Autumn Rain |
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by Vũ Bảo
utumn sunlight steals through the window and gently lands on Vinh's face waking him up to another day of school and work. Vinh slowly opens his eyes, stretches his arms, and attempts to lift himself out of bed, but suddenly falls resignedly back onto the pillow. His eyes close again, with the eyebrows above them so remarkable that they cast shadows onto his cheekbones. Vinh replays the events of last night in his mind with half wonder, half disbelief. But he knows that it was not a dream and that his life won't remain quite the same. It was only yesterday that Vinh met Sen at the bus stop where he waited for his daily ride to the local college. She had approached to ask him for directions and by her accent, which consisted of a slight Saigonese twang, he recognized immediately that she was Vietnamese. "Cô muốn đi đâu?" he asked. Sen was slightly taken aback by the familiar language but sighed with relief thankful for the luck of running into a fellow countryman. "Vậy địa chỉ nhà bác cô là gì?" "260 Barker Avenue," she read quickly as if she had repeated that same address many times before. Vinh paused momentarily to replay the address in his head. "You're already there!" he exclaimed rather loudly. "Your Uncle's house is on the other side of the street." Sen felt a slight rush of color to her cheeks, though not without amusement at her blatant mistake. Her lips parted in a shy smile that impressed Vinh. For the first time, he noticed that she was carrying a cane. Dark but fashionable Gucci sunglasses suitable for the slightly round shape of her face covered her eyes, which Vinh imagined were a deep color, yet soft like the feel of velvet. Vinh realized that Sen was blind and slightly regretted that he had made the loud remark at her mistake earlier. If Sen could see, she would have seen a change in color coming to Vinh's face as well. Vinh looked at Sen rather intently and thought to himself that she looked beautiful. But Sen didn't just look beautiful. There was a sense of mystery about her gestures, especially the movements of her delicate hands and her hesitant lips, that charmed him. He thought about getting to know Sen better, perhaps ask her out for dinner, or at least coffee at one of the Vietnamese cafes that he frequented. Cafe' Haï Traéng had none of the loud and bass bumping music that could be found at most Vietnamese cafes. Instead, here the only entertainment was barely audible classical music that would be turned off by the waitress if a customer decided that he wanted to entertain himself or other patrons by playing on the piano placed in the corner. After long hours of work and study, Vinh often found himself heading out here. Sometimes, he would sit himself at the piano and play his favorite songs. And once in a while another patron, moved by the power of his music would softly sing along providing the words to the melody. As much as Vinh wanted to, he found no courage within him to ask a blind girl out on a date and the two parted with friendly good-byes, she thanking him for his help. He watched her cross the street with movements so agile that she betrayed his expectations. The day passed by uneventfully after this encounter. He went to his classes and afterward, put in five hours of work waiting table at the downtown restaurant. Back in his apartment, Vinh opened his books and worried about the exams coming around the corner. But he found no solace in trying to digest Descartes or Hobbes with their foreign philosophies. And there was little relevance in the existentialist novels the professor assigned. His thoughts turned to Sen. When she introduced herself and gracefully extended her hand, he thought how appropriate it was that she could be named after a beautiful flower. Just as the flower, amidst her own darkness is a radiating and simple beauty that he had never seen before. Vinh turned to himself. What about Nguyen Quang Vinh? Unfortunately, there was nothing but irony between the name and the person, he thought to himself. Alone with no family, few close relatives, and a future not so impressive as far as he could see. Vinh gave up trying to study and headed for the cafe. Below the neon sign, Vinh inhaled the gentle breeze making its way through the night air and lit a cigarette. He watched the smoke rise under the store lights, wafting through space. Opening the door, he slowly stepped in and looked for an opening at the piano. To his surprise, the usually vacant seat was occupied. The figure before him was running her fingers over the piano keys, sending sweet music through the muffled air of the room. He approached her and slowly pressed his hand onto her shoulder calling out her name. Sen took her hand off the keys and reached for the one on her shoulder. "Anh Vinh, what are you doing here?" She was pleasantly surprised. "Okay, what song will you sing?" he asked confidently as if not expecting Sen to refuse. And he was right for she did not. "Bài Không Tên số 4 của Vũ Thành An, anh biết chơi không?" she replied. "Excellent choice!" Vinh exclaimed and began running his fingers down the keys softly. Amidst the incensed cafe atmosphere, Sen's voice drifted out and mingled with the sweet aroma of cigarette smoke and