12

Date …

Vien and the painter Thuan Phong soon got married. Their circumstances suited each other. Phong was from South Vietnam. He didn’t have any relatives, or rather, he was quite desolate. It was wonderful when he found out her as his point d’appui. Vien was played down “during the time when agrarian reform was taken place” by the event that her “servant Vu Hung” was “poor peasant Thu Hue’s” husband. Vien was in need of a place in order to rely on.

To go on appearance, they looked quite well-as-sorted. Their statures were “student-like”, “lady-like”. They belonged to intellectual circles.

Vien left Hoang Lan villa and stayed with “family of her husband”. Phong was distributed a space with 24 square meters large in the building no. 16A Hue Street where lots of people of letters and arts received their houses.

A boat could peacefully sail after the storm … Vien rode on her bicycle to her office in Art Association in the morning. She passed by Evening market to buy vegetables on the way coming home in late afternoon before performing her cooking skill. The spousal couple led their fond lives. Nobody knew why Vien couldn’t be delivered of any babies in spite of her healthy appearance and ordinariness. However, it’s not a question. Vien didn’t pay much attention to such problem. Neither did Phong. It was a blessing in disguise. Vien seemed to be young and beautiful forever due to that reason. She always looked like “a bud” and Phong, a “vagabond” knight of the brush who “worshipped the beauty” was very proud of his better half. Phong was afraid of being up to his ears in “children were chattering” condition.

The building no. 16A Hue Street was a big tower block with so many rooms. Previously, it was “Four Countries hotel” whose owner was a Chinese overseas. All the spaces seemed to be covered by opium smoke and pervade the smell of Shanghai good-time girls who wore Cheongsam with slits at both side showing their whole thighs. Their customers were “seniors” whose faces were lustrous and shiny with the Chinese tortoise-shell fans flapping gently on their hands. After the event of Geneøve Convention in 1954, the owner Chinese oversea had brushed away his tears, left the hotel and stayed in Big Market in Saigon when Vietminh took over Hanoi because he knew that he couldn’t smuggle drugs and open “houses of prostitution” to receive servicemen who had a limpid ideal and full of decorations rewarded their feats of arms if he kept holding on to his hotel. “The Four Countries” became apartment building which distributed to the people of letters and arts coming back from North Vietnam. All of them were talents with literature, poetry, music and painting skills and remarkable merits in resistance war. Phong’s neighbor who he always had to meet face to face on the stairs were the person who wrote flaming chronicle pages about Cao Bac Lang campaign, composed grand pieces of music about Lo River, Dien Bien and drew the pictures with the topic showing that the people were like water and the soldiers fish.

The goodness of revolution was that the talents’ skills could be used in propagandizing the activities of resistance war despite of their presumptuousness and being self-important of theirs.

What a pity! They couldn’t afford to study in Albert Sarraut School or Mandarin-to-be School for mandarin purpose during prewar period. Most of them were exquisite talents and the unemployed who were journey-actors, wrote articles and poems.

They were dependent on opium whose name they called “brown fairy”. They spent their time at “Kham Thien songstress town”.

Thought when discharging smoke and pillowing

Enjoyed the brown fairy’s relaxing massage

Some guys stopped at a “restaurant” despite of not a shot in the locker. They kept balancing their legs while sitting although they had finished their meals. They looked at the street to find whether there was any businessman who was “cultivated”, “loved arts” and wanted to “upstage” by making friends with “people of great names” passing by so that they could call and “ask” for payment.

I’m a lonely traveler

With a floating and aimless life

Give poetry an amorous sight

Pay unconcern to doctrine

Ridiculously! Which sort of doctrine they had. Art was for art. The poet’s soul and the fairy were uncertainly flying. By wings, moon and stars were.

That was what they were. However, revolution could change them to serious “soldiers”. It was talented. They marched together with servicemen in the campaigns. They bravely sang by artillery battlefields where French ships were shot into pieces in Lo River.

A distant River and a stream in the green forest were echoing …

Their music was mighty “majestic”. It sounded as nearly interested as “Danype River epic”.

They wrote “the thorough self-criticism” which then mentioned “we” only and erased the word “I” and all other things of the old days.

Who am I? I looked like a metaphysical butterfly

Flying weakly at dusk

For whom am I? A dawn full of sunshine

A bird aimed at its future

With one time of changing, the word “who” was replaced with the words “for whom” and the meaning was in a full difference. “Individual doctrine” which worshipped “self” was changed into self-abnegation soldier who was “for everybody” only …

They lived in “Four countries” hotel and had no chance to dream of Shanghai women of easy virtue who were strictly eradicated … Then, there wasn’t any recreation but the meetings of “re-educating thoughts” with their “effervescent activities” which were more attractive than any dancing party in olden times. Their wives and children wore black trousers and shirts of a brownish-back color or fade battle-shirts at that time but not white pants and thin and spotless white shirts or oriental robes like the ones they dressed during the prewar period. Next to Phong’s apartment was Trinh Thu’s one. He was an “intellectual of great mind” as per what people said. He was as brainy as an infant prodigy when he was a child. The French had him studied philosophy. In “the capital of light”, Trinh Thu haughtily made an argument with Zac – a leader of modern Western philosophy thought. Thu had criticized his thoughts of philosophy. What a philosophy! It was so difficult that one could get a splitting headache whenever thinking of it. A normal person couldn’t have enough reasoning to dispute with Mr. “leader of philosophy”. Both were all super. Mr. Thu was in his glory when he repatriated. Everybody assumed him to be “philosophical sage” and nobody expected he was then became “good for nothing” because he was living there but not “the modern West”. His “ideal freedom” was beyond measure. His saying and writing “were off the orthodox orientation” and were strange and dangerous for “thinking work”.

Firstly, they led him teach in University but “there was something the matter” as well since they scared that he might spread something which didn’t keep to the orthodox orientation.

He was transferred and worked for a publishing house as a French translator whose chief was a former teacher in junior high school. He rendered and wrote “heaven and sea” things which nobody could understand all day long. His works were written by French language and nobody but the people whose knowledge was like Zac’s could comprehend the meaning if them when they were sent to Paris, let alone Vietnam, everybody neither wanted to publish nor paid concern. He kept writing and piled his works up.

The extreme talent was sometimes considered as madness. Mr. Thu sank into his second childhood a bit. He got bored and divorced his wife despite she was an intellectual. Having no child, he lived alone in his bad apartment, bought bunches of water morning glory by himself and slowly cooked his meals for the whole day in a dirty state of charred wood on his lonesome.

Listening to the international channel, Phong knew that the West sometimes mentioned him with a respectful attitude. There, he was victimized by everybody even a ward head who attended the first grade. Phong couldn’t grasp Mr. Thu’s thoughts of philosophy but Phong admired him with unfeigned heart. Phong always asked Vien to buy vegetables and prepare meals for him at times. Phong often visited his room whenever he had a bottle of wine or a pot of tea. Both were sipping.

-       One day, this manuscript will be sent off to the printer’s in France – Mr. Thu talked to Phong and showed him a very thick volume typed in French language – However, I’m afraid I can’t wait till that day. Perhaps, I unexpectedly die of high blood pressure or suffering from myocardial infarction. This work may be sold to a “waste-paper and scrap-iron dealer” when my house is going to be moved. You are still young. You help me to keep one copy …

-       But what did you write about? – Phong put a question to him.

-       You won’t understand even I explain. Philosophy is a science of science.

Phong put Mr. Thu’s manuscript into a nylon bag in deep respect. He kept considering it as a real “precious thing” in spite of understanding nothing about it.

