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On the
river
By LE
LUU
...
At nine o'clock in the evening, Old Khiem put
out his light, spread himself on the bottom of the small
boat, arms folded under his head, to listen in the
silence of the night to the underwater goings on of
‘his’ fishes. Over the width of the river the crests of
waves glistened like a stars. Occasionally the raucous
cry of a frog broke the silence or the dull splash of
night hunting creatures as they ran along the banks
echoed across the water. As the night wore on the wind
dropped and mist crept over the whole expanse of the
river.
At first a few fish leapt out of water, falling back
with a hardly perceptible splash. But presently all
around Old Khiem' s boat such splashes grew louder and
more frequent. The old man began talking to himself with
delight:
"A ha, that's fine - come on my little friends. Come and
present yourselves to me. Never fear. I can't see you
but I know you very well all the same... Come on..."
Suddenly he stopped, holding his breath:
‘Wait a bit. That sounds like my friend the Shad - with
her around firm body and pinched in waist, a regular
dainty miss... hold on- oops!
‘Now then here comes Mr Carassin, as thin and flat as a
sycomore leaf. As for that short heavy splash without
doubt that must be dame carp making a dive for it. Aha
that flippety flop of troubled waters, that could be
some big perch chasing after a shoal of little
frightened gudgeon.’
Silence... then suddenly the voice of the old man again,
this time exultant:
"Oho a pike - a pike... It's all up with you - you old
bastard. I know you alright. Nobody else has that way of
flapping the water when he jumps, with that enormous
tail. Your trouble is you’re too fat – eh? – and it’s a
bit of an effort clearing the water – One moment – Just
to take a nice breath of fresh air – then flop! – away
we go!’
Every night follows more or less the same pattern, the
frenzied leaping and diving then sudden compete silence.
After a long interval Old Khiem knows from experienced
that a slight tap on the surface of the water will start
the whole thing going again. "Here comes a sheat-fish.
Don’t be, bashful my beauty. Just because you’re a bit
sticky and covered with spots you needn’t be ashamed.
Are you waiting for all the others to go away? Come on
my dear Oops there, off she goes!"
While waiting for the fish to come and nibble his bait
the old man is busy calculating in his head the quantity
and types of fish that he must supply for the
festivities on the following day.
Since he was seven years old Khiem often went with his
father to help him in his work on this same stretch of
the river. During the "dark years’ of the anti-French
resistance, he lived by fishing alone and become the
most skilful fisherman of the village. When peace
returned, he took to operating the ferry as did his
father. But since the establishment of AA defence units
by the river for the protection of the outer periphery
of Hanoi against US planes he took to fishing again as
his main activity to supply food for the army. It is
thanks to him that every week the soldiers are able to
enjoy at least one good meal of fresh fish to vary their
ordinary fare.
But just now he has a very important tasks for the
following evening, one that concerns him personally and
to which he plans to devote the whole day.
Without imagining what the old man would plan the head
of the unit had confided a secret to him.
"The next day a number of comrades from the unit are due
to depart on a distant mission and a farewell party is
being planned."
In such a case there is only one thing to be done.
Everything else must wait, his first concern must be to
provide a feast. This is the reason why he has spent the
whole night watching for fish.
In the morning as he got back to the house he handed
over to his daughter five big bream and hundred or so
ablets which he asked her to gut and prepare for
cooking.
"Did you think of buying a bundle of incense sticks?’ he
asked.
"Yes, Papam,’ she replied, "but you know – if it doesn’t
interfere with your plans I would be glad if you could
get back a little earlier. I have things to do in the
afternoon.
"Alright, my chick, you don’t need to tell me."
Then he added in a lower tone, carefully avoiding his
daughter"s eyes, so as not to betray his feelings:
"You must see that you"ve got everything you need or
you"ll have a terrible lot to do the day you leave."
So saying he went back to the river. The nets he had
attached to the delicate rods were positioned some
distance from the river bank. With extreme care he felt
each wand in turn, testing them between his finger and
thumb. The stretched framework shivered in the water
like the handle of a monochord vibrating in the hand of
a musician, but he felt no tension or weight further
down.
"Hell, that's bad- very bad" muttered the old man
frowning.
