exhausted and still stuck with this carful of goods. I can’t go anywhere right now.”

  “I’ll fetch whatever you need. Only fifty đồng for my service.”

  “Okay, please go get me someone from the Chastity Inn.”

  Plum came out in the rain. I slammed the car door. She coughed. I turned on the light. Plum waved her hand and said, “Please turn it off. We should be careful. Cops are fierce around here.”

  In the darkness her shoulders looked thinner and her breath was hot.

  “Do you have a fever?” I asked.

  “It’s been busy recently, so I’ve been working hard.” Plum laughed hoarsely.

  “Busy?”

  “My Madam is quite fortunate. She has been blessed by both the living and the dead. She just bought a new house and opened a coffee shop.” Plum forced a smile and continued, “A cup of coffee costs four thousand đồng in the front, forty thousand in the back. Oh, come on, tell me about my village.”

  I told her that people were pulling power lines into the village, and they might have electricity by now. Her acquaintance at the commune post office informed me that Green Plum had received the money she had sent. Just as Ripe Plum guessed, Green Plum kept asking for her sister’s address. I handed her letter to Ripe Plum. While resting at a station on my way south, I snuck a peek at Green Plum’s scribbled words: Sister, my school is so far, and everyone in town but me has a bicycle. So I’ll move to the city and learn sewing to make money.

  Without wanting me to turn on the car’s interior light, Plum asked for my lighter so she could read her sister’s letter.

  She began reading. “No! Don’t let her go to the city. She has to continue her education. If she needs more money, I’ll send it,” she said. “My life is blemished, but my younger sister is a fairly educated girl. Some of the other girls in the village don’t have the opportunity to go to school like her,” Plum muttered; her voice was weary but proud.

  I slipped the money into Plum’s shirt pocket, Plum moved back in the seat, but I pushed her out of my car.

  “Please take it this time and eat better so you don’t look so haggard.”

  Plum had gone to the bathroom and washed her hands before coming back to lie down beside me. I slipped my hand into her shirt. Her body was cold and soft today; only her sagging breasts were a little warm. My hands lingered on that sensitive area. As usual Plum snuggled her head against my chest and I inhaled her cheap cologne. After a moment, she pushed me away and looked at me with the most miserable expression.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked and got up. “I have money.”

  “I would have given you everything. But I’m not feeling well today.” Plum frowned.

  I remained quiet, somber, but not too surprised. A nomad myself, I knew this moment would happen sooner or later. Plum pulled me down, slipped her hand to my waist, smiling awkwardly.

  “Don’t be sad, I’ll make you happy somehow.”

  “You don’t need to. Please open the door. I want to smoke.”

  Plum got up and plodded across the tile floor. When she started to work at the inn, her Madam kept yelling at her for dragging her feet. “Only a rural girl would tramp like such an elephant. Your footsteps sound like rocks striking the floor!” Plum had to practice very hard to shake that habit.