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Enchanting moment
By Cao Tien Le
I was startled
when I heard the name of Kim Oanh announced as one of
the artists performing today. It had been quite a long
time, about 15 years or so, since I'd met her last. But
I had frequently seen and heard her sing on television,
in particular in performances during national holidays.
She seemed to be leading a happy life, having a great
time with name and fame.
 And
I, I was like an insect, an ant or a bee which has to
face up to a biting winter no sooner than it comes out
of a burning summer. I am a cadre in an office whose
leaders are regarded as a source of strategic strength
for the Party and the State. These leaders are used to
opening their arms wide to talk with the world and with
the Party Central Committee, but they seem not even to
worry about a shortage of electric lighting, and all
year round residents have to carry water from the public
taps. These hardships are but a trifling matter for
these leaders, and never do they mind it. So I have to
bend my back double to support my small family, and can
afford no time to visit her. On the other hand, if I do
meet her, I am sure to have nothing to talk about. Also,
I am of the view that my time is better spent to support
the weak, not the strong. I do come to the aid of
friends in difficulties and have always tried to find
ways to help in any small way that I can, but I would
never approach those enjoying good fortune in the hope
of receiving some assistance.
Of course, Kim Oanh and I have never talked of anything,
or harboured any attitude, however momentary,
intentional or otherwise, that could offend each other.
I remember meeting her when she'd just left the music
school. As I looked with admiration at the epaulets on
her jacket lapels that ranked her as a junior
lieutenant, she surprised me by confiding that she had a
new man in her life.
After graduating from the Polytechnic University, her
sweetheart found a job immediately as an engineer in the
army, yet his talent drew him to literature and art. His
poems, prose and even music made the Truong Son Range
much greener at a time when the area was being subjected
to relentless firing from the air. And her singing voice
was like an expansive carpet of happiness that invited
encouraged listeners audience to step on it, or
encouraging them to up the hills and down the valleys,
weathering all storms, treating death as lightly as a
feather, and marching joyously to the battlefront.
But the roots of love do not stem from individual
success. They were mistaken. Before they had enough time
with each other to have a child, they were preparing to
bid each other farewell, not able to see beyond their
respective egos. Both of them expected to take the other
for granted, a part of his or her body, an object that
he or she owned that, once placed in the drawer, should
lie motionless and intact until it was picked up again,
no matter how much time it took.
After the divorce, Kim Oanh told me: "I feel a sense of
relief, you know. As if I have just escaped danger.
Fortunately, I am still young. There is nothing to tie
us together." She sang a little bit, smiling, and walked
away as if everything in the world was beautiful, like a
song.
Two years later, her voice had become perfect. It could
be heard often on radio and television and in live music
program. It was as though she could, if she wished, stir
up a storm in the hearts of the audience, not just in
her own and neighbouring countries, but also further
afield. They called her the harbinger of peace, of love
and of happiness.
When we met at this stage in her life, she said: "I
don't need a man with talent or of great intellect
anymore. I'll marry a very normal man." I sighed, but
remained silent. I might be a close friend, but it is
difficult to offer any advice, particularly to those who
are great and famous, and who are more used to giving
orders than to listening.
She did it. Married a musician, a very normal man who
knew his place was in the sidelines and was comfortable
with having a very talented wife. She married a man with
whom there was no need to quarrel about anything. He was
a soldier obeying his commander's orders.
Now she could perform at will, and was free to travel to
her heart's content. On her numerous trips abroad, she
brought home both spiritual and material wealth. He
built a three-storied house, constantly changing its
interiors to suit current trends.
However, family happiness cannot be created or confined
within walls of modern homes. A larger house can allow
stronger winds to blow through and create greater
distances between friends. As the days, nights, weeks
and months passed, he tried to escape from his
loneliness by turning to alcohol and cigarettes, and
going out with an assortment of friends to one bar and
restaurant after the other. It did not really work, and
his drinking increased steadily. Soon, he was not only
addicted to alcohol and cigarettes, but also to the
hands massaged him and provided other services as well.
Many times, he'd had his arms around a bevy of women as
he watched his wife singing on television.
And she'd forgotten that she had a husband in the true
sense of the word. After many happy, but tiring trips,
she would arrive at home, clothes drenched with sweat.
She would wipe away a thick layer of make-up from a face
that had already been touched with crow's feet. She'd
give him all the money, and after proffering a few words
of advice, would go up to the bedroom and sleep soundly,
reassured. And off on another trip. It got to a stage
where he did not want her to be home so that he could go
out and lose himself in soft voices and hands that would
caress him. And he kept spending the money she'd given
him. Not only did he spend all the money, he also began
pile up debts as he plunged deeper into addiction, until
one day, he forgot his way home.
I went into a small room, about ten square metres, where
an artist could relax before stepping on to the stage.
