2OTH-CENTURY ASEAN LITERATURES General Table Of

2OTH-CENTURY ASEAN LITERATURES

General Table of Contents

Introduction by Malou Jacob, Project Manager

Introduction by Herminio Beltran, Jr., General Editor

PHILIPPINES  Introduction by Dr. Bienvenido Lumbera  Poems Alaala ng Hiroshima (In Memoriam Hiroshima) by Rolando Tinio Ako ang Daigdig (I am the Universe) by Alejandro G. Abadilla Isang Dipang Langit (An Arm’s Stretch of Sky) by Amado V. Hernandez Bonsai by Edith Tiempo Sa Pangungulila (On Loneliness) by Virgilio S. Almario  Short Stories The Day the Dancers Came by Bienvenido N. Santos The Summer Solstice by Nick Joaquin Tata Selo by Rogelio Sikat The God Stealer by F. Sionil Jose

SINGAPORE  Introduction by Dr. Gwee Li Sui  Poems The Exile by Edwin Thumboo Sunflowers for a Friend by Lee Yzu Pheng Cerita Peribumi Singapura (Tale of a Singaporean Native) by Suratnam Markasan (in Malay) 皮影戏 (Shadow Puppetry) by Wong Yoon Wah (in Mandarin) (Duality) by KTM Iqbal (in Tamil)  Short Stories Grandfather’s Story by Catherine Lim Lembu (Cattle) by Mohamed Latiff Mohamed (in Malay) 寄错的邮件 (Wrongly-delivered Mail) by Yeng Pway Ngon (in Mandarin) (The Earrings) by Rama Kannabiran (in Tamil)

THAILAND  Introduction to the Poems/Short Stories  Poems  What is such forging? by Ujjeni, A Poet’ s Pledge 1 & 2 by Angkarn Kalayanapong E-san by Nai Pee, Mere Movement by Naowarat Pongpaiboon Smile of the Rice Goddess by Chiranan Pitpreecha, and Arrival of Nirvana at Egg-Noodle Shop by Montri Sriyong  Short Stories Champoon by Dhep Mahapaoraya Maum by Kukrit Pramoj The Barbs by Phaitoon Thanya  Brief Biography of Thai Writers

VIET NAM  Introduction to the Poems/ Short Stories  Poems Thề non nước (The Pledge Of Mountains and Waters) by Tản Đà Trái tim em thức đập (Your Heart is Awake and Beating) by Xuân Diệu Bài ca cánh võng (Song of the Hammock) by Trần Đăng Khoa Sóng (The Waves) by Xuân Quỳnh Từ ấy (Since Then) by Tố Hữu Trường Sơn Đông, Trường Sơn Tây (Truong Son East, Truong Son West) by Phạm Tiến Duật  Short Stories Vợ chồng A Phủ (The A Phu Couple) by Tô Hoài Sống trong không gian hai chiều (Living in Two Dimension Time) by Vũ Tú Nam Đôi mắt (The Eyes) by Nam Cao  Bibliography  Biography of Writers  Glossary

INTRODUCTION

It is said that “a myriad of cultures of such immense richness and diversity is found in Southeast Asia spanning three time zones and ten nations that are multiethnic, multi- religious and multi-lingual.”

With this electronic publication, we celebrate the multi-lingual genius of our poets and short story writers in the ten ASEAN member-states. Years of preparations were poured into the making of this unique collection; my deepest appreciation to Mr. Nestor O. Jardin, Dr. Raul Sunico, Lilian C. Barco, Herminio Beltran, Jr. and Eyna Villar of the Cultural Center of the Philippines.

ASEAN has some 1,000 languages which contribute to its cultural strength. Today, the ASEAN states have sporadic literary translations done by universities and writers groups. The ASEAN-COCI could consolidate all these efforts and set new directions.

In the future, a coordinated ASEAN Translation Program could bring global attention and admiration for the region.

Let us continue to break new grounds. Welcome ASEAN 2017!

MALOU JACOB Project Manager

INTRODUCTION

The ASEAN 20th Century Literatures Anthology is a compilation of the best poems and short stories written by ASEAN writers within the period 1900-1999. It consists of ten sections, each section containing five or six poems and three or four short stories in the original language/s they were written, selected by the editorial committee of each of the ten member-states, namely, Brunei Darussalam, Cambodia, Indonesia, Lao PDR, Malaysia, Myanmar, Philippines, Singapore, Thailand, and Viet Nam. Each section also contains an introduction on the member-country’s literature or on the specific selections, as well as an English translation of the works not originally written in English.

The anthology is aimed at making the selected works accessible to researchers, textbook writers, educators, students, translators, and general readers of ASEAN contemporary literatures.

The anthology is still a work in progress, however, as all the member-states, except the Philippines, Singapore and Viet Nam, have yet to improve the English translation of some of their selections.

The on-line edition of the anthology is preparatory to the production of the e-book edition.

Herminio S. Beltran, Jr. General Editor

ASEAN 20TH CENTURY LITERATURES SELECTED POEMS and SHORT STORIES from the

PHILIPPINES

INTRODUCTION by Dr. Bienvenido Lumbera

POEMS Alaala ng Hiroshima by Rolando Tinio Ako ang Daigdig by Alejandro G. Abadilla Isang Dipang Langit by Amado V. Hernandez Bonsai by Edith Tiempo Sa Pangungulila by Virgilio S. Almario

SHORT STORIES The Day the Dancers Came by Bienvenido N. Santos The Summer Solstice by Nick Joaquin Tata Selo by Rogelio Sikat The God Stealer by F. Sionil Jose

Editorial Committee: Genevieve Asenjo Romulo Baquiran, Jr. INTRODUCTION

MODERN PHILIPPINE LITERATURE by Dr. Bienvenido Lumbera

Modern Philippine Literature is written in many languages, in English and Spanish and in native Philippine languages, principally Tagalog (now called Filipino, officially the National Language). Writing in English and Filipino makes up the greater part of published literature today.

Tagalog poetry has a long history that dates back to pre-colonial times. The Spanish conquest in the sixteenth century, that Filipinos produced literature in that language. When the United States of America took over from Spain as the colonizing power in 1898, English was made the language of instruction in the school system set up by the Americans.

The examples here presented are taken from the literature produced in English and Filipino. An early example of English writing is the poem FIRST, A POEM MUST BE MAGICAL by Jose Garcia Villa who wrote under the influence of early young modernist American poets. The poet was also a critic most vocal about his advocacy of writing purely for the sake of art. The fictionist Nick Joaquin wrote about upper-class Filipinos who aspire to recover their link to the culture of the past in spite of their Hispanized upbringing. This is dramatized in the clash between husband and wife in THE SUMMER SOLSTICE.

THE DAY THE DANCERS CAME is Bienvenido Santos’ story of a diasporic Filipino in America and his longing to re-connect with the culture of his native land. Francisco Sionil Jose’s THE GOD STEALER touches on an aspect of the indigenous culture of an Igorot Filipino in the story of a young man who sells to a foreign tourist an object sacred to the tribe, and how he had to compensate for his transgression.

In Rogelio R. Sikat’s story, TATA SELO, a peasant murdered his oppressive landlord, and an investigation of the crime reveals that he killed not only to protest his eviction from the land he has been tilling but mainly to avenge the dishonor the landlord had brought upon his family by sexually violating his teenage daughter who worked as a maidservant in the landlord’s home.

English poet Edith Tiempo writes about a woman’s passion to preserve mementos of loved things in her BONSAI. Among the poets writing in Tagalog, Alejandro G. Abadilla pioneered in modernizing Tagalog poetry by introducing free verse. In AKO ANG DAIGDIG (I am the Universe), he celebrates the poet as creative artist who embodies in himself the real and the imaginative, the very poetry he creates.

Amado V. Hernandez was a political artist who suffered incarceration for championing the cause of labor in its contention with capital during a peasant rebellion. ISA DIPANG LANGIT (An Arm’s Stretch of Sky) expresses the anguish of the imprisoned activist longing for freedom. The holocaust that came upon the city of Hiroshima is the subject of Rolando S. Tinio’s ALAALA NG HIROSHIMA (In Memoriam Hiroshima) gives a graphic account of the atomic bombing that reduced the Japanese city to a hell on earth. Virgilio S. Almario in his poem SA PANGUNGULILA (On Loneliness) releases a train of ideas and imagery as his persona meditates on the impact of melancholy on his sensibility.

In the history of Philippine Literature, social realism has been the strongest strain. This is particularly observable in the classics of Tagalog writing but somewhat toned down in the works of English writers. The educational system which uses English as medium of instruction has exerted the influence of Western models on writers who learned their craft in the academe. The nationalist movement in the 1960s gave Tagalog writing impetus which broke down traditionalism in subject matter and form, resulting in the entry of modernism in both poetry and prose works without quite abandoning the social realist tradition started by the novels Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo of the National Hero Jose Rizal.

POEMS

Alaala ng Hiroshima by Rolando Tinio

Ako ang Daigdig by Alejandro G. Abadilla

Isang Dipang Langit by Amado V. Hernandez

Bonsai by Edith Tiempo

Sa Pangungulila by Virgilio S. Almario

ALAALA NG HIROSHIMA by Rolando Tinio

Shu Jesusu, awaremi tamai!

The bomb itself was an effective force tending to end the bloodshed, warning Japan to surrender and thus to avoid total destruction…

Da ist nichts zu machen.

Una’y ang payapang paghingalay ng hangin Sa nakalatag na luningning ng araw. May madalang na humahakbang Sa alikabok ng Agosto sa daan. Anyong wala sa sarili, nananaginip Hanggang marating ang paanan ng tulay At huminto, at tumunghay sa tubig.

Pagkatapos. sa isang hudyat. May sumibak sa langit na walang ulap Labing-walong daang talampakan sa itaas: Asul-dilaw-puting palag ng dagitab Na nakaduling, nakabulag sa lahat.

Pagkatapos. Isang patlang Sa tik-tik ng oras.

Pagkatapos. Ni walang dagundong, Biglang bumulusok ang hanging Tila sambundok na bakal na dumagan At gumiling sa libu-libong katawan

Sa dakong kanluran. Bumalong nang bumalong Ang pagkalaki-laking ulap— Lumaganap at umakyat Hanggang bubong ay bumulwak Humilig at umunat.

At parang sa pakikipagtaguan. Tumiklop ang lungsod sa hugis abaniko. Dumapa sa lupa ang puno at simbahan. Lumundag ang ospital sa estero. Natapilok ang templo at ang pabrika. Nagtago sa lungga ang kuwartel at restawran. Naihi ang tulay na bakal at bato. At ang buong mundo ng mga bangkero, Mga kosturera, siruhano, at militar, Mga magkatipan at mga magkaaway, Naging pagkalawak-lawak na liwasang Apat, limang milya kuwadrado. At naghari ang sumusubong katahimikan

Sa alikabok na umaalimbukay, Nagdilim nang nagdilim ang araw: Biglang takipsilim sa kabila ng Alas otso’y kinse sa silangan.

Sa walang apoy na pagliliyab ng umaga, Naagas ang mika sa lapidang granito, Naging karbon ang posting Cryptomeria japonica. Nalusaw muli ang tisang kulay-abo. At nakintal sa granateng pader ang anino Ng pintor na nagsasawsaw ng brotsa. Naging retablo sa tulay na bato ang magkakarintong Nakaamba ang latigo sa kabayong nag-aalma. May limang lalaking natupok sa anyong Pagkakalas sa bangkang nasalabit sa sanga.

At nagsimula ang mga pagdurugo, Pag-agwasa sa bibig at tumbong Ng tila malabnaw na alkitran. Mga pisnging nilamukos at inihaw. Mga matang nahugot, lumawlaw sa bungo. Mga bibig na nagmistulang bakokang. At naglobo nang naglobo ang mga tiyan. At pumuti nang pumuti ang dugo. At nag-antak ang mga sugat, Tumikom-bumukad, tumikom -bumukad Parang malalaswang bulaklak.

At marahang nagprusisyon ang mga nahubuan. Parang mga komang, nakaangat ang bisig Sa nanang tumatagas sa kilikili at tadyang. Sa balat na namintog at nagkagutay-gutay. Naging agiw na nagsibit sa leeg, dibdib, tiyan— Parang magkaisa ang lahat na magbihis-basahan Upang ipagdiwang ang araw ng Pambansang Panginoon ng Karalitaan. Lungsod ng dalawangpung laksang pulubi!

May dalagitang lalabing-anim ang gulang, Halos di matakpan ng naagnas na salawal. Upang makubli ang nasiwalat na kasarian. Namaluktot sa isang tabi. Pinagdaop ang nag-uling na kamay. Humingi ng habag sa uling na kalawakan.

At kumpul-kumpol Langkay-langkay Pausad-usad Marahang-marahan Mga manyikang di-nakuwerdasan Sa entabladong di-nasabitan Ng anumang telon, tanyagan Pagtatanghal sa kalian wawakasan Bangungot na paano kagigisnan Pagsulong na walang tutunguhan Lawak na walang palatandaan Walang doon-pa o nariyan-lang Walang delantera o looban Mundo walang lagusan Sanlibutan ng uling at aso At nasalaulang pagkatao

At napasalansan sa pampang ng mga estero Na baka magpasingaw sa uhaw At pagbabaga ng mga buto. Patung-patong na katawang Hindi mawatasan kung ano— Parang bagong uri ng nilalang Na inanod ng Ilog Ota Mula sa burak ng karagatan— At hindi bihasa sa ganitong alinsangan. Isa-isang nanlumo, nahandusay, Umunat. naging bangkay.

O dakilang kabuti ng kasaysayan— Dagok sa matindi pa sa dalawampung Libong tonelada ng dinamita— Punong-katawang isinalaksak Sa matris ng Hiroshima— Dagtang walang patawad— Parang mga tulisang Nagkuta sa pinakaliblib Na yungib ng buto—

Parang hukbong sumalakay Sa mga selula ng laman— Nagpasabog sa mga pader— Lumusob sa nukleyo— Lumansag sa saligang-batas Sa lahat ng organo—

At nahindik ang sangkatauhang nagmamasid sa mga palko Nagbilang ng salanta at patay nagdusa at naghibikan Nagsisihan at nagdasal nagmatuwid at nagtalo Naglimbag ng mga panayam nagsingilan at nagsuklian Nagtirik ng mga monumento nagtatag ng mga kapisanan Nagdagdag ng bagong katuturan ng katarungan sa diksiyunaryo At nang --sa isang pang paghihimala— Biglang bumalot ang mahiwagang tagsibol Sa lungsod ng pitong estero, Gumapang ang morning glory sa mga linya ng telepono, Sumulpot ang liryo sa mga siwang sa ladrilyo. Namukadkad sa bangketa at daang-bakal ang krisantemo. At parang lungtiang kumot ang sariwang damong Tumakip sa dilat na bangkay ng Hiroshima— Isa-isang nagbalikan sa kani-kanilang Maliit, malalaking pakikipagdigmaan…

AKO ANG DAIGDIG by Alejandro G. Abadilla

I ako ang daigdig ako ang tula ako ang daigdig ng tula ang tula ng daigdig ako ang walang maliw na ako ang walang kamatayang ako ang tula ng daigdig

II ako ang daigdig ng tula ako ang tula ng daigdig ako ang malayang ako matapat sa sarili sa aking daigdig ng tula ako ang tula sa daigdig ako ang daigdig ng tula ako

III ako ang damdaming malaya ako ang larawang buhay ako ang buhay na walang hanggan ako ang damdamin ang larawan ang buhay damdamin larawan buhay tula ako

IV ako ang daigdig sa tula ako ang tula sa daigdig ako ang daigdig ako ang tula daigdig tula ako….

ISANG DIPANG LANGIT by Amado V. Hernandez

Ako'y ipiniit ng linsil na puno hangad palibhasang diwa ko'y piitin, katawang marupok, aniya'y pagsuko, damdami'y supil na't mithiin ay supil.

Ikinulong ako sa kutang malupit: bato, bakal, punlo, balasik ng bantay; lubos na tiwalag sa buong daigdig at inaring kahit buhay man ay patay.

Sa munting dungawan, tanging abot-malas ay sandipang langit na puno ng luha, maramot na birang ng pusong may sugat, watawat ng aking pagkapariwara.

Sintalim ng kidlat ang mata ng tanod, sa pintong may susi't walang makalapit; sigaw ng bilanggo sa katabing moog, anaki'y atungal ng hayop sa yungib.

Ang maghapo'y tila isang tanikala na kala-kaladkad ng paang madugo ang buong magdamag ay kulambong luksa ng kabaong waring lungga ng bilanggo.

Kung minsa'y magdaan ang payak na yabag, kawil ng kadena ang kumakalanding; sa maputlang araw saglit ibibilad, sanlibong aninong iniluwa ng dilim.

Kung minsan, ang gabi'y biglang magulantang sa hudyat - may takas! - at asod ng punlo; kung minsa'y tumangis ang lumang batingaw, sa bitayang moog, may naghihingalo.

At ito ang tanging daigdig ko ngayon - bilangguang mandi'y libingan ng buhay; sampu, dalawampu, at lahat ng taon ng buong buhay ko'y dito mapipigtal.

Nguni't yaring diwa'y walang takot-hirap at batis pa rin itong aking puso: piita'y bahagi ng pakikilamas, mapiit ay tanda ng di pagsuko.

Ang tao't Bathala ay di natutulog at di habang araw ang api ay api, tanang paniniil ay may pagtutuos, habang may Bastilya'y may bayang gaganti.

At bukas, diyan din, aking matatanaw sa sandipang langit na wala nang luha, sisikat ang gintong araw ng tagumpay... layang sasalubong ako sa paglaya!

Bartolina ng Muntinlupa Abril 22, 1952

FIRST, A POEM MUST BE MAGICAL by Jose Garcia Villa

First, a poem must be magical, Then musical as a seagull. It must be a brightness moving And hold secret a bird’s flowering It must be slender as a bell, And it must hold fire as well. It must have the wisdom of bows And it must kneel like a rose. It must be able to hear The luminance of dove and deer. It must be able to hide What it seeks, like a bride. And over all I would like to hover God, smiling from the poem’s cover.

Bonsai by Edith Tiempo All that I love I fold over once And once again And keep in a box Or a slit in a hollow post Or in my shoe.

All that I love? Why, yes, but for the moment- And for all time, both. Something that folds and keeps easy, Son’s note or Dad’s one gaudy tie, A roto picture of a queen, A blue Indian shawl, even A money bill.

It’s utter sublimation, A feat, this heart’s control Moment to moment To scale all love down To a cupped hand’s size

Till seashells are broken pieces From God’s own bright teeth, And life and love are real Things you can run and Breathless hand over To the merest child.

SA PANGUNGULILA by Virgilio S. Almario

Maraming himaymay ang pangungulila Bagaman iisa ang kulay ng ugat at lasa ng bunga. May pangungulila sa isang naglaho, Nawaglit, nawalay, nagtampo, lumayo; May pangungulilang tila iniipit Ng apat na pader, ng lupa at langit; May pangungulila habang lumulutang sa agos at bulwak Ng sangkatauhan, makina’t dagitab; May pangungulilang kapara ng luhang banal at tikatik Na sa bawat patak, may nakakalabit Na bagting ng subyang Sa dibdib at bagang.

Parang isang dasal ang pangungulila At dasal na walang makapa ang dilang kaluskos ng letra. Ang pangungulila’y tila pangsusubo Ng uod sa matang may marka ng pako Habang sumasagap ng mga rekwedong mapakla’t malabo Ang sutlang antenna ng bituka’t bungo.

Subalit madalas, Ang pangungulila ay isang pagtakas, Kapag ang paligid ay basa ng lisol O kaya’y ni walang baog na bulaklak sa inyong ataul At hubad na hubad ang katotohanan Sa mga larangang hindi mo matalos ang dulo’t hantungan; Hila sa kaliwa ng pagsasarili’t mithing mapag-isa; Humukay ng iyong sariling libingan, Tumuklas ng iyong sariling libangan; Pumili ng iyong sariling sapatos, Sariling sepilyo, sariling pustiso’t sariling kubyertos, Sariling kabinet ng buhay at lihim, At sariling kumot sa mga magdamag ng hamog at hangin.

Gayunman, pagdalaw ng mga sundalo ng pangungulila, Di mo mapipigil ni matututulan ang tinig na lila, Kung minsa’t himbing ka ay saka bubulong Ng mga katagang sisilab sa taynga gayong walang apoy, Magsisigaw ka ma’y walang makarinig Hanggang masiwalat ang sugat ng dibdib. Ikakadena ka ng kanyang alagad Saka ipipiit sa ulilang silid na batbat ng rehas, Doon, kapiling mo’y isang mahiwagang bombilyang pundido, At isang likmuang pandak at masurot gayong aluminyon.

Doon, uupo ka maghapo’t magdamag Habang tumutulo ang dugo sa sugat… At kapag said na ang lihim ng buhay At malat ka na rin sa pagtagulaylay, Ay saka lilitaw ang pangungulila Na mistulang isang berdeng engkantada, May ngiting banayad subalit masuyo At pangako’y pangarap sa sugat ng puso. Aawitan ka n’ya habang umaawit Ay pabago-bago ang samyo at kulay ng suot na damit, Naroong karbungko, pilak at tumbaga, saka esmeralda Hanggang maidlip kang may sapot sa mata. Ngunit pagsapit mo sa katanghalian ng pananaginip Muli, bubuksan n’ya ang sugat ng dibdib, Ito’y hahaplusin ng dayap at asin Hanggang sa tubuan ng perlas na itim.

SHORT STORIES

The Day the Dancers Came by Bienvenido N. Santos

The Summer Solstice by Nick Joaquin

Tata Selo by Rogelio Sikat

The God Stealer by F. Sionil Jose

THE DAY THE DANCERS CAME by Bienvenido N. Santos

AS soon as Fil woke up, he noticed a whiteness outside, quite unusual for the November mornings they had been having. That fall, Chicago was sandman's town, sleepy valley, drowsy gray, slumberous mistiness from sunup till noon when the clouds drifted away in cauliflower clusters and suddenly it was evening. The lights shone on the avenues like soiled lamps centuries old and the skyscrapers became monsters with a thousand sore eyes. Now there was a brightness in the air and Fil knew what it was and he shouted, "Snow! It's snowing!"

Tony, who slept in the adjoining room, was awakened.

"What's that?" he asked.

"It's snowing," Fil said, smiling to himself as if he had ordered this and was satisfied with the prompt delivery. "Oh, they'll love this, they'll love this."

"Who'll love that?" Tony asked, his voice raised in annoyance.

"The dancers, of course," Fil answered. "They're arriving today. Maybe they've already arrived. They'll walk in the snow and love it. Their first snow, I'm sure."

"How do you know it wasn't snowing in New York while they were there?" Tony asked.

"Snow in New York in early November?" Fil said. "Are you crazy?"

"Who's crazy?" Tony replied. "Ever since you heard of those dancers from the Philippines, you've been acting nuts. Loco. As if they're coming here just for you.

Tony chuckled. Hearing him, Fil blushed, realizing that he had, indeed, been acting too eager, but Tony had said it. It felt that way--as if the dancers were coming here only for him. Filemon Acayan, Filipino, was fifty, a U.S., citizen. He was a corporal in the U.S. Army, training at San Luis Obispo, on the day he was discharged honorably, in 1945. A few months later, he got his citizenship papers. Thousands of them, smart and small in their uniforms, stood at attention in drill formation, in the scalding sun, and pledged allegiance to the flag and the republic for which it stands. Soon after, he got back to work. To a new citizen, work meant many places and many ways: factories and hotels, waiter and cook. A timeless drifting: once he tended a rose garden and took care of a hundred year old veteran of a border war. As a menial in a hospital in Cook Country, all day he handled filth and gore. He came home smelling of surgical soap and disinfectant. In the hospital, he took charge of row of bottles on a shelf, each bottle containing a stage of the human embryo in preservatives, from the lizard-like fetus of a few days, through the newly born infant, with its position unchanged, cold and cowering and afraid. He had nightmares through the years of himself inside a bottle. That was long ago. Now he had a more pleasant job as special policeman in the post office.

He was a few years younger than Tony-Antonio Bataller, a retired pullman porter but he looked older in spite of the fact that Tony had been bedridden most of the time for the last two years, suffering from a kind of wasting disease that had frustrated doctors. All over Tony's body, a gradual peeling was taking place. At first, he thought it was merely tiniaflava, a skin disease common among adolescent in the Philippines. It had started around the neck and had spread to his extremities. His face looked as if it was healing from severe burns. Nevertheless, it was a young face much younger than Fil's, which had never looked young.

"I'm becoming a white man," Tony had said once, chuckling softly.

It was the same chuckle Fil seemed to have heard now, only this time it sounded derisive, insulting.

Fil said, "I know who's nuts. It's the sick guy with the sick thoughts. You don't care for nothing but your pain, your imaginary pain." "You're the imagining fellow. I got the real thing," Tony shouted from the room. He believed he had something worse than the whiteness spreading on his skin. There was a pain in his insides, like dull scissors scraping his intestines. Angrily he added, "What for I got retired?"

"You're old, man, old, that's what, and sick, yes, but not cancer," Fil said turning towards the snow-filled sky. He pressed his face against the glass window. There's about an inch now on the ground, he thought, maybe more.

Tony came out of his room looking as if he had not slept all night. "I know what I got," he said, as if it were an honor and a privilege to die of cancer and Fil was trying to deprive him of it. "Never a pain like this. One day, I'm just gonna die."

"Naturally. Who says you won't?" Fil argued, thinking how wonderful it would be if he could join the company of dancers from the Philippines, show them around, walk with them in the snow, watch their eyes as they stared about them, answer their questions, tell them everything they wanted to know about the changing seasons in this strange land. They would pick up fistfuls of snow, crunch it in their fingers or shove it into their mouths. He had done just that the first time, long, long ago, and it had reminded him of the grated ice the Chinese sold near the town plaza where he had played tatching with an older brother who later drowned in a squall. How his mother had grieved over that death, she who has not cried too much when his father died, a broken man. Now they were all gone, quick death after a storm, or lingeringly, in a season of drought, all, all of them he had loved.

He continued, "All of us will die. One day. A medium bomb marked Chicago and this whole dump is tapus, finished. Who'll escape then?"

"Maybe your dancers will," Fil answered, now watching the snow himself.

"Of course, they will," Fil retorted, his voice sounding like a big assurance that all the dancers would be safe in his care. "The bombs won't be falling on this night. And when the dancers are back in the Philippines..." He paused, as if he was no longer sure of what he was going to say. "But maybe, even in the Philippines the bombs gonna fall, no?" he said, gazing sadly at the falling snow.

"What's that to you?" Tony replied. "You got no more folks over 'der right? I know it's nothing to me. I'll be dead before that."

"Let's talk about something nice," Fil said, the sadness spreading on his face as he tried to smile. "Tell me, how will I talk, how am I gonna introduce myself?"

He would go ahead with his plans, introduce himself to the dancers and volunteer to take them sight-seeing. His car was clean and ready for his guests. He had soaped the ashtrays, dusted off the floor boards and thrown away the old mats, replacing them with new plastic throw rugs. He had got himself soaking wet while spraying the car, humming, as he worked, faintly-remembered tunes from the old country.

Fil shook his head as he waited for Tony to say something. "Gosh, I wish I had your looks, even with those white spots, then I could face every one of them," he said, "but this mug."

"That's the important thing, you mug. It's your calling card. It says, Filipino. Countrymen," Tony said.

"You're not fooling me, friend," Fil said. "This mug says, Ugly Filipino. It says, old- timer, muchacho. It says Pinoy, bejo."

For Fil, time was the villain. In the beginning, the words he often heard were: too young, too young; but all of a sudden, too young became too old, too late. What happened in between, a mist covering all things. You don't have to look at your face in a mirror to know that you are old, suddenly old, grown useless for a lot of things and too late for all the dreams you had wrapped up well against a day of need.

"It also says sucker," Fil answered, "but who wants a palace when they can have the most delicious adobo here and the best stuffed chicken... yum...yum..." Tony was angry, "Yum, yum, you're nuts," he said, "plain and simple loco. What for you want to spend and spend? You've been living on loose change all your life and now on dancing kids who don't know you and won't even send you a card afterwards."

"Never mind the cards," Fil answered. "Who wants cards? But don't you see, they'll be happy; and then, you know what? I'm going to keep their voices, their words and their singing and their laughter in my magic sound mirror."

He had a portable tape recorder and a stack of recordings, patiently labeled, songs and speeches. The songs were in English, but most of the speeches were in the dialect, debates between him and Tony. It was evident Tony was the better speaker of the two in English, but in the dialect, Fil showed greater mastery. His style, however, was florid, sentimental, poetic.

Without telling Tony, he had experimented on recording sounds, like the way a bed creaked, doors opening and closing, rain or sleet tapping on the window panes, footsteps through the corridor. He was beginning to think that they did. He was learning to identify each of the sounds with a particular mood or fact. Sometimes, like today, he wished that there was a way of keeping a record of silence because it was to him the richest sound, like snow falling. He wondered as he watched the snow blowing in the wind, what took care of that moment if memory didn't. Like time, memory was often a villain, a betrayer.

"Fall, snow, fall," he murmured and, turning to Tony, said, "As soon as they accept my invitation, I'll call you up. No, you don't have to do anything, but I'd want to be here to meet them."

"I'm going out myself," Tony said. "And I don't know what time I'll be back." Then he added, "You're not working today. Are you on leave?"

"For two days. While the dancers are here." Fil said.

"It still don't make sense to me," Tony said. "But good luck, anyway." "Aren't you going to see them tonight? Our reserved seats are right out in front, you know."

"I know. But I'm not sure I can come."

"What? You're not sure?"

Fil could not believe it. Tony was indifferent. Something must be wrong with him. He looked at him closely, saying nothing.

"I want to, but I'm sick Fil. I tell you, I'm not feeling so good. My doctor will know today. He'll tell me." Tony said.

"What will he tell you?"

"How do I know?"

"I mean, what's he trying to find out?"

"If it's cancer," Tony said. Without saying another word, he went straight back to his room.

Fil remembered those times, at night, when Tony kept him awake with his moaning. When he called out to him, asking, "Tony, what's the matter?" his sighs ceased for a while, but afterwards, Tony screamed, deadening his cries with a pillow against his mouth. When Fil rushed to his side, Tony drove him away, or he curled up in the bedsheets like a big infant suddenly hushed in its crying.

The next day Tony looked all right. When Fil asked him about the night before, he replied, "I was dying," but it sounded more like disgust over a nameless annoyance.

Fil has misgivings, too, about the whiteness spreading on Tony's skin. He had heard of leprosy. Every time he thought of that dreaded disease, he felt tears in his eyes. In all the years he had been in America, he had not has a friend until he meet Tony whom he liked immediately and, in a way, worshipped, for all the things the man had which Fil knew he himself lacked. They had shared a lot together. They made merry on Christmas, sometimes got drunk and became loud. Fil recited poems in the dialect and praised himself. Tony fell to giggling and cursed all the railroad companies of America. But last Christmas, they hadn't gotten drunk. They hadn't even talked to each other on Christmas day. Soon, it would be Christmas again.

The snow was still falling.

"Well, I'll be seeing you," Fil said, getting ready to leave. "Try to be home on time. I shall invite the dancers for luncheon or dinner maybe, tomorrow. But tonight, let's go to the theater together, ha?"

"I'll try," Tony answered. He didn't need boots. He loved to walk in the snow.

The air outside felt good. Fil lifted his face to the sky and closed his eyes as the snow and a wet wind drench his face. He stood that way for some time, crying, more, more to himself, drunk with snow and coolness. His car was parked a block away. As he walked towards it, he plowed into the snow with one foot and studied the scar he made, a hideous shape among perfect footmarks. He felt strong as his lungs filled with the cold air, as if just now it did not matter too much that he was the way he looked and his English was the way it was. But perhaps, he could talk to the dancers in his dialect. Why not?

A heavy frosting of snow covered his car and as he wiped it off with his bare hands, he felt light and young, like a child at play, and once again, he raised his face to the sky and licked the flakes, cold and tasteless on his tongue.

When Fil arrived at the Hamilton, it seemed to him the Philippine dancers had taken over the hotel. They were all over the lobby on the mezzanine, talking in groups animatedly, their teeth sparkling as they laughed, their eyes disappearing in mere slits of light. Some of the girls wore their black hair long. For a moment, the sight seemed too much for him who had but all forgotten how beautiful Philippine girls were. He wanted to look away, but their loveliness held him. He must do something, close his eyes perhaps. As he did so, their laughter came to him like a breeze murmurous with sounds native to his land.

Later, he tried to relax, to appear inconspicuous. True, they were all very young, but there were a few elderly men and women who must have been their chaperons or well-wishers like him. He would smile at everyone who happened to look his way. Most of them smiled back, or rather, seemed to smile, but it was quick, without recognition, and might not have been for him but for someone else near or behind him.

His lips formed the words he was trying to phrase in his mind: Ilocano ka? Bicol? Ano na, paisano? Comusta? Or should he introduce himself---How? For what he wanted to say, the words didn't come too easily, they were unfamiliar, they stumbled and broke on his lips into a jumble of incoherence.

Suddenly, he felt as if he was in the center of a group where he was not welcome. All the things he had been trying to hide now showed: the age in his face, his horny hands. He knew it the instant he wanted to shake hands with the first boy who had drawn close to him, smiling and friendly. Fil put his hands in his pocket.