coffee. ... Mãi về sau nước mắt khô cạn Vinh stopped mid-song and looked over at Sen. "Your voice is beautiful," he whispered. She said nothing but smiled her shy smile and resumed, putting the entire cafe in a trance with her soulful voice. The hours by the piano passed by quite unconsciously. Before long, the cafe sign would be turned off. Vinh and Sen decided to leave. The two walked down the quiet boulevard, the same way that Vinh had walked late at night many times, but never filled with such an indescribable feeling. Eventually, they reached the same bus stop where they met that morning. The cheerful neighborhood of the day was fast asleep. Only the occasional barking of an alert dog could be heard from the distance. They sat down on the bus bench looking towards the house of Sen's uncle on the other side. Only a small livingroom light remained on. Vinh looked up at the sky, the brightly lit moon and stars, and wondered if Sen knew the feeling of gazing at the sky. "I still remember..." she said as if sensing Vinh's thoughts. "What do you remember?" he looked at her, puzzled. "I still remember those endless nights, just like this one. I would sit by myself counting every star, dreaming and forgetting to go to bed." "Then why..." "Only recently," she continued as if she had already anticipated his question. "It began in the Thai refugee camp. The doctor said I cried too much. I put unbearable stress on my eyes, which were never very strong to begin with." "I never heard that such seriousness could result from crying," Vinh wondered out loud, almost to himself because Sen too, seemed to be in a world of her own. "That boat trip was a bad one. So much wind and rain. My mother and father didn't survive. They were all I had. Thirty six days and nights on the open sea. It was too much for them. I thought I was going to join them, but I held on. Even all that, the Thai pirates, they still..." Sen choked on her words. "All that was left of me was skin and bones, and they thought I was beautiful. You cannot imagine the humiliation that they made me feel." Vinh leaned over and took Sen in his arms. "I'm so sorry," he whispered offering little consolation. "It's okay. You're going to be okay." He wiped the tears making their ways down her cheek with his hand. She smiled slightly at his caress and one of the tear drops fell into the crevice of her mouth. To some extent, Vinh could relate to Sen's pain and sorrow for he had experienced tragedy in his own life. When he set out on the boat with 80 other people to escape Viet Nam, it was thanks to his parents who worked many years to save and finance the necessary fee to occupy a place on the rickety boat. But they only lived long enough to rejoice at the news that he made it to Palawan island. His mother fell ill soon after, probably as a result of overwork, and his father had no more will to continue living. Vinh had commemorated their funerals by burning incense and sitting by it quietly sobbing to himself. His hot tears fell and mixed with the monsoon rain that flooded the Palawan island that day. Living and trying to make it on his own all these years, he often wondered about the meaning of his own life. In the end, he resigned himself to not knowing, at least not having a satisfactory answer. To Vinh, it seemed that in life, there was no happiness, no unhappiness, simply that one must live. "What are you thinking about?" Sen interrupted his revelries. "I'm thinking about rain," he said. "Rain?" "Yeah, it's coming. The sky is getting dark. I think many things go wrong when it rains." "I know. All that rain killed my parents." "I'd give anything to see my parents again. They died while I was in the refugee camp. I've always wondered what would happen if I had stayed behind with them." "We can never know for sure. But you will see your parents, hopefully in the next life." "You believe that?" "Sure. Why not?" "I don't have much hope for the next life." "But you have to hope. That is all we have. Only people like you and me have the right to hope. People who aready have everything don't need it." The strength in Sen's voice surprised him. She was filled with so many contradictions which made her the more interesting to him. He looked at her and wanted to kiss her. Tears welled up in his eyes and she sensed it. Her fingers traced a drop down his cheekbones. The two sat quietly leaning against each other's shoulders. Their thoughts drifted into separate worlds, yet not so different from one another. The peaceful silence between them was broken by the rustling of dry autumn leaves as the wind of an approaching rain blew them down the street. Vinh and Sen returned from their revelries to a dark and ominous sky. The first drops of rain began falling onto the ground signalling time for Sen to make her way inside. Vinh watched her disappear through the door. They did not speak of meeting again. But Vinh had little doubt about that. The rain fell quickly and Vinh turned to go home feeling a strange exhilaration he had not felt before. Passing by the bus stop, he was struck by a surge of spontaneity and quickly lept over the bench. Vinh made his way home in the rain, tasting the drops on his lips and wondering at their strange autumn taste. |
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