Chapter 7

After that time in Old Quy’s room, Mai no longer dared bring up money with him.

Every time she thought of the old wooden desk, the closed door, the damp smell of cigarettes and Old Quy’s sticky hand, her throat tightened hard. For the next few days at work, she avoided him like a mad dog. If they met in the workshop, she lowered her head. If he called, she answered yes. If he looked, she turned away.

The money was still short.

Twelve million in rent was still there.

The nearly fifty million in savings that Hung thought was still lying in the metal box had already flowed clean back to her hometown. Her mother called once. Her younger brother called once. Acquaintances down there called a few more times. Every time there was some problem. Every time they said it was urgent. Every time Mai told herself it would be the last.

Then when she opened the box, it was empty.

Mai could not sleep.

The harder Hung worked, the more afraid she became.

He had just become assistant team leader, and every month he brought money home properly. Each time Hung smiled and talked about the future, about having children, about renting a better room in a few years, Mai could only lower her face and pretend to fold clothes.

She had thought of Old Quy.

Then she shuddered.

Talking money with Old Quy now was no different from opening the pen herself and letting an old dog crawl in.

But these past few days, there had been news in the rental block.

Old Tu had been hit by a car and compensated one hundred million.

No one knew clearly what had happened. Some said the old man got lucky, only dislocated his arm and still got a whole lump of money. Some said he knew important people. Some said ever since Hoang came around, this rental block had suddenly risen up, and no one understood what road it had risen on.

Mai heard it and her heart gave a sharp ache.

One hundred million.

Exactly the amount she needed to fill the hole under her feet.

If only...

At first, the thought only flashed up and went out.

But it kept coming back.

Anyway, talking to Old Tu was easier than talking to Old Quy. That old man was country, rough, blunt, but he was not the kind of person who threw a woman into a dark corner. After Thang Scar was arrested, after Thao was allowed to stay, Mai also looked at him a little differently.

Old Tu was not good in the way people wrote about in newspapers.

But he still knew how to pity people.

At noon that day, after waiting for Hung to go to work, Mai changed clothes.

She stood in front of the small mirror hanging crooked on the wall and looked at herself for a long while.

The old worker uniform had been taken off. In its place were jeans that fit her body and a white T-shirt lightly tight at the waist. She did not put on heavy makeup, only a little lipstick so she looked less pale. Her hair fell to her shoulders, then she loosely tied it behind her.

Mai was nearly one meter seventy. Long legs, slim waist, soft shoulders. Normally she wore a baggy worker uniform, her hair tied up in a rush, her face always tired, and looked only like a poor workshop woman. Today, in different clothes, that figure suddenly showed itself clearly.

Beautiful.

The beauty of a woman who had a husband, who had gone through wind and rain. Not young like Thao, but with a fullness that made men look once and find it hard to turn away.

Mai looked at herself in the mirror and bit her lip.

She did not want to do this.

But poor people often had nothing to bargain with besides a little face, a little tears, a little softness still left.

She went down to the ground floor.

The three rooms at the end of the row were completely different now.

Before, their doors had been locked tight, dust clinging to them, rats running back and forth. Now one room had been fixed into a place for desks and chairs, with a sign for a fruit-drink company. The other two rooms were stacked with boxes almost to the ceiling. Out in the yard, three-wheeled carts came and went constantly. A few porters in tank tops, sweat shining on their backs, carried boxes of bottled fruit drinks back and forth.

The boxes were printed with colorful words. Orange juice. Strawberry. Mango. Grape.

They looked clean, bright, proper.

Only the air was different.

It did not feel like an ordinary trading place. People came and went with few words. Goods moved in and out fast. Hoang stood near the door, phone in hand, and with one glance his porters knew where to put the boxes.

Old Tu did not bother paying attention anymore.

For the first few days, he had still been curious, peeking at boxes, asking how much one bottle sold for, where the goods came from. Hoang answered a few vague sentences, Old Tu did not understand, and that was that.

Now he was the boss.