Now he wished Tony had been with him. Tony would know what to do. He would charm these young people with his smile and his learned words. Fil wanted to leave, but he seemed caught up in the tangle of moving bodies that merged and broke in a fluid strangle hold. Everybody was talking, mostly in English. Once in a while he heard exclamations in the dialect right out of the past, conjuring up playtime, long shadows of evening on the plaza, barrio fiestas, misa de gallo.

Time was passing and he had yet to talk to someone. Suppose he stood on a chair and addressed them in the manner of his flamboyant speeches recorded in his magic sound mirror?

"Beloved countrymen, lovely children of the Pearl of the Orient Seas, listen to me. I'm Fil Acayan. I've come to volunteer my services. I'm yours to command. Your servant. Tell me where you wish to go, what you want to see in Chicago. I know every foot of the lakeshore drive, all the gardens and the parks, the museums, the huge department stores, the planetarium. Let me be your guide. That's what I'm offering you, a free tour of Chicago, and finally, dinner at my apartment on West Sheridan Road-- pork adobo and chicken relleno, name your dish. How about it, paisanos?"

No. That would be a foolish thing to do. They would laugh at him. He felt a dryness in his throat. He was sweating. As he wiped his face with a handkerchief, he bumped against a slim, short girl who quite gracefully, stepped aside, and for a moment he thought he would swoon in the perfume that enveloped him. It was fragrance, essence of camia, of ilang-ilang, and dama de noche.

Two boys with sleek, pomaded hair were sitting near an empty chair. He sat down and said in the dialect, "May I invite you to my apartment?" The boys stood up, saying, "Excuse us, please," and walked away. He mopped his brow, but instead of getting discouraged, he grew bolder as though he had moved one step beyond shamelessness. Approaching another group, he repeated his invitation, and a girl with a mole on her upper lip, said, "Thank you, but we have no time." As he turned towards another group, he felt their eyes on his back. Another boy drifted towards him, but as soon as he began to speak, the boy said, "Pardon, please," and moved away.

They were always moving away. As if by common consent, they had decided to avoid him, ignore his presence. Perhaps it was not their fault. They must have been instructed to do so. Or was it his looks that kept them away? The thought was a sharpness inside him.

After a while, as he wandered about the mezzanine among the dancers, but alone, he noticed that they had begun to leave. Some had crowded noisily into the two elevators. He followed the others going down the stairs. Through the glass doors, he saw them getting into a bus parked beside the subway entrance on Dearborn.

The snow had stopped falling; it was melting fast in the sun and turning into slush.

As he moved about aimlessly, he felt someone touch him on the sleeve. It was one of the dancers, a mere boy, tall and thin, who was saying, "Excuse, please." Fil realized he was in the way between another boy with a camera and a group posing in front of the hotel.

"Sorry," Fil said, jumping away awkwardly.

The crowd burst out laughing.

Then everything became a blur in his eyes, a moving picture out of focus, but gradually, the figure cleared, there was mud on the pavement on which the dancers stood posing, and the sun throw shadows at their feet.

Let them have fun, he said to himself, they're young and away from home. I have no business up their schedule, forcing my company on them.

He watched the dancers till the last of them was on the bus. The voices came to him, above the traffic sounds. They waved their hands and smiled towards him as the bus started. Fil raised his hand to wave back, but stopped quickly, aborting the gesture. He turned to look behind him at whomever the dancers were waving their hands to. There was no one there except his own reflection on the glass door, a double exposure of himself and a giant plant with its thorny branches around him, like arms in a loving embrace.

Even before he opened the door to their apartment, Fil knew that Tony had not yet arrived. There were no boots outside on the landing. Somehow he felt relieved, for until then he did not know how he was going to explain his failure.

From the hotel, he had driven around, cruised by the lakeshore drive, hoping he could see the dancers somewhere, in a park perhaps, taking pictures of the mist over the lake and the last gold on the trees now wet with melted snow, or on some picnic grounds, near a bubbling fountain. Still taking pictures of themselves against a background of Chicago's gray and dirty skyscrapers. He slowed down every time he saw a crowd, but the dancers were nowhere along his way. Perhaps they had gone to the theater to rehearse. He turned back before reaching Evanston. He felt weak, not hungry. Just the same, he ate, warming up some left-over food. The rice was cold, but the soup was hot and tasty. While he ate, he listened for footfalls. Afterwards, he lay down on the sofa, and a weariness came over him, but he tried hard not to sleep. As he stared at the ceiling, he felt like floating away, but he kept his eyes open, willing himself hard to remain awake. He wanted to explain everything to Tony when he arrived. But soon his eyes closed against a weary will too tired and weak to fight back sleep--and then there were voices. Tony was in the room, eager to tell his own bit of news. "I've discovered a new way of keeping afloat," he was saying.

"Who wants to keep afloat?" Fil asked.

"Just in case. In a shipwreck, for example," Tony said.

"Never mind shipwrecks. I must tell you about the dancers," Fil said.

"But this is important," Tony insisted. "This way, you can keep floating indefinitely."

"What for indefinitely?" Fil asked.

"Say in a ship... I mean, in an emergency, you're stranded without help in the middle of the Pacific or the Atlantic, you must keep floating till help comes..." Tony explained.

"More better," Fil said, "find a way to reach shore before the sharks smells you. You discover that."

"I will," Tony said, without eagerness, as though certain that there was no such way, that, after all, his discovery was worthless.

"Now you listen to me," Fil said, sitting up abruptly. As he talked in the dialect, Tony listened with increasing apathy.

"There they were," Fil began, his tone taking on the orator's pitch, "Who could have been my children if I had not left home-- or yours, Tony. They gazed around them with wonder, smiling at me, answering my questions, but grudgingly, edging away as if to be near me were wrong, a violation in their rule book. But it could be that every time I opened my mouth, I gave myself away. I talked in the dialect, Ilocano, Tagalog, Bicol, but no one listened. They avoided me. They had been briefed too well: Do not talk to strangers. Ignore their invitations. Be extra careful in the big cities like New York and Chicago, beware of the old-timers, the Pinoys. Most of them are bums. Keep away from them. Be on the safe side--stick together, entertain only those who have been introduced to you properly.

"I'm sure they had such instructions, safety measures, they must have called them. What then could I have done, scream out my good intentions, prove my harmlessness and my love for them by beating my breast? Oh, but I loved them. You see, I was like them once. I, too, was nimble with my feet, graceful with my hands; and I had the tongue of a poet. Ask the village girls and the envious boys from the city--but first you have to find them. After these many years, it won't be easy. You'll have to search every suffering face in the village gloom for a hint of youth and beauty or go where the graveyards are and the tombs under the lime trees. One such face...oh, God, what am I saying...

"All I wanted was to talk to them, guide them around Chicago, spend money on them so that they would have something special to remember about us here when they return to our country. They would tell their folks: We met a kind, old man, who took us to his apartment. It was not much of a place. It was old-like him. When we sat on the sofa in the living room, the bottom sank heavily, the broken springs touching the floor. But what a cook that man was! And how kind! We never thought that rice and adobo could be that delicious. And the chicken relleno! When someone asked what the stuffing was-- we had never tasted anything like it, he smiled saying, 'From heaven's supermarket' touching his head and pressing his heart like a clown as if heaven were there. He had his tape recorder which he called a magic sound mirror, and he had all of us record our voices. Say anything in the dialect, sing, if you please, our kundiman, please, he said, his eyes pleading, too. Oh, we had fun listening to the playback. When you're gone, the old man said, I shall listen to your voices with my eyes closed and you'll be here again and I won't ever be alone, no, not anymore, after this. We wanted to cry, but he looked very funny, so we laughed and he laughed with us. "But, Tony, they would not come. They thanked me, but they said they had no time. Others said nothing. They looked through me. I didn't exist. Or worse, I was unclean. Basura. Garbage. They were ashamed of me. How could I be Filipino?" The memory, distinctly recalled, was a rock on his breast. He grasped for breath.

"Now, let me teach you how to keep afloat," Tony said, but it was not Tony's voice.

Fil was alone and gasping for air. His eyes opened slowly till he began to breathe more easily. The sky outside was gray. He looked at his watch--a quarter past five. The show would begin at eight. There was time. Perhaps Tony would be home soon.

The apartment was warming up. The radiators sounded full of scampering rats. He had a recording of that in his sound mirror.

Fil smiled. He had an idea. He would take the sound mirror to the theater, take his seat close to the stage, and make tape recordings of the singing and the dances.

Now he was wide-awake and somehow pleased with himself. The more he thought of the idea, the better he felt. If Tony showed up now... He sat up, listening. The radiators were quiet. There were no footfalls, no sound of a key turning.

Late that night, back from the theater, Fil knew at once that Tony was back. The boots were outside the door. He, too, must be tired, and should not be disturbed.

He was careful not to make any noise. As he turned on the floor lamp, he thought that perhaps Tony was awake and waiting for him. They would listen together to a playback of the dances and songs Tony had missed. Then he would tell Tony what happened that day, repeating part of the dream. From Tony's bedroom came the regular breathing of a man sound asleep. To be sure, he looked into the room and in the half-darkness, Tony's head showed darkly, deep in a pillow, on its side, his knees bent, almost touching the clasped hands under his chin, an oversized fetus in the last bottle. Fil shut the door between them and went over to the portable. Now, he turned it on to low. At first nothing but static and odd sounds came through, but soon after there was the patter of feet to the rhythm of a familiar melody. All the beautiful boys and girls were in the room now, dancing and singing. A boy and a girl sat on the floor holding two bamboo poles by their ends flat on floor, clapping them together, then apart, and pounding them on the boards, while dancers swayed and balanced their lithe forms, dipping their bare brown legs in and out of the clapping bamboos, the pace gradually increasing into a fury of wood on wood in a counterpoint of panic among the dancers and in a harmonious flurry of toes and ankles escaping certain pain--crushed bones, and bruised flesh, and humiliation. Other dances followed, accompanied by songs and live with the sounds of life and death in the old country; Igorot natives in G-strings walking down a mountainside; peasants climbing up a hill on a rainy day; neighbors moving a house, their sturdy legs showing under a moving roof; a distant gong sounding off a summons either to a feast or a wake. And finally, prolonged ovation, thunderous, wave upon wave...

"Turn that thing off!" Tony's voice was sharp above the echoes of the gongs and the applause settling into silence.

Fil switched off the dial and in the sudden stillness, the voices turned into faces, familiar and near, like gesture and touch that stayed on even as the memory withdrew, bowing out, as it were, in a graceful exit, saying, thank you, thank you, before a ghostly audience that clapped hands in silence and stomped their feet in a sucking emptiness. He wanted to join the finale, such as it was, pretend that the curtain call included him, and attempt a shamefaced imitation of a graceful adieu, but he was stiff and old, incapable of grace; but he said, thank you, thank you, his voice sincere and contrite, grateful for the other voices and the sound of singing and the memory.

"Oh, my God..." the man in the other room cried, followed by a moan of such anguish that Fil fell on his knees, covering the sound mirror with his hands to muffle the sounds that had started again, it seemed to him, even after he had turned it off. Then he remembered.

"Tony, what did the doctor say? What did he say?" he shouted and listened, holding his breath, no longer able to tell at the moment who had truly waited all day for the final sentence.

There was no answer. Meanwhile, under his hands, there was Tony saying? That was his voice, no? Fil wanted to hear, he must know. He switched dials on and off, again and again, pressing buttons. Suddenly, he didn't know what to do. The spool were live, they kept turning. His arms went around the machine, his chest pressing down on the spools. In the quick silence, Tony's voice came clear.

"So they didn't come after all?"

"Tony, what did the doctor say?" Fil asked, straining hard to hear.

"I knew they wouldn't come. But that's okay. The apartment is old anyhow. And it smells of death."

"How you talk. In this country, there's a cure for everything."

"I guess we can't complain. We had it good here all the time. Most of the time, anyway."

"I wish, though, they had come. I could..."

"Yes, they could have. They didn't have to see me, but I could have seen them. I have seen their pictures, but what do they really look like?"

"Tony, they're beautiful, all of them, but especially the girls. Their complexion, their grace, their eyes, they were what we call talking eyes, they say, things to you. And the scent of them!"

There was a sigh from the room soft, hardly like a sigh. A louder, grating sound, almost under his hands that had relaxed their hold, called his attention. The sound mirror had kept going, the tape was fast unraveling. "Oh, no! he screamed, noticing that somehow, he had pushed the eraser.

Frantically, he tried to rewind and play back the sounds and the music, but there was nothing now but the full creaking of the tape on the spool and meaningless sounds that somehow had not been erased, the thud of dancing feet, a quick clapping of hands, alien voices and words: in this country... everything... all of them... talking eyes... and the scent... a fading away into nothingness, till about the end when there was a screaming, senseless kind of finale detached from the body of a song in the background, drums and sticks and the tolling of a bell.

"Tony! Tony!" Fil cried, looking towards the sick man's room, "I've lost them all."

Biting his lips, Fil turned towards the window, startled by the first light of the dawn. He hadn't realized till then the long night was over.

THE SUMMER SOLSTICE by Nick Joaquin

The Moretas were spending St. John’s Day with the children’s grandfather, whose feast day it was. Doña Lupeng awoke feeling faint with the heat, a sound of screaming in her ears. In the dining room the three boys already attired in their holiday suits, were at breakfast, and came crowding around her, talking all at once.

“How long you have slept, Mama!”

“We thought you were never getting up!”

“Do we leave at once, huh? Are we going now?” “Hush, hush I implore you! Now look: your father has a headache, and so have I.

So be quiet this instant—or no one goes to Grandfather.”

Though it was only seven by the clock the house was already a furnace, the windows dilating with the harsh light and the air already burning with the immense, intense fever of noon.

She found the children’s nurse working in the kitchen. “And why is it you who are preparing breakfast? Where is Amada?” But without waiting for an answer she went to the backdoor and opened it, and the screaming in her ears became wild screaming in the stables across the yard. “Oh my God!” she groaned and, grasping her skirts, hurried across the yard. In the stables Entoy, the driver, apparently deaf to the screams, was hitching the pair of piebald ponies to the coach.

“Not the closed coach, Entoy! The open carriage!” shouted Doña Lupeng as she came up.

“But the dust, señora—“ “I know, but better to be dirty than to be boiled alive. And what ails your wife, eh? Have you been beating her again?” “Oh no, señora: I have not touched her.”

“Then why is she screaming? Is she ill?” “I do not think so. But how do I know? You can go and see for yourself, señora. She is up there.”

When Doña Lupeng entered the room, the big half-naked woman sprawle across the bamboo bed stopped screaming. Doña Lupeng was shocked. “What is this Amada? Why are you still in bed at this hour? And in such a posture! Come, get up at once. You should be ashamed!” But the woman on the bed merely stared. Her sweat-beaded brows contracted, as if in an effort to understand. Then her face relaxed, her mouth sagged open humorously and, rolling over on her back and spreading out her big soft arms and legs, she began noiselessly quaking with laughter—the mute mirth jerking in her throat; the moist pile of her flesh quivering like brown jelly. Saliva dribbled from the corners of her mouth. Doña Lupeng blushed, looking around helplessly, and seeing that Entoy had followed and was leaning in the doorway, watching stolidly, she blushed again. The room reeked hotly of intimate odors. She averted her eyes from the laughing woman on the bed, in whose nakedness she seemed so to participate that she was ashamed to look directly at the man in the doorway. “Tell me, Entoy: has she had been to the Tadtarin?” “Yes, señora. Last night.”

“But I forbade her to go! And I forbade you to let her go!” “I could do nothing.” “Why, you beat her at the least pretext!” “But now I dare not touch her.” “Oh, and why not?” “It is the day of St. John: the spirit is in her.” “But, man—“ “It is true, señora. The spirit is in her. She is the Tadtarin. She must do as she pleases. Otherwise, the grain would not grow, the trees would bear no fruit, the rivers would give no fish, and the animals would die.”

“Naku, I did not know your wife was so powerful, Entoy.” “At such times she is not my wife: she is the wife of the river, she is the wife of the crocodile, she is the wife of the moon.” “But how can they still believe such things?” demanded Doña Lupeng of her husband as they drove in the open carriage through the pastoral countryside that was the arrabal of Paco in the 1850’s. Don Paeng darted a sidelong glance at his wife, by which he intimated that the subject was not a proper one for the children, who were sitting opposite, facing their parents. Don Paeng, drowsily stroking his moustaches, his eyes closed against the hot light, merely shrugged. “And you should have seen that Entoy,” continued his wife. “You know how the brute treats her: she cannot say a word but he thrashes her. But this morning he stood as meek as a lamb while she screamed and screamed. He seemed actually in awe of her, do you know—actually afraid of her!” “Oh, look, boys—here comes the St. John!” cried Doña Lupeng, and she sprang up in the swaying carriage, propping one hand on her husband’s shoulder while the other she held up her silk parasol. And “here come the men with their St. John!” cried voices up and down the countryside. People in wet clothes dripping with well-water, ditch-water and river-water came running across the hot woods and fields and meadows, brandishing cans of water, wetting each other uproariously, and shouting San Juan! San Juan! as they ran to meet the procession. Up the road, stirring a cloud of dust, and gaily bedrenched by the crowds gathered along the wayside, a concourse of young men clad only in soggy trousers were carrying aloft an image of the Precursor. Their teeth flashed white in their laughing faces and their hot bodies glowed crimson as they pranced past, shrouded in fiery dust, singing and shouting and waving their arms: the St. John riding swiftly above the sea of dark heads and glittering in the noon sun—a fine, blonde, heroic St. John: very male, very arrogant: the Lord of Summer indeed; the Lord of Light and Heat—erect and godly virile above the prone and female earth—while the worshippers danced and the dust thickened and the animals reared and roared and the merciless fires came raining down from the skies—the vast outpouring of light that marks this climax of solar year--raining relentlessly upon field and river and town and winding road, and upon the joyous throng of young men against whose uproar a couple of seminarians in muddy cassocks vainly intoned the hymn of the noon god:

That we, thy servants, in chorus May praise thee, our tongues restore us…

But Doña Lupeng, standing in the stopped carriage, looking very young and elegant in her white frock, under the twirling parasol, stared down on the passing male horde with increasing annoyance. The insolent man-smell of their bodies rose all about her—wave upon wave of it—enveloping her, assaulting her senses, till she felt faint with it and pressed a handkerchief to her nose. And as she glanced at her husband and saw with what a smug smile he was watching the revelers, her annoyance deepened. When he bade her sit down because all eyes were turned on her, she pretended not to hear; stood up even straighter, as if to defy those rude creatures flaunting their manhood in the sun.

And she wondered peevishly what the braggarts were being so cocky about? For this arrogance, this pride, this bluff male health of theirs was (she told herself) founded on the impregnable virtue of generations of good women. The boobies were so sure of themselves because they had always been sure of their wives. “All the sisters being virtuous, all the brothers are brave,” thought Doña Lupeng, with a bitterness that rather surprised her. Women had built it up: this poise of the male. Ah, and women could destroy it, too! She recalled, vindictively, this morning’s scene at the stables: Amada naked and screaming in bed while from the doorway her lord and master looked on in meek silence. And was it not the mystery of a woman in her flowers that had restored the tongue of that old Hebrew prophet? “Look, Lupeng, they have all passed now,” Don Paeng was saying, “Do you mean to stand all the way?” She looked around in surprise and hastily sat down. The children tittered, and the carriage started. “Has the heat gone to your head, woman?” asked Don Paeng, smiling. The children burst frankly into laughter. Their mother coloured and hung her head. She was beginning to feel ashamed of the thoughts that had filled her mind. They seemed improper—almost obscene—and the discovery of such depths of wickedness in herself appalled her. She moved closer to her husband to share the parasol with him. “And did you see our young cousin Guido?” he asked. “Oh, was he in that crowd?” “A European education does not seem to have spoiled his taste for country pleasures.” “I did not see him.”

“He waved and waved.”

“The poor boy. He will feel hurt. But truly, Paeng. I did not see him.”

“Well, that is always a woman’s privilege.”

But when that afternoon, at the grandfather’s, the young Guido presented himself, properly attired and brushed and scented, Doña Lupeng was so charming and gracious with him that he was enchanted and gazed after her all afternoon with enamored eyes. This was the time when our young men were all going to Europe and bringing back with them, not the Age of Victoria, but the Age of Byron. The young Guido knew nothing of Darwin and evolution; he knew everything about Napoleon and the Revolution. When Doña Lupeng expressed surprise at his presence that morning in the St. John’s crowd, he laughed in her face. “But I adore these old fiestas of ours! They are so romantic! Last night, do you know, we walked all the way through the woods, I and some boys, to see the procession of the Tadtarin.” “And was that romantic too?” asked Doña Lupeng. “It was weird. It made my flesh crawl. All those women in such a mystic frenzy! And she who was the Tadtarin last night—she was a figure right out of a flamenco!” “I fear to disenchant you, Guido—but that woman happens to be our cook.” “She is beautiful.” “Our Amada beautiful? But she is old and fat!” “She is beautiful—as that old tree you are leaning on is beautiful,” calmly insisted the young man, mocking her with his eyes. They were out in the buzzing orchard, among the ripe mangoes; Doña Lupeng seated on the grass, her legs tucked beneath her, and the young man sprawled flat on his belly, gazing up at her, his face moist with sweat. The children were chasing dragonflies. The sun stood still in the west. The long day refused to end. From the house came the sudden roaring laughter of the men playing cards. “Beautiful! Romantic! Adorable! Are those the only words you learned in Europe?” cried Doña Lupeng, feeling very annoyed with this young man whose eyes adored her one moment and mocked her the next. “Ah, I also learned to open my eyes over there—to see the holiness and the mystery of what is vulgar.” “And what is so holy and mysterious about—about the Tadtarin, for instance?” “I do not know. I can only feel it. And it frightens me. Those rituals come to us from the earliest dawn of the world. And the dominant figure is not the male but the female.” “But they are in honor of St. John.” “What has your St. John to do with them? Those women worship a more ancient lord. Why, do you know that no man may join those rites unless he first puts on some article of women’s apparel and—“ “And what did you put on, Guido?” “How sharp you are! Oh, I made such love to a toothless old hag there that she pulled off her stocking for me. And I pulled it on, over my arm, like a glove. How your husband would have despised me!” “But what on earth does it mean?” “I think it is to remind us men that once upon a time you women were supreme and we men were the slaves.” “But surely there have always been kings?” “Oh, no. The queen came before the king, and the priestess before the priest, and the moon before the sun.” “The moon?” “—who is the Lord of the women.” “Why?” “Because the tides of women, like the tides of the sea, are tides of the moon. Because the first blood -But what is the matter, Lupe? Oh, have I offended you?” “Is this how they talk to decent women in Europe?” “They do not talk to women, they pray to them—as men did in the dawn of the world.”

“Oh, you are mad! mad!” “Why are you so afraid, Lupe?”

“I afraid? And of whom? My dear boy, you still have your mother’s milk in your mouth. I only wish you to remember that I am a married woman.” “I remember that you are a woman, yes. A beautiful woman. And why not? Did you turn into some dreadful monster when you married? Did you stop being a woman? Did you stop being beautiful? Then why should my eyes not tell you what you are—just because you are married?” “Ah, this is too much now!” cried Doña Lupeng, and she rose to her feet. “Do not go, I implore you! Have pity on me!” “No more of your comedy, Guido! And besides—where have those children gone to! I must go after them.” As she lifted her skirts to walk away, the young man, propping up his elbows, dragged himself forward on the ground and solemnly kissed the tips of her shoes. She stared down in sudden horror, transfixed—and he felt her violent shudder. She backed away slowly, still staring; then turned and fled toward the house. On the way home that evening Don Paeng noticed that his wife was in a mood. They were alone in the carriage: the children were staying overnight at their grandfather’s. The heat had not subsided. It was heat without gradations: that knew no twilights and no dawns; that was still there, after the sun had set; that would be there already, before the sun had risen. “Has young Guido been annoying you?” asked Don Paeng. “Yes! All afternoon.” “These young men today—what a disgrace they are! I felt embarrassed as a man to see him following you about with those eyes of a whipped dog.” She glanced at him coldly. “And was that all you felt, Paeng? embarrassed—as a man?” “A good husband has constant confidence in the good sense of his wife,” he pronounced grandly, and smiled at her. But she drew away; huddled herself in the other corner. “He kissed my feet,” she told him disdainfully, her eyes on his face. He frowned and made a gesture of distaste. “Do you see? They have the instincts, the style of the canalla! To kiss a woman’s feet, to follow her like a dog, to adore her like a slave –” “Is it so shameful for a man to adore women?” “A gentleman loves and respects women. The cads and lunatics—they ‘adore’ the women.” “But maybe we do not want to be loved and respected—but to be adored.” But when they reached home she did not lie down but wandered listlessly through the empty house. When Don Paeng, having bathed and changed, came down from the bedroom, he found her in the dark parlour seated at the harp and plucking out a tune, still in her white frock and shoes. “How can you bear those hot clothes, Lupeng? And why the darkness? Order someone to bring light in here.” “There is no one, they have all gone to see the Tadtarin.” “A pack of loafers we are feeding!” She had risen and gone to the window. He approached and stood behind her, grasped her elbows and, stooping, kissed the nape of her neck. But she stood still, not responding, and he released her sulkily. She turned around to face him. “Listen, Paeng. I want to see it, too. The Tadtarin, I mean. I have not seen it since I was a little girl. And tonight is the last night.” “You must be crazy! Only low people go there. And I thought you had a headache?” He was still sulking. “But I want to go! My head aches worse in the house. For a favor, Paeng.” “I told you: No! go and take those clothes off. But, woman, whatever has got into you!” he strode off to the table, opened the box of cigars, took one, banged the lid shut, bit off an end of the cigar, and glared about for a light. She was still standing by the window and her chin was up. “Very well, if you do not want to come, do not come—but I am going.” “I warn you, Lupe; do not provoke me!” “I will go with Amada. Entoy can take us. You cannot forbid me, Paeng. There is nothing wrong with it. I am not a child.” But standing very straight in her white frock, her eyes shining in the dark and her chin thrust up, she looked so young, so fragile, that his heart was touched. He sighed, smiled ruefully, and shrugged his shoulders. “Yes, the heat has touched you in the head, Lupeng. And since you are so set on it—very well, let us go. Come, have the coach ordered!”

The cult of the Tadtarin is celebrated on three days: the feast of St. John and the two preceding days. On the first night, a young girl heads the procession; on the second, a mature woman; and on the third, a very old woman who dies and comes to life again. In these processions, as in those of Pakil and Obando, everyone dances. Around the tiny plaza in front of the barrio chapel, quite a stream of carriages was flowing leisurely. The Moretas were constantly being hailed from the other vehicles. The plaza itself and the sidewalks were filled with chattering, strolling, profusely sweating people. More people were crowded on the balconies and windows of the houses. The moon had not yet risen; the black night smoldered; in the windless sky the lightning’s abruptly branching fire seemed the nerves of the tortured air made visible. “Here they come now!” cried the people on the balconies. And “Here come the women with their St. John!” cried the people on the sidewalks, surging forth on the street. The carriages halted and their occupants descended. The plaza rang with the shouts of people and the neighing of horses—and with another keener sound: a sound as of sea-waves steadily rolling nearer. The crowd parted, and up the street came the prancing, screaming, writhing women, their eyes wild, black shawls flying around their shoulders, and their long hair streaming and covered with leaves and flowers. But the Tadtarin, a small old woman with white hair, walked with calm dignity in the midst of the female tumult, a wand in one hand, a bunch of seedling in the other. Behind her, a group of girls bore aloft a little black image of the Baptist—a crude, primitive, grotesque image, its big-eyed head too big for its puny naked torso, bobbing and swaying above the hysterical female horde and looking at once so comical and so pathetic that Don Paeng, watching with his wife on the sidewalk, was outraged. The image seemed to be crying for help, to be struggling to escape—a St. John indeed in the hands of the Herodias; a doomed captive these witches were subjecting first to their derision; a gross and brutal caricature of his sex. Don Paeng flushed hotly: he felt that all those women had personally insulted him. He turned to his wife, to take her away—but she was watching greedily, taut and breathless, her head thrust forward and her eyes bulging, the teeth bared in the slack mouth, and the sweat gleaning on her face. Don Paeng was horrified. He grasped her arm—but just then a flash of lightning blazed and the screaming women fell silent: the Tadtarin was about to die. The old woman closed her eyes and bowed her head and sank slowly to her knees. A pallet was brought and set on the ground and she was laid in it and her face covered with a shroud. Her hands still clutched the wand and the seedlings. The women drew away, leaving her in a cleared space. They covered their heads with their black shawls and began wailing softly, unhumanly—a hushed, animal keening.

Overhead the sky was brightening, silver light defined the rooftops. When the moon rose and flooded with hot brilliance the moveless crowded square, the black- shawled women stopped wailing and a girl approached and unshrouded the Tadtarin, who opened her eyes and sat up, her face lifted to the moonlight. She rose to her feet and extended the wand and the seedlings and the women joined in a mighty shout. They pulled off and waved their shawls and whirled and began dancing again—laughing and dancing with such joyous exciting abandon that the people in the square and on the sidewalk, and even those on the balconies, were soon laughing and dancing, too. Girls broke away from their parents and wives from their husbands to join in the orgy. “Come, let us go now,” said Don Paeng to his wife. She was shaking with fascination; tears trembled on her lashes; but she nodded meekly and allowed herself to be led away. But suddenly she pulled free from his grasp, darted off, and ran into the crowd of dancing women. She flung her hands to her hair and whirled and her hair came undone. Then, planting her arms akimbo, she began to trip a nimble measure, an indistinctive folk- movement. She tossed her head back and her arched throat bloomed whitely. Her eyes brimmed with moonlight, and her mouth with laughter. Don Paeng ran after her, shouting her name, but she laughed and shook her head and darted deeper into the dense maze of procession, which was moving again, towards the chapel. He followed her, shouting; she eluded him, laughing—and through the thick of the female horde they lost and found and lost each other again—she, dancing and he pursuing—till, carried along by the tide, they were both swallowed up into the hot, packed, turbulent darkness of the chapel. Inside poured the entire procession, and Don Paeng, finding himself trapped tight among milling female bodies, struggled with sudden panic to fight his way out. Angry voices rose all about him in the stifling darkness. “Hoy you are crushing my feet!” “And let go of my shawl, my shawl!”

“Stop pushing, shameless one, or I kick you!” “Let me pass, let me pass, you harlots!” cried Don Paeng. “Abah, it is a man!” “How dare he come in here?” “Break his head!” “Throw the animal out!”

”Throw him out! Throw him out!” shrieked the voices, and Don Paeng found himself surrounded by a swarm of gleaming eyes. Terror possessed him and he struck out savagely with both fists, with all his strength—but they closed in as savagely: solid walls of flesh that crushed upon him and pinned his arms helpless, while unseen hands struck and struck his face, and ravaged his hair and clothes, and clawed at his flesh, as—kicked and buffeted, his eyes blind and his torn mouth salty with blood—he was pushed down, down to his knees, and half- shoved, half-dragged to the doorway and rolled out to the street. He picked himself up at once and walked away with a dignity that forbade the crowd gathered outside to laugh or to pity. Entoy came running to meet him. “But what has happened to you, Don Paeng?” “Nothing. Where is the coach?” “Just over there, sir. But you are wounded in the face!” “No, these are only scratches. Go and get the señora. We are going home.” When she entered the coach and saw his bruised face and torn clothing, she smiled coolly. “What a sight you are, man! What have you done with yourself?” And when he did not answer: “Why, have they pulled out his tongue too?” she wondered aloud.

And when they are home and stood facing each other in the bedroom, she was still as light-hearted. “What are you going to do, Rafael?” “I am going to give you a whipping.” “But why?” “ Because you have behaved tonight like a lewd woman.”

“How I behaved tonight is what I am. If you call that lewd, then I was always a lewd woman and a whipping will not change me—though you whipped me till I died.”

“I want this madness to die in you.” “No, you want me to pay for your bruises.” He flushed darkly. “How can you say that, Lupe?”

“Because it is true. You have been whipped by the women and now you think to avenge yourself by whipping me.”

His shoulders sagged and his face dulled. “If you can think that of me –” “You could think me a lewd woman!” “Oh, how do I know what to think of you? I was sure I knew you as I knew myself. But now you are as distant and strange to me as a female Turk in Africa.” “Yet you would dare whip me –” “Because I love you, because I respect you.” “And because if you ceased to respect me you would cease to respect yourself?” “Ah, I did not say that!” “Then why not say it? It is true. And you want to say it, you want to say it!” But he struggled against her power. “Why should I want to?” he demanded peevishly.

“Because, either you must say it—or you must whip me,” she taunted. Her eyes were upon him and the shameful fear that had unmanned him in the dark chapel possessed him again. His legs had turned to water; it was a monstrous agony to remain standing. But she was waiting for him to speak, forcing him to speak. “No, I cannot whip you!” he confessed miserably. “Then say it! Say it!” she cried, pounding her clenched fists together. “Why suffer and suffer? And in the end you would only submit.” But he still struggled stubbornly. “Is it not enough that you have me helpless? Is it not enough that I feel what you want me feel?” But she shook her head furiously. “Until you have said to me, there can be no peace between us.” He was exhausted at last; he sank heavily to his knees, breathing hard and streaming with sweat, his fine body curiously diminished now in its ravaged apparel. “I adore you, Lupe,” he said tonelessly. She strained forward avidly, “What? What did you say?” she screamed. And he, in his dead voice: “That I adore you. That I adore you.That I worship you. That the air you breathe and the ground you tread is so holy to me. That I am your dog, your slave...” But it was still not enough. Her fists were still clenched, and she cried: “Then come, crawl on the floor, and kiss my feet!” Without moment’s hesitation, he sprawled down flat and, working his arms and legs, gaspingly clawed his way across the floor, like a great agonized lizard, the woman steadily backing away as he approached, her eyes watching him avidly, her nostrils dilating, till behind her loomed the open window, the huge glittering moon, the rapid flashes of lightning. She stopped, panting, and leaned against the sill. He lay exhausted at her feet, his face flat on the floor.