Phong brought it with him to see Ham. Nevertheless, Ham had to admit after looking through some pages:

-       This one expresses the transcendent fields of human’s mentality. The Creator only bestows on some special people who have ability to think like this. For example, the thoughts of scientists who are interested in mathematics, physics and atom … How the normal persons like us can understand it. Mr. Thu’s thinking keeps pace with the current leading philosophers in the West where he should live so that he can be well known. Our country is not a really suitable place for him. How pity he is!

Ham sent Mr. Thu a bottle of good wine as a present to show his appreciation towards a “diamond shrouding by sand” …

Not having any title, Mr. Thu had no portion of “high-grade necessary coupons” of A or B standard accordingly but C one just like a normal officer. He received 3 grams of pork, 5 packages of soya-cakes, one fourth liter of fish sauce, half kilos of fish, a carton of cigarettes, a package of tea under “sail” brand name and so on a month. Therefore, the “intellectual of great mind” also assumed his true form just like a “creature” craving for food and drink no matter how high his mentality was. Phong and he were strolling on the streets. Phong realized that he enjoyed the perfume of very fragrant noodle-soup with dilated nostrils when they were passing by the booth selling that kind of food. The freshly baked bread also had an aroma which was so wonderful that he couldn’t refuse himself to buy with his last penny in his pocket. Then, he was walking and eating. One time, a person who did a job of pumping air into bicycle tires by the pavement struck him black and blue in the face because of a “laughed on the other side of our face” story. He was used to pumping air into two bicycle tires at the price of 5 penny a tire. However, he was asked twice as much after his bike tires had been finished pumping at that time for everything had increased in price and the cost of pumping air was double accordingly. He not only insisted on paying nothing but also went flat the tires in order to return “the air”. He was beaten right away. After knowing the case, Phong immediately recognized the signals of “being in his second childhood” from a “creature” which was in “straitened circumstance”. Phong didn’t blame but love him. Nevertheless, Phong didn’t have much money to “provide” for him …

Phong always had a desire to draw paintings whose value could be compared to those of Van Gogh’s, Go Ganh’s and Picasso’s … in his career. Was he accounted extravagant? Phong always respected his seniors with all his sincere heart despite he was Member of the Standing committee of Art Association, a “leader” position. He often distributed “exceedingly the set standard” to them such as canvas, oil-paint and pastel. One elder wandered about the ancient streets in Hanoi all the time and painted dilapidated houses getting musty and covered with moss which had been built since the previous century. The soul of ancient town was appeared under the suggestive style of a painter’s quavering fingers. One elder went on a travel to the countryside and drew the temple roofs, the gates of the villages, the lanes planted ivory bamboos at both sides and ponds on which water-ferns were grown. Another elder specialized in girlish portrait paintings with “sainted” style of a knight of the brush. And all their works were of course put into mothballs. The economy and social culture for the time being hadn’t developed enough for a form of picture trade to appear yet. By the same token, all the painters were as poor as ordinary cadres. Anyone who was very good at resourcefulness could get very little royalties by illustrating books and newspaper could call for each other and go for having some tea at the price 5 pennies a cup and rolling cigarettes before smoking.

They had their “thorough self-criticisms” “kept in good condition” at Phong’s place. One of them had said that he had led a boundless “art for art’s sake” life without having any concept of nation before revolution. His life was free and selfish without caring whether the surrounding people were dead or alive. He freely debauched in live and devastated in arts. To go by technique, he followed “impression” field at first. Then, he moved to “expression” one to perform the spleen and displeasure towards the society. After that, he started studying “cubism” field in order to shape the real life according to his intelligent life. The “cubism” even didn’t have enough power to satisfy his aversion for society. He moved to “metaphysical” field with a careful research. He tried to develop the human’s subconscious and look for a dreamy world. The feature of feudal arts and the regress bourgeoisie heavily remained existent in his mind although he was then a “revolutionary soldier”. In the painting named “the soldier’s mother” he had just finished, he pictured an old Vietnamese female farmer who was standing on the field in ragged clothes with a fish and a crab basket on her hands at dusk. He particularly described and brought out her hands seamed with wrinkles. The background of the picture was sunk in darkness with several servicemen who were catching crabs in a far distance. (Why wasn’t it to shoot at the enemy’s heads?). Her glacial smile was evilly performed in blackness. He ought to have displayed a farmer’s bright smile which was radiant under the light of revolution beside the images of wholesome soldiers … * (That paragraph was adapted from the “infantile” idea stated in a painter’s “thorough self-criticism”).

Phong smiled when reading his “thorough self-criticism”. Phong sympathized with him. Everybody had to write a “thorough self-criticism” even Phong whose curriculum vitae was an “assembly Southerner” – a person who was “absolutely faithful to revolution”. Previously, Phong drew girlish nude paintings when he made his way in the world. He had spent a lot of time for finding out the sainted beauty in the girls’ physical appearance in their bare skin. He was accounted “debauched and baneful”. He painted fighting scenes whose focuses were buds when he joined in revolution. His works were eulogized during the time he stayed in the South because he used his father’s money to support revolution. But then, he lived in the North. He couldn’t manage on getting his father’s aid anymore and his pictures were “disparaged” during the time he attended re-education class. He had to explain “in good faith”: “The image of dissolute girl in the old days letting her hair down, curving her body and pretending to hold a sword and a gun appeared in the painting named “Resistance war”. In other one named “The enemy mopping-up villages”, such the above mentioned “attractive she-devil” had given me seductions which were so palatable that I had pictured her in the circumstance of getting raped by the enemy. I was terribly scared after finishing. Later on, that “attractive she-devil” with her charming body kept along behind following so as to make approaches to me when the thought of performing a topic named the whole population was in resistance war was infant. I had to hide her in an old woman’s carriage and I had drawn an old woman (but she remained beautiful in build). I hadn’t definitively divorced her yet. Finding the chink in the armor, she made a swindle by distinguishing herself as innocent country girls in my recent series of pictures whose theme was countryside”. * (That paragraph was adapted from a painter’s expression).

Phong’s portrait “sincerity” which was described in the above impressive paragraph had rescued him from the crime named a debauched retrograde and thus his title “Member of the Standing committee” assigned to the representative of painters who was an assembly Southerner remained unchanged.

Phong knew that he had to “keep up with the time” in order to be existent. He had nothing but two bare hands. He would be died of hunger without the salary. Nobody would be able to “teach” him which thought he should follow and he could draw anything he wanted if he was in the South Vietnam and stayed with his father who owned “three thousands hectares of fields in the Western region of Vietnam“ and several villas in Saigon. Like Mr. Trinh Thu who had already departed from Paris, he didn’t “move with the time” so that he led a life just like a ghost “sinking into his second childhood” in his cold and cheerless apartment.

13

Date …

The destruction war caused by United State air force had started attacking from the demarcation line in Vinh Linh, Quang Binh, Ha Tinh, Nghe An, Thanh Hoa … to Hanoi Capital – the heart of the whole country in 1966. All the roads in the Centre of Vietnam had been released bombs and had completely smashed as though a piece of beefsteak was thrashed by a jungle-knife. The towns such as Dong Hoi, Vinh, Phu Ly … were leveled to the ground. The bridges made of iron and steel which were built long time ago were broken and were replaced with roving pontoon bridges. The countryside which were located near the traffic main points were “spread the carpet” so heavy that a top of a bamboo tree couldn’t remain its shape. People had to fearfully move to the distant fields and tents were set up for evacuation purpose. Bombs were scattered and the ground was full of holes like a smallpox-face with very deep scars. Every inch of the land was filled with bomb craters. America had so many planes and bombs. Their aircrafts were on 24-hour duty and strafed on a long sweep of land in the Centre of Vietnam. The bombs rained in the summer. The farmers escaped death by an inch. Underground hideouts were dug in the school for studying under the lights. People had to live in the shelter-pits. The thick communication trenches were set up so that everybody could hide themselves at any time when the enemy airplanes appeared.