She was sitting with her chin cupped in her hands,
staring absent-mindedly at the space filled with noises
of a city racing into nothingness. She was wearing a
very thin dress, her face was wonderfully made up,
highlighting two bright eyes and rosy cheeks, making me
wonder that she'd not changed in fifteen years, and had
even become more beautiful and elegant.
In a moment, we were transported to our past. "You, oh,
God, it's such long a time. How many years, do you
remember? I'd forgotten you!"
I smiled at her sincerity. She pulled me down on the
seat opposite her. Looking closely at my face, she
chattered: "You've got grey hair? Great! I thought there
would be nothing in this world that could make your hair
grey. You live like a model. You love your friends, you
love your wife and children. You have devoted yourself
totally to your family and office. Wow!" And she
joyfully started singing a parody of ca tru (a folk
song):
The hair is different, but the heart remains
unchanged... Then abruptly, she stopped and announced:
"I'm going to go to the court to get a divorce."
She told me about the men in her life, livid with
resentment: "All of them are ill-bred. Some are thirsty
for talent, others for wealth. I cannot bear it. Its
high time that I lived alone. Oh, God! Why am I so
miserable!"
I found it painful. I felt sorry not just for her, but
for a whole generation which was closely bound to
certain roots. Suddenly a song that my neighbour often
sang came to mind. I'd always found it depressing, but
it matched the mood this time.
... If you come back to the old place
The streets have now changed a lot
I pity you for half your life's in ruin
I pity myself for a whole lifetime in exile...
She was very sensitive. As if she'd read my mind, her
lament subsided quickly like a summer rainstorm. She
took my shoulders, looked into my eyes and rubbed her
head against my forehead. Then she stood up and
continued singing gently the part I'd just remembered.
...So remote is that hopeless place
Missing you has made my hair grey
"Yes, it's my turn to sing now!" - She walked out.
I remained sitting in the room, wondering how she could
sing when so many emotions were surging through her:
sadness, hatred, confusion. She hated not just one man,
but all men. And people said that man occupies half of a
woman's life. And others even claimed that women is only
a broken fragment of man!
It had been a long time since I'd had the opportunity to
listen to her singing live, and I had been waiting for
that day. But now I did not want to listen to her. I was
afraid that she could fail on the stage, afraid that I
would hear only a scattering of applause. I decided to
sit in the room for sometime and leave through the rear
entrance.
But when she walked on to the stage and bowed, the
applause was loud and long. She began singing. I heard
it as if it was coming from the air, from space, from
the old days, from our childhood, echoing the pledges,
vows and rows that pulled us near and pushed us away,
leaving us looking for that which was pushing us far
away, that was pulling us near, forcing us to plunge
into the sea to look for a needle. She was singing...
no, she was not singing. She was giving herself up to
the passion of love.
Plenty of oil, but nobody to light up
Plenty of corncobs, but nobody to roast
Plenty of coal, but nobody to fan a flame
Plenty of money, but nobody to spend it..."
Vi dam! (An amorous duet) She was singing vi dam. Vi dam
had always tied me up. I went out. She was beautiful and
brilliant. Her eyes were so tender and fresh, like the
Lam river in the morning. They seemed to hypnotise the
people. They flashed questions that had all men, me
included, bend their heads guilt for betraying their
love, begging to be forgiven and to come together
again...
As she finished, the applause was deafening. People
rushed on the stage with bouquets of flowers and
compliments. Tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down
her cheeks...
I walked slowly down Quan Su street back to my house.
One question was burning within: How could she sing so
beautifully despite her broken heart, her resentment,
her hatred? Just then, she caught up with me on her
motorcycle.
"Please, let's go and have a drink. I'm so thirsty!"
"Sure, I also want to ask you a question."
We sat in a cafe. She ordered two cups of iced coffee,
and stirred her glass to make the ice melt quickly. Her
face showed that the joy in her heart was melting at a
much faster pace...
"I'm sorry, my question is a little bit trite, but I
have to ask. How could you sing so beautifully when
you're so angry, so full of hatred against men?"
She shook her head. "Don't think I am being deceitful or
flattering when I say this. I did feel that I sang very
well this evening. But I was able to do it because I met
you. Don't laugh! Don't be so hasty in pouring scorn on
me. I am telling you this from the bottom of my heart.
When I met you, someone who I'd not thought of all these
years, I returned to the days of our youth. We were very
poor, but our life was afire with enthusiasm and
passion, rich in trust. The flame had been lit inside me
when I walked on the stage... I was not singing, I was
letting my emotions pour out..."
She went on and on. I cannot remember all of it, but I
realised that when she'd walked on to the stage today,
there was a moment of enchantment that only a genuine
artist can catch.
Translated by Manh Chuong
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