She raised her skirts and contemptuously thrust out a naked foot. He lifted his dripping face and touched his bruised lips to her toes; lifted his hands and grasped the white foot and kiss it savagely - kissed the step, the sole, the frail ankle - while she bit her lips and clutched in pain at the whole windowsill her body and her loose hair streaming out the window - streaming fluid and black in the white night where the huge moon glowed like a sun and the dry air flamed into lightning and the pure heat burned with the immense intense fever of noon.

TATA SELO by Rogelio Sikat

Maliit lamang sa simula ang kulumpon ng taong nasa bakuran ng munisipyo, ngunit nang tumaas ang araw, at kumalat na ang balitang tinaga at napatay si Kabesang Tano, ay napuno na ang bakuran ng bahay-pamahalaan. Naggigitgitan ang tao, nagsisiksikan, nagtutulakan—bawat isa’y naghahangad makalapit sa istaked.* “Totoo ba, Tata Selo?” “Binabawi niya ang aking saka kaya tinaga ko siya.” Nasa loob ng istaked si Tata Selo. Mahigpit na nakahawak sa rehas. Maputi ang kanyang buhok at may nakaalsang putok sa noo. Nakasungaw ang luha sa malabo at tila laging nang may inaaninaw na mata. Kupas ang damit niyang suot, may mga tagpi na ang siko at paypay. Ang kutod** niyang yari sa matibay na supot ng asin ay may bahid ng natuyong putik. Nasa harap niya at kausap ang isang magbubukid, ang kanyang kahangga, na isa sa nakalusot sa mga pulis na sumasawata sa nagkakaguluhang tao. “Hindi ko ho mapaniwalaan, Tata Selo,” umiiling na wika ng kanyang kahangga, “talagang hindi ko mapaniwalaan.” Hinaplos-haplos ni Tata Selo ang ga-dali at natuyuan na ng dugong putok sa noo. Sa kanyang harapan, di kalayuan sa istaked, ipinagtutulakan ng mga pulis ang mga taong ibig makakita sa kanya. Mainit ang sikat ng araw na tumatama sa mga ito, walang umiihip na hangin at sa kanilang ulunan ay nakalutang ang nasasalisod na alikabok. ______*Istaked. Galing sa Ingles na stockade, salitang dinala rito ng mga Amerikano. Pagkaraan ng giyera naganap ang kuwento. **Kutod. Hanggang tuhod na salawal.

“Bakit niya babawiin ang aking saka?” tanong ni Tata Selo. “Dinaya ko na ba siya sa partihan? Tinuso ko na ba siya? Siya ang may-ari ng lupa at kasama* lang niya ako. Hindi ba’t kaya maraming nagagalit sa akin ay dahil sa ayaw kong magpamigay ng kahit isang pinangko** kung anihan?” “Hindi mo na sana tinaga ang kabesa,” anang binatang anak ng pinakamayamang propitaryo sa San Roque, na tila isang magilas na pinunong-bayang malayang nakalalakad sa pagitan ng maraming tao at ng istaked. Mataas ito, maputi, nakasalaming may kulay at nakapamaywang habang naninigarilyo. “Binabawi po niya ang aking saka,” sumbong ni Tata Selo. “Saan pa po ako pupunta kung wala na akong saka?” Kumumpas ang binatang mayaman. “Hindi katwiran iyan para tagain mo ang kabesa. Ari niya ang lupang sinasaka mo. Kung gusto ka niyang paalisin, mapaaalis ka niya ano mang oras.” Halos lumabas ang mukha ni Tata Selo sa rehas. “Ako po’y hindi niyo nauunawaan,” nakatingala at nagpipilit ngumiting wika niya sa binatang nagtapon ng sigarilyo at mariing tinapakan pagkatapos. “Alam po ba ninyong dating amin ang lupang iyon? Naisangla lamang po nang magkasakit ang aking asawa, naembargo lamang po ng kabesa. Pangarap ko pong bawiin ang lupang iyon, kaya nga po ako hindi nagbibigay ng kahit isang pinangko kung anihan. Kung hindi ko na naman po mababawi, masaka ko man lamang po. Nakikiusap po ako sa kabesa kangina. ‘Kung maaari lang po sana, ‘Besa,’ wika ko po, ‘kung maaari po sana, huwag naman ninyo akong paalisin. Kaya ko pong magsaka, ‘Besa, Totoo pong ako’y matanda na, ngunit ako po nama’y malakas pa.’ Ngunit…Ay! Tinungkod po niya ako nang tinungkod. Tingnan po n’yong putok sa aking noo, tingnan po n’yo.” Dumukot ng sigarilyo ang binata. Nagsindi ito at pagkaraa’y tinalikuran si Tata Selo at lumapit sa isang pulis. “Pa’no po ba’ng nangyari, Tata Selo?” ______*Kasama. Tenant; magsasakang walang lupa at pinapartihan lamang ng may-ari sa ani. **Pinangko. Isang bigkis na ginapas na palay.

Sa pagkakahawak sa rehas, napabaling si Tata Selo. Nakita niya ang isang batang magbubukid na nakalapit sa istaked. Nangiti si Tata Selo. Narito ang isang magbubukid, o anak ng magbubukid na maniniwala sa kanya. Nakataas ang malapad na sumbrerong buli ng bata. Nangungulintab ito, ang mga bisig at binti ay may halas.* May sukbit itong lilik. “Pinuntahan niya ako sa aking saka, amang,” paliwanag si Tata Selo. “Doon ba sa may sangka.** Pinaaalis ako sa aking saka, ang wika’y iba na raw ang magsasaka. Nang makiusap ako’y tinungkod ako. Ay! Tinungkod ako, amang. Nakikiusap ako, pagkat kung mawawalan ako ng saka, saan pa ako pupunta?” “Wala na nga kayong mapupuntahan, Tata Selo.” Gumapang ang luha sa pisngi ni Tata Selo. Tahimik na nakatingin sa kanya ang bata. “Patay po ba?” Namuti ang mga kamao ni Tata Selo sa pagkakahawak sa rehas. Napadukmo siya sa balikat. “Pa’no po niyan si Saling?” muling tanong ng bata. Tinutukoy nito ang maglalabimpitong taong anak ni Tata Selo na ulila na sa ina. Katulong ito kina Kabesang Tano at kamakalawa lamang umuwi kay Tata Selo. Ginagawang reyna sa fiesta ng mga magbubukid si Saling nang nakaraang taon, hindi lamang pumayag si Tata Selo. “Pa’no po niyan si Saling?” Lalong humigpit ang pagkakahawak ni Tata Selo sa rehas. Hindi pa nakakausap ng alkalde si Tata Selo. Mag-aalas onse na nang dumating ito, kasama ang hepe ng mga pulis. Galing sila sa bahay ng kabesa. Abot-abot ang busina ng jeep na sinasakyan ng dalawa upang mahawi ang hanggang noo’y di pa nag- aalisang tao. Tumigil ang jeep sa di kalayuan sa istaked. “Patay po ba? Saan po ang taga?” Naggitgitan at nagsiksikan ang pinagpapawisang tao. Itinaas ng may katabaang alkalde ang dalawang kamay upang payapain ang pagkakaingay. Nanulak ang malaking lalaking hepe.

______*Halas. Maliit at mababaw na hiwa ng dahon ng palay o ng ibang damong matalim. **Sangka. Kanal

“Saan po tinamaan?” “Sa bibig.” Ipinasok ng alkalde ang kanang hintuturo sa sulok ng bibig, hinugot iyon at mariing inihagod hanggang sa kanang punong tainga. “Lagas ang ngipin.” “Lintik na matanda!” Nagkagulo ang tao. Nagsigawan, nagsisikan, naggitgitan, nagtulakan. Nanghataw na ng batuta ang mga pulis. Ipinasiya ng alkalde na ipalabas ng istaked si Tata Selo at dalhin sa kanyang tanggapan. Dalawang pulis ang kumuha kay Tata Selo sa istaked. “Pinaupo ng alkalde ang namumutlang si Tata Selo. Umupo si Tata Selo sa silyang nasa harap ng mesa. Nanginginig ang kamay niya nang ipatong niya iyon sa salamin ng mesa. “Pa’no nga ba’ng nangyari?” kunot-noo at galit na tanong ng alkalde. Matagal bago nakasagot si Tata Selo. “Binabawi po niya ang aking saka, President,” wika ni Tata Selo. “Ayaw ko pong umalis doon. Dati pong amin ang lupang iyon, amin po, naisangla lamang po at naembargo—“ “Alam ko na iyan,” kumukumpas at umiiling na putol ng nabubugnot na alkalde. Lumunok si Tata Selo. Nang muli siyang tumingin sa alkalde, may nakasungaw na luha sa kanyang malabo at tila lagi nang may inaaninaw na mata. “Ako po naman ay malakas pa,” wika ni Tata Selo. “Kaya ko pa pong magsaka. Makatwiran po bang paalisin ako? Malakas pa po naman ako, President, malakas pa po.” “Saan mo tinaga ang kabesa?” Matagal bago nakasagot si Tata Selo. “Nasa may sangka po ako nang dumating ang kabesa. Nagtatapal po ako ng butas sa pilapil. Alam ko pong pinanonood ako ng kabesa, kay po naman pinagbubuti ko ang paggawa, para makita niyang ako po’y talagang malakas pa, na kaya ko pa pong magsaka. Wala anu-ano po, tinawag niya ako at nang ako po’y lumapit, sinabi niya, makaaalis na ako sa aking saka pagkat iba na ang magsasaka. “Bakit po naman,’Besa?’ tanong ko po. Ang wika’y umalis na lang daw po ako. ‘Bakit po naman, ‘Besa?’ tanong ko po uli, ‘malakas pa po naman ako, a.” Nilapitan po niya ako. Nakiusap pa po ako sa kanya, ngunit ako po’y…..Ay! tinungkod po niya ako nang tinungkod.” “Tinaga mo na no’n,” anang nakamatyag na hepe. Tahimik sa tanggapan ng alkalde. Lahat ng tingin—may mga empleadong nakapasok—ay nakatuon kay Tata Selo. Nakayuko si Tata Selo at gagalaw-galaw ang tila mamad na daliri sa ibabaw ng maruming kutod. Sa pagkakatapak sa makintab na sahig, hindi mapalagay ang kanyang maputik, maalikabok at luyang paa.* “Ang anak mo, na kina Kabesa raw?” usisa ng alkalde. Hindi sumagot si Tata Selo. “Tinatanong ka,” anang hepe. Lumunok si Tata Selo. “Umuwi po si Saling, President.” “Kailan?” “Kamakalawa po ng umaga.” “Di ba’t kinakatulong siya ro’n?” “Tatlong buwan na po.” “Bakit siya umuwi?” Dahan-dahang umangat ang maputing ulo ni Tata Selo. Naiiyak na napayuko siya. “May sakit po siya.” Nang sumapit ang alas-dose-inihudyat iyon ng sunod-sunod na tugtog ng kampana sa simbahan na katapat lamang ng munisipyo—ay umalis ang alkalde upang mananghalian. Naiwan si Tata Selo. Kasama ang hepe at dalawang pulis. ______*Luyang paa. Malapad na paa, ang daliri’y tila luya dahil hindi nagsasapatos.

“Napatay mo pala ang Kabesa,” anang malaking lalaking hepe. Tumayo ito sa harap ni Tata Selo na nakayuko at di tumitinag sa upuan. “Binabawi po niya ang aking saka,” katwiran ni Tata Selo. Sinapok ng hepe si Tata Selo. Sa lapag, halos mangudngod si Tata Selo. “Tinungkod po niya ako ng tinungkod,” nakatingala, umiiyak at kumikinig ang labing katwiran ni Tata Selo. Itinayo ng hepe si Tata Selo. Kinadyot ng hepe si Tata Selo sa sikmura. Sa sahig, napaluhod si Tata Selo, nakakapit sa unipormeng khaki ng hepe. “Tinungkod po niya ako nang tinungkod…Ay! Tinungkod po niya ako nang tinungkod.” Sa may pinto ng tanggapan, nakatingin ang dalawang pulis. “Si Kabesa kasi ang nagrekomenda kay Tsip, e,” sinasabi ng isa nang si Tata Selo ay tila damit na nalaglag sa pagkakasabit nang muling pagmalupitan ng hepe. Mapula ang araw na sumikat kinabukasan. Sa bakuran ng munisipyo, naiwan ang kalat nang nagdaang araw. Hindi pa namamatay ang alikabok, gayong sa pagdating ng buwang iyo’y dapat nang umuulan. Kung may umiihip na hangin, may mumunting ipu-ipong nagkakalat ng maliliit na papel sa itaas. “Dadalhin ka siguro sa kabisera, Selo,” anang bagong paligo at bagong bihis na alkalde sa matandang nasa loob ng istaked. “Doon ka siguro ikukulong.” Wala ni papag sa loob ng istaked at sa maruming sementadong lapag nakasalampak si Tata Selo. Sa paligid niya’y may natutuyong tamak-tamak na tubig. Nakaunat ang kanyang maiitim at hinahalas na paa at nakatukod ang kanyang tila walang butong mga kamay. Nakakiling, nakasandal siya sa steel matting na siyang panlikurang dinding ng istaked. Malapit sa kanyang kamay, hindi nagagalaw ang sartin ng maitim na kape at isang losang kanin. Nilalangaw iyon. “Habang-buhay siguro ang ibibigay sa iyo,” patuloy ang alkalde. Nagsindi ito ng tabako at lumapit sa istaked. Makintab ang sapatos ng alkalde. “Patayin na rin ninyo ako, Presidente.” Paos at bahagya nang marinig si Tata Selo. “Napatay ko po ang kabesa. Patayin na rin ninyo ako.” Takot humipo sa maalikabok na rehas ang alkalde. Hindi niya nahipo ang rehas ngunit pinagkiskis niya ang mga palad saka tiningnan kung may alikabok iyon. Nang tingnan niya si Tata Selo, nakita niyang lalo nang nakiling ito. May mga tao na namang dumarating sa munisipyo. Kakaunti sila kaysa kahapon. Nakapasok sila sa bakuran ng munisipyo, ngunit may kasunod na pulis. Kakaunti ang magbubukid sa bagong langkay na dumating at titingin kay Tata Selo. Karamihan ay mga taga-poblacion. Hanggang noon, bawat isa’y nagtataka, hindi makapaniwala. Nagtataka at hindi makapaniwalang nakatingin sila kay Tata selo, na tila isang di pangkaraniwang hayop na itinatanghal. Ang araw, katulad kahapon, ay mainit na naman. Nang magdadakong alas dos, dumating ang anak ni Tata Selo. Pagkakita sa lugmok na ama, mahigpit itong napahawak sa rehas at malakas na humagulgol. Nalaman ng alkalde na dumating si Saling at ito’y ipinatawag sa kanyang tanggapan. Di nagtagal at si Tata Selo naman ang ipinakaon. Dalawang pulis ang umaalalay kay Tata Selo. Nabubuwal sa paglakad si Tata Selo. Halos bitbitin siya ng pulis. Pagdating sa bungad ng tanggapan ay tila saglit na nagkaroon ng lakas si Tata Selo. Nakita niya ang babaeng nakaupo sa harap ng mesa ng president. Nagyakap ang mag-ama pagkakita. “Hindi ka na sana naparito, Saling.” Wika ni Tata Selo na napaluhod. “May sakit ka, Saling, may sakit ka!” Tila tulala ang anak ni Tata Selo habang kalong ang ama. Nakalugay ang gusot niyang buhok, ang damit na suot ay tila iyong suot pa nang nagdaang dalawang araw. Matigas ang kanyang mukha. Pinaglilipat-lipat niya ang tingin sa nakaupong alkalde at sa mga pulis. “Umuwi ka na, Saling,” hiling ni Tata Selo. “Bayaan mo na…bayaan mo na. Umuwi ka na, anak. Huwag, huwag ka nang magsasabi.” Tuluyan nang nalungayngay si Tata Selo. Ipinabalik siya ng alkalde sa istaked. Pagkabalik sa istaked, pinanood na naman siya ng mga tao. “Kinabog* kagabi,” wika ng isang nagbubukid. “Binalutan ng basang sako sa tiyan, hindi nga halata.” “Ang anak, dumating daw?” “Naki-mayor.” ______*Kinabog. Ginulpi, pinarusahan.

Sa isang sulok ng istaked iniupo ng dalawang pulis si Tata Selo. Napasubsob si Tata Selo pagkaraang siya’y maiupo. Ngunit nang marinig niyang muling ipinapakaw ang pintong bakal ng istaked, humihilahod na ginapang niya ang rehas, mahigpit na humawak doon at habang nakadapa’y ilang sandal ring iyo’y tila huhutukin. Tinawag niya ang mga pulis ngunit paos siya at malayo na ang mga pulis. Nakalabas ang kanang kamay sa rehas, bumagsak ang kanyang mukha sa sementadong lapag. Matagal siyang nakadapa bago niya narinig na may tila gumigising sa kanya. “Tata Selo. Tata Selo.” Umangat ang mukha ni Tata Selo. Inaninaw ng may luha niyang mata ang tumatawag sa kanya. Iyon ang batang dumalaw sa kanya kahapon. Hinawakan ng bata ang kamay ni Tata Selo na umaabot sa kanya. “Nando’n amang, si Saling sa Presidente. Wika ni Tata Selo. “Yayain mo nang umuwi, umuwi na kayo. Puntahan mo siya, amang. Umuwi na kayo.” Muling bumagsak ang kanyang mukha sa lapag. Ang bata’y saglit na nagbantulot, pagkaraa’y takot na sumunod. Mag-aalas kuwatro na ng hapon. Padahilig na ang sikat ng araw, ngunit mainit pa rin iyon. May kapiraso nang lilim sa istaked, sa may dinding na steel matting ngunit si Tata Selo’y wala roon. Nasa init siya, nakakapit sa rehas sa harap ng istaked. Nakatingin siya sa labas, sa kanyang malalabo at tila lagi nang may inaaninaw na mata’y tumatama ang mapulang sikat ng araw. Sa labas ng istaked, nakasandig sa rehas ang batang inutusan niya kanina. Sinasabi ng bata na ayaw siyang papasukin sa tanggapan ng alkalde ngunit hindi siya pinakikinggan ni Tata Selo, na ngayo’y hindi na pagbawi ng saka ang sinasabi. Habang nakakapit sa rehas at nakatingin sa labas, sinasabi niyang lahat ay kinuha na sa kanila, lahat, ay! ang lahat ay kinuha na sa kanila.

THE GOD STEALER by F. Sionil Jose

Written fifty years ago, The God Stealer is the author’s most anthologized short story. The story is a commentary on the relationship between the colonized and the colonizer.

The Ifugao rice terraces in Mountain Province, built by primitive natives through the centuries, are considered by many Filipinos as the Eighth Wonder of the world. -Philippine tourist folder

They were the best of friends and that was possible because they worked in the same office and both were young and imbued with a freshness in outlook. Sam Christie was twenty-eight and his Filipino assistant, Philip Latak, was twenty-six and was—just as Sam was in the Agency for International Development before he assumed his post—intelligent and industrious. "That is to be expected," the official whom Sam replaced explained, "because Philip is Ifugao and you don't know patience until you have seen the rice terraces his ancestors built." "You will find," Sam Christie was also told, "that the Igorots, like the llocanos, no matter how urbanized they already are, entertain a sense of inferiority. Not Philip. He is proud of his being Ifugao. He talks about it the first chance he gets." Now, on this December dawn, Sam Christie was on his way to Ifugao with his native assistant. It was his last month in the Philippines and in a matter of days he would return to Boston for that leave which he had not had in years. The bus station was actually a narrow sidestreet which sloped down to a deserted plaza, one of the many in the summer capital. Sam could make out the shapes of the stone buildings huddled, it seemed, in the cold, their narrow windows shuttered and the frames advertising Coca-Cola above their doorways indistinct in the dark. Philip Latak seemed listless. They had been in the station for over half an hour and still there was no bus. He zipped his old suede jacket up to his neck. It had been four years that he had lived in Manila and during all these years he had never gone home. Now the cold of the pine-clad mountains seemed to bother him. He turned to Sam and, with a hint of urgency—"One favor, Sam. Let me take a swig." Sam Christie said, "Sure, you are welcome to it. Just make sure we have some left when we get to Ifugao." He stooped, brought out a bottle of White Label—one of four—from the bag which also contained bars of candy and cartons of cigarettes and matches for the natives. He removed the tinfoil and handed the bottle to his companion. Phil raised it to his lips and made happy gurgling sounds. "Rice wine—I hope there's still a jar around when we get to my grandfather's. He couldn't be as seriously sick as my brother wrote. As long as he has wine he will live. Hell, it's not as potent as this, but it can knock out a man, too." Sam Christie kidded his companion about the weather. They had arrived in the summer capital the previous day and the bracing air and the scent of pine had invigorated him. "It's like New England in the spring," he said. "In winter, when it really gets cold, I can still go around quite naked by your standards. I sent home a clipping this week, something in the Manila papers about it being chilly. And it was only 68! My oId man will get a kick out of that" "But it's really cold!" Philip Latak said ruefully. He handed the bottle back to Sam Christie, who took a swig, too. "You don't know how good it is to have that along. Do you know how much it costs nowadays? Twenty-four bucks." "It's cheaper at the commissary," Sam Christie said simply. He threw his chest out, flexed his lean arms and inhaled. He wore a white, dacron shirt with the sleeves rolled up. "I'm glad you didn't fall for those carvings in Manila," Phil said after a while. "A Grecian urn, a Japanese sword, a Siamese mask—and now, an Ifugao god. The Siamese mask," Sam spoke in a monotone, "it was really a bargain. A student was going to Boston. He needed the dollars, so I told him he could get the money from my father. Forty dollars—and the mask was worth more than that." Now, the gray buildings around them emerged from the dark with white, definite shapes. The east was starting to glow and more people had arrived with crates and battered rattan suitcases. In the chill most of them were quiet. A coffee shop opened along the street with a great deal of clatter and in its warm, golden light Sam Christie could see the heavy, peasant faces, their happy anticipation as the steaming cups were pushed before them. The bus finally came and Sam Christie, because he was a foreigner, was given the seat of honor, next to the driver. It was an old bus, with woven rattan seats and side entrances that admitted not only people, but cargo, fowl, and pigs. They did not wait long, for the bus filled up quickly with government clerks going to their posts and hefty Igorots, in their bare feet or with canvas shoes, who sat in the rear, talking and smelling of earth and strong tobacco. After the bus had started, for the first time during their stay in Baguio, Sam Christie felt sleepy. He dozed, his head knocking intermittently against the hard edge of his seat and in that limbo between wakefulness and sleep he hurtled briefly to his home in Boston, to that basement study his father had tidied up, in it the mementoes of his years with the Agency. Sam had not actually intended to serve in the Agency, but had always wanted to travel and, after college, a career with the Agency offered him the best chance of seeing the world. Soon it was light. The bus hugged the thin line of a road that was carved on the mountainside. Pine trees studded both sides of the road and beyond their green, across the ravines and the gray rocks, was the shimmery sky and endless ranges also draped with this mist that swirled, pervasive and alive, to their very faces. And Sam Christie, in the midst of all this whiteness and life, was quiet. Someone in the bus recognized Philip and he called out in the native tongue, "Ip-pig!" The name did not jell at once and the man shouted again. Philip turned to the man and acknowledged the greeting and to Sam he explained: "That's my name up here—and that's why I was baptized Philip." Sam Christie realized there were many things he did not know about Phil. "Tell me more about your grandfather," he said. "There isn't much worth knowing about him," Philip said. "How old is he?" "Eighty or more." "He must be a character," Sam Christie said. "And the village doctor," Philip said. "Mumbo-jumbo stuff, you know. I was taken ill when I was young—something I ate, perhaps. I had to go to the Mission hospital—and that evening he came and right there in the ward he danced to drive away the evil spirit that had gotten hold of me." "And the doctor?" "He was broadminded," Philip said, still laughing. "They withstood it, the gongs and the stomping." "It must have been quite a night." "Hell, I was never so embarrassed in my life," Philip Latak said, shaking his head. "Much later, thinking of it," his voice became soft and a smile lingered in his thick-lidded eyes, "I realized that the old man never did that thing again for anyone, not even when his own son—my father—lay dying." Now they were in the heart of the highlands. The pine trees were bigger, loftier than those in Baguio, and most were wreathed with hoary moss. Sunflowers burst on the slopes, bright yellow against the grass. The sun rode over the mountains and the rocks shone—and over everything the mist, as fine as powder, danced. The bus swung around the curves and it paused, twice or thrice, to allow them to take coffee. It was past noon when they reached the feral fringes of the Ifugao country. The trip had not been exhausting, for there was much to see. Sam Christie, gazing down at the ravines, at the geometric patterns of the sweet- potato patches there and the crystal waters that cascaded down the mountainsides and the streams below, remembered the Alpine roads of Europe and his own New England—and about these he talked effusively. "See how vegetation changes. The people, too. The mountains," Sam Christie said, "breed independence. Mountain people are always self-reliant." Then, at the turn of a hill, they came, without warning, upon the water- filled rice terraces stretched out in the sun and laid out tier upon shining tier to the very summit of the mountains. And in the face of that achievement Sam Christie did not speak. After a while he nudged Philip. "Yeah, the terraces are colossal." And he wished he had expressed his admiration better, for he had sounded so empty and trite. The first view of the terraces left in Sam's mind a kind of stupefaction which, when it had cleared, was replaced by a sense of wastefulness. He mused on whether or not these terraces were necessary, since he knew that beyond these hand-carved genealogical monuments were plains that could be had for the asking. "And you say that these terraces do not produce enough food for the people?" Philip Latak turned quizzically to him. "Hell, if I can live here, would I go to Manila?" Their destination was no more than a cluster of houses beyond the gleaming tiers. A creek ran through the town, white with froth among the rocks, and across the creek, beyond the town, was a hill, on top of which stood the Mission—four red-roofed buildings, the chapel, the school, the hospital and the residence. "That's where I first learned about Jesus Christ and scotch;" Philip Latak said. "They marked me for success." Another peal of laughter. The bus shuddered into first gear as it dipped down the gravel road and in a while they were in the town, along its main street lined with wooden frame houses. It conformed with the usual small-town arrangement and was properly palisaded with stores, whose fronts were plastered with impieties of softdrink and patent-medicine signs. And in the stores were crowds of people, heavy-jowled Ifugaos in G-string and tattered Western coats that must have reached them in relief packages from the United States. The women wore the gay native blouses and skirts. The two travelers got down the bus and walked to one of the bigger houses, a shapeless wooden building with a rusting tin roof and cheap, printed curtains. It was a boarding house and a small curio store was in the ground floor, together with the usual merchandise of country shops: canned sardines and squid, milk, soap, matches, kerosene, a few bolts of cotton and twine. The landlady, an acquaintance of Philip Latak, assigned them a bare room, which overlooked the creek and the mountain terraced to the very summit. "We could stay in my brother's place," Philip Latak reiterated apologetically as they brought their things up, "but there is no plumbing there." Past noon, after a plentiful lunch of fried highland rice and venison, they headed for the footpath that broke from the street and disappeared behind a turn of hillside. The walk to Philip Latak's village itself was not far from the town and wherever they turned the terraces were sheets of mirror that dogged them. The village was no more than ten houses in a valley, which were different from the other Ifugao homes. They stood on stilts and all their four posts were crowned with circular rat guards. A lone house roofed with tin stood at one end of the village. "My brother's," Philip said. "Shall I bring the candies out now?" Sam asked. He had, at Phil's suggestion, brought them along, together with matches and cheap cigarettes, for his "private assistance program" Sadek, Philip's brother, was home. "You have decided to visit us after all," he greeted Philip in English and with a tinge of sarcasm. He was older and he spoke with authority. "I thought the city had won you so completely that you have forgotten this humble place and its humble people." Then, turning to Sam, Sadek said, "I must apologize, sir, for my brother, for his bringing you to this poor house. His deed embarrasses us ...” "We work in the same office," Sam said simply, feeling uneasy at hearing the speech. "I know, sir," Sadek said. Philip Latak held his brother by the shoulder. "You see, Sam," he said, "my brother dislikes me. Like my grandfather, he feels that I shouldn't have left this place, that I should rot here. Hell, everyone knows the terraces are good for the eye, but they can't produce enough for the stomach." "That's not a nice thing to say," Sam said warily, not wanting to be drawn into a family quarrel. "But it's true," Philip Latak said with a nervous laugh. "My brother dislikes me. All of them here dislike me. They think that by living in Manila for a few years I have forgotten what it is to be an Ifugao. I can't help it, Sam. I like it down there. Hell, they will never understand. My grandfather—do you know that on the day I left he followed me to town, to the bus, pleading with me and at the same time scolding me? He said I'd get all his terraces. But I like it down there, Sam," he threw his chest out and yawned. Unmindful of his younger brother's ribbing Sadek dragged in some battered chairs from within the house and set them in the living room. He was a farmer and the weariness of working the terraces showed in his massive arms, in his sunburned and stolid face. His wife, who was Ifugao like him, with high cheekbones and firm dumpy legs, came out and served them warm Coca-Cola. Sam Christie accepted the drink, washed it down his throat politely, excruciatingly, for it was the first time that he took warm Coke and it curdled his tongue. Sadek said, "Grandfather had a high fever and we all thought the end was near. I didn't want to bother you, but the old man said you should come. He is no longer angry with you for leaving, Ip-pig. He has forgiven you...” "There's nothing to forgive, my brother,” Philip Latak said, "but if he wants to he can show his forgiveness by opening his wine jar. Is he drinking still? "He has abandoned the jar for some time now,” Sadek said, "but now that you are here he will drink again.” Then the children started stealing in, five of them with grime on their faces, their feet caked with mud, their bellies shiny and disproportionately rounded and big. They stood, wide-eyed, near the sagging wall. The tallest and the oldest, a boy of thirteen or twelve, Sadek pointed out as Philip's namesake. Philip bent down and thrust a fistful of candy at his nephews and nieces. They did not move. They hedged closer to one another, their brows, their simple faces empty of recognition, of that simple spark that would tell him, Ip-pig, that he belonged here. He spoke in the native tongue, but that did not help. The children held their scrawny hands behind them and stepped back until their backs were pressed against the wall. "Hell, you are all my relatives, aren't you?” he asked. Turning to Sam, "Give it to them. Maybe they like you better.” His open palm brimming with the tinsel-wrapped sweets, Sam strode to the oldest, to Philip's namesake, and tousled the youngster's black, matted hair. He knelt, pinched the cheeks of the dirty child next to the oldest and placed a candy in his small hand. In another moment it was all noise, the children scrambling over the young American and about the floor, where the candy had spilled. Philip Latak watched them, and above the happy sounds, the squeals of children, Sadek said, "You see now that even your relatives do not know you, Ip- pig. You speak our tongue, you have our blood—but you are a stranger nevertheless. "See what I mean, Sam?” Philip Latak said. He strode to the door. Beyond the betel-nut palms in the yard, up a sharp incline, was his grandfather's house. It stood on four stilts like all the rest and below its roof were the bleached skulls of goats, dogs, pigs and carabaos which the old man had butchered in past feasts. He had the most number of skulls in the village to show his social position. Now new skulls would be added to this collection. "Well, he will recognize me and I won't be a stranger to him. Come," Philip Latak turned to his friend, "let us see the old man." They toiled up the hill, which was greasy although steps had been gouged out on it for easier climbing. Before going up the slender rungs of the old house Philip Latak called his grandfather twice. Sam Christie waited under the grass marquee that extended above the doorway. He could not see what transpired inside and there was no invitation for him to come up. However, Sam could hear Philip speaking in his native tongue and there was also a cracked, old voice, high-pitched with excitement and pleasure. And, listening to the pleasant sounds of homecoming he smiled and called to mind the homecomings he, too, had known and he thought of how the next vacation would be, his father and his mother at the Black Bay station, the luggage in the back seat, and on his lap this wooden idol he now sought. But after a while, the visions he conjured were dispelled. The effusion within the hut had subsided into some sort of spirited talking and Philip was saying, "Americano –Americano." Sam heard the old man raise his voice, this time in anger and not in pleasure. Then silence, a rustling within the house, the door stirring and Philip in easing himself down the ladder, on his face a numbed, crestfallen look. And, without another word, he hurried down the hill, the American behind him. Philip Latak explained later on the way back to the town: "I had asked him where we could get a god and he said he didn't know. And when I told him it was for an American friend he got mad. He never liked strangers, Sam. He said they took everything away from him—tranquility, me. Hell, you can't do anything to an old man, Sam. We shouldn't have bothered with him at all. Now, tell me, have I spoiled your first day here?" Sam objected vehemently. "The old man wants a feast tomorrow night—my bienvenida. of course." "You'll be a damned fool if you don't go," Sam said. "I'm thinking about you. You shouldn't come," Philip said. "It will be a bore and a ghastly sight" But Sam Christie's interest had been piqued and even when he realized that Philip Latak really did not want him to come he decided that this was one party he would not miss.

