Free The Sorrow of War by Bao Ninh Page B

him suddenly to his senses.
    He threw his head back, stepped away, and released Hanh, then lifted himself quickly out of the little shelter onto the floor, poised to run out of the room. But in his rush he knocked over the kerosene lamp, which went out.
    "Kien," Hanh called in a low voice. "Don't go, don't run off. Please help me. I can't see a thing."
    Trembling, Kien bent down and grasped her under her arms and lifted her out, ripping his shirt open even wider as he lifted. Hanh raised her arms and placed them around his neck, whispering to him: "Go upstairs for a moment, but don't stay long. Come down soon.There's something I want to tell you," she said.
    Kien went quietly back to his room, took a bath, and slowly put on fresh clothes. But he couldn't summon the courage to return downstairs. He started, but stopped. He sat down. He lay down, but he couldn't sleep. His emotions were running riot, willing him to return. But his conservative training in restraint anchored him to the spot. The hours dragged by, until he saw the first glint of dawn. He sat up suddenly, walked barefoot to the landing, and tiptoed downstairs to Hanh's room, where his courage ran out again. He pressed his face to the door, his heart beating loudly. He didn't dare knock, even when he heard a slight scratch of footsteps on the other side of the door and a latch being lifted ever so gently. Breathlessly Kien sensed Hanh's body pressing on the inside of the door, a centimeter of timber between their bodies. He lowered his hand to the ceramic door-handle, trembling, but it froze on the handle for some seconds, then minutes, and he found no strength to turn it. He finally released the handle, turned around noisily, and ran back upstairs, throwing himself on the bed in defeat.
    From that day on, Kien avoided her. If their paths accidentally crossed, Kien would bend his head and weakly mumble,". . . Sister." Hanh would look quiedy and sympathetically at him and say, "Good day, younger brother." She seemed willing to say more, to tell him something she had long wanted to say, but Kien's continued avoidance of her acted as a deterrent. The words she longed to say would never be voiced. Perhaps in their dreams, for soon she was gone.
    When Kien joined up Hanh had already become involved with the Volunteer Youth Brigade, which had gone off to Military Zone 4.When Kien returned to Hanoi before heading south he found a new occupant in Hanh's old room. The deep shelter had been filled in and tiled over and there was no indication that the floor had ever been disturbed.
    "There's something I want to tell you," she had said.The words lingered with him for vears.
    When later he recalled his actions, her words, his timidity, he would grieve and regret his loss.
    The passing of beautiful youth had been so rapid that even its normal periods of anxiety and torment, of deep intense blind love, had been taken from him as the war clouds loomed. A moment so close, yet so far, then totally lost to him, to remain only as a memory forever.
    Kien sighed and pressed his face to the cold glass window, looking out into the dark night. He could see the top of the tree in front of his house, the leaves brushing wetly against his window.
    In the streets below scattered lights shone, the light mixing with the rain. Illumination stopped at the end of the street, marking the start of the vast lake. Swinging his vision to the right he saw the dark cloud canopies low over the familiar tiled roofs of Hanoi, although hardly any of the houses emitted light. There were no cars on the street, and not a single pedestrian.
    At this moment the city was so calm that one could practically hear the clouds blow over the rooftops. He thought of them as part of his life being blown away in wispy sections, leaving vast, open areas of complete emptiness, as in his own life.
    The spirit of Hanoi is strongest by night, even stronger in the rain. Like now, when the whole town seems deserted, wet, lonely,