Free The Shadow of Arms by Hwang Sok-Yong Page B

gathering over Dong Dao.
    â€œWhen did you get back?”
    â€œSorry, what did you say?”
    â€œSomething is bothering you.”
    Pham Minh kept on eating and said nothing. The noisy whine of a motorbike grew louder as it approached, with a cloud of dust mushrooming behind. The scooter slid to an abrupt stop in front of the house. Sitting behind the girl driving it was Shoan. Seeing Pham Minh, she let a long sigh of relief.
    â€œMy, who is this? Chan Te Shoan! Please come in. Invite your friend in, too.”
    â€œNo, she can’t. She has to get home before curfew. Thanks, Puok.”
    When Pham Minh looked at her, the girl on the scooter smiled at him, covering her mouth with her hand.
    â€œYou’re Lei’s brother, aren’t you?”
    The scooter zoomed noisily away. Trinh’s daughter looked at Pham Minh and Shoan in turn as they sat beside each other.
    â€œWhat’s going on? Are you hurt?”
    Shoan’s white ahozai was torn and dirty, and her hand was bandaged in a shredded handkerchief.
    â€œOh! It’s nothing, I just had a fall on the way here . . . ”
    â€œI’m sorry, but it seems that we have to ask to spend the night here.”
    Mrs. Trinh smiled softly. “I believe something is worrying you both. Has Pham Minh received a draft notice?”
    Pham Minh avoided answering.
    â€œ . . . I’m leaving home. But that doesn’t mean I’m going back to school.”
    From inside there was a barely audible cough.
    â€œAh, father must be up now,” said the daughter.
    Pham Minh went in alone, leaving Shoan on the porch. Inside, the room was in disarray with wicker chairs strewn all over the place. The thick odor of opium saturated the air. A hammock was hanging at the door leading out back and in it Uncle Trinh lay sideways, rocking back and forth. A long pipe still loaded with a bit of smoldering opium was sitting on the tobacco box. Trinh’s eyes were cloudy and he could not seem to focus them. His long grayish hair was pulled back neatly from his forehead and he was clad in white.
    â€œHow are you, Uncle? It’s Pham Minh.”
    â€œUm, Pham Minh . . .” Trinh muttered, listlessly waving his long arm. “Come closer.”
    Pham Minh moved a wicker chair up beside the hammock.
    Trinh looked around. “I’m thirsty. What time is it?”
    â€œAfter seven, I think.”
    Pham Minh brought a kettle of cooled green tea from the table and Trinh drank some, savoring it.
    â€œIt’s back again.” Trinh touched his forehead and then slowly rose from the hammock. “We’re back. From the glory of the Li Dynasty to Cochinchina, we’ve come back.”
    Pham Minh said nothing. Trinh put on a pair of fancy sandals with cork insoles and pulled another chair over to sit across from Pham Minh. His dim consciousness seemed to awaken gradually.
    â€œYou’ve changed a lot.”
    Pham spoke in a reproachful tone. Following Minh’s gaze, Trinh looked over at the raw opium lying on top of the tobacco box.
    â€œYou’re right. I’m an old man . . . dragging out his life too long.”
    â€œYou don’t drink?”
    â€œNever. My body won’t let me. I can’t sleep at night. Lately I’ve been taking trips.”
    â€œTrips?”
    â€œTo escape the Sondin of today. I’ve been roaming down in the delta region where the bananas and mangos are plentiful and the birds sing cheerfully in the trees. You can see the Mekong River.”
    Pham Minh hung his head. Trinh kept on drinking tea, the hand holding his cup was shaking.
    â€œIn the old days you used to give us inspirational speeches.”
    â€œIt’s gotten boring. It’s taking too long. I hear there’s an offensive underway out there now, eh?”
    â€œThe lunar New Year offensive just started. But the cities are quiet now. Nothing has changed in Saigon, though.”
    â€œIt was the same last year and