They visited the Mission the following day after having hiked to the villages. As Philip Latak had warned, their search was fruitless. They struggled up terraces and were met by howling dogs and bare bottomed children and old Ifugaos, who offered them sweet potatoes and rice wine. To all of them Sam Christie was impeccably polite and charitable with his matches and his candies. And after the initial amenity Philip would start talking and always sullen silence would answer him, and he would turn to Sam, a foolish, optimistic grin on his face. Reverend Doone, who managed the Mission, invited them for lunch. He was quite pleased to have a fellow American as guest. He was a San Franciscan and one consolation of his assignment was its meager similarity to San Francisco. "In the afternoons," he said with nostalgia, "when the mist drifts in and starts to wrap the terraces and the hills, I'm reminded of the ocean fog which steals over the white hills of San Francisco—and then I feel like I'm home." They had finished lunch and were in the living room of the Mission, sipping coffee, while Philip Latak was in the kitchen, where he had gone to joke with old friends. Sam's knowledge of San Francisco was limited to a drizzly afternoon at the airport, an iron-cold rain and a nasty wind that crept under the top coat, clammy and gripping, and he kept quiet while Reverend Doone reminisced. The missionary was a short man with a bulbous nose and heavy brows and homesickness written all over his pallid face. Then it was Sam's turn and he rambled about the places he had seen— Greece and the marble ruins glinting in the sun, the urn; Japan, the small green country, and the samurai sword. And now, an Ifugao god. Reverend Doone reiterated what Philip had said. "You must understand their religion," he said, "and if you understand it, then you'll know why it's difficult to get this god. Then you'll know why the Ifugaos are so attached to it. It's a religion based on fear, retribution. Every calamity or every luck which happens to them is based on this belief. A good harvest means the gods are pleased. A bad one means they are angered." "It's not different from Christianity then," Sam said. "Christianity is based on fear, too—fear of hell and the Final Judgment" Reverend Doone drew back, laid his cup of coffee on the well-worn table and spoke sternly. "Christianity is based on love. That's the difference. You are in the Agency and you should know the significance of this distinction." Reverend Doone became thoughtful again. "Besides," he said, "Christianity is based on the belief that man has a soul and that this soul is eternal." "What happens when a man loses his soul?" Sam asked. "I wish I could answer that," Reverend Doone said humbly. "All I can say is that a man without a soul is nothing. A pig in the sty that lives only for food. Without a soul..." "Does the Ifugao believe in a soul?" Reverend Doone smiled gravely. "His gods—he believes in them." "Can a man lose his soul?" Sam insisted. "You have seen examples," Reverend Doone smiled wanly. "In the city— people corrupted by easy living, the pleasures of the senses and the flesh, the mass corruption that is seeping into government and everything. A generation of soulless men is growing up and dictating the future..." "How can one who loses his soul regain it?" Sam came back with sudden life. "It takes a cataclysm, something tragic to knock a man back to his wits, to make him realize his loss..." "And the Ifugaos, they never lose their souls?" "They are all human beings. But look at what is in this mountain-locked country. It is poor—let there be no doubt about it. They don't make enough to eat, but there is less greed and pettiness here. There are no land grabbers, no scandals." Going down the hill, Sam decided to bare his mind to Philip who was below him, teetering on the slippery trail. He said with finality, "Phil, I must not leave Ifugao without that god. It's more than just a souvenir. It will remind me of you, of this place. The samurai sword—you should have seen the place where I got it and the people I had to deal with to get it. It's not just some souvenir, mind you. It belonged to a soldier who had fought in the South Pacific and had managed somehow to save the thing when he was made prisoner. But his daughter—it's a sad story—she had to go to college, she was majoring in English and she didn't have tuition money." In the comfort of their little room back in the town, Sam brought out his liquor. "Well," he said as he poured a glass for Philip. "At least the hike did me good. All that walking and all those people—how nice they were, how they offered us wine and potatoes." "You get a lot better in cocktail parties," Philip Latak said. "How many people in Manila would feel honored to attend the parties you go to?" "They are a bore," Sam said. "And I have to be there—that's the difference. I have to be there to spread sweetness and light. Sometimes it makes me sick, but I have to be there." Phil was silent. He emptied the glass and raised his muddy shoes to the woolen sheet on his cot. Toying with his empty glass, he asked the question Sam loathed most: "Why are you with the Agency, Sam?" He did not hesitate. "Because I have to be somewhere, just as you have to be somewhere. It's that simple." "I'm glad you are in the Agency, Sam. We need people like you." Sam emptied his glass, too, and sank into his cot. Dusk had gathered outside. Fireflies ignited the grove of pine on the ledge below the house and farther, across the creek, above the brooding terraces, the stars shone. After a while Philip Latak spoke again: "We will be luckier tomorrow, I know. You'll have your god, Sam. There's a way. I can steal one for you." Sam stood up and waved his lean hands. "You can't do that." he said with great solemnity. "That is not fair. And what will happen to you or to the man whose god you will steal?" "Lots—if you believe all that trash," Philip said lightly. "I'll be afflicted with pain, same with the owner. But he can always make another. It's not so difficult to carve a new one. I tried it when I was young, before I went to the Mission." “You cannot steal a god, not even for me," Sam said. Philip laughed. "Let's not be bullheaded about this. It's the least I can do for you. You made this vacation possible—and that raise. Do you know that I have been with the Agency for four years and I never got a raise until you came?" "You had it coming. It's that simple." "You'll have your god," Philip Latak said gravely. They did not have supper at the boarding house because in a while Sadek arrived to fetch them. He wore an old straw hat, a faded flannel coat and old denim pants. He was barefoot. "The butchers are ready and the guests are waiting and Grandfather has opened his wine jar." It was useless for Philip to argue with Sam who was all ready with his bag of candies and matches. The hike to the village was not as difficult as it had been the previous day. Sam had become an expert in scaling the dikes, in balancing himself on the strips of slippery earth that formed the terrace embankment, in jumping across the conduits of spring water that continuously gushed from springs higher up in the mountain to the terraces. When they reached the village many people had already gathered and on the crest of the hill, on which the old man's house stood, a huge fire bloomed and the flames cracked and threw quivering shadows upon the betel palms. In the orange light Sam could discern the unsmiling faces of men carrying walking spears, the women and the children, and beyond the scattered groups, near the slope, inside a bamboo corral, were about a dozen squealing pigs, dogs, and goats, all ready for the sacrificial knife. Philip Latak acknowledged the greetings, then breaking away from the tenuous groups, he went to his grandfather's hut. Waiting outside, Sam heard the same words of endearment. A pause, then the wooden door opened and Philip peeped out. "It's okey, Sam. Come up." And Sam, pleased with the prospect of being inside an Ifugao house for the first time, dashed up the ladder. The old man really looked ancient and, in the light of the stove fire that lived and died at one end of the one-room house, Sam could see the careworn face, stoic and unsmiling. Sam took in everything: the hollow cheeks, the white, scraggly hair, the homed hands and the big-boned knees. The patriarch was half- naked, like the other Ifugaos, but his loin cloth had a belt with circular bone embellishments and around his neck dangled a necklace of bronze. To Sam the old man extended a bowl of rice wine and Sam took it and lifted it to his lips, savored the gentle tang and acridness of it. He then sat down on the mud-splattered floor. Beyond the open door, in the blaze of the bonfire, the pigs were already being butchered and someone had started beating the gongs and their deep, sonorous whang rang sharp and clear above the grunts of the dying animals. The light in the hut became alive again and showed the few artifacts within: an old, gray pillow, dirty with use, a few rusty-tipped spears, fish traps and a small wooden trunk. The whole house smelled of filth, of chicken droppings and dank earth, but Sam Christie ignored these smells and attended only to the old man, who had now risen, his bony frame shaking, and from a compartment in the roof, brought out his black and ghastly-looking god, no taller than two feet, and set it before the fire in front of his grandson. Someone called at the door and thrust to them a wooden bowl of blood. Philip Latak picked it up and gave it to the old man, who was kneeling. Slowly, piously, the old man poured the living, frothy blood on the idol's head and the blood washed down the ugly head to its arms and legs, to its very feet, and as he poured the blood, in his cracked voice, he recited a prayer. Philip turned to his American friend and, with usual levity, said, "My grandfather is thanking his god that I'm here. He says he can die now because he has seen me again." Outside, the rhythm of the gongs quickened and fierce chanting started, filled the air, the hut, crept under the skin and into the subconscious. The old man picked up the idol again and, standing, he returned it to its niche. "Let's go down," Philip said. They made their way to the iron cauldrons, where rice was cooking, and to the butcher's table, where big chunks of pork and dog meat were being distributed to the guests. For some time, Sam Christie watched the dancers and the singers, but the steps and the tune did not have any variation and soon he was bored—completely so. The hiking that had preoccupied them during the day began to weigh on his spirits and he told Philip Latak, who was with the old man before the newly opened wine jar, that he would like to return to the boarding house. No, he did not need any guide. He knew the way, having gone through the route thrice. But Sadek would not let him go alone and, after more senseless palaver, Sam finally broke away from the party and headed for the town with Sadek behind him. The night was cool, as all nights in the Ifugao country are, and that evening, as he lay on his cot, he mused. In his ears the din of gongs still rang, in his mind's eye loomed the shrunken, unsmiling face of the old Ifugao. He saw again the dancers, their brown, sweating bodies whirling before the fire, their guttural voices rising as one, and finally, the wooden god, dirty and black and drenched with blood. And, recalling all this in vivid sharpness, he thought he smelled, too, that peculiar odor of blood and the dirt of many years that had gathered in the old man's house. Sam Christie went to sleep with the wind soughing in the pines, the cicadas whirring in the grass. He had no idea what time it was, but it must have been past midnight. The clatter woke him up and, without rising, he groped for the flashlight under his pillow. He lifted the mosquito net and beamed the light at the dark form which had paused at the door. It was Philip Latak, swaying and holding on to a black, bloody mass. Sam let the ray play on Phil's face, at the splotch on his breast— the sacrificial blood—and, finally, on the thing. "I told you I'd get it," Philip Latak said with drunken triumph. "I told you I'd steal a god," and, staggering forward, he shoved his grandfather's idol at his friend. Sam Christie, too surprised to speak, pushed the idol away and it fell with a thud on the floor. "You shouldn't have done it!" was all he could say. Philip Latak stumbled, the flashlight beam still on his shiny, porcine face. He fumbled with the stub of candle on the table and in a while the room was bright. "What a night," he crowed, heaving himself onto his cot "No, you don't have to worry. No one saw me. I did it when all were busy dancing or drinking. I danced a little, too, you know—with the old man. He is going to give me everything, his terraces, his spears, his wine jars. We danced and my legs—they are not rusty at all" Philip Latak stood up and started prancing. Sam bolted up and held him by the shoulder. "You'll be waking everyone up. Go to bed now and we will talk in the morning." Philip Latak sank back into his cot. The air around him was heavy with the smell of sweat, rice wine and the earth. "He will be surprised," he repeated. "He will be surprised—and when he does he will perhaps get drunk and make a new one. Then there will be another feast to celebrate the new god and another god to steal..." "You are lucky to have someone who loves you so much. And you did him wrong," Sam said sullenly. He sat on the edge of his cot and looked down at the dirty thing that lay at his feet. "He did himself wrong," Philip said. "He was wrong in being so attached to me who no longer believes in these idols. Sadek—you have seen his house. It's different. And not because he has the money to build a different house. It's because he doesn't believe in the old things any more. He cannot say that aloud." Phil whacked his stomach. "Not while he lives with a hundred ignorant natives." "It's a miserable thing to do," Sam said. "Take it back tomorrow." "Take it back?" Phil turned to him with a mocking leer. "Now, that's good of you. Hell, after all my trouble..." "Yes," Sam said. "Take it back." But there was no conviction in him, because in the back of his mind he was grateful that Philip Latak had brought him this dirty god, because it was real, because it had significance and meaning and was no cheap tourist bait, such as those that were displayed in the hotel lobbies in Manila. "I won't," Philip said resolutely. "If I do, I'll look bad. That would be the death of my grandfather." "I'll take it back if you won't," Sam said almost inaudibly. "He will kill you." "Don't frighten me." "Hell, I'm just stating a fact," Phil said. "Do you think he would be happy to know that his god had been fondled by a stranger?" "It's no time for jokes," Sam said, lying down. "That isn't funny at all." And in his mind's resolute eye there crowded again one irrefrangible darkness and in it, like a light, was the old man's wrinkled face, dirtied with the mud of the terraces, the eyes narrow and gleaming with wisdom, with hate. He wished he knew more about him, for to know him would be to discover this miserly land and the hardiness (or was it foolhardiness?) which it nourished. And it was these thoughts that were rankling in his mind when he heard Philip Latak snore, heard his slow, pleasant breathing and with his hand, Sam picked up the taper and quashed its flame. At the time Sam Christie woke up it was already daylight and the sun lay pure and dazzling on the rough pine sidings of the room. It was Philip Latak who had stirred him, his voice shrill and grating. Sam blinked, then sat up and walked to the door, where Philip was talking with a boy. "I'm sorry I woke you up," he said, turning momentarily to him. "My nephew," a pause. "It's grandfather." His voice was no longer drunken. "I have to leave you here." "Anything the matter?" Philip had already packed his things and the boy held them, the canvas bag and the old suede jacket. "My grandfather is dying, Sam. He collapsed—an attack." When Sam found words again, all he could ask was, "Why... how..." "Hell, that should be no riddle," Philip said. "The feast last night. The dancing and the drinking. It must have been too much for his heart. And at his age..." "I'm sorry..." "I'll be back as soon as I can, but don't wait, whatever your plans are." After the two had gone, Sam returned to the room and picked up the idol. In the light he saw that the blood had dried and had lost its color. The idol was heavy, so Sam quickly deduced that it must be made of good hardwood. It was crudely shaped and its proportions were almost grotesque. The arms were too long and the legs mere stumps. The feet, on the other hand, were huge. It was not very different, Sam concluded lightly, from the creations of sculptors who called themselves modernists. And wrapping it up in an old newspaper, he pushed it under his cot near his mud-caked shoes. The next day Sam Christie idled in the town and developed the acquaintance of the Chief of Police, a small man with a pinched, anonymous face that gained character only when he smiled, for then he bared a set of buckteeth reddened from chewing betelnut. He was extremely hospitable and had volunteered to guide him to wherever he wanted to hike. They had tried the villages farther up the mountains. It was early afternoon when they returned and the mist, white as starch in the sun, had started to crawl again down into the town. The Chief of Police had been very helpful almost to the point of obsequiousness and Sam asked him to come up for a drink. After the Chief had savored every drop in his glass he declaimed, "Indeed I am honored to taste this most wonderful hospitality, which should be reserved only for important people…” The party could have gone further, but it was at this moment that Sadek arrived. Philip's brother did not waste words. "It's about my brother," he said. He looked down self-consciously at his shoes—they were a trifle big and Sam saw immediately that the pair was not Sadek's but Philip's. He saw, too, that the jacket which Sadek wore was Philip's old suede. And, as if Sam's unspoken scrutiny bothered him, Sadek took the jacket off and held it behind him. "How is he?" Sam asked. He did not wait for an answer. "Come, let's have a drink." He held the Ifugao by the arm, but Sadek squirmed free from his grasp. "I still have a half bottle of scotch," Sam said brightly. "It's the best in the world," Sadek said humbly, but he did not move. "Nothing but the best for Americans." Sam did not press. "When is Phil coming back?" he asked. "There was nothing we could do," Sadek said. He did not face the young American and a faraway gaze was in his eyes. "Our grandfather..." "He is dead?" Sadek nodded. Sam took the news calmly. He did not find it, its finality, depressing and he was surprised even that the death of someone who was dear to a friend had not affected him at all. In the back of his mind he even found himself thinking that perhaps it was best that the old man had died, so that his passing would seal, forever, as far as Philip Latak was concerned, the family's concern with the idol's dubious grace. "And Phil?" Sam asked. "He isn't going back to Manila," Sadek said simply, smiling again that meaningless grin of peasants. "And why not?" Sadek did not speak. "Tell me more," Sam insisted. "Does his decision have something to do with the burial customs and all that sort of thing?" "It's not a matter of custom, sir." "I must see him." Sadek faced the American squarely now. "Mr. Christie, you cannot do anything now. You must go back to Manila." And wheeling round, the Ifugao walked out into the street. Sam followed him, riled by the unexpected show of rudeness. "I cannot leave like this, Sadek I'm sorry about what happened to your grandfather. In a time of grief I should at least be able to express my ... my condolence." "You have done that already, sir." Sadek paused again. "All right then," he said sharply. "Do come," then softly, supplicatingly, "Please, please don't think we are being unreasonable— and don't make me responsible for what will happen." Sam Christie was now troubled. "How did the old man die?" That was the one question he wanted to ask and when he did it seemed as if the words were strangled from his throat. Walking slowly, Sadek glanced at the stranger keeping step beside him. "It happened on the morning after the feast. He had a lot of wine." "Of course, of course," Sam said. "I saw him gulp it like water. A man his age shouldn't have indulged in drinking like he did." "But it wasn't the drink that did it, sir," Sadek said emphatically. "It was the loss of the god. It was stolen." "It was not the god," Sam said aloud and the words were not for Sadek alone, but for himself, to reassure himself that he was not involved, that his hands were unsoiled. And a pang of regret, of sadness, touched him. "No," he said. "It wasn't the god. It couldn't be as simple as that. The liquor, the dancing, the exertion—these did it." Sadek did not answer. They went down the incline and at the base of the terraces the path was wide and level again. Then, softly, "My grandfather always loved Ip-pig—Philip—more than anyone of us. He wanted to see Ip-pig before he died. He died in Ip-pig's arms." Near the hill on which stood the old man's house Sadek paused again. 'We buried him there," he pointed to a new digging on the side of the hill," and we held another feast this morning. Two feasts in so short a time. One was a welcome to a youth gone astray, the other a farewell to him who gave the blood in us ..." At the edge of the hilltop the open pits which had served as stoves still smoked and the dried blood of the butchered animals stained the earth. Sadek faced Sam. "My brother…he will not starve here, but he will no longer have the pleasures that he knew. Will that be good for him, Mr. Christie?" He did not wait for an answer and he droned, "As long as he works... but he is no longer a farmer and his muscles are now soft like a girl's. Me—my family, all of us will be all right, of course. We are not learned like him and we have never been to Manila. But my brother…” and, shaking his head as if a great weight had fallen on his shoulders, Sadek left the young American. Now there was nothing to do but go up the Ifugao hut, this flimsy thing of straw that had survived all of time's ravages, this house that was also granary and altar, which had retained its shape through hungry years and was, as it stood on this patch of earth, everything that endured. And as he approached it Sam Christie found himself asking why he was here among these primitive monuments when he could very well be in his apartment in Manila, enjoying his liquor and his books and, maybe a mestiza thrown in, too. "Phil?" Sam Christie stood in the sun, crinkling his brow and wondering if he had spoken a bit too harshly or too loudly to disturb the silence within. "Phil, are you there?" No answer. "Phil," he repeated, raising his voice. "I heard you," Philip Latak's reply from within the hut was abrupt and gruff. "I thought you would forget. Remember, tomorrow morning, we are leaving. I've already packed and I was waiting. You didn't even send word. We will still shop, Phil. And that woven stuff and the utensils—do you know if we can get them before we leave tomorrow?" "I'm not going back to Manila, Sam," Phil called. "You can do your shopping yourself. Isn't that idol enough?" Now, from within the hut, came the sound of chopping and scraping of wood. "You can't mean what you say," Sam said. "Come on, we still have many things to do. But if it's against the custom—that is, if you have to stay here for more time after the burial—“ The words exploded from the hut with a viciousness that jolted Sam: "Damn it. I'm not coming!" It was no longer Phil's voice. It was something elemental and distressing. "I'm not going back, do you hear? You can bring the whole mountain with you if you care. The god, my grandfather's god—isn't it enough payment for your kindness?" The words, their keenness, their meaning, bit deep. "Let us be reasonable," Sam Christie said, his voice starting to quiver. "I didn't want you to steal the idol, Phil." "You would have gotten it, anyway," the voice quieted down, "because you are always curious and determined. I could forgive myself for having stolen it, but the old man—he had always been wise, Sam. He knew from the very start that it was I who stole it. He wanted so much to believe that it wasn't I, but he couldn't pretend—and neither could I. I killed him, Sam. I killed him because I wanted to be free from these... these terraces, because I wanted to be grateful. I killed him who loved me most..." a faltering and a stifled sob. "Don't blame me, Phil." Sam choked on the words. "I didn't want you to steal it. Remember, I even wanted to return it? Besides, I could have gone on searching until I found one I could buy..." "That's it!" the voice within the hut had become a shriek. "That's it! You'll always find a way because you have all the money. You can buy everything, even gods." His face burning with bewilderment and shame, Sam Christie moved toward the ladder. "Phil, let's talk this over. We are friends, Phil," he said in a low, anguished voice. "You are not a friend," the voice within the grass hut had become a wail. "If you are, you wouldn't have come here searching for gods to buy." "We are friends," Sam insisted, toiling up the ladder, and at the top rung, he pushed aside the flimsy bamboo door. In the semi-darkness, amid the poverty and the soot of many years, Sam Christie saw Philip Latak squatting before the same earthen stove aglow with embers. And in this glow Sam Christie saw his friend—not the Philip Latak with the suede jacket, but a well-built lfugao attired in the simple costume of the highlands, his broad flanks uncovered, and around his waist was the black-and- red breech cloth with yellow tassels. From his neck dangled the bronze necklace of an lfugao warrior. Philip Latak did not even once, face Sam. He seemed completely absorbed in his work and, with the sharp blade in his hands, he started scraping again the block of wood which he held tightly between his knees. "Leave me alone, Sam," Philip Latak said softly, as if all grief had been squeezed from him. "I have to finish this and it will take some time." Sam Christie's ever-observant eyes lingered on the face. Where had he seen it before? Was it in Greece—or in Japan—or in Siam? The recognition came swiftly, savagely; with watery legs and trembling hands, he stepped down and let the door slide quietly back into place. He knew then that Philip Latak really had work to do and it would take some time before he could finish a new god to replace the old one, the stolen idol which he was bringing home to America to take its place among his souvenirs of benighted and faraway places.

ASEAN 20TH CENTURY LITERATURES SELECTED POEMS AND SHORT STORIES FROM

SINGAPORE

INTRODUCTION Modern Singaporean Literature by Dr. Gwee Li Sui

Works in English The Exile by Edwin Thumboo Sunflowers for a Friend byLee Tzu Pheng Grandfather’s Story by Catherine Lim

Works in Malay Cerita Peribumi Singapura (Tale of a Singaporean Native) by Suratman Markasan Lembu (Cattle) by Mohamed Latiff Mohamed

Works in Chinese 皮影戏 (Shadow Puppetry) by Wong Yoon Wah 寄错的邮件 (Wrongly Delivered Mail) by Yeng Pway Ngon

Works in Tamil (Duality) by K. T. M. Iqbal (The Earrings) by Rama Kannabiran

Country Coordinator: Dr. Gwee Li Sui Editorial Committee: English-Language Coordinator: Dr. Gwee Li Sui Malay-Language Coordinator: Azhar Ibrahim Chinese-Language Coordinator: Tan Chee Lay Tamil-Language Coordinator: Shanmugam Kadakara

Introduction to Twentieth-Century Singaporean Literature

The literature of Singapore exists primarily in the country’s four official languages: English, Malay, Mandarin, and Tamil. Although its English-language writing is the most productive and the most widely read today, it may well also be the last to have emerged. This surfaced decisively from the 1940s whereas the other literatures have been around since at least the century before. The selection here reflects the diversity of thematic and stylistic concerns that defines the field as a whole. Edwin Thumboo’s poem THE EXILE relates the story of a radicalised Malayan Chinese in the 1950s. The young man represents many who had been caught in the vortex of patriotic and pro-Communist sentiments at the time. His idealism and political naiveté are shown to be what ruins him ultimately. Lee Tzu Pheng makes a different kind of human connection with SUNFLOWER FOR A FRIEND, which is dedicated to abused children everywhere. This moving, empathetic poem aims to bring comfort and hope to those who have encountered or are growing up with hurt and dispiriting impressions of self. The sunflowers here are a metaphor for this fight against negativities to hold on to what is good and right in life. Catherine Lim’s short story GRANDFATHER’S STORY depicts a web of enigmatic relationships in a traditional Chinese family in Malaya. It uses multiple frames to explore the life of its narrator’s grandfather and the two women who have been the joy and scourge of his existence. Domestic intrigue is this means to observe the cruelties of a bygone era, aspects of fate and memory, and the power of storytelling. Meanwhile, Suratman Markasan shows in CERITA PERIBUMI SINGAPURA (TALE OF A SINGAPOREAN NATIVE) the profound sense of displacement experienced by the indigenous Malays of Singapore. The poem captures the Malays’ feeling of loss in the context of shifting urban and cultural realities and the personal challenges these pose. It records how such a Singaporean is disempowered systematically in his or her own land, nation, and community and its effects on his or her identity. Mohamed Latiff Mohamed’s short story LEMBU (CATTLE) uses a conversation between a bull and a cow to examine power, exploitation, and the search for freedom. It shows how the fear of freedom resides even within the imagination of a just utopia and the need to overcome it. This tale is a fine example of how Singaporean literature sometimes engages socio-political realities and disempowerment enabled by dominant myths and manipulations of culture. Wong Yoon Wah’s poetic sequence 皮影戏(SHADOW PUPPETRY) is among the most famous Chinese-language poems in Singapore. It uses the traditional art form of puppetry found throughout Southeast Asia precisely to depict the deep existential sorrow and powerlessness of individuals. The metaphor has both philosophical and political dimensions, pointing to the determinism of life as well as the region’s puppet regimes and postcolonial conundrums during the 1970s. The absurdist short story 寄错的邮件 (WRONGLY DELIVERED MAIL) by Yeng Pway Ngon tells of a social misfit who tries in vain to mail himself from his suffocating country to America. What follows is a period of incarceration in a madhouse, the dark humour of which takes on serious subject matters such as social policing, the incompetence of power, and pervasive mental illness. This story is witty, satirical, and reflective of the problematic postcolonial condition of Singapore in the 1970s. Differently affected by the external world is K. T. M. Iqbal’s (DUALITY), which remembers the earthquakes of South and Southeast Asia that have destroyed countless lives and communities. This poem is steep in irony by drawing our attention to the powerful contradictions that exist in the natural universe. The goodness and beauty we find in nature is set against calamities such as earthquakes, tsunamis, and volcanic eruptions. The short story (THE EARRINGS) by Rama Kannabiran makes moral considerations too, but it involves a family man’s dilemma in wishing to acquire a gift of earrings for his daughter. In a moment of weakness, this pious father gives in to greed, only to experience a twist of events that will teach him a valuable lesson. The conditions of want, the drama of guilt, and the responsibility to one’s conscience are all explored here. From social realism to abstract allegory, from political satire to moral reflection, the range in Singaporean writing expands. While connections among these four main literatures have yet to be studied meaningfully by critics, it can at least be observed that a more or less stable collective psyche exists. Singaporeans encountering works in another language are often surprised by the familiarity of complex inquiries and human values communicated there.

Dr. Gwee Li Sui

POEMS

The Exile by Edwin Thumboo

Sunflowers for a Friend by Lee Yzu Pheng

Cerita Peribumi Singapura (Tale of a Singaporean Native) by Suratnam Markasan (in Malay)

皮影戏 by Wong Yoon Wah (in Mandarin)

by KTM Iqbal (in Tamil)

THE EXILE by Edwin Thumboo

This poem tells the unfortunate story of a radicalised Malayan Chinese in the 1950s. The young man’s idealism and political naiveté are shown to be what ruins him ultimately. He represents many individuals who were caught in the vortex of patriotic and pro-Communist sentiments at the time.

He was not made for politics, For change of principles Unhappy days, major sacrifice. Even a bit part in a tragedy Seemed most unlikely. There was in him a cool Confucian smile. Some suitable history would have been A place in the Family Bank, Consolidated by a careful match A notable gain in family wealth, A strengthening of the Clan. An ordinary man, ordinary longevity.

Of these things his father sadly dreams.

He was not made for politics. But those days were China-wrought, Uncertain of loyalties, full of the search For a soul, a pride Out of ancestral agony, gunboat policy, The nation’s breaking up, The disaster of the Kuomintang. The new people took him in To cells, discussions, exciting oratory, Give him a cause.

Work quietly, multiply the cells Prepare for the bloom of a hundred flowers.

The flowers came, fast withereth too.

Made conspicuous by the principles And the discipline of the group, He thought to stand his ground, defy the law. Re-actionaries he said.

And so he stood in the dock. Many documents were read. Those who planned The demonstration, allotted tasks Had run to fight another day – they had important work, Could not be spared, were needed to arrange More demonstrations. Impersonally, the verdict was Exile to the motherland, A new reality.

He stood pale, not brave, not made for politics.

SUNFLOWERS FOR A FRIEND by Lee Yzu Pheng

This poem comes with a dedication to “all children abused by their parents”. It aims to bring comfort and hope to those who grow up with or have encountered hurt and dispiriting impressions of self. Sunflowers here are a metaphor for this fight against negativities to hold on to what is good and right in life.

To hear your own parent call you not by name, not yet a vulgar pet name, but some gross epithet, as “cursed death’s head, damned reprobate”, when you, I know, endure even now that innocence we renounce to escape censure; heart itself shrinks; not so much at the venom of the human tongue, as that nature’s text itself may turn out gibberish.

I fight this terror, cite aberrations, transgressors of her law, that we all are.

And set my sights on grace – which, to be true, though random-seeming is a thing hoped for.

We can not choose our lot on earth; nor soil, nor weather of our earliest years. And yet, some warp or stunt, or run to seed, or die despite the tenderest care.

Knowing this, I find I marvel still that sunflowers grow from dirt, and pray that you, like them, though forced to live through night, keep inner orientation strong enough to turn to light.

CERITA PERIBUMI SINGAPURA by Suratman Markasan This poem narrates the profound sense of displacement experienced by the indigenous Malays of Singapore. It captures their feeling of loss in the context of shifting urban and cultural realities and the personal challenges these pose. The poem records how a Malay Singaporean is disempowered systematically in his or her own land, nation, and community and its effects on his or her identity.

Dulu aku punya tanah sekeping di hujung tanjung sekarang menjadi milik bersama Anak cucuku ramai juga mereka bermain pasir laut mereka berteduh di bawah pohon mangga sekarang hilang di celah batu-bata

di flat 5 bilik dibakar 'Mendaki' dan angin waja anak cucuku lulus uji: PSLE dengan bintang pujian bertambah kurang lulusan O & A boleh dihitung masuk universiti banyak mencari tempat di luar negeri.

Di surau di masjid terdengar anak cucuku menghafal “Asyhadu-Allah ilahal-laulah waa asyhadu anna Muhammadur-rasulullah.”

Di bawah kolong-kolong flat banyak pula anak cucuku memetik gitar membuang waktu di flat satu bilik mereka di situ tidur, di situ makan di atas simin dingin anak-anak lain bersama ibu bapa yang capik kepenatan menonton hiburan murah tv Singapura: manusia barat bercumbu mesra tembak-menembak, mereka soraki buku sekolah tertutup di bawah kaki waktu szan mereka lalui terdengar sorak-sorai “Heh! Yeh, yeh!”

III

Di meja mesyuarat sampai jam pagi: pemimpin masjid bertegang urat perkara ttitik-bengek mereka berebut jawatan masjid tauliah diberi disimpan bekukan

Pemimpin budayaku mendabik dada 'Aku penegak budaya Melayu' aktiviti yang lahir tarian gado-gado Pemimpin politiku bertambah kurang mereka tetap memberi wejangan yang mendengar melimpah ruah sedikit yang mengangguk-ngangguk banyak yang tersengguk-sengguk

Hari minggu aku pergi kondangn kepala sakit memikir sumbangan perut sakit kekenyangan isi dapat bunga telur nama diberi tapi buah epal diganti rapi atau kek sepotong di dalam plastik kadang menjadi sepotong sabun mandi.

Di mana-mana di tempat meletak kereta anak cucuku bangga menyambut segak uniform kuning laskar, bicara Inggeris lancar di hotel-hotel anak cucuku pandai penyanyi, lupa daratan di Sentosa ronggeng Melayu dikemukakan untuk pelancong dunia luar anak cucuku yang mengisi penuh gelanggang bersoarak-sorak sampai pagi: “Bahasa Melayu tetap abadi!” Di forum bahasa dan sastera atau forum lainnya juga cuma empat lima boleh dihitung.

Aku rak punya apa lagi Sri Lanang dan Nila Utama tinggal nama saudara peribumi menolak bahasa mengejar Inggeris lambing kemajuan puisi prosaku kurang dibaca tak juga sastera dunia cuma aku masih mendengar “Asyhadu-Allah ilahil-laulah wa asyhadu-anna Muhammadur-rasullah.”

Toh Tuck Road 20 Disember 1985

皮影戏 by 王润华 (Wong Yoon Wah)

This poetic sequence is one of Singapore’s most famous Chinese poems. It uses the traditional art form of puppetry found throughout Southeast Asia to depict the deep existential sorrow and helplessness of individuals. The metaphor has both philosophical and political dimensions, pointing to the determinism of life as well as the region’s puppet regimes and postcolonial conundrums during the 1970s.