Visited my house, paid no greetings to my parents

But asked the trench position

The folk verses were famous in … straw-hat time when a surgical dressing case was everybody’s inseparable thing. The straws were weaved into broad-brimmed caps to avoid getting wounded in the heads on which shell fragments and broken pieces of bombs dropped by accident and people could apply the dressing by themselves whenever they got wounded. The dressing had to be put into the school bags before arranging books. People who died of bombs dropped like flies. Some rains of bombs had burned the whole village down. The bombs shook all the porcelain and glassware to debris. No house remained American lights. Bamboo sections carrying oil and burning wicks did duty for lights. Human sometimes had to live in “original” conditions such as ragged clothes and huddled in earth’s womb. They ate manioc, cassava and vermicelli. Rice didn’t be cooked usually by at times. Green grasshoppers, locusts and harvest mousse did duty for protein. Sweet potatoes and green tea were counted as “ambrosia”. There were neither face-flannels nor shoes, slippers, hats. Children were in the nude. Women had no brassiere to wear and let their milk flowed uninterruptedly and infiltrated into their black and dark brown flaps. Newborns were fed on manioc or sweet potato soup.

America then escalated the war in Hanoi. They hoped that they could use such the war as a military pressure to weaken the offensive capacity of Liberation troops in Southern battlefields where American was badly defeated …

It was a tumultuous period in Hanoi as though a north-easterly wind and a continuous rain appeared while the spring sun was warming. There was a sentence saying that “Flying Dragon wasn’t a battleground”. There was more peace than war in Hanoi during the last thousand years. The combats didn’t take place there regularly but sometimes. From time immemorial, the troops of the Mongolia, the Manchu, Cham-pa … used to occupy there but they were soon dislodged within a short time. In 1946, Hanoi was sunk in war within two months only. Then, the lamplight returned to radiance, the shops overwhelmed with goods, the tone of the wine pouring sounded as if the brook was flowing. The shades of dancing-girls were flickering in the dance halls. The trading was taken place on 36 streets in great number …

However, the very black shadows of the Ghost planes were then silhouetted on the face of the waters in the Sword Lake. The antiaircraft guns discharged bullets bang bang from the top of Long Bien Bridge. The alarm on the roof of Central Bank downheartedly sounded flourishes of whistles. The announcement was hurriedly broadcasted on the loudspeaker “Everybody! Please pay attention! Everybody! Please pay attention! The American airplanes have already invaded the sky in Hanoi. Hide yourselves in the tunnels! Everybody was on demand … “

The individual holes with concrete covers were dense on all the pavements in Hanoi. “The collective shelter-pits” which were dug in the flower gardens and large grounds looked like earth mounds were going up everywhere in the centre of the capital.

The newspapers were stuck on the windows of the villas which had been built since Hanoi was French colony and panes of glass couldn’t be installed in anywhere else but such places as the glass industry for that time being hadn’t appeared in Vietnam yet. The women of “Hanoi extraction” performed their remained exquisite skill whose owners were “gentlewomen-like ladies living Hanoi City” by being clever with their hands in cutting peacock-like and phoenix-like patterns from the newspaper and thus the windows would be pleasures to the eyes and looked more “aristocratic”.

Dyeing stores were going up everywhere in the streets. All the white shirts were dyed green for camouflage purpose to avoid the looks from the planes.

I keep dying

On your shirts green

As the war fighting

And a white color don’t go well * (quoted from To Huu’s poem)

The streets were flooded with green color. The militia would give anyone who was in white shirt a reminder:

Previously, white shirts were lovely

Now, they are enemy’s objects

The American aircrafts were roaring above the Red River. Long Bien Bridge which bore some resemblance to Eiffel was “a wonder under colonial time” whose spans of it took turn to be collapsed. The French Embassy – a uniquely diplomatic agency of the capitalist West in Hanoi was disastrously bombed by mistake as it was located next to the Voice of Vietnam Radio Station where was set as an object for the American to reach their wish: “Hanoi had to close its mouth”. Ridiculously, the pilot buttoned to release the bomb askew one tenth milicrong and as a result of that “the Capitalist bomb had killed the capitalist”.

Lan Vien was walking on Chess Product Street which was full of falling leaves. She tumultuously felt sad. The former Dong Khanh School (the later Trung Vuong one) was overwhelmed with golden sun which was flickering on the affected lady Lan Vien’s white flaps of Vietnamese dress and shoulder-length hair of the old days – a “term for a mandarin’s” daughter in Thuan An district and a “comrade Lan Vien” who worked as an indifferent cadre in the office of Art Association at that moment. She had two husbands in two different periods but she hadn’t got any child at all. She was in green antiaircraft fashionable clothes showing her bare arms, her breasts and her spotless white stomach. She was quickening her steps to the direction leading to the “State-run food Store”.

The whole “eventful vitality” of Hanoi was then localized in the food shops and state-run stores of provisions. Nowhere but there had rice and meat. The air, water and “vain resolutions” were flooded all other places. People were in very long line. They were elbowing each other and trying to outdo one another in buying while they were perspiring. They looked quite strenuous …

Lan Vien passed by the Sword Lake and reached Flax Product and Peach Fruit streets where ancient town was located with cylindrical houses as long as caves. Silk didn’t be sold in Peach Fruit Street. Gold didn’t be sold in Silver Product Street. All the stores were as empty as the bottom of the Buddha. It seemed that all the goods were made of rags and rusty measures which were the remained “Bird” condensed milk tin in the previous time. How such the milk tin could be then existent anymore. The war should be like that. Nobody knew what they should do. The bottom of poverty always appeared in anywhere the war was taken place. Nobody was blamed.

Process spongy flax and bring it together in a whole

Ink into pens pump

Wash, iron, dye, bleach, dry-clean

The collars of the shirts inside out turn

The above verses described the whole “industry and commerce” in the ancient town. Another new type of trading which was missed out in lay was: Sell duralumin combs. Broken pieces of American explored planes were collected and sold to people living in Hanoi and their skillful hands had changed them into small combs on which the words were cut out as memorial presents.

That was a praiseworthy product in a heroic time.

Lan Vien was looking for the house number 32 Bis where the unreal image of Le Diem – Vu San’s younger sister and Lan Vien intimate friend in “Dong Khanh school girl” time was bearing some resemblance. The house was cut tens of apartments whose owners were setting up in business as purchasing feather of fowls and ducks, repairing glasses and fountain pens, mending ragged strips and staying. Le Diem’s family had already migrated into South Vietnam in 1954. Formerly, it was a shop overwhelming with silk and two “Indians” were hired as shop-assistants.

Lan Vien kept strolling and her wooden shoes were clanking on the tiled pavement. “Particular fashion” for all women and girls were wooden clogs but not “sandals”.

A female peddler who sold a variety of tea used to be a “servant” in the dim and distant past perhaps. She had “perceived” the “high society feature” remained Lan Vien’s manner. She invited:

-       “Madam!” A cup of tea, please! Your “help” will prepare it and serve you!

Hearing the ancient words in “exploitation of man by man” time, Vien was frightened out of her wits:

-       Dear “madam”! Please give me a cup.

-       Here “boiling” one is! Have it to warm your body.

