Kim

Kim was Chinese. You could tell at a glance. He appeared in our class with a James Dean slackness with which to make him look like a dullark.

There were thirteen of us in the class, Kim being the oldest. In the afternoon, we were on the balcony watching fast traffic moving toward the city, and feeling homesick. “What color is that car?”

“Klack (black)”, answered Kim, cleaning his glasses. Kim grinned taking no offence with that joke, which could irritate anyone with a high sense of national pride.

At mealtimes, Kim dragged his slippers to the girls quarters shouting and clanking his spoon against the door, “Let’s ko (go) eat”. The whole group rushed out excited…

Kim sang beautifully and his fingering was perfect. At night, he played hotel California sweet and emotional. I dropped a rope down to the floor below where the girls gathered and chattered, and pulled up a variety of sweets and candy in broken pieces.

In the toilet, while waiting for the water oozing into the large basin green with murk, I looked at his shrunken chest wondering how he could sing so well. He grinned. His Chinese and English were better than his Vietnamese. His spelling was still worse. His notebook was filled with scores of words and signs, but everybody accepted it just as it was.

We were then all eighteen. A time for naive love and risky venture.

Night after night, we came to class together along paths. We kissed each other and forgot our books.

Kim stayed at home and cooked sausages. Chinese are always found with sausages. The pack coming back smelled the pleasant dishes and fried rice and pinkish fat pieces. All then played with the dice in shouts & quarrels. As always, Kim just grinned.

“That old man is so generous. He takes care of everything”, said Nga “What do you mean?” asked Kim.

“That is to please everybody”, was the answer.

Kim silently got out of the room depressed. Nga was crying. “But why crying, because of me?” said Kim. The whole group stayed silent.

No, not that. Absolutely no. People were so used to struggling that they would find it hard to have someone completely indifferent to that adversity.

That was it.

There are times when we feel sad. They are wonderful.

After the military drill session, we were all exhausted and pale as withered banana leaves.

Kim suggested, “Let’s go duck pedaling” Duck’s were floating lifebuoys with a wooden chair across. We were pedaling and trembling on an immense pond. “Don’t be afraid. The lake is shallow,” Kim grinned.

Back to class, Kim had to write his self-discipline sheet because of his having missed his weapon maintenance period. He still grinned, “Doesn’t matter as long as everyone is happy”. Kim threw his cap onto the net poke just as a cowboy does and made a demonstrating gesture.

“Let’s practice dancing”. They began with cha-cha and went on with that tune only. Womenstudents were still bashful with this new game.

On the ninth night of January, after a generous dish as a holiday gift, we set out dancing, which lasted until three a.m. We overslept till nine a.m.

That we all wrote our self-discipline sheets was something unavoidable. We had all played truant.

In April, we did our apprenticeship in Duyên Hải. We were sitting on the ship hull chewing cassava and listening to the women-peddlers’ comments on the beauty and skills of the Reformed Theater actors and actresses. Everybody was looking in the direction of the closet reserved for the stars. Silent, but still no hope. Kim declared, “The superstar is entangled inside!” That set everybody laughing.

Late in the morning, the boat was caught on the ground near a plantation, vacillating. Nga vomited.

No place for a rest yet.

Kim helped her to the mast pole, still kept looking at the closed door.

We saw that Kim was worsted by others in that field.

The kids, thinking us to be actors and actresses, kept staring at us in white sneakers. The scenery was denuded, the stench of fish, and the smell of the salted brine. We were dragging on the dusty rough road, dejected and irritated. Night was falling fast around here. Light from lanterns was bright enough to identity a person in front. When I passed by a fish pond, a strong gust of wind blew my cap onto the pond.

It was a birthday gift, Kim gave me it, priced fifteen thousand đồng each. It was gliding hastily on the water, I was resigned to lose it.

We were asked, after dinner and shower, to write reports on the trip. No one found the ability. Instead, we strolled around then came back to sing in a weak manner. Kim came back with a long pole on his shoulder. He handed me the dripping wet cap. “ Keep it. It will be a sunny day tomorrow”.