It was a grey morning with low hanging clouds. In early
Spring if the weather remains dry it means that the
season has not yet warmed up.
"They may have gone to look for food a bit deeper"
thought the old man pensively.
For a long time he sat motionless and silent then he
announced decisively.
"Alright – good, if it's that way I'll try something
else. We'll see"
He took off his clothes and, diving into the water,
began to search about for a better place to fix his
nets, after which he patiently set about moving every
one. Having done this he was preparing to go on to
inspect his other nets when suddenly he remembered
something and hastily went back to the house.
His daughter Hai was cleaning the fish beside a large
bowl of water. For about half a year now this pretty and
shy young girl had been attracting an increasing number
of suitors to the modest three-roomed cottage by the
river dyke.
Saturday evenings they would file in from all
directions, young students fresh from study at the naval
dockyard, young men from the dyke repair service,
soldiers, workers, young fishermen from trawlers who had
to put in because of the fighting. The girl welcomed
everyone with a strange smile which was peculiarly her
own and very soon would find some excuse to disappear.
Her father was then left with no alternative but to
determine his attitude towards these young suitors
according to that of his daughter. It soon was clear to
him that not one of them found any special favour in her
eyes. However, there came a day when she found herself
suddenly so taken aback, so embarrassed by the presence
of a young soldier from the anti-aircraft section that
she could do nothing but blush and stammer and twist the
ends of her hair.
Immediately Tung arrived in the neighbourhood he began
to get acquainted with the local people, and very soon
discovered that the girl's father had at one time given
shelter to his own father. Thus there already existed a
link between them to predispose them to a tie of
friendship.
Very soon their relationship became such that it could
no longer be kept secret from anyone.
In a few single strokes Hai finished her work by cutting
and peeling into the water five bunches of green
bananas. She had cleaned and laid aside a few dozen of
the biggest fish, keeping the others for soup. She had
just finished cutting up the bream and putting them in
the stewing pot and was pouring the water in when her
father appeared.
"Well, have you finished my pet?" he asked playfully
"Take the sticky rice out of that pot and hand it over
to me. I am going to cook the fish."
"No, no, papa, I've cut them all up already and I'm
going to make soup with the others," replied his
daughter, very pleased at having finished her tasks so
soon.
"Stop, stop!" cried the old man, "don"t do it – stop
will you!"
he almost shouted at his daughter who was about to pour
the water into the pot. With her arm still raised she
looked at her father, astonished at this outburst. Being
accustomed to be treated with consideration, this
peremptory manner made the tears spring to her eyes.
Without a word the old man removed the pieces of fish
from the pan and laid them carefully in a basket. His
irritation quickly evaporated when he saw the cheeks of
his daughter wet with tears. He didn't dare to look
again at that dear face, especially when it reminded
him, dimples and all, of the face of the wife he had
lost. He felt sorry for having spoken crossly to his
daughter.
"After all," he thought, "the fault was mine for
forgetting to give the right instructions before I went
out this morning."
A moment later when the bream began to simmer in their
bed of herbs and the stream from the doc (a kind of wild
berry) began to fill the little kitchen with its
appetising smell the old man smiled at his daughter.
"What a ninny eh? You forgot who I was keeping the bream
for?"
Hai was absent-minded of cause: being in love, her head
was usually in the clouds. Her father brought her back
to earth. By this time she was so upset that there was
nothing she could not do but run to her room bury her
head in the pillow and sob with shame and rage that she
should have forgotten.
"Oh dear Papa – how could I? Please forgive me!"
Every year on this day of the anniversary of his wife"s
death, papa Khiem does his utmost to bring home some
bream, those with small heads, rather a rare species
here, with which he prepares with his own hands, a
special stew flavoured with doc.
"You know," he told his daughter when she was still a
child, "when your mother was pregnant she was always
wanting these fish cooked with doc, though they are not
considered very good for the women in childbirth. Never
mind, this was the only thing she asked for, so I got
them for her. Then when the time came that I had to find
rice to feed the armymen, I was selling all the fish I
caught to buy rice. Once I happened to bring in a dozen
of these big bream and of course I wanted to keep a few
for your mother. But she wouldn't hear of it – not her.
She insisted that I sell them all to get rice for the
guerrillas." |
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