-       Don’t you evacuate to countryside? Don’t you scare of bombs when staying here?

Lan Vien was sipping and received its dreamily pastoral taste with a vague melancholy. However, the shots in the rural areas during “Reform” period suddenly appeared and made her shiver. She was terror-stricken due to being afraid of Vietnamese countryside. She wanted to give a kowtow which was so long that her hat had dropped.

Date …

The destiny gave Vien a life “without husband”. After being “left” by Vu Hung, she assumed that her life would be stable when she and Thuan Phong got married. They didn’t expect to be “distant” within several years only.

One afternoon, Hanoi had just received a violent bombing and the heavily wounded bodies were jerking on the streets and the sidewalks at their dying hour. What an awesome sight! The power source was cut off in the evening. Phong informed while they were having dinner:

-       My dear … The war is coming to the most violent stage. The American has landed its mass troops into the South of Vietnam in order to save the puppet regime running the risk of being collapsed. The higher authorities have decided to appoint most of cadres who are assembly Southerners to fighting posts in the South of Vietnam and I am in the list.

Vien was so stupefied that she dropped her bowl of rice and it was broken into pieces:

-       How you can join in the battles when you are student-like, “very weak and inefficient”.

-       I am assigned to “Intellectual drive Front”. It means that I will live in Saigon and disguise myself as some people who will be working for art organizations. Then, I will be a core base. I will propagandize, mobilize intellectuals, letters and arts the spirit of setting their faces against American invaders and guide them to act under the patriotic flag of “National Front for the Liberation of South Vietnam” … My advantages are my appearance, my gentlemanlike figure, my wealthily big landlord extraction, my elder brothers who are high-ranking diplomatic officials working for puppet government, my well knowledge of Saigon, my characteristic, voice and psychology which belong to the manner of Saigon people. I will have a secure “appearance” when I mix with the environment there.

-       Must I leave you? – Lan Vien burst into a convulsive sob.

Phong tried to have a firm attitude when he put Vien’s mind at ease:

-       The South of Vietnam will be soon liberated within some years. Our country will become united and we will meet again.

Vien’s crying sounds were louder:

-       Until when will that day come?

-       Millions of Northerners are moving in flock to South Vietnam for struggling. I’m not the unique person …

Phong found out all kinds of reasoning to console Vien while he himself was breaking his heart and confusing his mind. Which place the life would lead him to. And he couldn’t refuse his duty. Everything had to indispensably happen. Phong’s memories about his father and his great family whose owners were the first-class wealthy in the South of Vietnam were appearing in his thought.

What a very sad parting. Phong rearranged his hundreds of oil-paintings and neatly wrapped them up:

-       Those are “all my life”. My life would be meaningless without them. You should perpetually take them in the state of preservation for your duty.

Vien promised not to move any of them. She understood the importance of them as well as the “inestimable value” of works of drawings over there …

Phong had set out with a knapsack containing a small lacquer painting which drew Vien’s image and Mr. Trinh Thu’s manuscript named “The nature of thought”. He felt that such a “beyond the regime” book could help him in his “Intellectual drive” career.

Phong took a tortuous way Hanoi – Moscow – Bangkok – Saigon to infiltrate into Saigon. He was carefully and safely taken care as if he was a “strategic spy” operating in the enemy’s den. Actually, Phong was expected of not only carrying out the “Intellectual drive” work but also implementing the big things when the situation requested. Nobody but Phong could satisfy all the conditions and requirements. Phong’s talent and flexibilities were highly counted. Hanoi intelligence had successfully obtained marvelous thing at that time: Infiltrated their agents in the Presidency of Saigon government, worked as efficient assistants for President, worked as puppet leaders, people’s representatives in puppet administration, worked as journalists for communications agencies in United State, West Europe …

Phong was named “collaborator” in “intelligence network” and his superiors could assign concrete tasks to him at any time when the requirements appeared.

A vagabond artist who loved to draw “female nudes” turned out to be expected to undertake “adventurous and difficult” jobs.

14

Date …

Phong was having coffee with Uy Thuong in Queen Hotel. They were looking into the street.

Saigon was resplendent at night. Streams of people and vehicles were moving just like currents. American soldiers were holding the waists of female “waitresses’”. Such the girls’ shirts without sleeves showing their armpits were open to the waists. Even so, they still moved around phlegmatically. The English language was chattered like a magpie beside Chinese and Vietnamese ones. “The magnificent Saigon”, “The Pearl in the Far East” was blazing with vanity vitality.

Saigon was then like a flower whose all petals were wide-open showing its bright beauty and fragrance. Saigon had changed a lot since the time Phong lived there more than ten years ago.

The soft music sounded gentle, passionate, sorrowful and deeply pained. Uy Thuong placed her glass of coffee on the table, came across and stepped on the platform for her performance. It was her turn. She was a “night-club singer” in that hotel.

Phong threw a supporting look to her. Frankly speaking, he had just made acquainted with her at the beginning of that week. Her stature was tall, slender, light and flowing, or rather, quite beautiful …

Have you still remembered or forgotten

A Saigon was raining and the sunlight appeared unexpectedly

The street lamps were illuminated all night

So that you could enjoy a road with green tamarind trees at both sides

Have you still remembered or forgotten …

Phong was stirred by Thuong’s singing which gave him the feelings of losing his clear-sightedness, being delighted and amorousness but extraordinary pureness and devotion. The pearls of tears of the exquisite buds with their angel-like beauty and innocent love as limpid as the age of discretion seemed to appear in front of Phong’s eyes. In his memory, Saigon was that girl in the years when he was at his awkward age. He described the jade-like or crystal complexion of such girls in his time on his pictures.

Her voice made him passionately loved Saigon and such a romantic world …

However, the images of such American and republican soldiers in their battledresses with guns on their sides walking on the streets were just like a splinter which was put into his above mentioned emotion and gave him throbbing pains and uncomfortable worries. That had uncompleted his sacred minutes.

Uy Thuong had already finished her show to thunderous applause. Several “civilian” American sitting at the side tables were giving her overenthusiastic ovations. They got close to her, offered her flowers and opened their wallets to take out their dollars. Thuong’s singing made them intoxicating. They were accustomed to the songs which were effervescent, rhythmical, screaming and as troublous as the waves but then they were sunk in dreamy moonlight, girlish sad tears and breakdowns at the first love … They turned out to wonder themselves: Where was it? They reached such a country and they were hungry for a bashful love of the East …

Uy Thuong returned Phong’s place and finished her glass of coffee. In deed, Phong had “been attracted” by Thuong’s singing before he felt like loving her. Lan Vien was in a distant horizon which was “too far” away and Phong wasn’t a “saint”. A “little liking for Thuong” had naturally risen in his heart. He tried his best to contain himself, to stand on ceremony with her, to “send” it to “friendship” relation between boys and girls in their awkward age …

It was 9 o’clock in the evening. Phong looked at his watch and gave Thuong a signal for coming back. “A whirlwind” of American soldiers as drunk as lords were noisily arriving just as Phong and Thuong passed by the doors. Perhaps, such soldiers had just cheated death in a violent combat at the front with Vietnamese Communists and were enjoying their leaves so that their unruly gestures looked devastating just the wartime style. They asked for wine and gulped down it. They cried for waitresses and dancing girls and embraced them as though the cats were catching the mice. They were swinging their bodies and lifting “tiny” Vietnamese buds off the ground with their hands. Phong tiredly faced to such a scene. Should they be blamed? They had a narrow escape from death and thus nothing could hold their “disturbances”. In America, they were living in their magnificent houses with comfortable conditions and superabundant food and goods, they were rapidly driving car on the streets and they were rich … Why they had to come there and throw themselves in fighting trenches full of mud and blood. None of them knew the ground but that was life. It was just because. The Vietnamese fire-power frightened them to urination and they prayed the King of glory for protection … but they kept going at the exchange fire in order to occupy the hill. They got such the hill for what? The hill imbrued with the blood of both sides. One side took over the hill and then … didn’t do anything but gave such ground after some days. Even so, they had to occupy it. The cadaver sunned themselves like flies. It was just like “a joke” of the Heaven who had devised “the game”.