The boss lay sprawled on a folding hammock set right in the corner of the yard, one hand behind his head, one hand holding a palm fan, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. His dislocated arm was still a little stiff, but he could walk normally again. He had money, goods, people calling him boss, and his face was redder these days too.

The moment Mai stepped down, the porters froze.

One man holding a box of fruit drinks almost lost his grip.

Hoang also looked up.

His eyes stopped on Mai for half a second, then returned to normal. Only half a second, but Mai still noticed.

Old Tu could not hide it.

He had been lying there, but when he saw Mai coming over, he sprang up as if stung by a bee. The folding hammock creaked. He adjusted the old tank top loose at the neck, then smoothed his salt-and-pepper hair with his hand.

“Uh ... Mai, huh?”

Mai stood in front of him and bowed her head slightly.

“Uncle Tu.”

Her voice was softer than usual.

Old Tu looked at her.

Looked from her face down to her shoulders, then hurriedly turned away, but after turning away a little he glanced back. An old man was still a man. The eyes were old, but the heart was not completely old.

Mai said softly:

“I heard you fell and broke your arm ... Are you better now?”

Old Tu stared a little blankly, then grunted.

“Asking only now?”

Mai’s face grew embarrassed.

She lowered her head further.

“Yes ... I’ve been too busy these days. And I also didn’t know whether you wanted people asking after you.”

Old Tu heard that and did not know how to pick at her.

“It’s healed. Nothing much. Just a little fall.”

Hoang heard from nearby. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, but he said nothing.

Mai stood still for a moment. Her two hands clasped together.

“Uncle Tu...”

“Why are you stammering like that?”

Old Tu suddenly remembered the rent and said it right away:

“Ah, the month is up too. The rent you owe me, what are you planning to do?”

Mai jolted.

That sentence stabbed right into the place she feared.

Her face went pale a little, but very quickly softened again.

“Yes ... that is also what I wanted to speak to you about.”

Old Tu frowned.

“Speak what?”

Mai looked up at him. Her eyes were wet, her voice small.

“I want to invite you up to my room for lunch. Then while we are there ... may I speak to you about money?”

Old Tu went quiet.

Mai stood a little closer.

The T-shirt hugged her body. The collar was not very open, but because she bent slightly to talk, that full woman’s figure still made his eyes blur. A faint smell of shampoo drifted over. Not expensive perfume, only the smell of freshly washed hair, clean and soft.

Old Tu swallowed dry.

“Uh ... yeah ... lunch is lunch.”

Hoang looked over.

“You’re going to eat, Uncle?”

Old Tu hurriedly straightened and acted stern.

“Yeah. You watch the goods. I’ll go up for a bit.”

Hoang nodded.

Mai led him upstairs.

Mai and Hung’s room was cleaner than many other rooms in the block. There were few things, but everything was arranged neatly. The blanket was folded square. Several sets of worker uniforms hung behind the door. In the small kitchen corner there was a rice cooker, a plate of boiled greens, a bowl of braised fish, and a bowl of sour soup still steaming.

Mai took a cloth and wiped the table.

“Please sit, Uncle.”

Old Tu sat down on the plastic chair, hands on his knees, suddenly feeling clumsy in his own body.

Mai scooped rice for him.

“There isn’t anything good in my house. Please eat what there is.”

“This is fine.”

He held the chopsticks, but his eyes kept looking at Mai.

Mai bent down to set the bowl down. Her arm was whiter than he had expected. Her fingers were slim, with small calluses from workshop work. This woman was usually lost among the workers, yet in different clothes, standing in the small room, she seemed to light up like a newly changed bulb.

Old Tu ate a piece of fish.

“Mm. Braised well.”

Mai sat across from him. She did not eat, only watched him.

“Have some soup, Uncle.”

“You eat too.”

“I’m not hungry yet.”

Old Tu ate a few more bites. His belly was truly hungry, but his head was not in the rice bowl.

After a while, Mai drew a soft breath.

“Uncle Tu.”

“Hm?”

“I want to speak to you about something.”

He set his chopsticks down.

“Say it.”

Mai lowered her head.

“I know I still owe you rent. I also know you have already been lenient with my husband and me.”

Old Tu waved a hand.

