FIVE
FIVE I became obsessed with Hamlet’s final line before he stabs Claudius: Then, venom, to thy work. There, that was exactly what I needed to use; that was exactly what I needed to do. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. Poison must be paid in poison. But for now I didn’t dare. I wasn’t worried about the dangers to my own well-being. Thế reminded me that now our family just had us two men. My daughter had died. Phũ had just died. The vicious cycle of suffering that we called our family history could finish here and now. A dreadful emptiness. As if it were only I left. Though of course I’d have to add Cốc’s German shepherd. After Phũ’s funeral, I went to Cốc’s house to pick up the dog. But it wouldn’t cooperate. It lay motionless in front of the family altar where Cốc’s ashes sat. It was useless to try and pull him away. Finally I understood that I needed to burn incense and carry Cốc’s urn out. As I carried his urn out, the dog followed me obediently. I took the urn of ashes into my bedroom, on the side of the Captain’s Studio. The dog stayed in there with me. Now only the studio with the paintings was open for sightseeing customers. The other two private rooms attached to it weren’t available for rent anymore. Those doors would stay locked as long as I still lived. Then, venom, to thy work. I had the poison. Real poison, not the kind of fake poison that people sold everywhere in the hazy hours, to hazy people; a single dose of that so-called suicide poison made you feel good, two doses and you felt excited and stimulated. My poison, on the other hand, was super strength; just a shirt-button’s worth was enough to immediately knock out a giant water buffalo. It really did look like a button. I would always keep it in my pants pocket to use in case the opportunity arose. I felt a thread of connec- H o A n h T h a i 71 tion to one young girl named Mai Trừng and another named Yên Thanh. This dose of poison was aimed at both of them. I searched through the phone directory, and found the phone number of the Wild Rose Limited Liability Company. A computer company. The director was one Mr. Quốc Đài. I had no idea if he was a real mister or just some immature young guy. Limited liability companies had popped up in those days like mushrooms; their directors crawled around all over the earth like worms. During the era of the subsidy economy, the name “director ” was like a title of nobility or aristocracy. Families that attached that magic term to their names had pride and bragging rights. Back then, the man who guarded the gates of authority still had the right to be swollen with pride, and even the heads of construction projects had times when they looked enviously at those high-ranking bureaucrats. But when the era of the market economy arrived, the limited liability company became an icon of the new private economy. Fathers started their own companies; mothers started their own companies; kids started their own companies. Abracadabra! and suddenly everyone and his mother was a director. The former title of nobility became ordinary and common. All it meant was that one had the power to dispense his scrawl or stamp, or request a company car or office supplies. There was no lack of ghost companies, with their empty offices, their directors barely past youth, a quick-study book on computers held in one hand and a book on introductory English in the other. There was no lack of companies without responsibilities and without limits that duped their customers as if they were carrying cows to market. There were companies in which the owners robbed all the capital and then said bye-bye to mom and dad and ran off as boat people. But the truth was that among all the flotsam and jetsam, some heads did rise above the others, some intellects were liberated, and some individual cars were able to speed ahead once they were given the green light. Perhaps Thế belonged to this group. And on top of that, he was someone...
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