Which role I am in that game – Phong wondered. He was hauntingly worried of being “discovered” in spite of “falling in line with living environment”. He was controlled by a secret ring and received instructions about what had to do at times. He had to find out artists and intellectuals who “hated America and set their faces against puppet government” so as to propagandize, awaken and call upon them to demonstrate in the fight against Saigon regime.

Phong had had a secure “appearance” with all personal papers showing that he was Vietnamese overseas coming from Bangkok. They are forged documents but looked like the real ones and hence there was nothing to worry about. Some identity papers were issued by corrupt officials in Thailand and Saigon under “costly deals”. Those were the “true ones”. Casting the part of vagabond chivalrous painter who didn’t care about present situation, “hated and held politics cheap” and worshipped artistry, he stayed in an artistic ivory tower and didn’t do anything but drawing everyday. He always hired the nice stature girls to sit. His house was full of nudes which were sold if there was any order. He hobnobbed with numbers of writers and artists and established “a group of artistry” … In brief, his activities were in touch with neither government nor fighting. His house was located on an alleyway with no feature of luxury or flaunt. His irrepressible wish was to look for “the familiar sceneries and old acquaintances”. Sometimes, he disguised himself as the rider of the bicycle rickshaw and passed by the block of three adjoining villas whose owners were his stepbrothers in the big city. They were his father’s First and Second wives’ sons. The buildings were just as they were. They were raised in “French colony” times with iron fences, grass gardens and rows of “king-areca trees”. Phong used to live just there. He was often “at cross-purposes with his stepbrothers and held them in contempt because they were commonplace officers and businessmen of no artist souls. Hence, all of them wanted to “show their youngest insolent stepbrother the door” and so much the worse for him who would like to rule the roost at any places.

Phong had seen his brothers going out of the gates on their cars. Their hairs had turned white. The features of their faces were corpulent and affluent but emotionless. They might haven’t had butterflies in their stomachs, torment and being tossed about in their beds like him. Phong thought to himself: He and they, who is happy? They were determined not to recognize him even when they met him face to face. Beside the “camouflage”, he had changed a lot for more than ten years …

“Boorish Oldest Brother” Council-chief who had owned 3.000 hectares of fields in the West of Vietnam was no more. Phong’s mother was too. Diem’s “agrarian reform” had reduced “Council-chief’s” area of ground. His farming profession was descended from him to his eldest son who lived in the West of Vietnam in order to mind his remained assets. His second son who had been oversea student in France since he was a lad was an Ambassador in Paris. His third one was doing business there as well. The following sons were living in Saigon. Phong might have been something “vague” in such the sons’ memories. A “vagabond” painter “threw money away” on “Resistance” and then assembled to the North of Vietnam. However, that sort of “vagabond” guy couldn’t afford to be a “big boss” but stained papers with colors …

Date …

Phong had been in Saigon for a year. Contemplating himself in the mirror, he felt his visible age with a hard furrow on his forehead.

What was wrong with him?

There was nothing wrong but being apprehensive of danger which could happen to him at anytime when puppet secret agents discovered him as Vietcong’s staff who was planted and was “legally operating” in inner city. Phong had read the newspaper and acknowledged revolution’s broken bases, revolutionary soldiers who were captured, tortured and received prison sentences in the cells in the stockades named Chi Hoa, Con Dao … Oh, no! He extremely apprehended manacles, clamps, torture and even a smack or a blow, let alone burning pincers which could tear every piece of human’s flesh.

Phong hadn’t imagined all the things behind his mission when he took his departure in Hanoi. He only knew that they couldn’t take no for his refusal. Most of officers who were assembly Southerners had come back their hometown. Phong would have much better “living conditions” when he “operated” in inner city in comparison with guerrilla bases in war zone. On the other hand, he just made the “intellectual drive”. Thousands of intellectual students in the South of Vietnam flied in the face and considerately demonstrated against American and puppet government. They were still OK. Phong hadn’t been in a sweat till then. He had many sleepless nights. The view of arrest always became visible in his mind whenever he caught the figure of a secret service or a puppet police.

How “brave” he was in his youth! He dared to join in resistance war. What a “dastard” he was then like that! He turned out to discover himself not to have any “particularity” of a politician but an artist although he had a little “romance, dream and swaggering heroism” when he was young. His real nature was just an artist. His vocation was an art doer but not other kinds of adventurers …

Phong didn’t win much result in his recent “Intellectual drive” movement. His higher authorities knew that and they had realized his “manner as timid as a rabbit”. However, Phong was useful as well. Joining hands with dollars, guns and ammunition, the American pragmatic lifestyle and consumption culture were swarming into penetration in the South of Vietnam. Most of the youth were “seduced” and were extraordinarily attracted. Money took the king position. All other moral value was refused. Much worth was reversed as if people were standing on their heads while their legs were pointing upward. The ranks of national spirit intellectuals expressed their opinion in struggling against such behaviors. Phong fell in line with them. From the point of view of an artist, he was in the vanguard of “honoring national culture”. Secret agents had no door to give him any troubles with such activities. The Saigon regime was operated under the model of the West’s “free and democratic capitalism”. It could mercilessly quell “Vietcong” but was at the end of other hostile forces’ resources. Taking the advantages of its weakness, the youth and students had overwhelmed all the corners of the streets, demonstrated and opposed. The journalists told the news at their pleasure and the writers laid bare the dark side of society as much as they wished …

Phong had a “potentiality” which couldn’t promote in Saigon as he wasn’t take for the courageous type but could be well performed in free environment such as Paris. The Central organization in Hanoi was looking for people who could meet the conditions for mobilizing overseas Vietnamese to oppose America’s aggression towards Vietnam. “Informational work” had to be successfully done so that the whole world would know American Empire was “bullying” a small country. Though English philosopher Bectoran Russel’s “anti-America international Court” was just a tribunal in the figurative sense it was mentioned on the press through out the world and had a great effect anyway while antiwar movement was increasing in United State where people didn’t want their offspring and relatives to stay in Vietnam and to sun themselves after going to the next world. Were they freely living in the wealthy capitalist world like that but they had to move to Vietnam to get the deaths, handicapped bodies and had to be halting on America’s “pavement trimmed with gold” once coming home? The positions in the House of Lords, House of Representatives and president title would be under the threat of people’s objections, losing the people’s trust, losing the ayes in the vote. Those factors brought pressure to bear on American political circles and forced them to cease hostilities.

Voices of overseas Vietnamese force living in European countries which had been raised against American would contribute to increasing the effect and attracted the attention from the world public opinion and American people.

It was a correct decision when Phong was appointed “important overseas Vietnamese” to Paris. He would pioneer the organization of overseas Vietnamese demonstration and the appearance on organ forum that was against America. There, he could “rule the roost” to his heart’s content as he wouldn’t be captured by any Saigon secret service or policeman.