“If you know that, then pay. Why talk in circles?”

Mai’s eyes reddened.

“I ... I can’t pay yet.”

He looked at her.

Mai bit her lip, and tears started to fall.

“The savings my husband and I had ... I accidentally sent it all back home.”

Old Tu frowned slightly.

“Sent it back home?”

“Yes.”

Mai wiped her tears, her voice choked.

“My mother back home is weak. My younger brother is still in school. Down there, it was one thing after another. My mother called and said she needed money for medicine. My brother said he was short on tuition. Then the house broke, then old debts ... I kept sending money. Every time I sent it, I thought it would be the last. But then...”

She could not finish.

Old Tu looked at Mai’s crying face, and half his heart had already softened.

When a beautiful woman cried, even an old man found it hard to keep his heart hard.

Mai continued:

“Now there isn’t much left in the house. I owe you rent too. I know I was wrong. But I have no way left.”

Old Tu exhaled.

“You want me to let you delay again?”

Mai was quiet for a while.

Then she looked up.

“I want to borrow a sum from you.”

Old Tu narrowed his eyes.

“How much?”

Mai looked at him, her voice very small:

“About ... one hundred million.”

Old Tu was holding the water bowl and nearly dropped it.

“One hundred million?”

Mai hurriedly said:

“I know it’s a lot. I know. But I’ll pay it back. Hung and I both work. Every month I’ll pay you little by little. I won’t dare cheat you. Please pity me this once...”

Old Tu sat frozen.

One hundred million.

That was the lump of money he had just received. The money had not even warmed the safe yet. He had not had time to think what to buy, what to do, how to save it. In his whole life he had never held such a large sum in his hands. Now Mai opened her mouth and wanted to borrow all of it.

It hurt.

It hurt like someone had reached in and pulled out his guts.

But Mai sat in front of him, eyes red, lips trembling. The white shirt hugged her soft body. Her two hands rested on her knees, fingers twisting together. She looked pitiful, and also made it hard for a man to tear his eyes away.

Old Tu clicked his tongue.

“Why don’t you tell your husband straight?”

Mai stopped.

That question made her face even whiter.

Old Tu saw it and asked again:

“The money belongs to both of you. You sent it all back home. Now you’re short, so you gotta tell him, right?”

Mai burst into tears.

“I can’t tell him.”

“Why can’t you?”

Mai bowed her head low.

“Because before ... I was selfish with his family too.”

Old Tu went silent.

Mai choked out the story.

“When we had just gotten married, we didn’t tell his family. His family lives far away, and they’re very poor. I was afraid to go there. Afraid of the relatives, afraid of the countryside, afraid of all sorts of things. Then one time he said his father was sick and wanted to take me back to visit. He was even planning to take ten million from our savings to bring back and care for his father.”

Mai wiped her tears, but the more she wiped, the more they flowed.

“At that time I refused. I said that money was being saved for the two of us. I said going back to the countryside would cost money, take effort, and might make us miss work. We fought badly.”

Old Tu sat still.

His face slowly changed color.

Mai did not notice. She kept talking, thinking that the more honest she was, the more he would pity her.

“In the end, he chose me. He didn’t go back anymore. He didn’t send money either. Since then, I knew there was a wound in his heart. So now ... now I don’t dare tell him that I took the money to care for my family. I’m afraid he’ll hate me. I’m afraid he’ll find out and leave me.”

The room fell quiet.

Outside the window, the noon sun threw a long strip across the tile floor.

Old Tu no longer looked at Mai.

He looked at the bowl of rice in front of him.

In his head, an old thatched house suddenly appeared, with a leaking roof and a damp dirt floor. The smell of cheap tobacco. The smell of old sweat. The smell of sickness.

That year he had lain like that too.

Dengue fever.

His body hot as charcoal, then cold as if soaked in water. Arms and legs twitching. His eyes looked up at the roof and saw lizards crawling back and forth. A neighbor ran to inform his children. Afterward the neighbor came back and said they were busy. One lived far away. One said there was no money for the ride. One stayed silent completely.

He lay there, listening to people discuss where to bury him if he died.