皮影戏

傀儡的誕生把鋒利的刀把牛皮剪成我的形體另一把尖銳的鑽雕刻成我凹凸的性格

再繪上一些色彩我便是人人愛好會演會唱的傀儡

影子的家庭背景

我雖然是影子只在神秘的夜晚演戲我卻是光明的兒子沒有燈光的普照，我就活不了我的鄉土，如一塊潔白的紗布在汙黑的社會，我會找不到自己

我從不在路上留下一個足跡我常常唱動聽的歌卻沒有用自己的聲音我在家的時候只是平面的側影在舞臺上卻表現立體傀儡的自白

別以為我喜歡鬥爭，常常機智的為搶奪王位而戰或者多情的跟所羅門的公主戀愛一根無形的線，分別繫在我的四肢上我非常迷信，沒法子不接受這個命運的玩弄一個躲藏在後臺的老人控制住我的喉嚨要哭或要笑全由他的聲音來決定

影子的下場

戲演完之後如果你走進舞臺的後面你會發現我們這些英雄美人全是握在醜陋老人手中的傀儡被玩弄過之後我們的頭一個個被摘下來身體整齊的被疊在一起放在盒裏，而且用繩子紮緊於是我們又像囚犯，耐心的等待另一次的日出

க. . . This poem solemnly remembers the earthquakes of South and Southeast Asia that have taken countless lives and destroyed many communities. It is steep in irony by drawing our attention to the powerful contradictions that exist in the natural world. The goodness and beauty we find in nature is set against calamities such as earthquakes, tsunamis, and volcanic eruptions.

ஆ

க க க

க க

ஆ க ஆ

க க

ஆ

க க க க க

க க

க க ? க க ?

க க ?

க க க க ?

SHORT STORIES

Grandfather’s Story by Catherine Lim

Lembu by Mohamed Latiff Mohamed (in Malay)

寄错的邮件 by Yeng Pway Ngon (in Mandarin)

by Rama Kannabiran (in Tamil)

GRANDFATHER’S STORY by Catherine Lim

This short story depicts a web of enigmatic relationships in a traditional Chinese family in Malaya. It uses multiple frames to explore the life of the narrator’s grandfather and the two women who have been the joy and scourge of his existence. Domestic intrigue is a means here to observe the cruelties of a bygone era, aspects of fate and memory, and the power of storytelling.

Grandmother died when I was ten. I had always been in awe of her, mainly because of the stories I had heard relatives and servants whisper about her atrocities towards the many bondmaids she had bought as infants and reared to work as seamstresses and needlewomen in her rapidly expanding business of making bridal clothes and furnishings. Grandmother’s embroidered silk bed curtains and bolster cases and beaded slippers for bride and groom were famous and fetched good money. The more nimble- fingered of the handmaids did the sewing and headwork; the others were assigned the less demanding tasks of cutting, pasting, dyeing, stringing beads, or general housework. It was rumoured that one handmaid had died from injuries sustained when grandmother flung a durian at her. The story had never been confirmed, and, as a child, my imagination had often dwelt on the terrible scene, giving it a number of interesting variations: grandmother hurled the durian at the bondmaid’s head, and it stuck there; the durian was flung at the bondmaid’s stomach, thus disembowelling her; the durian thorns stuck in the bondmaid’s flesh like so many knives and caused her to bleed to death. Whatever the circumstances surrounding her death, the bondmaid was certainly dead at fifteen and quietly buried at night in a remote part of the huge plantation in which stood grandmother’s house. Grandfather, who had been separated from grandmother for as long as anyone could remember, often said, “Look at her hands. Look at the strength and power in them. The hands of a murderess.” And he would go on to assign the same pernicious quality to each feature of her body: her eyes were cold and glittering, her mouth was thin and cruel, her buttocks which by their flatness deflected all good fortune, so that her husband would always be in want. I think I unfairly attributed to grandmother all those atrocities which rich elderly ladies of old China committed against their servant girls or their husbands’ minor wives and concubines. Thus, I had grandmother tie up the ends of the trousers of a bondmaid close to the ankles, force a struggling, clawing cat clown through the opening at the waist, quickly knot the trousers tightly at the waist to trap the beast inside, and then begin to hit it from the outside with a broom so that it would claw and scratch the more viciously in its panic. I never saw, in the few visits I remember I paid grandmother, any such monstrosity. The punishment that grandmother regularly meted out were less dramatic: she pinched, hit knuckles with a wooden rod, slapped and occasionally rubbed chilli paste against the lips of a child bondmaid who had been caught telling a lie. Grandmother did not like children. I think she merely tolerated my cousins and me when we went to stay a few days with her. When in a good mood, she gave us some beads or remnants of silk for which she no longer had any use. I remember asking her one day why I never saw grandfather with her and why he was staying in another house. Not only did she refrain from answering my question, but she threw me such an angry glare that from that very day I never mentioned grandfather in her hearing. I concluded that they hated each other with a virulence that did not allow each to hear the name of the other without a look of the most intense scorn or words of abuse, spat out rather than uttered. Indeed, never have I seen a couple so vigorously opposed to each other, and I still wonder how they could have overcome their revulsions to produce three offspring in a row, for according to grandfather. They had hated each other right from the beginning of their marriage. It was probably a duty which grandmother felt she had to discharge. “It was an arranged marriage,” said grandfather simply, “and I never saw her till the wedding night.” But he did not speak of the large dowry that grandmother brought with her, for her father was a well-to-do pepper merchant who had businesses in Indonesia. As soon as her parents were dead and she had saved enough money to start a small business on her own, she left grandfather, took up residence in an old house in a plantation that she had shrewdly bought for a pittance, and brought up her three children there. Her two daughters she married off as soon as they reached sixteen; her son, who turned out to be a wastrel, she left to do as he liked. She had put her life with grandfather behind her; from that day, he was dead to her, and she pursued her business with single-minded purpose and fervour, getting rich very quickly. She had a canny business sense and invested wisely in rubber and coconut plantations. Grandfather took up residence with a mistress; he had her for a very long time, almost from the time of his marriage. It was said that she was barren, and he was disappointed for a while, for he wanted sons by her, but his love remained unchanged. There were other mistresses, but they were merely the objects for grandfather’s insatiable appetite, while this woman, a very genteel-looking, soft-spoken woman whom I remember we all called Grandaunt, was his chosen life companion. I saw her only once. She was already very old and grey, and I remember she took out a small bottle of pungent-smelling oil from her blouse pocket and rubbed a little under my nose when she saw me cough and sniffle. She died some three years before grandfather (and a year after grandmother). Grandfather howled in his grief at grandaunt’s funeral, and was inconsolable for months. In all likelihood, he would not have attended grandmother’s funeral even if she had not objected. As it was, she had stipulated, on her deathbed that on no condition was grandfather to be allowed near her dead body. She was dying from a terrible cancer that, over a year, ate away her body. “Go, you must go,” urged grandaunt on the day of the funeral, “for, in death, all is forgotten.” But grandfather lay in his room smoking his opium pipe and gazing languorously up at the ceiling. When grandaunt died – quite suddenly, for she was taking the chamber pot up to their room when she slipped, fell down the stairs and died – grandfather was grief- stricken and, at one point, even blamed the sudden death on grandmother’s avenging spirit. He became withdrawn and reticent and sometimes wept with the abandon of a child in the silence of the night. The change was marked, for grandfather was by nature garrulous and, on occasion, even jovial. He liked to tell stories – especially irreverently obscene tales of monks. In his withdrawn state, all storytelling ceased, except on one occasion when he emerged from his room, to the surprise of the relatives who were sitting around idly chatting after dinner, and offered to tell a tale. “Once upon a time,” said grandfather, grey eyes misting over and the wispy beard on his thin chin (which he always tied up tightly with a rubber band, much to the amusement of us children) moving up and down with the effort of storytelling. “A very long time ago, perhaps a thousand years ago, there lived in China a farmer and his wife. He loved her dearly, for she was a gentle, loving woman who would do anything to make him comfortable and happy. They had no children; the woman’s barrenness, which would have compelled any husband to reject her, did not in the least irk him. He worked hard to save for their old age, knowing no sons would be born to look after them, and he and his wife watched with satisfaction the silver coins growing in the old stone jar, which they took care to hide in a hole in the earthen floor. “Now near the farm was a nunnery, and the head nun, a most cruel and mercenary woman who spent all her time thinking of how much in donations she could get out of the simple peasants, began to eye the growing wealth of this farmer and his wife. She knew that they were an extremely frugal couple and surmised that their savings were a goodly sum. “Knowing that the farmer was a shrewd fellow who regarded her with deep suspicion, she waited one morning for him to be out in the fields before paying his wife a visit. “So convincing was she in her promise of heavenly blessings upon those who would donate generously to her nunnery that the farmer’s wife was quite taken in. The foolish woman went to the hiding place in the earthen floor, brought out the stone jar and handed it, with its store of silver coins within, to the head nun. The nun thanked her effusively and left. “When the farmer came back, his wife told him what had happened, in her extreme naiveté expecting him to praise her for what she had done. Instead, he picked up his changkul1 and repeatedly hit her in his rage. When he saw that she was dead, his rage turned into an overpowering pity, and he knew he would never be at peace until he had killed the one who had brought about this tragedy. “He ran to the nunnery with his changkul, and there struck three hefty blows on the nun’s head until she fell down and died. In his panic, the farmer ran to a tree and hanged himself. “The spirits of the three deceased then appeared before the Almighty, who sat on his heavenly throne in judgment. “‘You have done great wrong,’ he told the farmer, ‘and must therefore be punished.’ “‘You,’ turning to the nun, ‘have done greater wrong, for you are a selfish, mercenary, cruel woman. You too will be punished.’ “He looked at the farmer’s wife, and, whereas his eyes had narrowed in severe censure when they looked upon the farmer and the nun, they now softened upon the gentle, timid woman. “‘You are a good woman,’ said the Almighty, ‘and although you were foolish enough to be taken in by this nun, you will not be punished.’ “The Almighty’s plan was simple. “‘I’m sending the three of you back to earth,’ said the Almighty. ‘You will be born and, at the appointed time, you,’ pointing to the farmer, ‘and you,’ pointing to the nun, ‘will be man and wife so that you will be each other’s torment. I can devise no greater punishment for you. Since your sin is less,’ he continued, addressing the farmer, “you will be freed of the retribution after a time and will be reunited with this woman, without whom you cannot be happy.’ “Then turning to the nun, he told her, ‘You have been guilty of so much cruelty that your punishment will be extended further. While this man and this woman enjoy peace

1 A hoe of Chinese-Malay origin. and happiness together, your body will be wracked by the most painful disease, which will, after a long time, carry you to your grave.’

“So the three were reborn on earth, and the Almighty’s plans for them came to pass.” Grandfather finished his story and shuffled back to his room, smoking his opium pipe. He paused, before entering his room, to continue, “The woman, much beloved by the man, was to die soon, and he will shortly follow. For them, there will no longer be the pain of another rebirth.”

LEMBU by Mohamed Latiff Mohamed

This short story uses a conversation between a bull and a cow to examine power, exploitation, and the search for freedom. It shows how the fear of freedom resides even within the imagination of a just utopia and the need to overcome it. This tale is a fine example of how literature engages social themes in the poems, novels, short stories, plays, and essays of Latiff. His concerns include the harsh conditions of the urban poor, the pervasiveness of apathy and timidity, and historical amnesia as enabled by dominant myths and manipulations of culture.

“JALAN. Jalan bodoh. Lembu…bodoh. Degil ya! Jalan siuhhh! Huhh!” Tuannya memaki sambil menyebat lembu jantan dan lembu betina bergilir-gilir. Lembu jantan dan lembu betina terhinggut-hinggut berjalan. Di kelopak mata mereka air mata berlinangan. Sekali-sekala mereka memuntahkan najis hijau, panas dari buntut, melepek di jalan raya. Kemudian dating bas dan kereta melanggar. Beberapa ela di depan bekas-bekas tayar kereta yang bersalut najis melekat di jalan raya. Lama-lama beberapa ratus ela aspal jalan raya berbekas-bekas najis lembu jantan dan lembu betina. Semalam mereka telah merancangkan akan berak sebanyak-banyaknya di jalan raya. Biar jalan raya kotor bersepah dengan najis mereka. Lembu jantan dan lembu betina merasa sedikit puas apabila mereka dapat berak sebanyak-banyaknya di jalan raya, bahkan semalam mereka telah bercadang mahu mematikan diri tidak bergerak di tengah-tengah jalan raya. Tetapi apabila tali yang melingkari lubang hidung mereka ditarik. Direntap, mereka terpaksa mengikut arahan tuannya, tali nylon berwarna hitam itu begitu ngilu dan bias rasanya mencengkam daging-daging hidung yang lembut apabila ia direntap. Mereka terpaksa mengikut itu seperti karan elektrik mengarahkan mereka bergerak, pukulan di badan telah tidak menjadi soal lagi bagi mereka, bahkan telah tidak terasa apa-apa. Tetapi tali yang melingkari dalam lubang hidung inilah yang sial, bila ditarik bisanya mencengkam ke seluruh urat dan daging. “Aku dah tak tahu macam mana lagi nak menetang tuan kita. Semua dah kita lakukan. Tapi kita tetap di-seksanya. Sehari-harian membuat kerja, makan hanya lalang kering dan kasar. Aku dah tak tahan lagi. Aku mesti bertindak besok. Mesti bertindak.” Lembu jantan menyatakan berangnya pada lembu betina, malam itu amat dingin sekali. Mereka berdua ditambat di bawah sepohon nangka yang gondol tidak berdaun. Sejuk menikam tulang, embun meresap ke kulit badan mereka.

“Sudahlah, sabarlah inikan dah takdir kita. Kita lembu, kalau dah lembu tuu, lembulah. Kita ni binatang paling bodoh bagi manusia. Lembu dicucuk hidung, ikut-lah saja apa perintah mereka, nak menentang macam mana lagi?” Lembu betina cuba menenteramkan hati lembu jantan. “Itulah yang aku benci, menyerah. Balik-balik menyerah pada nasib, pada takdir. Tuhan pun benci kalau kita asyik menyerah saja, sebenarnya kita dijadikan paling mulia, bapak aku kata di negeri Pancasona, lembu dianggap mulia. Aku tahu kita dimuliakan manusia. Itu membuktikan kita nii, di sini saja yang tak sedar diri kita, kita sanggup dicucuk hidung, menyerahkan hidung untuk dicucuk, salah kita sendiri, darjat kita ada, Tuhan adil juga, di sana daging kita tak berani mereka sentuh, itu satu doas. Kita mulia, kita suci manusia puja kita kau tahu tak?” Lembu jantan memekik, membela darjatnya. Lembu betina terkebil-kebil matanya mendengar cakap lembu jantan. Lembu betina merapatkan badannya ke tubuh lembu jantan, mencari bahang papas dari tubuh lembu jantan. Mata lembu jantan terbelalak memandang malam, bulan pucat di dada awan. “Itu di sana, di Pancasona, sini tak sama dengan Pancasona, di mana bumi dipijak di situlah langit kita junjung, kau hanya mendengar cerita khayal dari bapak kau, takkanlah ada manusia memuliakan lembu mustahil aku tak percaya, kalaulah itu betul- betul berlaku takkanlah nasib kita di sini begini buruk. Lebih buruk dari nasib najis di jamban. Najis pun berguna, diambil, dikaup dijadikan makanan pokok-pokok, ni kita lebih dahsyat dari bangkai babi yang telah berulat. Apa yang ada pada kita di sini, takkanlah begitu jauh nasib kita di Pancasona dan di sini, takkanlah darjah kita boleh berubah begitu sekali di mata sesama manusia, aku tak percaya, itu cerita khayal dari bapak kau saja.” Lembu betina menyangkal pendapat lembu jantan, lembu betina kini telah duduk melingkar. Malam gelap. Tubuh mereka nampak macam seketul busut yang hitam- legam. Lembu jantan turut merebahkan badannya, mereka duduk rapat sekali. Dengusan nafas lembu jantan terasa menampar muka lembu betina, bau rumput dan lalang memenuhi nafas lembu jantan.

“Kau bodoh, kau tak kenal dunia, dunia kau hanya di sini saja. Di bawah pokok nangka gondol nii, kalau kau tak percaya cakap aku sudahlah, tapi itulah yang diceritakan oleh bapak aku. Bapak aku bukanlah lembu yang suka berkhayal, dia tegas dan garang. Tak suka cakap banyak. Hanya dia selalu menyesali nasibnya berada di tempat ini, dia sentiasa berfikir mencari jalan bagaimana hendak mengembalikan darjat lembu seperti kita ke tempat asalnya, pada aku bapak aku adalah ahli falsafah pengkhayal.” Lembu jantan mempertahankan pendapatnya mati-matian. “Kita bapak aku, gambar kita diframekan di bingkai cermin berperada emas, leher kita dikalungkan dengan bunga-bunga. Baunya harum semerbak. Mas kahwin pengantin adalah kita. Pengantin adalah kita. Pengantin menyembah kita meminta doa restu agar hidup mereka bahagia. Kata bapak aku di sana semua lembu macam kita tak payah buat kerja. Hanya duduk makan tidur. Leher kita dikalung dengan loceng comel yang sentiasa bergemercing bila bergerak. Oh! Alangkah indahnya jika kita hidup di Pancasona, alangkah bahagianya, alangkah nikmatnya.” Lembu jantan terus menceritakan kisah yang telah didengar dari bapaknya dua puluh tahun yang lalu, masa itu dia masih kecil, semasa sedang menitik di buah susu ibunya, ayahnya sering bercerita. Hingga kini dia tak lupa cerita itu, bahkan cerita itulah menjadi azimat baginya, memberi kekuatan batin untuknya terus hidup, dan di suatu hari nanti, dia pasti bertindak untuk bebas. Lari mencari tempat yang bernama Pancasona. Cerita bapak-nyalah yang menjadi bekalan kekuatan semangatnya untuk terus memandang dunia yang baginya serba gelap dan hitam legam. “Kata bapak aku, akulah harapannya untuk meneruskan perjuangannya, pada akulah digantungkan harapan setinggi gunung. Pesan bapak aku, dia akan menyumpah aku, rohnya akan mengutuk aku, jika aku terus membiarkan diri aku diperhambakan oleh manusia. Jika aku merelakan diri aku diabdikan oleh nasib, satu pesan bapak aku, jangan sekali-kali membiarkan hidungku dicucuk oleh manusia. Katanya jika hidung kau telah dicucuk maka hilanglah kekuatan kau. Kau akan menurut apa saja kata manusa. Walaupan disuruh makan tahi babi, disuruh merogol ibu sendiri, mengkhianati sesama bangsa kau, kau akan buat. Kau akan lakukan. Kerana hidung kau telah dicucuk. Aku tak akan mengaku kau anak, jika setelah kematianku, kau terus diamkan diri tidak bertindak. Tidak menentang mereka. Kau mesti berani walaupan nyawa kau terkorban. Apalah ada pada hidup begini, mati lebih bernilai jika kematian kita, kata bapak aku, dengan perjuangan. Demi membela kebenaran dan menentang penindasan. Tuhan akan mengutuk makhluk-makhluk yang merelakan diri mereka pada nasib. Menyerahkan diri pada takdir. Sebaiknya Tuhan akan kasih kepada mereka yang berjuang membela hak, yang benar. Inilah pesanan bapak aku yang masih aku ingat!” Lembu jantan bercerita panjang sekali, lembu betina hanya mendiamkannya. Suara kokok ayam jantan kedengaran sayup-sayup. Sekali-sekala suara salakan anjing. Terdengar memanjang membelah malam yang gelap sunyi dan sepi. “Aku mesti bertindak besok. Aku akan mengamuk. Aku akan tanduk perut tuan kita biar terburai keluar. Aku akan mengamuk di seluruh kampong. Siapa menentang akan aku tanduk perut mereka biar terburai keluar. Aku akan patahkan tulang rusuk mereka, aku akan tanduk di bahagian mata, di bahagian kemaluan mereka. Aku mesti lakukan ini besok. Biar aku mati ditetak dengan parang mereka yang tajam, biar daging aku lumat dicincang mereka. Biar kepala aku hancur dibaham besi tajak mereka. Biarkan…biarkan. Sekali hidup bereti lepas itu mati. Nanti sejarah perjuangan aku akan diikuti oleh keturunan kita yang lain. Biar bangsa kita di Pancasona dengar kita bangkit menentang manusia, biar mereka datang ke sini beramai-ramai. Biar mereka berdoa, berzikir, berwirid, menyumpah dan mengutuk manusia, biar Tuhan turunkan bala ke atas diri manusia, biar dunia ini hancur dilanda banjir, biar bumi ini ranap digegar gempa. Besok, ya! Besok aku pasti bertindak.” Lembu betina terkebil-kebil melihat wajah lembu jantan. Tidak pernah lembu jantan seberang ini. Tidak pernah lembu jantan semarah ini. Kesabaran lembu jantan sudah hilang. Dia merenung lembu jantan, kilauan matanya tepat berlaga dengan kilauan mata lembu jantan. Angin mula meniup amat sejuk sekali, pohon nangka gondola diam kaku. Malam terus merayap ke hujungnya.

“Kau harus ingat anak di dalam perut ini, kalau kau dibunuh, macam mana dengan aku? Kasihankanlah anak ini, kasihanlah diriku. Kalau hendak bertindak pun tunggulah sehingga anak ini lahir dulu, inilah anak kita yang sulung, tidakkah kau ingin melihat wajahnya? Pasti serupa dengan wajahkau. Tidakkah kau ingin menciumnya? Tidakkah kau ingin bergurau dengannya? Sabarlah, sabarlah sehingga anak ini lahir, kasihanilah pada anak yang tidak berdosa ini, waraslah sedikit, jangan terburu-buru.” Lembu betina cuba memujuk lembu jantan. Suara sayu lembu betina menyebabkan lembu jantan terdiam agak lama. Dia merenung malam yang gelap menghitam. Bulan langsung telah bersembunyi di dalik gumpalan awan yang tebal. Suara kokok ayam jantan tambah galak bersahut-sahutan. “Sialnya kita tidak dimandulkan, kalau tak beranak lagi bagus. Aku bukannya tak sayangkan zuriatku, bapak mana yang tak sayangkan anak. Tapi aku menyesal kau akan lahirkan anak. Kalau boleh biarlah anak itu mati di dalam perut. Biar keluarnya keras kaku. Dia mati lebih baik, aku rasa berdosa menjadikan dia. Mencipta satu lagi lembu di dalam dunia untuk diperhambakan oleh manusia, mencipta satu lagi lembu untuk dicucuk hidungnya, bereti aku telah menyambung zuriat perhambaan aku, bereti aku telah pun melakukan satu kezaliman yang amat besar. Kalau kita hidup di Pancasona, aku tak kira berpuluh anak pun aku sanggup. Tapi bukan di sini, di tempat jahanam ini.” Lembu jantan melahirkan rasa keksalannya akan anak yang bakal diteran oleh lembu betina. Lembu jantan masih merenung malam yang gelap. Lembu betina terdiam mendengar jawapan lembu jantan. Tahulah dia kini betapa kasihnya lembu jantan kepada anak yang dikandungnya. “Aku kira kita dikongkong oleh rasa takut, takut kepada tali yang mencucuk hidung kita. Telah berkurun-kurun kata orang kalau hidung lembu dicucuk dia tewas, akan mudah diperhambakan. Tetapi cuba kita ubah perasaan kita. Ubah dan kawal fikiran kita. Anggap saja tali di hidung kita tak ada, bila disentap dan ditarik oleh tuan kita, anggaplah kita tak berasa sakit apa-apa. Anggap macam tali itu tak ada. Pasti tak berasa sakit, dan tak perlu kita mengikut arahannya. Aku fikir di sinilah kelemahan kita.”

Lembu jantan tiba-tiba dapat akal bagaimana mahu menghindarkan rasa sakit apabila tali di hidng direntap oleh tuannya. Tiba-tiba lembu jantan bingkas bangun, dia menyuruh lembu betina bangun. Dia berdiri dengan tegapnya, lembu betina terpinga- pinga. “Gigit, gigit tali yang mengikat kita.” Lembu jantan menggigit dengan satu tenaga raksasa. Gigitan demi gigitan. Pantas dan cepat. Bertalu-talu. Berulang-ulang. Tali pengikat putus. “Mengapa tunggu besok, sekarang kita lari, ayuh ikut aku.” Lembu jantan lari dengan derasnya. Lembu betina ikut dari belakang. Mereka berlari merentas belukar. Merempuh gelap malam. Merempuh embun yang deras menyerang bumi. Mereka berlari dengan dengusan nafas yang semakin kencang. Mereka lari menuju ke tempat yang bernama Pancasona. Hampir dua jam berlari, sampai di pinggir sebuah kolam. Lembu jantan ternampak berpuluh-puluh lembu sebangsa dengannya. Mereka sedang minum air di kolam. Tapi hidung mereka tidak dicucuk dengan tali. Mereka bebas, gemuk-gemuk dan segar-segar. Lembu jantan menghampiri mereka. Lembu jantan berkhutbah. Lembu-lembu lain mendengar dengan khusyuknya. Akhirnya mereka sederap lari dan memekik, Pancasona! Pancasona! Pancasona! Mereka jumpa kumpulan lembu lain, mereka bersatu. Beribu-ribu jumlah mereka kini. Semakin banyak, semakin banyak. Mereka lari sederap hingga berdebu tanah yang mereka landa, debu naik tinggi berkepul menjulang ke langit. Mereka terus lari. Mereka kini memenuhi jalan raya, kereta-kereta terhenti. Orang bertempiaran lari, mereka memujuk mana-mana manusia yang jatuh. Ramai manusia terkopak kulit badan. Pecah kepala. Terburai perut, kereta-kereta diterbalikkan, mereka menguasai jalan raya, mereka memekik. Pancasonaaaaaa! Pancasonaaaaaa! Pancasonaaaaaa! Berpuluh-puluh lori merah kini mengepung mereka, berpuluh-puluh lori warna hijau mengepung mereka. Beratus-ratus peluru dimuntahkan, banyak lembu gugur. Banyak lembu tewas. Mereka terus merempuh. Jutaan peluru dimuntahkan. Mereka jatuh, mereka rebah, mereka gugur. Mereka terus merempuh, akhirnya kepungan dapat dipecahkan, yang gugur tetap bergelimpangan. Yang dapat menembusi kepungan terus berlari, merempuh udara, lari dan terus lari, menuju ke satu arah, ke satu tempat bernama Pancasona!

寄错的邮件 by 英培安 (Yeng Pway Ngon)

This short story begins with a social misfit pasting stamps on his forehead in the hope of being mailed from his suffocating country to America. What follows is a period of incarceration in a madhouse, the dark humour of which takes on serious subject matters such as social policing, the incompetence of power, and pervasive mental illness. The story is witty, satirical, and reflective of the problematic postcolonial condition of Singapore in the 1970s.

失踪了将近一年，没有人知道我到了哪儿去。其实，这事情连我也意料之外。

事情的发生是这样的。你知道，我一直希望能离开这鬼地方；很多人认为我不适合在这儿生活，主要是这儿没有我呼吸的空气。我在这儿闷了十多年，如果再闷下去，恐怕就要疯了。我想，我一定要在发疯前离开，晚了就来不及啦！怎么办呢？我是个入息微薄的小职员，远行需要一笔旅费。而我的银行存款，从来就不会出现超过一百元的数目字，我却一心一意想去美国，虽然美金一直在贬值，这笔存款，无论如何是去不成美国的。但我还有一点信心。我曾经看过一部美丽的电影广告，说银行能帮助需要帮助的人，他们一辈子都为你服务。我依照着电影广告情节里的指示，走到银行经理的桌前，说明身份，向他表示要借五千元。

我不知道如何叙述银行经理当时的表情，接下来的情节并不像电影广告一样，虽然我尽量演好我的部分，经理先生并不像广告一样递烟及咖啡，我虽然并不在意喝不到咖啡，钱却借不到了。

我非常愤怒，如果不是他先把我赶出来，我真的会把他狠狠地揍一顿。从此我再也不信任广告了，这世界充满骗子。

在绝望中我总算想出条唯一可行的方法。我走进邮局向柜台小姐买了张邮票，贴在额上，问她是否能把我寄到美国。

小姐听了顿时惊惶失措，向我解释她们只寄邮包，没有寄过人的例子。我问她若把我包装起来需多少钱，我愿意付包装费。

这个职员是个懒惰的新加坡人，与我纠缠了很久，仍然不答应我的要求。后来她召来了几个高大的男人与我理论。其中还有警察。我向他们投诉这儿的服务太糟了，虽然微笑的海报还贴在墙上，他们并没有向我微笑，而且恶言相向。礼貌运动显然是结束了。我记得场面越来越乱，最后是脑袋中了一记，我昏了过去。

醒来时我发现被绑着，我以为他们最终大概是把我包扎起来，邮寄到美国了。后来我发现自己竟穿着套殖民地时代的警察制服2，这确使我的神智有点乱起来。如果不是时间倒流，就是整个世界都疯狂啦。因为我从没想过要当警察，尤其是殖民地时代的警察，因为那时候我还未成年，不够资格。

这是极卑鄙的事，没有经过我的同意，竟把一项我完全不知情的工作强加在我身上。我是个洁身自爱的人，决不做坏事，我虽然没有政治信仰，但从来没打算过要为殖民地主义者服务，欺压百姓。

结果他们让我自由走动了，我逐渐发现，我这位警察实际上并无职权，四处都是我这样的警察，只有少数的人是平民，据说他们是护士和医生。我四处打听的结果，才获悉自己是住在疯人院里，有人称我们作病人。

既来之，则安之。这里的生活乏善可陈，医生的行为怪异，闪闪缩缩，鬼鬼祟祟。世上的人显然都是被他们搞疯的。因为，把人说成疯子，就是这班家伙。

在这儿最使我兴奋的，就是遇到旧日的同事陈君。陈君每日都在练习着唱一首曲子：“我是一只画眉鸟。”

他唱得很认真，以致有几位来这儿参观的女学生认为陈君是个无辜的可怜虫。即是说，他并无神经病。陈君不断地唱着“我是一只画眉鸟”，即是说他意识到自己被困在这儿是不自由的。他是个清醒的人。

我也怀疑过这个问题。我问陈君，凭什么他们要把我们关在这儿？凭什么他们说我们是疯子。陈君说，这是因为我们的举止不正常。我觉得这点是可笑的。什么叫做正常？什么才算是疯狂的事？希特拉算是正常吗？他做过什么正常的事，倒从来没有人建议过要把他关进疯人院。嘿，我们要心理学家干嘛？大概集体杀人，大规模地荼毒人民，才算是天才的行为吧！我想还是长期留在这儿好。

陈君倒是觉得我是无辜的。因为任何人都有到其他地方的自由，尤其是到美国去，美国是个自由的地方。我告诉他我可能在方法上出了毛病。我没有贴足邮资，也没有在身上写明收件人的地址，这错误是不能够怪他们的。

陈君说，因为邮资不足而把邮件送到疯人院是件荒唐的事。（而且他开始担心起来，以前寄给女朋友的情书恐怕全都流落到这儿来了；怪不得他的女友从来没给他回信，陈君很后悔以前错怪了他的女友。）

2 在 70 年代，神经病院男病人身上穿的，即殖民地时代的警察制服。我说，还好他没有把我寄到伊朗。我不喜欢何梅尼那家伙。我不反对其他姓何的人，只是不喜欢何梅尼，我听不懂他的话，他的胡子太长，年纪也太大，可能与我有代沟。

陈君也告诉我他会到这儿的原因。据说心理学家认为他一直以为自己是只画眉鸟，他有画眉鸟的意识形态。我问陈君是否有过要变成鸟的意愿。陈君说他热爱自由，也喜欢唱歌。医生认为他讲鸟话，不适合外面的社会，所以把他推荐到这儿来了。

陈君以为，做一只画眉鸟其实是没有错的。他是只很清醒的鸟，不应该把他关在这儿。他本来应该是很快乐的，可惜只是只关在笼子里的画眉鸟，这倒是件悲哀的事。他说到这里，不禁耿耿于怀，大声地唱起他的歌来：“我是一只画眉鸟！”

更悲哀的是，陈君真的只是一只画眉鸟，只适合关在笼子里。有一天，我们房子的窗口开着，陈君以为飞向自由的时刻来了，他兴高采烈的展开翅膀，飞出窗外。结果因为他的翅膀没有长羽毛，一出窗口就掉在地上，跌断了脊骨。陈君埋怨他关在笼里太久，连飞的能力都丧失了。

我到病房中探望他时，他显得非常颓丧，细声地唱：“没有翅膀的画眉鸟，想要飞也飞也飞不掉。”断断续续地，显然是没有什么气力。他唱完，泪流满脸地对我说：“我宁愿变成一棵蔬菜，如果床上有泥土，我一定会生根发芽的。”

我安慰他说：“别灰心，不妨向医生要求物理治疗，可能会恢复你飞的能力。”

他不断地摇头，泪水淌满脸颊，我还能再说什么呢？我们默默地对坐了一阵子。临别时我对他说：“这也好，以后你不必再吃蚱蜢了。蚱蜢不但难吃，而且也没有营养。”

他没答话。我再去看他时，他再也不说话了，只是泪汪汪地瞪着我。护士告诉我说他不但不说话，也不吃不喝。我知道蔬菜是不会说话的。我望着他深陷的脸颊，突出的颧骨，毫无生气的眼睛，我的心都酸了。我想应该有人替他浇水才对。

不久陈君死在病房里，他是个悲剧人物。做蔬菜也不是容易的事，病房里缺乏阳光，他是枯死的。

对于陈君的死亡，我的冲击很大，一个人想要成为一只鸟，会被目为疯子，而鸟变成的人，却一直在人的社会里耀武扬威，安然无事地生存着。我有很多证据，证明我们的几个上司其实是头鹦鹉变的。他们虽然会讲人话，但不知所云。除了唯唯诺诺地模仿老板的命令外，毫无主见。当然有时候也讲鸟话，满脑子鸟思想更不必说了。

这是多荒谬的事哪！几只鹦鹉竟控制了这个世界，而且掌管着人们的生计。人类的文明，还有什么前途呢？难道这真的是个鸟世界？大概是世界末日要来了，怪不得陈君希望要变成一头鸟了。

终于我能离开这地方啦。老实说，如果不是陈君的死，我倒是愿意在这儿呆下去。想起那么多正常人在外头涂炭生灵，我宁愿提早退休，在这儿安享天年。

离开前，我经过心理医生们的严格检查，他们与我面谈，认为我有很好的推理能力。

那天的情形是这样的。我被带进一个小房子里，据说，与我谈话的那位就是医生，他的样子有点神经质，此外没有什么特别不正常的地方。

“我们很抱歉把你送到这儿来。”他神经兮兮地笑了笑：“但，希望你明白，我们是为了爱你，你那时候不适合外面的社会。”

“爱是不必说抱歉的。”我笑了笑说。表情大概是和他的一样。

“很好！不-----，”医生稍微迟疑了一阵子：“我是说，我想问你一个问题，看看你- ---是否------，”

“正常。”我替他说。

“不！是的，是否，是否适合在外面的社会生活。”医生掏出一条白手帕，不断地抹额上的汗。冷气机在呜呜地响。

“我尽量把所知道的告诉你。”我说。

“很好。”医生又顿了顿，从抽屉里拿出支手电筒来，突然把它亮了。一阵强烈的光射向我的眼睛，把我吓得几乎从椅子上翻下来。

“对不起。”医生站了起来，手足无措。

“没关系。”我镇定下来，拉好椅子：“我的眼睛很敏感，一向怕光，尤其是它突然照到我的眼瞳上。”

“咳！”医生坐下来，清了清喉咙，慢条斯理地说：“如果我把这道光射向这个窗口，你认为你能沿着这道光爬上去吗？”

我望了望那小窗口，离地整整有十英尺。

“不能。”我斩钉截铁地回答。

“为什么呢？”医生微笑着，样子充满信心。 “如果你在我爬到中途时突然把手电筒熄了，”我说，“我岂不是会掉下来吗？”

于是我通过了这项面试安然出院。

- . க

This short story revolves around a family man’s moral dilemma in his attempt to acquire a gift of earrings for his daughter. In a moment of weakness, the pious father gives in to greed, only to experience a twist of events that would teach him a valuable lesson. The conditions of want, the drama of guilt, and the responsibility to one’s conscience are all observed here.