The above mentioned event seemed to lift a large rock on Phong’s shoulders as well as withdraw a sliver which made Phong be hauntingly worried in his heart. Within some days, he left Saigon and put his steps on “Rose Garden Hamlet” on the outskirts of Paris where many of overseas Vietnamese had settled since the time they worked as ONS soldiers in the First World War.

It was then no use for Phong to “distingue” or to hide himself anymore. He went directly to his two elder brothers’ houses. He was warmly welcomed and a small apartment in “Rose Garden” was hired for his comfortable residence. “His organization” could be in charge of “administrative formalities” and give him a small amount as the initial expenditure only. He had to depend on his brothers for help and “stand on his own bottom” for living and “operate” …

Date …

Well! There was more “miles of very far space” between Phong and Lan Vien. Saigon was within 2.000 kilometers distance of Hanoi only. Meanwhile, Hanoi and Paris stood an ocean distance apart.

Why the die was cast Phong and Vien apart. Phong used to be convinced that he would happily stay with Vien forever when the “Creator” brought them close together.

Why Phong couldn’t receive such the happiness. Phong wished a faithful family according to Vietnam classical model. “The modern life” didn’t allow Phong to follow that type but mould him after the other fashion. Phong looked like a “clot of flour” used for plastic.

Phong had smooth memories of Vien which appeared in his dreams. His pillow would be wetted with tears if he was a woman. However, he couldn’t do anything but was melancholy because he was a man. Phong had known one thing by experience: It was extremely wonderful when the King of glory created man and woman that were dualistic. One was the other’s worth. One was attracted and hungry for clod instinct with the other. Both had their own value. Suppose there was only male or female, the human relationship just was work and they hadn’t got their own “extraordinarily” worth. Nevertheless, the Heaven’s “mean of creation” hadn’t been fully-fledged yet. It was extremely difficult to find out just “the worthy candidate”. 50% of couples were unmatched or uneven. The contacts were taken place between normal people but not courting couples. It was exceedingly whimsical. Phong loved Vien with all his heart. However, how they could “be happy together” in such a circumstance. Their youth went by quickly. “Human creatures” were thirsty for orgasm and nostalgia. Like a body cloven in two, one would have never been a fully-constituent entity without a sweetheart side by side.

Phong was sunk in his memories of Vien without having any letters or information about her. Both poles were “confronting” on the world. Each side stayed where one was. How the exchanges could be happened in wartime.

The answer was hopeless for the question when Phong and Vien would be together. In Vietnam, Hanoi where was a confrontation outpost between Capitalism and Socialist was put to fire and sword. They were in life-and-death struggle. Making up or compromising would be never taken place. Vietnam was chosen as a theatre of war for their “duel” and the mankind’s history counted Vietnam as its “fulcrum”. The more glorious Vietnam was the much blood people lost …

My dear Vien! What short lives we had! How we could go along with the length of history … We were just like tiny ants whose legs were so short and whose lives were so short as well. How they could keep “traveling with the history” …

…  Phong had lived in Paris for some months. That morning, he paid a visit to Louvre Museum of fine Art – his “artistic cathedral”. It was lucky for mankind that several pictures described a lively life by colorfully sparkling lines of drawing which were painted since the time when human could hastily drive a brush on the ceiling of Lascaux cave in France 15.000 years ago to go down the image of a few cows had been still preserved …

Phong made a glide past. He had already known by heart all the names of masterly painters of centuries. He came there for worshipping them as though he used to worship his ancestors in the anniversary of their deaths...

He couldn’t keep stopping in the picture named Lajokon painted by Leonardo De Vinci in 1520. There was a strange feeling came to him as if it was the first time he saw the image in the picture though it was quite familiar with him because he had seen its photographs so many times in his life. Mona Lisa seemed to be alive in front of his face and that amazed him. She was looking at him with a thoughtful face. Her smile which was showing not only her melancholy a bit but also her little ridicule was just like an active point on tranquil surface of the lake. That made the viewers have the feeling that they were read like books by Mona Lisa.

Phong fancied that with mysterious eyes, Lisa was giving him sympathy: Hi! Man! I understand you. What you want now is to worship an artistic beauty while you are shouldering worldly things full of difficulties. You are talented and are hungry for becoming immortal by mean of art. But, be calm! The Creator can only choose a few persons and grant them undying names. Be satisfied with your everyday life and try to draw your aspiration in your pictures … You can be accounted successful …

Phong was being stunned as though his mind was read by Lisa. He walked faster like a somnambulist to evade Louvre palace. Nevertheless, he was blocked by Van Gogh’s works which were full of rough oil-paint spots and dashes expressing the tremble and meander. They were flickering under the effect of the sun light and the air.

-       Van Gogh seemed to talk to Phong: You may think I was so crazy that I cut my ears, shot my head and slumped down on the wheat-field full of sun shine. No, it was perfectly wrong. That was my “part” in this world. Well! You know! How lonely the life is! Nobody can understand us. Ceùzanne, Gauguin and I – three of us were on our lonesome in the world, and you? Am I within your grasp?

Phong had completetly “escaped” from the Museum. He refreshed himself...

… Ceùzanne had perceived the loss from his awareness of “the order and the balance”. The “going-by instant” worry of “impression” fine art school caused their indifferences to the long lasting and firm conformations of nature. According to Van Gogh, the concessions of visible “impression” whereas nothing could be reflected except for optic quality of light and colors would make the art run the risk of dropping the strength and the zeal that pushed the artists for expression of their aspiration. Gauguin was disappointed with the world and the form of art he had found out. He wished something “simpler” and “clearer” and hoped to discover it in the lives of “men of integrity”. Such those “discontented feelings” were in consequence of “modern art”. Three above mentioned painters had followed their own solutions which became the ideals of three trends of “modern art”. “Cubism” school was taken shape in France under the influence of Ceùzanne’s remedy. Van Gogh’s cure had created “expressionism” which was welcomed in Germany. The corollary of Gauguin’s solution was different forms of Primitivism. Those “crazy-like” movements in the person of themselves were then perseveringly followed by the current artists with their exertion in order to avoid the ways leading to cul-de-sacs. And Phong was a member of such mentioned artists …

Phong had just “met” his masters’ souls. He had just come back his real life from the “sacred” world. His responsibility was to mobilize overseas Vietnamese demonstrating all kinds of oppositions to America’s invasion on Vietnamese country.

… Standing in front of Louvre palace, Phong waved a hand at a taxi driver. He was sent to his brother who was the Ambassador. That day was a day off. The Ambassador’s better half prepared a “Vietnamese countryside feast” including fried meat rolls, eggplants pickle and the juice of grinded crabs cooked with pot-herbs cut fine to stand Phong and Mr. Lam who lived in Paris as a businessman as well.

-       Don’t be so care-laden – The Ambassador Dan talked to Phong in his capacity of “oldest brother” and “an older brother could replace late father” – Be unprejudiced when integrating yourself into the society in Paris so that you can live with a light hearted attitude. What is the human? He is just a chessman in the game controlled by the Infinite. Like me, I am a “politician” and an “Ambassador”. I represent the country. I won’t live for myself but other people if I keep feeling anxious about “sacred mission” and “obscure ideal”. How we can enjoy our unoccupied lives if we are harassed and worried all day long …

The two opposite sides on the world have chosen our country’s “political position” as their theatre of war and our nation has to bear the consequences of such a war which has happened for almost 30 years. Alas! Our country has exchanged fire for nearly one third of century. What is the purpose of fighting? It’s for nothing but specifying which side will seize the power or which corporation will hold the situation. The people don’t gain any benefit from this decision. The people will be the loser no mater who is the winner. In the developed republican countries, the winner will be determined by an election and people are electors whose power is so supreme that both sides have to pay attention to the people’s opinion. In America, Republican Party and Democratic Party take turn in coming into power as a result of people’s choice. Their countries and people would be reduced to ashes if the war explored and lasted 30 years at least like our nation whenever ruling Part was changed. France, United Kingdom, Sweden, Poland, Netherlands, Denmark, Spain and so on, they are the same except for Eastern countries where a democratic republic hasn’t developed yet so that a war is requested to seize power. It’s painful!

