Family of Fallen Leaves: Stories of Agent Orange by Vietnamese Writers

The Blood of Leaves

134฀ vo฀thi฀hao the฀blood฀of฀leaves “I’m going to die. You know? I’m falling apart . . .” His pinched voice sounded like it came from hell. Surprised, I looked around, but there was only me and Huan in the bar. We sat onthelowstoolstowardtheback,neartherattanwall.Helookedat me through a glass of coffee, one of the green ferns that hung from every rafter in the ceiling swaying above him. I laughed. “Someone like you could live through a mortar attack.” My words dissolved into silence, unable to penetrate his blank stare. Huan handed me the biopsy report he’d just received from Hospital K. Cancer. Many people I knew had died from it already. A pulse of nausea rose in my throat each time I remembered the knots of green worms writhing in death from Agent Orange. Faced with such human cruelty , each of us was just like those worms. Huanstillhadhislooks.Atforty-two,thelightskinofhisfacestill shone, framed by his neat sideburns. His large almond eyes looked as if he understood everything. Huan was a physician. He hadn’t married yet, and now because of gastric cancer he never would. I didn’t dare look at him. Instead I fixed my gaze on the yellow leaves of the cycad suffering in its pot next to the bar. It was strugglingtogrowonesmallshoot .Iangrilycursedthehospital’sinability to cure my friend, but Huan suddenly changed the tone of his voice as if he didn’t give a damn. the฀blood฀of฀leaves฀ 135฀ “I didn’t invite you here to listen to me cry. The last few months, I’ve been trying to live with death, and finally, it’s made everything clear. You know what a kid does when he’s afraid of ghosts? First, he closes his eyes, and then he shouts. When he tires from shouting, he peeks open one eye. Then he blinks. At last, he opens his eyes wide. That’s what I’ve done, and now my panic is over. Dying like this isn’t so bad. The sooner I go, the more people will pity me. You’ll come to the funeral, right?” Huan smiled bitterly. I looked away and wiped the tears from my eyeglasses. Huan’s coffin would be sealed with the sharp taps of a hammer. Thebargirlappearedfromthebackwearingaridiculousminiskirt that forced her to walk with tiny, mincing steps. She stood next to Huan and cocked her hip. From his seat on the low stool, his forehead came right up to the top of her thigh. “Want anything else, Sugar?” Iglaredather,thinkingofthrowingtheashtrayatherbrazenface. I must’ve looked crazy. She walked away immediately, dismissing us over her shoulder: “Fuck off! Guys like you are all talk, no money. Posers!” Huanchuckledlikeaguywho’djustcrossedariverandthengazed back with appreciation for the decrepit ferry. She was right. In the near future, he would be completely broke. Not even dirty words could stir up the coming dark. Suddenly, Huan said, “Hey, I called you here for something else.” Then he whispered, “There! Look!” Instantly, the wounded panther look disappeared from his face. His eyelashes quivered like those of a guy falling in love. Ilookedwherehepointed,expectingtoseetheshadowofacharming girl at the top of the street. At first there was only a speck, then a very small girl appeared, just about one meter in height. She had a flat chest and wide open eyes. 136฀ vo฀thi฀hao Her mouth had a white scar like from cleft-lip surgery, pulling it to the right. Unlike the upper lip, the lower one was full and red like the petal of a flower, with a hollow below it like a small dimpled cheek.Sheheldanoldbasketlikethosemadeinthesixties.Herlimp made her look like a flower picker selling on the street. She walked so slowly I couldn’t help but get a good look at her, even though I wastryingtoseeupthesidewalkpasther.ThegirlHuanwaswaiting for had to be a beauty. “What are you looking for? Listen!” From his pocket, Huan withdrew a very thick letter, covered by a pink layer of nylon and scented with perfume. “Just read—then you’ll know.” On the envelope, someone had written, “To Mr. M,” in irregular handwriting. Maybe the letter belonged to a daydreamer. I asked Huan, “Are you secretly reading someone else’s mail?” “It’s mine,” he said flatly. “A love letter. Just read it.” Blue beads on the paper looked like tears. My Love! It has been four months since I received your last letter. I feel like dying. My sister...