"க க க . க ," .

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க க க , " !" .

க க , க க க , க க , "க , . க க ," க .

- , 1969, .

ASEAN 20TH CENTURY LITERATURES SELECTED POEMS AND SHORT STORIES FROM THAILAND

Introduction

The Office of Contemporary Art and Culture, Ministry of Culture, is mandated to promote, support and disseminate contemporary art and culture. The ultimate aims are to increase and develop the knowledge and promote their social applications. The contemporary arts included in this endeavour are visual arts, performing arts, music, literature, architecture, decorative arts, graphic design, films and fashion design.

In the project ASEAN 20th Century Literatures, the Office of Contemporary Art and Culture implements this project to promote understanding of Thai culture and way of life among foreign readers. Only 9 literary pieces are selected by the appointed Committee for their appeal, literary value, and reflection of Thai literature development. All of them show Thai way of life, society and culture. Last but not least, they inspire imagination and creativity.

Three short stories and six poems are translated into English. They are Champoon by

Dhep Mahapaoraya, Maum by Kukrit Pramoj, and The Barbs by Phaitoon Thanya. The poems are What is such forging? by Ujjeni, A Poet’ s Pledge 1 & 2 by Angkarn Kalayanapong, E-san by Nai Pee, Mere Movement by Naowarat Pongpaiboon, Smile of the Rice Goddess by

Chiranan Pitpreecha, and Arrival of Nirvana at Egg-Noodle Shop by Montri Sriyong.

CHAMPOON by Dhep Mahapaoraya

Champoon is a novella portraying Thai society prior to 1942 when women were mostly deprived of their rights and freedom. Their marriage needed to be approved by their parents. In this novella, the heroine, Champoon, has a forbidden love with a non-local man. Having him as her one and only love leads Champoon to her doom. The novella not only reveals Champoon’s strong determination and extreme sense of human dignity, but also reflects the background and atmosphere along with the way of life in the south of Thailand during that time.

MAUM by Kukrit Pramoj Maum reveals the hardship of life in Bangkok during World War II (1942 – 1945). Families fell apart – separation and poverty were commonplace. Men became soldiers. Women and children were killed by bombs. The author narrates the story through the eyes of a dog named “Maum”, turning series of unfortunate events into something lively and hopeful. Maum was very loyal to his master. With this kind of loyalty, the dog prevented his master from turning into a thief. The author seems to speak from the dog’s heart; and this short story reflects how much Thai people love their dogs.

THE BARBS by Phaitoon Thanya The Barbs is a short story reflecting the spirit and way of living of Thai rural people in agricultural society, which is based on friendship. Old people are full of tender loving care.

However, materialism and technological advancement create an industrial society in which friendship and compassion are in doubt. An old lady’s consideration is then not welcomed by a new mother who knows little about raising a newborn baby. It takes time for her to understand the old lady’s true intention. The author clearly shows the changing portrayal of Thai society, using the pleated barbs as the symbol of rural compassion.

WHAT IS SUCH FORGING? by Ujjeni

This poem inspires people to get up and fight various obstacles in life. It raises the feeling of pride for being human. Filled with figures of speech showing vivid pictures and profound emotions, it is a classic poem inspiring people especially the young generations of each era.

The poem gives moral support for every occasion, be it the political struggle of the mass citizens or the grievance of an individual.

A POET’S PLEDGE 1 & 2 by Angkarn Kalayanapong The two poems under the same name written in different eras demonstrate the greatness of poets which differentiates them from ordinary people. In general, the ultimate goal of any

Buddhist is to practice Dharma and reach nirvana. However, the poet in this poem (referring to the author) makes a pledge that he would rather write forever without any wish for nirvana. His only wish is to create poetry for the world – to convey the meaning of all earthly matters through great poetry to benefit the world. This poem praises the extremely valuable qualities of a poet.

E-SAN by Nai Pee

This poem vividly portrays the drought of E-san, or the northeast, during pre-1950s in a realistic way possible. The poet employs various figures of speech to successfully create rich emotions enabling the Thai people to realise how barren E-san was at that time. Having represented the poet’s appeal to the world and humankind, this poem is another piece of the Thai classics. The author was a poet, a prosecutor and a political activist.

MERE MOVEMENT by Naowarat Pongpaiboon

This poem was written a few days before the uprising of 14 October 1973. It reflects the poet’s role in the movement of people’s thoughts and ways of living in the society. The poem reveals the Thai people’s inner state involving their frustration and oppression under a dictator’s regime.

With the author’s profound creation of image, this poem has been praised at all times.

SMILE OF THE RICE GODDESS by Chiranan Pitpreecha

This poem portrays pestle crushing of rice by several female farmers, showing harmony and mutual kindness as well as the agricultural tradition in Thailand. Onomatopoeia is mainly used, resonating the sound of pestle crushing and creating the image of harmonious rhythmic trampling. As rice growing is the most important profession in Thailand, the poem successfully symbolizes the farmers, female rice growers and our nation.

ARRIVAL OF NIRVANA AT EGG-NOODLE SHOP by Montri Sriyong This poem reflects the essence of work. The author is a duck noodle merchant who makes his own noodle by threshing flour. He then portrays this process in this poem from the beginning to the end. At the same time, the poem is rich in image and emotion, mainly happiness that springs from work. This coincides with the teaching of Buddhadasa Bhikkhu who was a well- known monk from the south of Thailand: “work is happiness’. This poem touches the heart of those who seek to understand life.

The Office of Contemporary Art and Culture is proud to present the Thai way of life and the literary values of this literature you are reading. We fervently hope that you will continue to support this endeavour.

The Office of Contemporary Art and Culture, Ministry of Culture, Thailand

POEMS What is Such Forging? by Ujjeni E-san by Nai Pee A Poet’s Pledge 1 by Angkarn Kalayanapong A Poet’s Pledge 2 by Angkarn Kalayanapong Mere Movement by Naowarat Pongpaiboon Smile of the Rice Goddess by Chiranan Pitpreecha Arrival of Nirvana at Egg-Noodle Soup by Montri Sriyong

SHORT STORIES Champoon by Dhep Maha-Paorya Maum by M.R. Kukrit Pramoj The Barbs by Phaitoon Thanya

Editorial Committee List

Advisor Mr. Khemchat Thepchai Director – General Office of Contemporary Art and Culture

Ms. Vimolluck Chuchat Expert on Fine Art Promotion (Visual Art) Office of Contemporary Art and Culture

Ms. Nardnisa Sukchit Director of Resource and Funding Center Office of Contemporary Art and Culture

Ms. Darunee Thamapodol Director Office of International Relations Office of Permanent Secretary Ministry of Culture

English-language Editor Asst. Prof. Oraong Chakorn

Editorial Staff Ms. Saengthiwa Narapit Ms. Raweewan Preanpoom

Selection Board – Committee for Thai Short Stories and Poems Mrs. Chamaiporn Bangkombang Assoc. Prof. Soranat Tailanga Mr. Yoot Toadithep Asst. Prof. Oraong Chakorn

POEMS

What is Such Forging? by Ujjeni

E-san by Nai Pee

A Poet’s Pledge 1 by Angkarn Kalayanapong

A Poet’s Pledge 2 by Angkarn Kalayanapong

Mere Movement by Naowarat Pongpaiboon

Smile of the Rice Goddess by Chiranan Pitpreecha

Arrival of Nirvana at Egg-Noodle Soup by Montri Sriyong

เราชุบด้วยใด

What is Such Forging?

อุชเชนี

Ujjeni

ฉันใคร่เห็นเธอก้าวไป กลางไพรเกลื่อนพฤกษ์ลึกหนา กลางแดดแผดลวกมรรคา กลางฟ้าปริปรวนครวญครืน

กลางน ้ากรรชากกรากเชี่ยว กลางเกลียวฝนกราดฟาดฝืน

กลางโคลนคลุกครูดดูดกลืน กลางคืนครอบคิดมิดมูล ก้าวไปแม้ไฟล่มโลก ก้าวไปแม้โชคดับสูญ

ก้าวไปแม้ไร้ฅนทูน ก้าวไปแม้พูนฅนชัง

สัจจะอาจถูกถมทับ ความดีแหลกยับคับคั่ง

อธรรมอาจเปรื่องประดัง ความชั่วฉายชั่งนั่งเมือง

น ้าตาฟายฟกตกดิน รวยรินยิ้มกร้าวเข้าเปลื้อง

ปวดเหน็บเจ็บหายรายเรือง พิศเฟื่องแสงลิบขลิบฟ้า

ฅนแพ้คือฅนชะนะ แม้จะถูกเข็ญเข่นฆ่า

ฅนล้มเพื่อลุกทุกครา เหล็กกล้าเราชุบด้วยใด

(๒๔๙๖)

จากหนังสือ ขอบฟ้าขลิบทอง

พิมพ์ครั้งแรก ๒๕๓๒

อีศาน

E-san

นายผี (อัศนี พลจันทร)

Nai Pee

ในดินซ ้ามีแต่ทราย ในฟ้าบ่มีน ้า ก็รีบซาบบ่รอซึม น ้าตาที่ตกราย

แผ่นดินแยกอยู่ทึบทึม แดดเปรี้ยงปานหัวแตก ขยับแยกอยู่ตาปี แผ่นอกที่ครางครึม

ล ามูลผ่านเหมือนล าผี มหาห้วยคือหนองหาน อันช าแรกอยู่รีรอ ย้อมชีพคือล าชี

แลไปสดุ้งปราณ โอ! อีศาน,ฉะนี้หนอ... คิดไปในใจคอ บ่ค่อยดีนี้ดังฤา?

พี่น้องผู้น่ารัก, น ้าใจจักไฉนหือ? ยืนนิ่งบ่ติงคือ จะใคร่ได้อันใดมา?

เขาหาว่าโง่เง่า แต่เพื่อนเฮานี่แหละหนา รักเจ้าบ่จาง ฮา! แลเหตุใดมาดูแคลน...

เขาซื่อสิว่าเซ่อ ผู้ใดเน้อนะดีแสน ฉลาดทานเทียมผู้แทน ก็เห็นท่าที่กล้าโกง

กดขี่บีฑาเฮา ใครนะเจ้า? จงเปิดโปง เที่ยววิ่งอยู่โทงโทง เที่ยวมาแทะให้ทรมาน

รื้อคิดยิ่งรื้อแค้น ละม้ายแม้นห่าสังหาร เสียตนสิทนทาน ก็บ่ได้สะดวกดาย

ในฟ้าบ่มีน ้า ในดินซ ้ามีแต่ทราย น ้าตาที่ตกราย คือเลือดหลั่ง! ลงโลมดิน สองมือเฮามีแฮง เสียงเฮาแย้งมีคนยิน สงสารอีศานสิ้น อย่าซุด, สู้ด้วยสองแขน!

พายุยิ่งพัดอื้อ ราวป่าหรือราบทั้งแดน อีศานนับแสนแสน สิจะพ่ายผู้ใดเหนอ? (สยามสมัย. ปีที่ ๕ ฉ.๒๕๖, ๗ เม.ย. ๒๔๙๕)

ปณิธานกวี

A Poet’ s Pledge 1

อังคาร กัลยาณพงศ์

Angkarn Kalayanapong

๑ ใครจะอาจซ้ือขายฟ้ ามหาสมุทร แสนวสิ ุทธ์ิโลกน้ีที่พระสร้าง

สุดท้ายกายวิภาคจะจากวาง

ไวร้ ะหวา่ งหลา้ และฟ้ าตอ่ กนั ฯ

๒ เรามิใช่เจา้ ของฟ้ าอวกาศ โลกธาตุทว่ั สิ้นทุกสรวงสวรรค ์ มนุษย์มิเคยนฤมิตตะวันจันทร์ แมแ้ ตเ่ ม็ดทรายน้นั สักธุลีฯ

๓ แยง่ แผน่ ดินอา มหิตคิดแต่ฆา่

เพราะกิเลสบา้ หฤโหดสิงซากผ ี ลืมป่าช้าคุณธรรมความดี เสียศรีสวสั ด์ิคา่ แทว้ ญิ ญาณฯ

๔ สภาวะสรรพส่ิงทุกส่วนโลกน้ี

ควรที่สา นึกคา่ ทิพยว์ เิ ศษวศิ าล อนุรักษด์ ินน้า ฟ้ าไวต้ ลอดกาล เพื่อเหนือทิพยสถานวมิ านแกว้ ไกวลั ฯ

๕ ทุง่ นาป่าชฏั ชา้ อรัญญิกาลยั

เทือกผาใหญเ่ สียดดาวดึงส์สวรรค ์ เน้ือเบ้ือเสือชา้ งลิงคา่ งน้นั มดแมลงนานาพนั ธุ์ท้งั จกั รวาลฯ

๖ เสมอเสมือนเพื่อนสนิทมิตรสหาย เกิดร่วมสายเชี่ยววฏั ฏะสังสาร ชีพหาคา่ บม่ ิไดน้ บั กาลนาน หวานเสน่ห์ฟ้ าหลา้ ดาราลยั ฯ

๗ ถึงใครเหาะเหินวมิ ุติสุดฝ่ังฟ้ า

เดือนดาริกาเป็นมรคายง่ิ ใหญ่ แตเ่ ราขอรักโลกน้ีเสมอไป มอบใจแด่ปฐพีทุกชีววี ายฯ

๘ จะไมไ่ ปแมแ้ ตพ่ ระนิรพาน

จะวนวา่ ยวฏั ฏะสังสารหลากหลาย แปลคา่ แทด้ าราจกั รมากมาย ไวเ้ป็นบทกวแี ด่จกั รวาลฯ

๙ เพื่อลบทุกข์โศก ณ โลกมนุษย์

ที่สุดสู่ยคุ สุขเกษมศานต ์ วารน้นั ฉนั ป่นปนดินดาน เป็นฟอสซิลทรมานอยจู่ อ้ งมองฯ

๑๐ สิ้นเสน่ห์วรรณศิลป์ ชีวติ เสนอ

ละเมอหาคา่ ทิพยไ์ หนสนอง อเนจอนาถชีวีทุกธุลีละออง สยดสยองแก่ถ่านเถา้ เศร้าโศกนกั ฯ

๑๑ แล้งโลกกวีที่หล้าวูบฟ้าไหว

จะไปรจนารุ้งมณีเกียรติศกั ด์ิ อา ลาอาลยั มนุษยชาติน่ารัก จกั มุง่ นฤมิตจิตรจกั รวาลฯ

๑๒ ใหซ้ ้ึงซาบกาพยก์ ลอนโคลงฉันท์

ไปทุกช้นั อินทรพรหมพิมานสถาน สร้างสรรค์กุศลศิลป์ไว้อนันตกาล นานช้าอมตะอกาลิโก

ปณิธานของกวี

A Poet’ s Pledge 2

อังคาร กัลยาณพงศ์

Angkarn Kalayanapong

๑. ฉนั เอาฟ้ าห่มให ้ หายหนาว ดึกดื่นกินแสงดาว ตา่ งขา้ ว น้า คา้ งพร่างกลางหาว หาดื่ม ไหลหลง่ั กวไี วเ้ชา้ ชว่ั ฟ้ าดินสมยั ๚

๒. พลีใจเป็นป่าช้า อาถรรพณ์ ขวญั ล่ิวไปเมืองฝัน ฟากฟ้า เสาะทิพย์ที่สวรรค์ มาโลก โลมแผน่ ทรายเส้นหญา้ เพื่อหล้าเกษมศานต์ ๚

๓. นิพนธ์กวไี วเ้พื่อก ู้ วิญญาณ กลางคลื่นกระแสกาล เชี่ยวกล้า ชีวีนี่มินาน เปลืองเปล่า ใจเปล่งแววทิพย์ท้า ตราบฟ้าดินสลาย ๚

๔. จิตกาธารกรุ่นไหม ้ โฉมไป กด็ ี กาพย์ร่าหอมแรงใจ ไป่แล้ว จุติที่ภพไหน ภพนน่ั ขวญั ทว่ มทิพยร์ ุ้งแกว้ ร่วงน้า มณีสมยั ๚

๕. ลายสือไหววิเวกให้ หฤหรรษ์ ฝนห่าแกว้ จากสวรรค ์ ดับร้อน ใจปลิวล่ิวไปฝัน โลกอื่น หอมภพน้ีสะทอ้ น ภพหน้ามาหอม ๚

๖. ขา้ ยอมสละทอดทิ้ง ชีวิต หวงั ส่ิงสินนฤมิต ใหมแ่ พร้ว วชิ ากวจี ุง่ ศกั ด์ิสิทธฺ์ สูงสุด ขลงั ดง่ั บุหงาป่าแกว้ ร่วงฟ้ ามาหอม ๚

เพียงความเคลื่อนไหว

Mere Movement

เนาวรัตน์ พงษ์ไพบูลย์

Naowarat Pongpaiboon

ชั่วเหยี่ยวกระหยับปีกกลางเปลวแดด ร้อนที่แผดก็ผ่อนเพลาพระเวหา พอใบไม้ไหวหลิกริกริกมา ก็รู้ว่าวันนี้มีลมวก

เพียงกระเพื่อมเลื่อมรับวับวับไหว ก็รู้ว่าน ้าใสใช่กระจก เพียงแววตาคู่นั้นหวั่นสะทก ก็รู้ว่าในหัวอกมีหัวใจ

โซ่ประตูตรึงผูกถูกกระชาก เสียงแห่งความทุกข์ยากก็ยิ่งใหญ่ สว่างแวบแปลบพร่ามาไรไร ก็รู้ได้ว่าทางยังพอมี มือที่ก าหมัดชื้นจนชุ่มเหงื่อ ก็ร้อนเลือดเดือดเนื้อถนัดถนี่ กระหืดหอบฮวบล้มแต่ละที ก็ยังดีที่ได้สู้ได้รู้รส

นิ้วกระดิกกระเดี้ยได้พอให้เห็น เรี่ยวแรงที่แฝงเร้นก็ปรากฏ ยอดหญ้าแยงหินแยกหยัดระชด เกียรติยศแห่งหญ้าก็ระยับ

สี่สิบปีเปล่าโล่งตลอดย่าน สี่สิบล้านไม่เคยเขยื้อนขยับ ดินเป็นทรายไม้เป็นหินจนหักพับ ดับและหลับตลอดถ้วนทั้งตาใจ

นกอยู่ฟ้านกหากไม่เห็นฟ้า ปลาอยู่น ้าย่อมปลาเห็นน ้าไม่ ไส้เดือนไม่เห็นดินว่าฉันใด หนอนย่อมไร้ดวงตารู้อาจม

ฉันนั้นความเปื่อยเน่าเป็นของแน่ ย่อมเกิดแก่ความนิ่งทุกสิ่งสม แต่วันหนึ่งความเน่าในเปือกตม ก็ผุดพรายให้ชมซึ่งดอกบัว

และแล้วความเคลื่อนไหวก็ปรากฏ เป็นความงดความงามใช่ความชั่ว มันอาจขุ่นอาจข้นอาจหม่นมัว แต่ก็เริ่มจะเป็นตัวจะเป็นตน

พอเสียงร ่ารัวกลองประกาศกล้า ก็รู้ว่าวันพระมาอีกหน พอปืนเปรี้ยงแปลบไปในมณฑล ก็รู้ว่าประชาชนจะชิงชัย

จากหนังสือ เพียงความเคลื่อนไหว

พิมพ์ครั้งที่ ๗. กรุงเทพฯ : เคล็ดไทย, ๒๕๓๕.

ยิ้มของแม่โพสพ

Smile of the Rice Goddess

จิระนันท์ พิตรปรีชา

Chiranan Pitpreecha

เกร็งน่องเหยียบสากยกปล่อยตกตุบ ข้าวเปลือกยุบสากซ ้าลงต าใหม่ ขาท่อนแกร่งแข็งขยับรับทันใด เหยียบลงไปตึกตักตุบยุบย ้าดัง ขาแคล่วคล่องน่องสาวไม่ขาวนิ่ม

ตวัดริมผ้านุ่งผึงดูขึงขัง เท้ายกทับรับคานทะยานยัง ย ่าแล้วยั้งสากกระดกตกกระทบ ตึกตักตุบ ! ตึกตักตุบ ! ยิ่งทุบถี่

พราวเหงื่อปรี่ปาดป้ายหลายตลบ หากรอยยิ้มยินดียังมีครบ มิรู้จบจากจริงใจให้ตื้นตัน หลายหลายคนขึ้นเรียงยืนเคียงไหล่

เหยียบต่อไปยกย ่าย ้ากระชั้น เสียงครกต าต ้าตอกเสียงหยอกกัน เสียงสรวลสันต์สาวเจ้ายิ่งเร้าใจ กระทั่งปริเปลือกข้าวร้าวแยกแล้ว

สารสวยแพรวเม็ดพราวขาวข้าวใหม่ สองมือน้อยค่อยกวาดรอบกอบขึ้นไป จากครกใส่กระด้งบรรจงริน ทะระและ แชะ แชะ! ทะระและ แชะ แชะ!

เม็ดข้าวแตะกระด้งกระดอนดิ้น ร ากระพือร่อนหลงลงกองดิน ข้าวก็หมิ่นเหมือนจะหกแต่ตกตรง กระด้งเอียงเบี่ยงบ่ายยักซ้ายขวา

ด้วยลีลาอ่อนไหวชวนใหลหลง ในความงามนี้แฝงแข็งมั่นคง ในกระด้งนั้นมีข้าวเคล้าเหงื่อใคร ? เมื่อเหงื่อไคลไร้คนมาปล้นปลิ้น

เหงื่อก็รินแรงหลั่งลงครั้งใหม่ เป็นน ้าแรงที่ละลายสายน ้าใจ และเหงื่อไร้รอยร ่าริ้วน ้าตา …ข้าวประชาชนนี้มีมามอบ

สนองตอบนักสู้ผู้หาญกล้า แม่โพสพแบกกระบุงเดินมุ่งมา ยิ้มในหน้า, ปาดเหงื่อเหนือไรคิ้ว

ริมแม่น ้าแม่จัน, เขตอุ้มผาง ต้นปี ๒๕๒๓ จากหนังสือ ใบไม้ที่หายไป รางวัลซีไรต์ ปี ๒๕๓๒

นิพพานในร้านหมี่เป็ดศิริวัฒน์

Arrival of Nirvana at Egg – Noodle shop

มนตรี ศรียงค์

Montri Sriyong

๑>>

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ตกใจ – ภวังค์ง่วงก็ร่วงกรู

เหลือบดูทุ่นเหล็กแล้วขนลุก!

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จึงคล้ายคล้ายการงาน – การหายใจ

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วันเป็นวันเดือนเป็นเดือนปีเป็นปี คนขายหมี่จะไปนิพพานแล้ว!

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จากหนังสือ โลกในดวงตาข้าพเจ้า

พิมพ์ครั้งแรก มีนาคม ๒๕๕๐

SHORT STORIES Champoon by Dhep Maha-Paorya Maum by M.R. Kukrit Pramoj The Barbs by Phaitoon Thanya

จำ ปูน Champoon เทพ มหาเปารยะ by Dhep Mahapaoraya

ก่อนที่จะข้ึนไปสู่เรือนคนไขพ้ ิเศษรายน้ี นายแพทยใ์ หญป่ ระจา โรงพยาบาลไดโ้ บกมือใหฉ้ นั หยดุ แลว้ กล่าววา่ :- “ญาติพี่น้องของคนไข้คนนี้เป็นผู้มีฐานะดี แล้วก็เรื่องราวของเขาเท่าที่ผมทราบ จากคาบรรยายของญาติบ้างตัวเขาเองบ้าง เกียวข้องกับผู้ยังมีชีวิตอยู่ ก็เป็นผู้ที่เรียกว่าเป็นเศรษฐีได้ และอีกประการหนึ่งอาการป่วยของเขา เรา-คณะแพทย์แห่งโรงพยาบาลนี้ ได้ประชุมกันถึงสองครั้งแล้ว แต่ก็ยังไม่กล้าวินิจฉัยชี้ขาดว่าเป็นโรคจิต ไร้ความสามารถตามความหมายของกฎหมาย “ผมจะเรียนคุณอยา่ งเป็นทางการไดแ้ ตเ่ พียงวา่ คนไขค้ นน้ีไดร้ ับความกระทบกระเทือนทางใจอยา่ งหนกั จนจิตใจยงั ไมค่ ลายจากความมึนชา แมเ้ วลาจะไดผ้ า่ นไปถึงกวา่ ๕ เดือน ในเวลาน้ีจิตใจของเขาไมร่ ับความรู้สึกนึกคิดอยา่ งใดๆ ท้งั หมด นอกเหนือไปจากเรื่องที่มากระทบจิตใจเขาอยา่ งรุนแรง และกรณีที่แวดลอ้ มเรื่องน้นั โลกของเขาหดเขา้ มาเหลือแตเ่ พียงน้ี เฉพาะในเรื่องน้ีแลว้ เขาจะบรรยายใหค้ ุณทราบไดอ้ ยา่ งแจม่ แจง้ ที่สุด แตถ่ า้ คุณถามเขาเลยไปถึงเรื่องอื่นนอกไปจากเรื่องน้ีเขาจะไมพ่ ดู เลยสักคา ดูเหมือนวา่ สมองของเขาจะไมร่ ับเหตุการณ์อื่น ถา้ สา เร็จเขากจ็ ะหายเป็นคนธรรมดาได ้ ถา้ ไมเ่ ป็นผล- -” กล่าวแลว้ ทา่ นนายแพทยก์ ย็ กไหล่ท้งั คูแ่ บมือแสดงความสิ้นหวงั แลว้ กล่าวสืบไปวา่ “ผมได้เรียนให้คุณทราบต้นเหตุที่มา และฉากหลังของ “ตัวละคร” บางตัวแล้ว ตอ่ ไปน้ีเป็นหนา้ ที่ของคุณจะพิจารณาวา่ จะเป็นการสมควรหรือไม ่ ที่จะปล่อยเรื่องละครอนั น่าตื่นใจน้ีออกสู่เวที” คนไขค้ นน้นั เป็นชายหนุ่มอายรุ าวๆ ๒๗-๒๘ รูปร่างสันทดั และอาการป่วยมิไดท้ า ใหเ้ ขา่ ผา่ ยผอมหรือซูบซีดแตป่ ระการใดเลย ใบหนา้ ของเขาคมคายและการแตง่ กายกเ็ รียบสะอาดนยั น์ตา จนไมน่ ่าเชื่อวา่ เขาเป็นคนไขข้ องโรงพยาบาลน้ี เขายนื ข้ึนตอ้ นรับเราดว้ ยทว่ งทีอิริยาบถอนั สง่าผา่ เผย สมจะไดร้ ับการอบรมจากสา นกั ที่ดี หรือเจนสมาคมแล้วในฐานะของผู้นา -ไมใ่ ช่ผตู้ าม กระน้นั กต็ าม เมื่อนายแพทยไ์ ดน้ า เราให้เรารู้จกั กนั และฉนั ปราศรัยกบั เขาตามธรรมเนียม เขากลับมองจอ้ งหนา้ ฉนั เฉยอย ู่ มิไยฉนั จะชวนพดู ชวนคุยอยา่ งใดๆกไ็ มเ่ กิดผลสักอยา่ งเดียว จนนึกถึงคา กล่าวของทา่ นแพทยเ์ มื่อครู่ จึงเอย่ ถามข้ึนวา่ “คุณเห็นจะอยภู่ ูเก็ตนาน?” “ภูเกต็ ไปๆมาๆ แต่อยพู่ งั งาทา้ ยเหมืองหลายปี” ฉัน “ผมทราบวา่ ที่อา เภอทา้ ยเหมืองเป็นยา่ นกลางของเหมืองแร่ใหญๆ่ มากมายดว้ ยกนั คงเป็นชุมนุมที่สนุกมากนะครับ” “อุบาทว์ที่สุด” ฉันตกใจ “เอ๊ะ-ทา้ ยเหมืองมีอะไรผดิ ประหลาดยง่ิ ไปกวา่ ยา่ นชุมนุมเหมืองอื่นๆเช่นที่หาดใหญห่ รือครับ” ที่อื่นมีแตผ่ หู้ ญิง เหล้า, การพนนั แตท่ า้ ยเหมืองยงั มีดอกจา ปูน จระเข ้ และ โซ่เหล็ก” ฉัน “เอ-ผมไมเ่ ขา้ ใจเลยวา่ ดอกจา ปูน จระเข ้ โซ่เหล็ก มนั จะมารวมอยใู่ นอบายสาม คือ ผหู้ ญิง เหลา้ กบั การพนนั ไดอ้ ยา่ งไร? “ถา้ คุณไมเ่ ขา้ ใจ ผมจะเล่าใหฟ้ ัง” เทา่ น้นั เอง ฉนั ไดไ้ ขท่อปล่อยใหค้ วามอดั อ้นั ในอกของเขาหลง่ั ไหลออกมาแลว้ ตอ่ ไปน้ีฉนั มีหนา้ ที่แตเ่ พียงบนั ทึกตามคา บอกเล่าของเขาเกือบตลอดเรื่อง มีบา้ งในบางตอนที่ฉนั ตอ้ งเรียงลา ดบั เสียใหม ่ และบางตอนที่เขา-ผเู้ล่า- จะรู้ไมไ่ ดก้ ต็ อ้ งสอบสวนมาเขียนเพ่ิมเติมข้ึนเพื่อความเขา้ ใจของผอู้ า่ น แตส่ า นวนโวหารส่วนมากน้นั เป็นของเขาแน่นอนละ ชื่อคน นามสกุล หรือชื่อบริษทั เป็นชื่อที่ต้งั ข้ึนใหม ่ เพราะเหตุผลดงั คุณหมอไดก้ ล่าวไวแ้ ลว้ แตต่ น้ “บิดาของผมเป็นผวู้ า่ ราชการจงั หวดั พงั งา ส่วนผมเมื่อเล็กๆ เรียนหนงั สืออยใู่ นสา นกั เรียนประจา ที่วา่ กนั วา่ สูงที่สุดในกรุงเทพฯ สา หรับยคุ น้นั เมื่ออาย ุ ๑๖ ผมเร่ิมจะเสียเด็ก ขา่ วน้ีเขา้ หูทา่ นบิดาผม ทา่ นจึงโทรเลขเรียกตวั ไปพงั งา แลว้ ส่งตวั ไปเรียนตอ่ ที่ปีนงั ผมเรียนอย ู่ ๕ ปี กจ็ บหลกั สูตรสามญั ที่น้นั พอดีกบั ทา่ นบิดาเกษียณอายอุ อกรับเบ้ียบา นาญ “บิดาผมท้งั ๆ ที่ทา่ นเป็นขา้ ราชการกเ็ ป็นผทู้ ี่เล็งเห็นความจา เป็นของคนไทยที่จะตอ้ งกอู้ ิสรภาพการคา้ มานานแลว้ ฉะน้นั ทา่ นจึงไดพ้ ร่ าฝึกฝนอบรมผมใหค้ ิดเอาตวั รอดแตใ่ นทางการคา้ หรืออุตสาหกรรมแตเ่ ล็กๆ ซ่ึงเฉพาะเหมาะกบั นิสัยผม เราจึงไมเ่ คยหวงั พ่ึงราชการกนั เลย ฉะน้นั เมื่อทา่ นบิดาออกรับเบ้ียบา นาญ และจะกลบั มาสู่บา้ นเดิม คือพระนคร ผมจึงไดแ้ ยกทางกบั ทา่ นโดยสมคั รทา งานเป็นเสมียนในบริษทั เหมืองแร่ของชาวออสเตรเลียที่พงั งาน้นั เอง เหตุผลอีกประการหน่ึงที่ผมไมก่ ลบั ไปกรุงเทพฯ กบั วงศาคณาญาติน้นั กเ็ พราะนอกจากวชิ าสามญั ที่ผมไปเรียนได้จากโรงเรียนที่ปีนังแล้ว ความซนชอบเที่ยว ชอบสมาคมของผมในขณะที่เล่าเรียน ยงั ก่อประโยชน์ให้อีกอเนกปริยาย กล่าวคือ ผมพูดภาษามลาย ู จีนฮกเก้ียน แคะ และไหหลา ได ้ ภาษาเหล่าน้ีเป็นวฒุ ิที่ขายไดแ้ พงมากสา หรับคนไทยที่รู้หนงั สือภาษาองั กฤษ ภาษาไทยดี และติดตอ่ กบั ทางราชการแทนบริษทั ได ้ ผมไดร้ ับรายไดใ้ นขณะน้นั เดือนละ ๒๐๐ บาท อนั เป็นรายไดท้ ี่ผมคงจะหาไมไ่ ดใ้ นกรุงเทพฯ ถา้ หากผมกลบั มาพร้อมกบั วงศญ์ าติ “อยา่ งไรกต็ าม ผมทา อยกู่ บั บริษทั น้ีเพียง ๒ ปีเทา่ น้นั เพราะบริษทั ยคู อนโกลดไ์ มล์แห่งสหรัฐเมริกาไดม้ าเปิดทา เหมืองที่ปากแม่น้า แห่งหน่ึงใกลอ้ า เภอทา้ ยเหมืองและ ตอ้ งการเสมียนใหญ่เพื่อดูแลควบคุมกิจการอนั เกี่ยวแก่คนงานชาวเอเชียติกท้งั หมด และเป็นผตู้ ิดตอ่ กบั ทางราชการ ผมยนื่ ใบสมคั รทนั ที และในบรรดาผสู้ มคั รต้งั สิบกวา่ คน บริษทั ไดเ้ ลือกผมซ่ึงเป็นคนหนุ่มที่สุด บริษทั ไดต้ กลงใหเ้ งินเดือนผม ๑๕๐ เหรียญอเมริกนั ซ่ึงเป็นเงินไทยเกือบ ๔๐๐ บาท และนอกจากน้นั การก่อสร้างท้งั หมด การเหมาส่งฟืน และอะไรตอ่ อะไรจิปาถะ บริษทั มอบใหแ้ ก่ผมแตเ่ พียงผเู้ดียว ดงั น้ีในเดือนหน่ึง ผมจึงมีรายไดไ้ มต่ ่า กวา่ ๘๐๐ บาท “สา หรับเด็กหนุ่มอายเุ พียง ๒๔ การมีรายได้ด้วยน้า แรงของตวั เองเดือนละต้งั ๘๐๐ บาท แมว้ า่ จะไมเ่ ป็นส่ิงผดิ ธรรมดาสามญั นกั ในจงั หวดั ภูเก็ตอนั เป็นเมืองเงินเมืองทอง แตม่ นั กย็ งั เป็นปัจจยั ขอ้ หน่ึงที่ผนั แปรชีวติ และจิตใจทางอุดมคติของคนได ้ เมื่อผมมีรายได ้ ๒๐๐ ผมมีเงินฝากออมสินไดเ้ สมอ เมื่อหมดงานแลว้ ผมชอบอยเู่ งียบ ๆ อา่ นหนงั สือหาความรู้ หรือฟังวทิ ย ุ “บดั น้ีพอมีรายไดเ้ หยียบพนั เขา้ การกลบั ปรากฏวา่ ผมหาไดพ้ อใชไ้ ปเดือนหน่ึงๆเทา่ น้นั เอง ท้งั น้ีพิจารณาจากอีกแง่หน่ึง กไ็ มใ่ ช่ของแปลกเพราะนายอา นวยขณะน้ีเป็นที่รู้จกั เลื่องลือในหมูพ่ อ่ คา้ เหมือง ขา้ ราชการและนกั ทอ่ งเที่ยวนกั เลงท้งั หลายตลาดยา่ นภูเกต็ วา่ ไมเ่ คยถอยหลงั ในอบายมุขใด ๆ ท้งั สิ้น “ผหู้ ญิงหรือ เหลา้ หรือ โปหรือโปกเกอ้ ผมไมเ่ คยใหใ้ ครมาลบเหลี่ยมไดไ้ มว่ า่ เขา้ ที่ไหน ในสมาคมใด ผมจะตอ้ งนา เสมอ ไมย่ อมให้ใครมาก้า เกินเลย และอุดมคติท้งั น้ี ผมทา ไดเ้ ป็นอยา่ งดีดว้ ย เห็นจะเป็นเพราะผมเจนจดั สมาคมที่สูง ๆ มามากท้งั ไทยและเทศอยา่ งหน่ึง และอีกอยา่ งหน่ึงผมมีรายไดพ้ อที่จะบา เพญ็ ตนตามความตอ้ งการได”้ “ที่สา ราญที่ผมไปหยอ่ นใจมากที่สุดกค็ ือ ตามสโมสรตา่ ง ๆ ในอา เภอทา้ ยเหมือง เพราะทา้ ยเหมืองเป็นตน้ ทางที่จะไปไหนตอ่ ไหนไดโ้ ดยทางบกจากที่ต้งั ของบริษทั และเป็นที่ ๆ มีบอ่ นความสนุกใกลท้ ี่สุด “ผมจะตอ้ งขอใหค้ ุณเอาใจใส่ฟังตอนน้ีเป็นพิเศษ เพราะเกี่ยวแก่เรื่องต่อไป