I and you are implicating in the “tornado” and the “whirl-storm” of such the struggle for power. We should know how to find out our “own shade” in the middle of desert. The ancestors used to say that “Minor seclusion is to live like a hermit in the forest. Great seclusion is to live and let live in a court environment”. You know. I’m following “great seclusion”. I’m taking no notice of other people’s power ambitions and of course I can’t do anything if I don’t ignore them. I don’t have such mission by nature. Therefore, there isn’t any reason for us to “shed our blood” and sacrifice for them. Do you think that I will be against Hanoi with my scream? Never! And you, there’s no need for you to worry about the mission of “fighting against America and Saigon government”. You should affectedly do it for form’s sake only. The life is the Heaven’s game. So is the 30 year-war. We can’t do anything. The Creator gives us our body to play the role of his pawn in his game. We must be extremely intelligent. We must “turn the tables”. We pretend to be his chessman at one side. On the other hand, we should live for ourselves by looking for some peace and quite in our short lives of 70 or 80 years.

Phong opened wide his mouth when listening to the Ambassador’s saying. Actually, Phong sometimes perceived in vague those ideas but he didn’t dare to affirm. The Ambassador was different from Phong. He had already drawn his own comments and counted them as a “scientific theorem”. How smart he was! Living environment in Paris where democracy and freedom were carried out and where he had stayed since he was a child so that he could observe the development of the world from the Second World War up to then was just the place he could draw “immortal arguments” which were super-selfishness. Phong was still very innocent and naive. Phong was still uncontrollably tremble and worried due to the presence of his conscience. Revolution had its own reasoning anyway. French colonialism had dominated Vietnam for 80 years. Revolution had to compete for its nation’s independence. Revolution’s enemy had not only refused to surrender at once but also dragged out their counter-attack. So, the war had to be lasted accordingly. Everything would be set into an orbit of freedom, democracy and election like those of Western countries’ once revolution won the final victory.  Phong had left his house, joined in resistance war, assembled in the North of Vietnam, moved to Saigon in order to implemented “Intellectual drive” and flied to Paris so as to carry out “Overseas Vietnamese drive”. All those works were righteous and reasonable. Phong couldn’t look for an “emotionlessly peace” like him. However, it was a great stupid to be against him as Phong would be a beggar in Paris without him. Well! To behave towards him, Phong had to “use the tactics of the enemy to fight the enemy” as well. Listening first! Sail with the wind later.

-       Moreover, I know you are still “nagging” at your mission of painting – The Ambassador continued – You won’t be able to recognize your head will be turning grey if you keep tormenting like this. The event that letters and arts were oriented by the State who asked letters and arts had to propagandize and serve revolution’s purposes made you dissatisfied when you lived in Hanoi. By the same token, you assumed that your painting was neither authentic nor sublime. You couldn’t compare to Van Gogh or Picasso with your talent. But why Mr. Raphael, Michel Land and other knights of the brushes of the old days could bequeath hundreds of painting masterpieces despite their topics were religion, Bible or something which serve the activities in the church. Revolution can be considered as another kind of religion just like Catholicism. You can take your serving revolution as a theme and your products can also be remarkable works if your skill is good enough. So, don’t blame anything else but forget to self-value your own talent.

-       You said as if you are “Department Manager of Propaganda and Instruction” who are working for revolution – Phong remarked – It looks like you are made Hanoi Ambassador to Paris as well.

Mr. Dan was lightly laughing:

-       “I” know everything. There are enough “antennas” in Paris which can transmit and receive information. I had sophisticatedly learned so much that “my skin turned rough with broken bones” in this “European cultural Centre”.

-        I have brought with me one set of Mr. Trinh Thu’s philosophic manuscript named “The nature of mentality”. It hasn’t been suitable with the circumstance in Hanoi. We can send it off to press and it may be a remarkable philosophic and cultural event which can attract the West’s attention.

-       You are vague and innocent again – Mr. Dan shook his head with a feeling of pity – Everybody can be strange with me but not Mr. Trinh Thu. I used to know his “anecdote” or “living legend” when I was young. He was able to join issue of the same ability with Zac – a leader of modern philosophic thought in the West. If he had lived here up to now his thinking would have been naturally developed, he would have had the advantage like a fish swimming in the water and he might have been the West leading philosopher. Unfortunately, the fish had been taken out of the water and it had to live on land when staying there. Under a different environment of mentality, he had to accept his destiny. It’s just a rule. 90 Russian leading philosophers of Czar’s time were expelled Russia after Russian October Revolution. Nobody died of such the event at last. There is only a philosophy being the object of monolatry on the half of the world and controlling the half of the world … The West is here free in thought. There are full of talent modern philosophers. How Mr. Trinh Thu’s work which had been written for years can be “a bomb” producing a stir like an explosion …

It’s Ok to be printed. It can be accounted valuable and preeminent as well. However, it’s quite difficult to draw special attention …

-       The life is supplied concrete guidance by philosophy which can’t catch any attention. So, what can attract. There is no reason why intellectuals who are the cream of social like you staying here are all “unconcerned” like that.

-       My dear! The current “modern life” has a big different with that of previous time. Pragmatism is supreme ruler. Materialism is supreme ruler. The glint of gold and silver is the sun light. People fall into decadence of morality and become slaves of convenience. The human’s “Object worshipping sect” is money. People won’t pay attention to anything but money itself.

Mr. Dan depressingly shook his head as if he was an “exception” to Materialism.

-       Everybody on the world seems to consider Paris as a capital of painting – Mr. Dan added – However, you don’t expect to live on painting when you are living here. Don’t expect to be hereby accounted high-class in society. Don’t be dreaming. Admittedly, I’m bored of your modern plastic arts. Lots of people are too. My emotion rose when I visited the classical painting room in the museum. How beautiful the classical pictures! Raphael’s “The Virgin Mary on the field”, Rubens’ “cock-an-bull story of blessing in peace life”, Manet’s “On the balcony”, Leonard De Vinci, Rembrain …, they are wonderful drawings in classical period and in the Renaissance. What I was seen in the modern space: a statue and its hands was a handlebar of a bicycle, its head was a coconut shell, its legs were a pair of ragged military shoes … That was the “most modern” one. Who wants to enjoy such product? Meanwhile, the modern pictures were coated and smeared all over by oil-paint stains. The human’s conformations in the paintings were getting out of shape with thighs which were much bigger than bodies. Any pregnant woman who hangs such a picture in her room won’t deliver a normal baby but monstrosity …

That is retrogression … Retrogression … Craziness … Stalemate.

-       Do you know anything about fine of art when you deeply mentioned like that? – Phong rejected.