I received the gift a second time, without saying anything. I could not sleep that night. I could have died of Th.’s behavior towards me. During the trip, she had been being indifferent to me. I could never have under stood her.

The winding path around a cliff foot caused her trouble with her high-heel shoes for many a time.

I kept on following her and carefully attended to her. She refused and shouted at me, causing me a lot of bashful embarrassment. Kim approached me, “Come on, you go with me”. I followed him leaving Th. with her troublesome shoes.

… I went out the porch to expect Th., worried.

The path was dimly moon-lit and deserted.

Kim dragged his slippers.

“Let’s go to bed.”

I didn’t turn back, “You go ahead”.

Kim dragged back, “Th. was back much earlier.”

I shouted catching up with him, “Why so?”

Kim added, “Don’t be so blind. Th. doesn’t want you any more. She has someone to take care of her.”

I was stunned. Was it possible? She used to be independent. Kim was by my side, like a brother, before I knew it, saying, “Sad, it couldn’t be otherwise, but be sure it is of no importance.

Right?” I didn’t want to hear anything else.

Everything was of no meaning to me then. I felt quite lonely.

Tet was coming. Many of us had left for home. In the evening, Nga and Kim called and asked me to go out to watch fireworks. No one had any money, except Kim. He took out of his pocket a thick pad of money notes. “Let’s go all out with this!” The three of us played all kinds of games all night long and won a pack of shrimp noodles.

Kim checked his pocket and declared, “Just enough for some soup”. From a side-walk fast food stall, Kim watched bare-footed girls walking to and fro. Nga was disgusted, “Come on, old guy.” Kim retorted, “Don’t you see that they are beautiful?” Nga sighed, “Not at all!”

Kim tried his best, “I am going to leave… now that everything in Saigon proves attractive enough and I will sure miss them all.”

We were all stunned. We had never thought of missing him one day. Never. And the past days were coming back to us, clear and slow as in a movie, with all their details. Kim still attended classes but we all felt something was missing. We felt a gap. Kim shrugged, saying, “I’m not gone yet”.

The money intended for a guitar to take along was spent on a farewell party. We were having a series of meetings, gathering on side walk stalls as if to quickly live our days together, but still in sorrow.

He hugged each of us on his departure day, without a word. Our faces were wetted with our blended tears. Nga said, “Remember to write us.

Don’t you forget Vietnamese, old guy”. Kim listened and cried.

The whole group got passes to see him past off-limits. Kim walked out like a spot on the airport.

We all waved in a mess. When the plane was behind a cloud, out of sight, we squatted thinking, “Is it all over?”

We were just past our teenage years, quite inexperienced. For the next whole month we were learning and dozing, vague and indifferent.

Is it likely that our mutual affection is also inexperienced, childish?

Letters came from Kim. Twice a month, regularly, for the whole class. An extra large card for each one’s birthday with two carefully-folded money papers enough for an ice cream party.

Two years passed by with fewer and fewer letters.

Then Nga, Th. gone. After graduation, each to his own job and time began its work: oblivion.

We threw ourselves into business, no more meeting at side walk ice cream stalls – more friends, more unbalanced in life, worries and love affairs made us older and older. Kim’s letter came unexpected, when I was dolefully worried to look for work, unable to remember my birthday. But Kim did remember.

The card was full of words. He wrote in English, but the style stayed his own, inappropriate and inexpressive.

“…I too much miss you friends. No Vietnamese people where I am living, I don’t know who to speak to. I haven’t forgotten all my Vietnamese, but it is easier for me to write in English. Don’t know if I’ll remember any Vietnamese word. Forgive me…”

I was sitting on the door threshold. My birthday, no bouquets, no friends, all those twenties had passed by, one by one. Only one short letter remained. Kim was not to blame. Things seemed, I did suppose, to follow me forever but they didn’t. Youth, intelligence, sharp mindedness, fascination… all had died down together with the passage of time. Nothing for you to feel sorry for, Kim. Only love remained, wasn’t it enough, enough for all of us to live all our lives?

I was holding that love in my hand and cried as I had done when I was eighteen years of age.

- Phan Triều Hải