“การเดินทางจากที่ต้งั ของบริษทั ที่ปากแมน่ ้า ไปทา้ ยเหมืองน้นั ไปไดส้ องทางคือลงเรือยอ้ นแมน่ ้า ข้ึนไปจนถึงถน นตะกว่ั ป่า-ทุง่ มะพร้าว แลว้ คอ่ ยข้ึนรถประจา ทางยอ้ นกลบั ลงมาทา้ ยเหมือง แตก่ ารเดินทางอยา่ งน้ีเสียเวลามาก ตอ้ งนง่ั แกร่วในเรือไมต่ ่า กวา่ ๕-๖ ชว่ั โมง แลว้ ยงั ไมแ่ น่อีกวา่ จะไดพ้ บรถหรือไม่ “อีกทางหน่ึงน้นั คือหาเรือขา้ มแมน่ ้า แลว้ เดินลดั ป่า ซ่ึงกินเวลาราว ๓ ชว่ั โมงกวา่ ๆ กถ็ ึง ทางน้ีมีที่เสียอยทู่ ี่ตอ้ งรู้จกั ทาง มิฉะน้นั จะหลงทาง อยา่ งหน่ึงตอ้ งหาเรือลา โต ๆ ขา้ มฟาก มิฉะน้นั จะเป็นเหยอื่ ของจระเข ้ อีกอยา่ งหน่ึงแมน่ ้า น้ีมีจระเขด้ ุที่สุด และมากที่สุดเทา่ ที่ผมเคยเห็นมา ผมเองกไ็ ดเ้ คยติดตามทา่ นบิดาในเวลาที่ทา่ นเป็นผวู้ าราชการจังหวัดนครศรีธรรมราช่ ไปจบั จระเขใ้ นตา บลปากพยรู ซ่ึงวา่ กนั วา่ เป็นที่ที่มีจระเขม้ ากที่สุด แตไ่ ดม้ าเห็นที่แมน่ ้า น้ีแลว้ รู้สึกวา่ ปากพยรู แพท้ ี่น้ีหลายเทา่ ยง่ิ กวา่ น้นั จระเขท้ ี่น้ีเป็นพนั ธุ์ที่ดุ ถึงขนาดโดดกดั คนในเรือทีเดียว ถา้ เป็นเรือเล็ก ๆ ดงั น้ีจึงไมน่ ่าประหลาดที่ในบริเวณแมน่ ้า น้นั หาผคู้ นสัญจรหรือต้งั บา้ นเรือนอาศยั ไมใ่ คร่ได ้ ความดุและความชุมของจระเขใ้ นแมน่ ้า น้ีเป็นที่รู้จกั กนั ทว่ั ยา่ นภูเกต็ ชาวทา้ ยเหมืองบางคนที่อยากมาชมเรือขดุ แร่ของบริษทั ถึงกบั ไมย่ อมขา้ มแมน่ ้า ในตอนที่แคบไมเ่ กินกวา่ ๕-๖ วา โดยเรือชะล่าไมม่ ีปิดขา้ ง “สา หรับผม ๆ ใชเ้ รือใหญข่ องบริษทั ขา้ มฝากที่ปากแมน่ ้า น้นั เอง กวา้ งหน่อยกไ็ มเ่ ป็นไร เพราะเรือใหญไ่ วใ้ จได ้ แลว้ ก็เดินลดั ป่าไป เดินเสียจนชา นาญทางรู้สึกราวกบั วา่ เดินในบา้ นของตวั เอง แตถ่ ึงกระน้นั กต็ อ้ งคอยเวลาไมย่ อมใหค้ ่า มืดในป่าไดเ้ พราะไดม้ ีผพู้ บรอยเทา้ เสืออยเู่ นือง ๆ เหมือนกนั “ดูเถิดครับ หนทางแห่งความสนุกและอบายมุข แมจ้ ะตอ้ งฝ่าดงเสือดงจระเขเ้ รากไ็ มย่ บั ย้งั “สา หรับที่ทา้ ยเหมืองน้นั ผมขอเรียนวา่ ผมเป็นดาราคนหน่ึง เขา้ ไหนเขา้ ได ้ ใคร ๆ กช็ อบคบคา้ สมาคมดว้ ย ที่เรียนท้งั น้ีไมใ่ ช่เพื่อโออ้ วดยกตนเองนะครับ เพื่อประกอบความเขา้ ใจของคุณเทา่ น้นั เอง และความเป็นดาราของผมน้ีแหละ เป็นตน้ เหตุใหผ้ มไดป้ ะทะกบั คนสา คญั คนหน่ึงของทา้ ยเหมือง หรือจะเรียกวา่ ของยา่ นภูเกต็ กเ็ กือบได ้ คนผนู้ ้นั คือ-เถา้ แก่สุ่น “เถา้ แก่สุ้นถา้ อยกู่ รุงเทพฯกค็ งจะเซ็นชื่อวา่ “ซุ่น” หากแตเ่ สียงของชาวปักษใ์ ตเ้ รียกเพ้ียนไป ซุ่นจึงกลายเป็น “สุ่น” ซ่ึงเป็นไดท้ ้งั ไทยและเทศ ตามแต่โอกาสซ่ึงเจา้ ของนามจะเห็นสมควร เถา้ แก่สุ่นหรือโก (พี่) สุ่นน้ี รู้จกั คนสา คญั และไมส่ า คญั ต้งั แต่ต่า จนสูงแทบทว่ั แควน้ ซ่ึงเคยเป็นมณฑลภูเก็ตมาก่อน แตบ่ ริเวณที่อยใุ่ ตอ้ ิทธิพลโดยตรงของเถา้ แก่สุ่นกต็ ะกว่ั ทุ่ง ตะกว่ั ป่า พงั งา โคกกลอย ทุง่ มะพร้าว ทา้ ยเหมือง ในยา่ นที่กล่าวน้ีใครมีธุระเดือดร้อนหรือมีอรรถดีใด ๆ ตอ้ งนา มาให้โกสุ่นจดั การให ้ ขา้ ราชการผหู้ ลกั ผใู้ หญจ่ ะผา่ นเขา้ ในยา่ นทา้ ยเหมือง รถยนตข์ องโกจะไปคอยรับถึงปลายทางเลยทีเดียว และถา้ ทา่ นผนู้ ้นั เดินทางมาโดยรถของโกกจ็ ะตอ้ งพกั ที่สโมสรที่โกมีอิทธิพลมากที่สุด “คร้ันแลว้ ขา้ วปลาอาหารตลอดจนเหลา้ ยาปลาปิ้งกจ็ ะอยใู่ นงบของโกสุ่น ตลอดเวลาที่ขา้ ราชการผนู้ ้นั พกั อยใู่ นเขตอิทธิพลของโก ไมว่ า่ ทา่ นจะตกปากอยากไดส้ ่ิงใด โกจะประสาทใหไ้ ดท้ ้งั น้นั ถา้ ไมพ่ น้ วสิ ัยของมนุษย ์ โกมีชื่อลือเลื่องในทางเล้ียงดูปูเสื่อ ขา้ ราชการหนุ่ม ๆ คะนองมากคนยอมตนเป็นเครื่องมือของโกเพราะเหตุน้ี “นี่เป็นตน้ เหตุ ๆ หน่ึงใหผ้ มบาดหมางกบั เถา้ แก่สุ่น เถา้ แก่สุ่นมีอุดมคติในการนิยมชาติเดิมของเขาอยา่ งแรงกลา้ ซ่ึงเป็นวฒุ ิที่ไมน่ ่าตา หนิ แตเ่ ถา้ แก่สุ่นหายบั ย้งั อยแู่ ค่น้นั ไม ่ เพียงแตเ่ ด็กหนุ่มสองสามคนลืมตวั ไปชว่ั ขณะ เถา้ แก่สุ่นจะบงั อาจเหยยี ดหยามชาวไทยท้งั น้นั ผมกม็ ีอุดมคติอนั แรงกลา้ ในชาตินิยมของผมเหมือนกนั จึงยอมกนั ไมไ่ ด ้ จริงอยกู่ ารเหยยี ดหยามของเถา้ แก่สุ่นเป็นไปในที ดว้ ยการไมก่ ล่าวหรือไมแ่ สดงออกมามากกวา่ ที่กล่าวหรือที่แสดงแลว้ แตผ่ มกถ็ ือตวั วา่ เป็นคนเคม็ คนหน่ึงเหมือนกนั กิริยาวาจาใด ๆ ที่เขาเหน็บแนมเยย้ หยนั มาดว้ ยความฉลาดจนไมอ่ าจหยบิ ยกเป็นเรื่องเป็นราวข้ึนได ้ ผมกส็ ่งยอ้ นกลบั ไปในลกั ษณะทา นองเดียวกบั ที่มนั มา เถา้ แก่สุ่นเป็นเสือเฒา่ เป็นนกั การพนนั ที่เลื่องลือกนั ทว่ั แควน้ แดนปักษใ์ ต ้ ผมเป็นเด็กเล็กและเป็นนกั พนนั หนา้ ใหม ่ แตถ่ ึงกระน้นั ผมกไ็ ดล้ บลายเสือเฒา่ เสียดว้ ยลูกไมใ้ หม ่ ๆ ที่เสือเฒา่ ไม่รู้จกั จนเป็นเรื่องโจษจนั ขบขนั กนั ทว่ั ภูเกต็ ขอ้ น้ีโกเคืองนกั ไมเ่ คยให้อภยั ผมเลย “ถึงแมว้ า่ การขบั เคี่ยวกนั ระหวา่ งเราจะเป็นไปในนที กม็ ิไดพ้ น้ ความสังเกตของคนอื่น ๆ ซ่ึงน่าอศั จรรยย์ ง่ิ นกั ที่เขาท้งั หลายไมว่ า่ ไทยหรือจีนตา่ งก็ส่งเสริมกนั และช่วยอา นวยใหเ้ ราปะทะกนั ไดเ้ สมอ ๆ ดูเหมือนมนั จะเป็นกีฬาที่สนุกของพวกเขาที่จะเห็นเด็กเค็มคนหน่ึงลู่คมเสือเฒา่ ที่ข้ึนคานมานานแลว้ จนผมหวน่ั ๆ อยวู่ า่ การขบั เคี่ยวชิงไหวชิงพริบกนั ในที่น้ี คงจะระเบิดออกนอกหนา้ สักวนั หน่ึงในไมช่ า้ ไมน่ าน เขากค็ รองถ่ินมานานแลว้ ที่ไหนจะยอมใหเ้ ด็กในวยั ผมหยามน้า หนา้ เล่นโดยไมต่ อบแทน และเมื่อตอบทางสวา่ งไมไ่ ดก้ ค็ งเล่นไมม้ ืด ฉะน้ีผมจึงระวงั ตวั อยทู่ ุกฝีกา้ ว การเป็นอยเู่ ช่นน้ี จน- - “คุณรู้จักดอกจาปูนไหม ?” ฉนั สะดุง้ ตกใจ สงสัยอยคู่ รัน ๆ วา่ คุณหมอทิ้งฉนั ไวค้ นเดียวนี่ปลอดภยั แลว้ หรือ รีบตอบวา่ “เคยไดย้ นิ แตช่ ื่อ ยงั ไมเ่ คยเห็นดอกจริง ๆ” “ครับ-ในกรุงเทพฯหายากหน่อย แต่เป็นดอกไมส้ ามญั ของป่าปักษใ์ ต ้ เฉพาะอยา่ งยง่ิ ที่ทา้ ยเหมือง ถา้ คุณไมเ่ คยเห็นผมจะพรรณนาใหฟ้ ัง “ดอกจา ปูนมีลกั ษณะและขนาดคลา้ ยดอกจา ปี เพียงแตม่ ีกาบเหมือนกา มะหยหี่ ุ้มอยชู่ ้นั หน่ึง เมื่อดอกสุกกาบนี่จะคลี่ออกแลว้ กล่ินหอมกข็ จรขจาย กลีบของจา ปูนหนาแขง็ และไมบ่ านแยม้ เหมือนจา ปี มีลกั ษณะคงทนอยอู่ ยา่ งไรอยา่ งน้นั กล่ินดอกจา ปูนเป็นกล่ินหอมผาดโผน ร้อนแรง และเด็ดขาด กลบกล่ินหอมของดอกไมใ้ ด ๆ ไดท้ ้งั สิ้น “ดงั น้ีน่าประหลาดไหมคุณ ที่เถา้ แก่สุ่นซ่ึงเป็นผนู้ ิยมชาติเดิมของเขาเป็นอยา่ งยง่ิ ต้งั ชื่อลูกสาวคนเดียวของเขาวา่ “จาปูน ” ซ่ึงเป็นชื่อที่สมดว้ ยประการท้งั ปวง จา ปูนเด็กสาว อาย ุ ๑๙ ปี แจม่ ใสร่าเริง จา ปูนสวยเหมือนดอกจา ปูน คือเรียบ ๆ ไมผ่ าดโผนสะดุดตาเมื่อแรกเห็น ตอ่ มาเมื่อพินิจจา ปูนเตม็ ตาแลว้ นน่ั แหละจึงจะเห็นวา่ ความงามของหล่อนซ้ึงแฝงอยภู่ ายใน และฉายแสงออกมาใหเ้ ห็นเด่นชดั ยง่ิ ข้ึนในเมื่ออารมณ์ของเธอเปลี่ยนแปลง เมื่อกล่าวถึงอารมณ์ของจา ปูนแลว้ กค็ ือความหอมของดอกจา ปูนนน่ั ทีเดียว คือผาดโผนรุนแรงและเด็ดขาด เมื่อจา ปูนตดั สินใจในส่ิงใดส่ิงหน่ึง ไมม่ ีอิทธิพลใดในโลกจะสามารถเปลี่ยนใจ หรือยบั ย้งั ยตุ ิการกระทา ตามความตกลงใจของหล่อนได ้ “จา ปูนเรียนหนงั สือในโรงเรียนรัฐบาลที่ภูเกต็ จนถึงอาย ุ ๑๒ เถา้ แก่สุ่นกเ็ ห็นวา่ โตพอจะเอาตวั มา “เกบ็ ” ตามประเพณีของลูกสาวชาวจีนในภูเก็ต แต่จา ปูนไดเ้ รียนถึงช้นั ม.๔ ของโรงเรียน ไดพ้ บปะกบั แสงวฒั นธรรมตามแบบไทย ๆ แลว้ หล่อนเกิดเมืองไทย จิตใจของหล่อนเป็นไทย ไดล้ ิ้มรสความอิสระเสรีอยา่ งเด็กเด็กหญิงไทยมาแลว้ ฉะน้นั การยอมตวั ใหเ้ กบ็ “เกบ็ ” อยา่ งลูกสาวชาวจีนท้งั หลายจึงพน้ วสิ ัย เฉพาะอยา่ งยง่ิ จา ปูนผมู้ ีนิสัยเด็ดขาด ทา อะไรทา จริงดว้ ย พอ่ ลูกจึงเกิดปะทะกนั เถา้ แก่สุ่นกม็ ีชื่อวา่ เป็นคนเด็ดเดี่ยวทรหดคนหน่ึง แตถ่ ึงกระน้นั กย็ งั มีสติดีพอจะสังวรในความจริงวา่ จา ปูนกไ็ ดร้ ับถ่ายเลือดแห่งความเด็ดเดี่ยวบึกบึนจากแกไวโ้ ดยสมบูรณ์เหมือนกนั จึงประนีประนอมยอมใหจ้ า ปูนไปเรียนตอ่ ที่โรงเรียนคอนแวนตท์ ี่ปีนงั อีกจนจบหลกั สูตรของโรงเรียน การที่แกยอมใหจ้ า ปูนเรียนต่อ แต่อุตส่าห์บา่ ยเบี่ยงใหไ้ ปเรียนเสียที่ปีนงั น้ีกแ็ สดงให้เห็นวา่ แกไมร่ ังเกียจจะใหล้ ูกสาวเรียน หากแตเ่ กลียดกลวั เป็นที่สุดวา่ ลูกสาวคนเดียวของแกจะฝักใฝ่เป็นไทยหรือพดู ง่าย ๆ มีผวั ไทย “เมื่อจา ปูนเรียนสา เร็จแลว้ กลบั มาอยบู่ า้ นไมก่ ี่วนั กเ็ กิดปะทะกบั เถา้ แก่สุ่นอีก เพราะเถา้ แก่สุ่นยงั ไมค่ ลายศรัทธาในลทั ธิ “เกบ็ ” ลูกสาว พอ่ ลูกจึงอยกู่ นั มาดว้ ยความไมส่ ู้จะปรองดอง เพราะตา่ งคนตา่ งกไ็ มย่ อมอ่อนนอ้ มแก่กนั ในกรณี “เกบ็ ” น้ีโดยเด็ดขาด แต่ตา่ งกไ็ มห่ กั หาญกนั เมื่อไมม่ ีธุระอนั สา คญั หรือเหตุผลอนั สมควร จา ปูนกไ็ ม่ออกไปนอกบา้ นตามลา พงั หรือออกมาจุน้ จา้ นที่หนา้ บา้ น ท้งั น้ีเป็นความพอใจของเถา้ แก่สุ่น แตเ่ มื่อมีเหตุที่จา ปูนเห็นวา่ สมควร หล่อนกจ็ ะไมย่ อมใหล้ ทั ธิธรรมเนียมบา้ ๆ ลา้ สมยั หรือความพอใจไมพ่ อใจของบิดามายบั ย้งั ความต้งั ใจของหล่อน ซ่ึงในกรณีเช่นน้ีบางคราวเถา้ แก่สุ่นกต็ อ้ งแกลง้ เมินไม่รู้ไม่เห็นเสีย เพราะคร้านที่จะเอาชนะลูกสาวที่ไมร่ ู้จกยอมแพ้ั “เมื่อก้ีผมวา่ จา ปูนไม่ออกมาจุน้ จา้ นหนา้ บา้ น คา วา่ บา้ นน้ี ถา้ คุณไมค่ ุน้ กบั ชีวติ ปักษใ์ ต ้ ผมจะตอ้ งอธิบายสักหน่อย “ตึกหรือห้องแถวตามปักษใ์ ตน้ ้นั ส่วนกวา้ งกม็ ีขนาด และมีลกั ษณะเหมือน ๆ กบั ในกรุงเทพฯ แตส่ ่วนยาวมีความยาวต้งั แต ่ ๑๐ วา ถึง ๓๐-๔๐ วา จึงจา เป็นตอ้ งมีการเปิดหลงั คาเพื่อใหแ้ สงสวา่ งและอากาศเขา้ ไดเ้ ป็นตอน ๆ หลงั คาที่เปิดกรุกระจกบา้ ง สังกะสีบา้ งตามแตฐ่ านะเจา้ บา้ น แต่ตอ้ งทา ใหเ้ ลื่อนข้ึนเลื่อนลงได ้ เพื่อรับอากาศและกนั ฝน ตึกแถวเช่นที่กล่าวน้ี ไมว่ า่ เศรษฐีมีทรัพยน์ บั กี่ลา้ น ๆ กอ็ ยกู่ นั ท้งั น้นั เพราะธรรมเนียมจีนเขาถือวา่ บา้ นไหนที่อยแู่ ลว้ ทา มาคา้ ข้ึน ตอ้ งไมท่ ิ้งบา้ นน้นั ส่วนจะมีคฤหาสน์งาม ๆ ไวป้ ระดบั เกียรติยศน้นั กเ็ ป็นของแขง่ ขนั ประชนั กนั อยเู่ หมือนกนั แตม่ กั ไมใ่ ช่เป็นที่อยกู่ นั จริง ๆ “บา้ นของเถา้ แก่สุ่นกเ็ ป็นตึกแถวลกั ษณะดงั กล่าวแล้ว แตอ่ ยนู่ อกเขตชุมชนหนา้ บา้ นจึงหนั ออกสู่ถนนที่ไมส่ ู้มีผคู้ นพลุกพล่าน ส่วนหลงั บา้ นน้นั จดป่า ตามปกติสา หรับบา้ นจีน ผหู้ ญิงมกั ไมค่ อ่ ยออกมาพลุกพลา่ นหนา้ บา้ น จา ปูนแมไ้ มเ่ ป็นผเู้ลื่อมใสในลทั ธิ “เกบ็ ” กไ็ มม่ ีความสา ราญในการเจ๋ออยหู่ นา้ บา้ น ใหผ้ ิดเพศ เพื่อนหญิงของหล่อน หล่อนมีความสา ราญจริง ๆ ดว้ ยงานบา้ น การอา่ นหนงั สือที่ส่ังจากปีนงั และกรุงเทพฯหรือหาความวิเวกในป่าหลงั บา้ นมากกวา่ อยา่ งไรกด็ ี... “เราไดพ้ บกนั โดยบงั เอิญ แตเ่ รารักกนั ราวกบั ตามพรหมลิขิต ดูดดื่ม ซาบซ้ึงและรวดเร็ว การที่เราตอ้ งลอบพบปะลอบรักกนั และแลไมเ่ ห็นทางจะไดส้ มสู่อยดู่ ว้ ยกนั โดยราบรื่นน้ี ดูเหมือนจะเป็นเช้ือรุมเร้าให้ความรักของเราฮึกเหิมรุนแรงยง่ิ ข้ึน เราทราบดีโดยไมต่ อ้ งพดู กนั ดว้ ยวาจาวา่ เถา้ แก่สุ่นจะสมคั รเห็นจา ปูนนอนตายในโลงมากกวา่ จะยอมใหเ้ ป็นเมียผมซ่ึงเป็นศตั รูที่แกชิงชงั ที่สุด “ผมอยากจะขอใหค้ ุณสังเกตความตอนน้ีไวใ้ ห้ดี จา ปูนเป็นคนเลือดร้อนเด็ดขาด ทา อะไรจริงจงั จา ปูนรักผมเหมือนอยา่ งชีวิตจิตใจ จา ปูนแลไมเ่ ห็นแสงสวา่ งเลยวา่ สักเมื่อใดเราจึงจะไดภ้ ิรมยก์ นั โดยชอบประเพณี และคตินิยม แมก้ ระน้นั หล่อนกไ็ มย่ อมหนีตามผม ตามคา ชวนของผม หล่อนไดร้ ับการศึกษาอบรมมาดีพอที่จะไมแ่ หกศีลธรรมประเพณีอนั ดีงาม แตส่ า หรับผมน้นั ผมขออา้ งเทวดาฟ้ าดินเป็นพยานวา่ ผมรักหล่อนโดยสุจริตใจจริง ๆ และผมกม็ ีคุณธรรมอยพู่ อจะไมล่ ่วงเกินหล่อนเกินขอบเขตความสมควรของคู่รัก แลไปทางไหนมีแตค่ วามมืดมนอนธกาล หล่อนกย็ งั สมคั รจะรับความชอบช้า ระกา ใจเพราะไมส่ มรัก “ทา้ ยเหมืองเป็นสังคมหมูน่ อ้ ยนิดเดียว ไมม่ ีใครสามารถสร้างความล้ีลบั อนั ใดที่อาจลอดความรู้เห็นของคนอื่นไปได ้ เฉพาะอยา่ งยง่ิ เรื่องเกี่ยวแก่ชูส้ าว และเมื่อชู้คือตัวผม “สาว” คือลูกเถา้ แก่สุ่น คุณคิดเอาเองเถอะครับวา่ เรื่องมันจะขจรขจายกระพือพดั ราวกบั ไฟไหมป้ ่าเพียงใด คร้ันแลว้ ผลกเ็ กิดข้ึนตามเหตุ คือเรื่องมนั สะทอ้ นยอ้ นกลบั มาเขา้ หูเถา้ แก่สุ่น “นบั แตว่ าระน้นั การติดตอ่ ระหวา่ งเรากส็ ะบ้นั ลง ผมไมไ่ ดเ้ ห็นหนา้ จา ปูนอีกเลย ทราบแต่วา่ จา ปูนยงั คงถูกกกั ตวั อยใู่ นบา้ น เพราะผมจา้ งสายลบั คุมไวรอบบ้าน้ เผอื่ วา่ เถา้ แก่สุ่นจะคิดยกั ยา้ ยตวั จา ปูนไปไวท้ ี่อื่น อยา่ ใหผ้ มพรรณนาถึงความกลดั กลุม้ กระวนกระวายใจในขณะน้นั เลย จะยดื ยาดร าคาญหู ผมพยายามทุกทางที่จะติดตอ่ กบั จา ปูน ชาวทา้ ยเหมืองรู้กนั ทว่ั ถึงหมดวา่ ถ้าใครสามารถนาจดหมายจ าปูนมาให้ผมได้ เขาจะได้รับ ๕๐๐ บาทจากผมทนั ที รางวลั หรือสินบนน้ี ผมเขยบิ ข้ึนมาจาก ๕๐ บาท แตก่ ระน้นั กห็ ามีผใู้ ดทา สา เร็จไม ่ มีผพู้ ยายามหลายราย แตผ่ นู้ ้นั กม็ กั ประสบภยั พิบตั ิตา่ ง ๆ เถา้ แก่สุ่นเขาไมไ่ ดเ้ ป็นเสือครองถ่ินมาตลอดเวลาอนั นานน้ีโดยเปล่า ๆ ปล้ี ๆ “ในสมัยที่เรายังขับเคี่ยวชิงดีกนั อยนู่ ้นั แมใ้ นใจเราจะข้ึงเคียดเดียดฉนั กนั อยา่ งไรกต็ าม เถา้ แก่สุ่นกบั ผมเมื่อพบปะกนั กย็ งั ทกั ทายปราศรัยกนั อยา่ งธรรมดา บดั น้ีเราหนั หลงั ใหก้ นั ถา้ ไมจ่ า เป็นจริง ๆ เรากไ็ มเ่ ขา้ ใกลก้ นั เราประหตั ประหารกนั แตด่ ว้ ยสายตา แตเ่ รากค็ ุมเชิงกนั อยา่ งใกลช้ ิดติดพนั ทีเดียว เถา้ แก่สุ่นจะกระดิกตวั ไปไหน สายลบั ที่ผมมีรางวลั ใหอ้ ยา่ งงามจะรายงานใหผ้ มทราบทนั ที และผมไมต่ อ้ งสงสัยเลยวา่ เถา้ แก่สุ่นกค็ งทราบการเคลื่อนไหวของผมดว้ ยวธิ ีเดียวกนั สา หรับจา ปูนน้นั ผมทราบเพียงจากขา่ วที่โจษกนั ต่อ ๆ มาวา่ ถูกเฆี่ยนถูกทรมาน และถูกขงั อยใู่ นบา้ นอนั ยาวและมิดชิด ราวกบั ฮาเร็มในนิยายอาหรับของพอ่ หล่อน “การที่ผมหายหนา้ เสียจากภูเกต็ กเ็ ป็นเหตุหน่ึงที่เขาหยบิ ไปถกกนั ตา่ งๆนานา จึงมีพอ่ คา้ นายเหมืองที่มง่ั มีหมูห่ น่ึงซ่ึงชอบพอสนิทสนมกบั ผมมากไดช้ กั ชวนกนั เช่าเรือยนตท์ ะเลออกมาเยยี่ มผ ม ที่เรียกวา่ มาเยยี่ มน้ีไมใ่ ครถูก ควรเรียกวา่ มาเล้ียงดูปูเสื่อเพื่อปลอบขวญั จะถูก วา่ “การเล้ียงผมในคราวน้นั เป็นการเล้ียงพิเศษที่ชาวภูเกต็ ถนดั นกั คือท้งั เหลา้ ขา้ ว และผหู้ ญิง สาหรับคุณภาพของอาหารและเครื่องดื่ม ผมจะเวน้ พรรณนาขอเรียนแตเ่ พียงวา่ เป็นอยา่ งดีที่สุดที่จา นวนเงินอนั ไม่จา กดั จะจดั ซ้ือหามาได ้ แตส่ า หรับแมง่ ามน้นั พวกเขาท้งั หลายบรรดาที่มากม็ ีแนบขา้ งมาถว้ นทว่ั ทุกตวั คน แลว้ ยงั พว่ งมาเผอื่ ผมอีกคนหน่ึง ขอเรียนเช่นเดียวกนั วา่ เป็นช้นั ดีที่สุดจดั หาไดด้ ว้ ยจา นวนเงินไมจ่ า กดั เช่นเดียวกนั ดว้ ยความชา นาญ ผมขออนุมานไดท้ นั ทีเทียววา่ สินคา้ ขาออกของปีนงั ชิ้นใหมน่ ้ีมีคา่ ตวั ไม่ต่า กวา่ อาทิตยล์ ะ ๒๐๐ เหรียญ เพื่อนๆ เขาบอกวา่ ส่ังพิเศษโดยเฉพาะเจาะจงมาใหผ้ ม “ในยามมืดมน เมื่อพระอาทิตยไ์ มฉ่ ายแสง แมแ้ ตแ่ สงไตก้ ใ็ หค้ วามอบอุ่นไดฉ้ นั ใด เมื่อเรากลุม้ ใจเรื่องผหู้ ญิง เรากต็ อ้ งอาศยั ผหู้ ญิงมาดบั ความกลุม้ น้นั เพื่อนๆเขาคิดของเขาถูก ผมจึงน้อมรับอกุศลทานของเขาไว้ด้วยใจยินดี “เจา้ หล่อนชื่อแอนนิตา เป็นชาวฟิลิปปินโนที่มีเลือดชาวปอตุกิสปนอยใู่ นกายของบรรพชนฝ่ายใดฝ่ายหน่ึง แต่ปนอยา่ งจางที่สุด ผวิ พรรณและลกั ษณะเคา้ หนา้ จึงมิไดผ้ ดิ เพ้ียนไปจากคนไทยเลย เลือดฝร่ังเพียงแตช่ ่วยเบง่ ทรวดทรงอนั เพรียวของหล่อนให้เฉิดฉายข้ึนเทา่ น้นั หล่อนงามท้งั ทรง งามท้งั ใบหนา้ และกิริยาทา่ เย้อื งกราย ไมน่ ่าจะมาเป็นเช่นน้ี หรือวา่ เพราะเหตุน้ีจึงไดเ้ ป็นไปเช่นวา่ ผมกท็ ราบไมไ่ ด ้ “พวกเพื่อน ๆ เขาลงสมอเรืออยสู่ นุกอยา่ งหวั หกกน้ ขวดิ กบั ผมสามวนั สามคืน ตามโครงเดิมน้นั เขาจะฉุดผมไประนองตอ่ ไปอีก แตเ่ ผอิญผมติดงานสา คญั ทิ้งไปไมไ่ ด ้ เขาจึงแห่ขบวนสนุกของเขาไประนอง คงทิ้งแอนนิตาไวก้ บั ผม นดั วา่ อีกหา้ หกวนั เขาจะกลบั มารับหล่อนไปภูเก็ต เพื่อส่งกลบั ปีนงั หรือใครจะรับช่วงต่อไปกแ็ ลว้ แตก่ รณี “ผมเองไดข้ อร้องแอนนิตาใหเ้ ลือกถา้ สมคั รจะไปเที่ยวระนองกบั เขาผมกไ็ มว่ า่ แตน่ ่าอศั จรรยน์ กั ที่หล่อนสมคั รใจจะอยดู่ งพงไพรกบั ผมมากกวา่ จะไปสนุกกบั เขา ภายหลงั ผมสอบถามไดค้ วามวา่ หล่อนชอบความหนุ่มของผม ชมวา่ ผมสวยและสุภาพผดิ กบั ทา่ นเศรษฐีพวกน้นั ซ่ึงหมายมน่ั ป้ันมืออยแู่ ตท่ างเดียว “หนุ่ม สวย และสุภาพ อนิจจงั ... “คุณสมบตั ิสามประการน้ีเอง ที่ทา ลายผม แตน่ น่ั แหละใครเล่าจะล่วงรู้เหตุการณ์ล่วงหนา้ ไดว้ า่ เพียงแตก่ ารตดั สินใจของแอนนิตา- แมง่ ามของปีนงั วา่ จะไประนองหรือจะอยกู่ บั ผมจะยงั ผลร้ายอนั ยง่ิ ใหญถ่ ึงแก่ชีวติ จิตใจ “เมื่อเพื่อนของเขาออกเรือกนั ไปแลว้ เรากม็ าสา ราญกนั อยใู่ นที่พกั ของผมฉนั ชูส้ าวท้งั หลายที่ไดร้ ่วมรสรักดว้ ยใจสมคั รกนั ใหมๆ่ “ที่พกั ของผมเป็นเรือนไมป้ ลูกอยา่ งหยาบ ๆ แบบบงั กะโล มีหอ้ งสามหอ้ งเรียงกนั เป็นแถว ทุกหอ้ งเปิดออกสู่เฉลียงใหญ่หนา้ บา้ นซ่ึงมีบนั ไดทอดลงสู่พ้ืนดิน ห้องดา้ นหน่ึงผมใชเ้ ป็นหอ้ งนอน หอ้ งกลางสา หรับกินขา้ วและทะลุไปถึงครัวและหอ้ งน้า อีกหอ้ งหน่ึงหอ้ งทา งานที่หอ้ งปิดลน่ั กุญแจไวเ้สมอ เพราะมีเอกสารซ่ึงจะสูญหายไมไ่ ด ้ ส่วนหอ้ งนอนเพียงแต่งบั ประตูไวเ้ทา่ น้นเป็นนิจสินั ไมว่ า่ กลางวนั หรือกลางคืน “ที่พกั น้ีอยโู่ ดดเดี่ยวห่างจากที่พกั คนงานก่ึงกลางระหวา่ งชายป่ากบั ชายแมน่ ้า ไมม่ ีผคู้ นพลุกพล่านไปมา คนใชค้ นหน่ึงกบั พอ่ ครัวหวั เขากม็ าทา งานใหช้ ว่ั เวลากลางวนั เทา่ น้นั เสร็จงานของเขาแลว้ กม็ กั จะไปรวมหวั เล่นการพนนหรือการสนุกอื่นั ๆ ในบริเวณที่พักของคนงาน แมแ้ ตน่ อนเขากไ็ มไ่ ดน้ อนที่ ๆ พกั ของผม ดงั น้ีที่พกั ที่ตามปกติเป็นแตเ่ พียงที่อาศยั นอน จึงกลายเป็นรังรักที่สา ราญบานใจไปชว่ั ขณะหน่ึง “คืนวนั ก่อนที่จะครบกา หนดเพื่อน ๆ เขากลบั มารับแอนนิตา ฝร่ังเอนยเิ นียร์ประจา เรือขดุ ชาวอเมริกนั ซ่ึงเป็นชายโสดสองคน ไดเ้ ผชิญผมและแอนนิตาไปเล้ียงและเตน้ ร า ณ ที่พกั ของเขาซ่ึงต้งั อยทู่ างดา้ นริมทะเล “ที่ผมผมกท็ ราบวา่ ที่เขาเชิญน้นั กเ็ พราะแอนนิตา เขาท้งั สองห่างเหินกล่ินไอแห่งสตรีเพศมาเป็นเวลาแรม ๆ เดือน และการที่มีหญิงสาวและสวยคนหน่ึงมาอวดโฉมอยใู่ กล ้ ๆ เช่นน้นั ยอ่ มเป็นการพน้ วสิ ัยที่จะทา เฉยเมยอยไู่ ด ้ กระน้นั กด็ ีเขากย็ งั รู้จกั เคารพในสิทธิของผอู้ ื่น และสังวรในมารยาทเจา้ บา้ นพอที่จะไปละลาบละลว้ งจนเกินความสมควรเพียงแตแ่ ตะตอ้ งเน้ือตวั บา้ งตามธรรม ดาของการเตน้ ร า และหยอกลอ้ เก้ียวพาราสีซ่ึงเป็นธรรมเนียมระหวา่ งเพศของคนผวิ ขาวเทา่ น้นั เราร่วมสนุกกนั อยจู่ นเกือบสวา่ ง ผมจึงชวนแอนนิตากลบั สู่ที่พกั “ตามปกติ ผมเป็นคนที่นอนหลบั ยากแตต่ ื่นไว แตค่ ืนน้นั เห็นจะเป็นเพราะเหนื่อยและเพลียมาก ดว้ ยเราสนุกติดต่อกนั มาหลายวนั จึงพอหวั ถึงหมอนกด็ ูเหมือนจะมอ่ ยไป-เพียงมอ่ ยเทา่ น้นั จริง ๆ เพราะวา่ เสียง “เอี๊ยด” ของประตูหอ้ งนอนดา้ นเฉลียงหนา้ บา้ นที่ฝืดแสนฝืดและดงั ทุกคร้ังที่เปิดปิด ไดป้ ลุกผมตื่นข้ึนโดยทนั ที ผมยงั จา ไดว้ า่ เมื่อก่อนนอนไดป้ ิดประตูหอ้ งแงม้ ไวด้ ว้ ยมือตนเองทีเดียว “ผมลืมตาข้ึน พระอาทิตยย์ ามรุ่งอรุณฉายแสงกราดเขา้ มาตามช่องประตูที่เปิดอา้ อย ู่ แต่-เงาตะคุม่ ๆ เหมือนรูปคนเงาหน่ึงยนื ทะมึนอยกู่ ลางประตู แสงพระอาทิตยท์ ี่กราดเขา้ มาทางเบ้ืองหลงั เงาน้นั ยอ้ นเขา้ นยั น์ตาผม แลดูไมถ่ นดั จึงผงกตวั ลุกข้ึน--- “ผีสาง เทวดา! น้ีผมฝันไปหรือป่าว หรือวา่ เป็นบา้ ไปแลว้ ภาพที่ประจนั หนา้ ผมอยนู่ ้นั ยงั ติดตาผมอยจู่ นเดี๋ยวน้ี หลบั ตาลงเมื่อใดกย็ งั เห็นเพราะเป็นภาพของจา ปูน แตเ่ ป็นจา ปูนที่ปราศจากผา้ ผอ่ นพนั กายแมแ้ ตช่ ิ้นเดียว ผมอนั ดา ดกเป็นเงางามของหล่อนเปียกปอนสยายอยบู่ นบ่า แตผ่ มกลบั สงสัยในสติของผมเองยง่ิ ข้ึนเมื่อไดเ้ ห็นโซ่เหล็กขนาดราวหน่ึงนิ้วพนั อยรู่ อบขอ้ เทา้ ขวาของจา ปูนปล ายหน่ึง อีกปลายหน่ึงพนั อยรู่ อบสะเอว “ภาพของจา ปูนจอ้ งมองแตห่ นา้ ผม และผมกม็ องหล่อน เราตา่ งคนตา่ งตะลึงแน่วน่ิงอยใู่ นลกั ษณะน้นั อยเู่ ป็นครู่ใหญ ่ ๆ สายตาของหล่อนจึงคอ่ ย ๆ เลื่อนลดลงจากหนา้ ผม และราวกบั ถูกสะกดดว้ ยสายตาของหล่อน สายตาของผมก็เลื่อนตามของหล่อน จนกระทง่ั ... “ภาพที่สายตาของเราท้งั สองจอ้ งจบั พร้อมกนั คือ-แอนนิตานอนหลบั หายใจรวย ๆ เส้ือผา้ รุ่ยร่าย เบียดชิดติดอยกู่ บั ตวั ผมภายในมุง้ ผา้ ตาเมล็ดพริกไทยเน้ืออยา่ งดีของผม “ผมไมท่ ราบวา่ เพราะเหตุใด ภาพจา ปูนซ่ึงเปล่าเปลือยจึงมิไดท้ า ใหจ้ ิตใจฝักใฝ่ไปในทางอกุศล แตภ่ าพของแอนนิตา ซ่ึงเพียงแตน่ อนเส้ือผา้ รุ่ยร่ายไมเ่ รียบร้อยจึงทา ใหผ้ มบดั สีเสียเหลือพน้ ประมาณ ผมหยบิ ผา้ ห่มท้งั สองผนื โปะลงไปบนตวั แอนนิตา โดยที่ตนเองกไ็ ม่รู้วา่ สาเหตุใดจึงตอ้ งทา เช่นน้นั “ผมไมก่ ลา้ เงยหนา้ ข้ึนสบตาจา ปูน ไมร่ ู้จะทา อะไร และไมก่ ลา้ จะพดู อะไรไดแ้ ตค่ อยใหห้ ล่อนเป็นผเู้ร่ิม สมองของผมมึนชาไมป่ ฏิบตั ิหนา้ ที่ คิดทบทวนอยไู่ ดแ้ ตเ่ พียงหลบั หรือตื่น ตื่นหรือหลบั ฝันหรือจริง จริงหรือฝัน ในที่สุดผมยกกา มือท้งั สองข้ึนกดกระบอกตา สา รวมสติสัมปชญั ญะให้แน่วแน่ แลว้ เงยหนา้ ข้ึนจะมองใหถ้ นดั ตาอีกสักที แต่--- “จาปูนได้หายไปเสียแล้ว ” จา ปูนไดส้ ารภาพตอ่ พอ่ ของหล่อนโดยแช่มชื่นวา่ รักนายอา นวย และเคยไดล้ อบไปพบปะกนั ฉนั คูร่ ักโดยลา พงั จริงตามขา่ วลือ แตย่ นื ยนั วา่ มิไดป้ ระพฤติผดิ ล่วงล้า ศีลธรรมอนั ดีงามขอ้ ใด ๆ เลย นายอาน วยไดเ้ คารพในเกียรติยศของหล่อนตลอดมา และตวั หล่อนเองกไ็ มเ่ คยคิดจะทา ส่ิงใดลงไปใหเ้ ป็นที่เสื่อมเสียถึงชื่อเสียงของหล่อน หรือวงศต์ ระกลู แตเ่ ถา้ แก่สุ่นน้นั ความคิดจิตใจของแกหมกอยใู่ นอีกโลกหน่ึง ซ่ึงยากแก่ความเขา้ ใจของเรา ๆ ผมู้ ีวฒั นธรรมท้งั หลาย ในคลองความคิดของแกน้นั ผหู้ ญิงมีประโยชน์อยแู่ ต่อยา่ งเดียว คือการบา เรอความใคร่ของชาย นายอา นวยเป็นหนุ่ม จา ปูนเป็นสาว เมื่อตา่ งคนตา่ งรักกนั และไดโ้ อกาสอยรู่ ่วมกนั ตามลา พงั แลว้ จะไมเ่ ป็นอะไรกนั น้นั เหลือที่พอ่ ของจา ปูนผมู้ ีแมเ่ ล้ียงอยใู่ นบา้ นเดียวกนั ถึง ๖ นาง จะปลงใจเชื่อได้ นายอา นวยไมใ่ ช่เด็กโง่ ขอ้ น้ีเถา้ แก่สุ่นรู้ดี เถา้ แก่สุ่นผคู้ รองอา นาจในยา่ นน้ีมานานนกั หนาแลว้ โดยไมม่ ีผใู้ ดกลา้ กีดขวางทางดา เนิน เพ่ิงจะมีนายอา นวยคนเดียวน้ีแหละที่ถือดีบงั อาจต้งั ตวั เป็นคูป่ รับ แลว้ กบ็ ดั น้ีลูกสาวในอกของแกเองบงั อาจทรยศไปรักและยอมตวั ใหไ้ อค้ นที่แกชงั น้า หนา้ ที่สุดแลว้ เมื่อพอ่ กบั ลูกซ่ึงมีเลือดร้อนแรงเทา่ ๆ กนั แตม่ ีความคิดจิตใจห่างไกลกนั ลิบลบั ปะทะกนั ในเรื่องที่ตา่ งกไ็ มย่ อมถอยใหแ้ ก่กนั แหละกนั เรื่องมนั กจ็ บลงไดแ้ ตอ่ ยา่ งเดียวคือ เถา้ แก่สุ่นผหู้ นา้ ดว้ ยกิเลสบนั ดาลโทษะสุดขีด ควา้ ดุน้ ฟืนฟาดหมายศีรษะลูกสาว เคราะห์ดีจาปูนหลบได้ ดุน้ ฟืนจึงฟาดลงบนไหล่ เถา้ แก่สุ่นคงกระหน่า ต่อไปจนแขนและเน้ือตวั ของจา ปูนยบั เยนิ ชอกช้า ไปสิ้น ปากกย็ งั บริภาษอยา่ งหยาบชา้ สามานย ์ เหลือที่จา ปูนผอู้ ุดมดว้ ยการศึกษาจะฟังได ้ ท้งั เจบ็ ท้งั อายเพราะการเอะอะโครมครามน้ี ยอ่ มจะไดย้ นิ ไปถึงบ้านข้างเรือนเคียง แตต่ ลอดเวลาจา ปูนไดพ้ ยายามป้ องปัดและครางแตเ่ บา ๆ เพราะความเจบ็ ปวด หล่อนไมไ่ ดโ้ ตเ้ ถียงหรือร้องขอความกรุณาปรานีแต่อยา่ งใด จนกระทง่ั เถา้ แก่สุ่นหยดุ ทารุณแลว้ จา ปูนจึงค่อย ๆ พยงุ ตวั ลุกข้ึน แลว้ กล่าววา่ :- “ฉนั บอกวา่ ฉนั บริสุทธ์ิ พอ่ กลบั ด่าตีฉนั ดีละฉนั ขอสาบานตอ่ หนา้ พอ่ วา่ ฉันจะไปเป็นเมียคุณอานวยให้ได้ ฟ้าจงเป็นพยาน!” เทา่ น้นั เอง พดู ง่าย ๆ แต่เป็นคา พดู ของจา ปูนที่ใคร ๆ กร็ ู้วา่ ไมเ่ คยเสียวาจาสัจ ฉะน้นั ต่อมาอีกอาทิตยก์ วา่ ๆ เมื่อรักษาแผลและรอยฟกช้า หายแลว้ หล่อนกเ็ ดินออกจากบา้ นไปเฉย ๆ ในเยน็ วนั หน่ึงที่เถา้ แก่สุ่นไมอ่ ยบู่ า้ น ในบา้ นจีนน้นั คา ส่ังใด ๆ เจา้ ของบา้ นเป็นประกาศิตที่ผเู้ป็นลูกบา้ นจะตอ้ งปฏิบตั ิตามอยา่ งเคร่งครัด เฉพาะอยา่ งยง่ิ บา้ นเถา้ แก่สุ่นผหู้ วงแหนอา นาจ แกไดป้ ระกาศไวแ้ ลว้ วา่ ถา้ จา ปูนหนีหายไปไดแ้ กจะ “เฆี่ยน” ทุกคน ต้งั แต ่ เมีย ลูกชาย ตลอดจนคนใช ้ ดงั น้ีการหนีซ่ึงหนา้ ของจา ปูนจึงยตุ ิลงดว้ ยการถูกทารุณกรรมอีก จา ปูนไดพ้ ยายามหนีอีกหลายคร้ัง แตถ่ ูกขดั ขวางไปไมส่ า เร็จได ้ จนในที่สุดเถา้ แก่สุ่นผไู้ มเ่ คยยอมคนไมว่ า่ จะตอ้ งใชว้ ธิ ีกกั ขฬะลามกอยา่ งใด กจ็ บั จา ปูนล่ามโซ่ไวก้ บั เสาเรือนช้นั บน ในเวลากลางคืนผอ่ นผนั ใหป้ ลดสายโซ่จากเสาไดแ้ ตค่ งใหค้ าไวก้ บั ขา เวลาก่อนจะนอนเถา้ แก่สุ่นจะส่ังใหแ้ มเ่ ล้ียงของจา ปูนนางหน่ึงเขา้ ไปเปล้ืองเส้ือผา้ ของจา ปูนออกใหห้ มดแลว้ ตวั แกเป็นผใู้ ส่ประแจประตูห้องนอนของจา ปูนเอง ท้งั น้ีกเ็ พราะคร้ังหน่ึงจา ปูนไดพ้ ยายามหนีท้งั ๆ ที่โซ่ยงั คาขาอย ู่ เถ้าแก่สุ่นจึงเห็นวา่ การเปล้ืองเส้ือผา้ ออกเป็นวธิ ีป้ องการหนีไดด้ ีกวา่ อยา่ งอื่น สา หรับในเวลากลางคืน ส่วนโซ่ยงั คาขาไวน้ ้นั เนื่องมาจากความโหดเห้ียมอา มหิตแห่งจิตใจของแกมากกวา่ อยา่ งอื่น เถา้ แก่สุ่นแคน้ นกั ที่จา ปูนบงั อาจฝ่าฝืนแกซ่ึง ๆ หนา้ แกวา่ แมแ้ ต่จะตอ้ งทรมานกนั ใหย้ อ่ ยยบั ลงไปแกกไ็ มย่ อมจา นนแก่จา ปูน อนิจจา... เชา้ วนั หน่ึงเมื่อเถา้ แก่สุ่นไขกุญแจประตูห้องนอนของจา ปูนออก กไ็ ดป้ ระสบแตค่ วามวา่ งเปล่า ช่องกระจกรับลมบนหลงั คาซ่ึงปราศจากเพดานเปิดอา้ อย ู่ แสดงใหเ้ ห็นโดยไมต่ อ้ งคน้ หาวา่ จา ปูนหายไปทางไหน เถา้ แก่สุ่นลืมไปวาจ่ าปูนอาจใช้ผ้าปูที่นอนพันกายไปได้ หรือแกอาจคิดวา่ โซ่ที่คาขาอยจู่ ะขดั ขวางไมใ่ หจ้ า ปูนปีนข้ึนหลงั คาได ้ หรืออยา่ งนอ้ ยกจ็ ะดงั กุกกิกใหส้ ุ้มเสียงแก่เถา้ แก่สุ่นซ่ึงนอนอยหู่ อ้ งขา้ งเคียง ท้งั น้ีไมม่ ีใครเดาความคิดของแกได ้ แตส่ ่ิงที่ประจกั ษช์ ดั น้นั กค็ ือ แกยงั รู้จักลูกสาวของแกน้อยไป บดั น้ีจา ปูนหนีไดแ้ ลว้ แลว้ กม็ ุง่ หนา้ ตรงไปหานายอา นวยคนรักตามคา ปฏิญาณของหล่อน ความยากลา บากในการหนี และมหนั ตภยั อะไรบา้ งที่หล่อนตอ้ งหลีกหลบไปตลอดทางไมม่ ีใครอาจทราบได ้ ชาวบา้ นและกรมการอา เภอไดแ้ ตส่ ันนิษฐานกนั ตามรูปการและร่องรอย “จา ปูนคงจะไดพ้ นั สายโซ่ข้ึนมาจากขอ้ เทา้ จนถึงเอว แลว้ พนั รอบเอวเพื่อมิใหม้ ีเสียงเมื่อเคลื่อนไหวร่างกาย แลว้ เลิกผา้ ปูนอนออกพนั เป็นแถบตามยาวพนั เอวรอบนอกโซ่อีกช้นั หน่ึง ถดั จากน้นั การปีนข้ึนไปบนหลงั ตูใ้ ชก้ า ลงั แขนเหนี่ยวตวั ข้ึนบนหลงั คาและใชเ้ ทา้ ถีบช่องลมใหเ้ ปิดอา้ ข้ึนแลว้ หนี ออกไปตามหลงั คาอนั ยาวเหยยี ด กด็ ูไมส่ ู้ยากมากนกั สา หรับจา ปูนผมู้ ีสุขภาพสมบูรณ์ “ขอ้ น่าอศั จรรยอ์ ยทู่ ี่จา ปูนคลา ทางไปถูกไดอ้ ยา่ งไร จา ปูนวา่ ยน้า ขา้ มแมน่ ้า อนั มีจระเขช้ ุมไดอ้ ยา่ งไร ปัญหาสองขอ้ น้ีไมม่ ีผใู้ ดตอบได ้ ทราบกนั แตเ่ พียงวา่ ผ้าปูที่นอนที่ติดตวั ไปคงถูกสายน้า พดั พลดั หายไประหวา่ งขา้ มแมน่ ้า “ภาพที่ผมเห็นคือภาพของจา ปูนจริง ๆ เมื่อหล่อนหายไปเสียแลว้ ผมจึงแน่ใจวา่ ไมไ่ ดฝ้ ัน ประตูที่เปิดถ่างอยเู่ ป็นพยานยนื ยนั ผมเผน่ พรวดเดียวออกไปถึงเฉลียงนอก แตไ่ มเ่ ห็นร่องรอยหล่อน คราวน้ีออกเสียงเรียกจา ปูนได ้ เรียกไปวง่ิ เลียบไปตามริมแมน่ ้า แลว้ ตลบเขา้ ไปในป่าวง่ิ กลบั ไปกลบั มาหลายตลบ ก่เู รียกอยตู่ ลอดเวลา จนพระอาทิตยข์ ้ึนเกือบคร่ึงฟ้ าจึงสา นึกแน่วา่ จา ปูนเจตนาจะหลีกล้ีหนีหนา้ ผม ชว่ั เวลาประเดี๋ยวเดียวหล่อนจะไปไหนพน้ กระแสเสียงเรียกของผมไดอ้ ยา่ งไร “ผมรีบกลบั สู่บริเวณที่พกั คนงาน เรียกคนที่ยงั ไมอ่ อกงานในวนั น้นั ๒๐ กวา่ คน ใหเ้ ดินเรียงเป็นหนา้ กระดาน ปลายดา้ นหน่ึงจดฝ่ังแมน่ ้า ใหเ้ ดินห่างกนั พอสมควร คน้ ทวนข้ึนไปตน้ น้า ผมเองคุมขบวนอยตู่ ลอดเวลา เราเร่ิมตน้ แตเ่ วลาเพลจนพลบค่า กไ็ มม่ ีวแี่ ววอะไร สิ้นแสงพระอาทิตยแ์ ลว้ เรากจ็ า ตองกลับที่พัก้ “สา หรับตวั ผม พอเดินออกไปทา้ ยเหมืองในคืนน้นั ต้งั ใจวา่ ถา้ จะตอ้ งกราบตีนเถา้ แก่สุ่นกย็ อมละ ถา้ เถา้ แก่สุ่นจะบอกใหโ้ ล่งใจวา่ จา ปูนกลบั มาถึงบา้ นโดยปลอดภยั แลว้ “แตเ่ มื่อถึงทา้ ยเหมือง สายลบั ไดม้ ารายงานผมวา่ จา ปูนยงั หาไดก้ ลบั มาไม ่ ถึงกระน้นั ผมกย็ งั ดา้ นหนา้ ไปปลุกเถา้ แก่สุ่น ถึงอยา่ งไรจา ปูนกเ็ ป็นลูกของแก และในยามคบั ขนั เช่นน้ี เราท้งั สองแมโ้ กรธเกลียดกนั เพียงใดกต็ าม ยงั ร่วมในความรักจา ปูนดว้ ยกนั แตไ่ อเ้ จก๊ น้นั อาศยั เรือนร่างของมนุษยห์ ุม้ ห่อน้า ใจแห่งสัตวเ์ ดรัจฉานไวแ้ ท ้ ๆ มนั กลบั ยมิ้ เยย้ ผมและบอกผมวา่ ถา้ จา ปูนจะซานมาหามนั จริง ๆ มนั จะทุบดว้ ยทอ่ นฟืนแลว้ เอาใส่โลงส่งไปใหก้ า นลั ผม “ผมเดินย้อนกลับไปที่พักอีก ถึงเอาพอดีสาง ๆ เรียกคนงานได้อีก ๓๐ กวา่ คน จดั ใหเ้ ดินหนา้ กระดานอยา่ งวนั ก่อน แตว่ นั น้ีแบง่ เป็นสองพวกใหเ้ ดินสองฝ่ัง เพราะผมคิดวา่ อยา่ งไรเสียจา ปูนก็ตอ้ งยดึ แนวแม่น้า เป็นหลกั คลา ทาง ส่วนฟากโนน้ หล่อนอาจเลาะไปขา้ มเอาตอนแคบและเห็นวา่ ปลอดภยั ที่สุด เราเร่ิมออกเดินราว ๆ ๙ นาฬิกา ผมเองนง่ั เรือใหค้ นแจวทวนน้า ข้ึนไปไดจ้ งั หวะกบั ขบวนคนเดินท้งั สองฝ่ัง “ผมเดินบา้ งวง่ิ บา้ งมาเกือบตลอด ๒๔ ชว่ั โมง จะไดก้ ินอะไรบา้ งกไ็ มท่ ราบจา ไดว้ า่ ดื่มบร่ันดี ๕-๖ ทีและคงจะไดซ้ ึม ๆ หลบั ในไป มารู้สึกตื่นเอาเมื่อหวั เรือเกยพรืดข้ึนบนฝ่ังหนั ไปถามอะไร เจา้ คนทา้ ยกช็ ้ีมือ--- “คุณเคยทราบไหมวา่ จระเขม้ นั กินคนอยา่ งไร?...” ฉนั ปฏิเสธวา่ ไมม่ ีความรู้ “จระเขไ้ มว่ า่ ตวั ใหญเ่ พียงใด กไ็ มส่ ามารถกลืนซากคนท้งั คนได ้ ตีนมนั ส้ันช่วยฉีกท้ึงไมไ่ ด ้ แมป้ ากจะยาวใหญก่ ไ็ มม่ ีประโยชน์ เพราะกดั ใหข้ าดเป็นทอ่ นๆพอจะกลืนลงไมไ่ ด ้ มนั จึงตอ้ งคาบข้ึนมากินบนบก โดยวธิ ีคาบอวยั วะส่วนใดส่วนหน่ึงแลว้ สะบดั คอฟาดกบั โคนตน้ ไม ้ อวยั วะส่วนใดขาดหลุดออกมาพอจะกลืนไดม้ นั กก็ ลืน แล้วคาบฟาดตอ่ ไปใหม่จนแหลกเหลวเป็นชิ้นเล็กชิ้นนอ้ ยหมดท้งั คน” กล่าวจบแลว้ ผเู้ล่านง่ั เหม่อมองออกไปทางช่องหนา้ ตา่ ง เหมือนดงั กา ลงั มองเห็นภาพอะไรอยา่ งหน่ึง เราอยกู่ นั น่ิงๆเป็นเวลานานเกินสมควร ฉนั อดใจอยไู่ มไ่ ดจ้ ึงออกปากถามเขาวา่ “คนเรือเห็นจาปูนหรือครับ. ?...” “เปล่า”...เขาช้ีใหผ้ มดูโซ่เหล็กแขวนพาดอยบู่ นคบไม ้ ปลายขา้ งหน่ึงมีขาคนขาดแคเ่ ขา่ หอ้ ยอย.ู่ .. “คุณครับ คุณจะบอกผมไดไ้ หมวา่ จา ปูนเจตนาวา่ ยน้า เขา้ หาจระเข ้ หรือพยายามจะขา้ มน้า กลบั ไปลุแก่โทษกบั พอ่ วา่ คนรักผดิ ” ______