-       So is the music – Mr. Dan was sinking in talking the hind legs off a donkey – The products of Mozart’s, Beethoven’s and the former symphonies are excellent. How melodious and resounding the former songs are! The recent singers are screaming, shouting and crying. The music is quite contrary as thought it is beating on our ears. Such an “utterly absurd” music called new music. Nevertheless, the youth is overenthusiastically welcoming it. They are screaming, laughing and crying together with mad singers. Then, literature is the same. Nobody can understand the poems’ meaning which is just like the feeling of mental patients. There isn’t any soul but letters and letters. There is another kind of poetry which inconsiderately announces its content of nothing but words arranging. The former novels such as “The wretched people”, “War and peace” … written by Victor Hugo, Lev Tolstoy … are very interested. Now, there isn’t any plot in the “new novels” which we can’t realize what they are talking about. Their manner is named “post-modern” with unreasonable conditioning details and the “life” isn’t mentioned … What boring things! The whole modern art is going to be depraved. The whole people are helplessly standing and looking without doing anything.

Phong was amazed at the ambassador’s deep knowledge and extreme view of art like that. It had better for Phong not to reason with him as Phong was living on his money.

-       Well! Let’s temporarily put those “stories about the heaven and the seas” on the back burner. We are now talking about livelihood in particular – Mr. Lam, the second brother and the businessman hadn’t said a word until then – To my opinion, Phong maybe a skillful artist. However, life always bears envy and stupidities whose owners can’t catch up your ideas. Therefore, you “will have been staying in small earthenware coffin” when you will be famous and your pictures will be used for sale. Let’s take Van Gogh as an example. He lived in poor condition. His paintings cost tens of million dollars each after he had died. What an intricate question! So, I would like to advise you that you can draw, dream and implement your mission assigned by Hanoi as well as wait until you become a genius but you firstly have to concentrate on doing business and earning money. You are just a member of lower social classes if you live here without knowing how to make money no matter how talent you are. The wealthy are always high society people anyway. You usually feel that your money is small despite how much you have. You have one but the others do have 10, 100, 1000 … Everybody has never known how much assets can be accounted sufficient. There isn’t any stopping-point for a getting money race. People can’t hold their heads high without money and if they have little money they just do nothing but ducking out of sight.

Living in Hanoi, you were subsidized by your State. You were distributed from every grams of meat, every kilograms of rice to a brush, a tube of oil-paint and a piece of canvas fabrics. You lived low. You balanced your legs and had nothing to worry as you had food to eat, clothes to put on, accommodation to stay and oil-paint to draw like other people.

Admittedly, revolution well behaves and gives prominence to writers and artists most. In the old days, Phan Huy Chu had finished such a great set of “The charter of the past dynasties in categories” and had submitted it to Minh Mang King whose guideline was to look for precious books in the world. In return for his devotion, Minh Mang rewarded him a box of fine fountain-pens only. That was all for his merit. He wasn’t appointed to a mandarin post because he didn’t have money and he hadn’t been a doctor yet. Farming works and products trading were accounted valuable. “Literature and books” were the things of rank and fashion but not food. Consequently, a box of fine fountain-pens was granted. What an innocent concept whose existence still remains in civilized society in the person of itself. Manufacture and business bring us money. Letters and arts like your art of drawing, most of them are just “gardens and decorative plants” except for special genius in born like Picasso. Ornamental plant and flowers can’t produce rice, oranges and grapes … And thus, there isn’t any money as well.

We can assumed that revolution well treats, honors and gives writers and artists a toweringly high status in society. Revolution takes letters and arts for its part and use letters and arts to propagandize its activities. A marching song can urge the whole army to go at enemy and kill them. An interesting song which is performed will penetrate into people’s blood and flesh. The love for revolution is allowed from developing and people will follow revolution in their first revolutionary lives due to the impact of that song. An attractive fiction is too. People can follow the examples mentioned in the book. They are extra great force of encouragement and extremely remarkable education. So are plays and pictures. The people in the whole country have been mobilized to believe and love revolution as well as educated to be directed towards revolution by the contributions of letters and arts. The strength of a fine song in praise of revolution can be compared to that of many divisions in the battle … How big your merits revolution! That’s why revolution respects you and spends money to feed you, distribute houses to you and send you schools for studying purpose. You are praised by the press. You are “spiritual leaders”. Your reputation is quite big. You are at high ranking level in society …

However, it’s completely different when you are staying here where you have to lead a normal life created by the Heaven. Nobody supports others. Good person can earn big amount and bit by bit join in high society. On the contrary, one will be dropped to lower social classes if he has no money.

All writers, poets, musicians and painters are citizens and laborers. They will have money if their works can be sold otherwise the government won’t spend its budget to feed the ranks of writers and artists because it doesn’t care. People can write, draw and disclose all the dark side of society at their pleasure. Society and life are created by the King of glory but not the government. Revolution counts itself as the father of society (it’s also correct since the revolutionists had seized the power with their bare hands). They “are delivered” of a society. They are owners. Society is their family whose father is them. Therefore, to say bad things on society means to say bad things on them. That is forbidden as they are spending their money to feed all …

Don’t bring your State-run “mentality” which states that the government has to “esteem the writers and artists” from Hanoi to Paris and thus you care for nothing. You will become a beggar if you can’t make money. Everybody won’t deign to look at you no matter how great talent you are.

One more time, Phong opened wide his mouth with his astonishment when listening to the second brother’s saying. Phong assumed that he was a “foolish businessman”. Phong didn’t expect to hear his neat and clear argument. He was a man of great learning as well. Even so, Phong negated their “reactionary and bourgeois” points of view. The revolution was carried out by the people who are the owners of society. The truth was not exactly the same to what Mr. Lam and Mr. Dan had said but much more “natural and clearer”. The truth was much more reasonable but not “extreme”, “illogical” and “gloomy” as what they had announced. Their philosophy is accounted “nonsensical” … In spite of all the above mentioned details, Phong had to acknowledge their “right”: Phong had to rush into earning money and could’t wait for their “subsidization” only … Mr. Lam’s business was “fashion and garment” industry. Phong would work for him. That was a suitable job. As a painter, he would create aesthetic fashion samples or suggest aesthetic elements to the current fashion samples in Mr. Lam’s firm.

-       Then, Phong, you have to think of love matter and getting married – Mrs. “Ambassador”, Phong’s gentle sister-in-law who had taken care of the meal for their three brothers since the preparation stage “raised the new topic of the talk”. She still remained her Vietnamese features from her language to her concepts of life despite she had stayed in France since she was a kid - You must have an official wife but shouldn’t lead a single life with lovey-dovey disturbances. And you should marry a Vietnamese girl but not a foreigner who isn’t going to be a faithful wife. The foreigners are faithful to foreigners and they would cheat on Vietnamese people. I will be your “match-maker”. She is a person with a good family breeding. She is teaching in university. I had already chosen. We have my close relationship. I and her mother are friends. We have emigrated here. We should gather each other to form a “warm family”, have babies, maintain the continuity of our family line and create long everlasting happiness and virtue … I’m always heart-broken about thinking of our country due to the non-stop war which nobody knows when it will end. My extract was in Ngoc Ha village, Three Temples, Hanoi. My relatives are still there. I don’t know whether American bombs had been thrown in Ngoc Ha village. My childhood house with moss-grown tiles roofing and rows of shiny ironwood columns remains in my mind. My grandfather with his new-gate fringe as firm as catgut was taking a cup of tea discharging smoke and thoughtfully looking at some vases of orchids hanging beside a cage of nightingale. I left Hanoi when I was 8 years old. Many years have passed by. When our country will have the tranquility. My heart will be satisfied if I can return Ngoc Ha even one time in my rest life …

Phong breathed a sigh. His heart had a piercing pain. He missed Lan Vien. He missed Hanoi …

(trên đây là từ trang304 đến trang344 của bản tiêng Việt  Tiểu thuýet Cuồng Phong của Nguyễn Phan Hách – Nhà xuất ban Hội Nhà Văn Việt nam xuất bản 2008)