จาก รวมเรื่องส้ัน จา ปูน เส้ียนสวาท ของ เทพ-ถนอม มหาเปารยะ พ.ศ.๒๕๐๕

มอม Maum ม.ร.ว.คึกฤทธิ์ ปราโมช M.R. Kukrit Pramoj

ต้งั แต่มอมมันลืมตาข้ึนมองดูโลก ในเบ้ืองแรก โลกน้ีมีชายคนหน่ึง และแม่อีกคนหน่ึง มอมเป็ นลูกโทน เกิดใต้ถุนบ้านไม้สองช้ันหลังเล็กๆ แถวมักกะสัน มอมรู้ว่าพ่อของมันเป็ นหมาพันธุ์อัลเซเชียน อยตู่ ึกใหญถ่ นนเพชรบุรี เจา้ ของเล้ียงถนอมหนกั หนา แตแ่ มข่ องมนั เป็นหมาไทยตลาดประตูน้า

ที่ ม อ ม ป ฏิ ส น ธิ ข้ึ น ม า ไ ด้ ก็ เ พ ร า ะ อุ ปั ท ว เ ห ตุ เ จ้ า ข อ ง พ่ อ ข อ ง มั น เ ผ ล อ ปล่อยให้หลุดออกมาจากบ้านได้ช่ัวครู่ ท้ังหมดน้ีมอมไม่สนใจ มันรู้แต่ว่าภายในใต้ถุนบ้านน้ัน มีแม่อยู่ส าหรับดูดนมเวลาหิว ซ่ึงมันก็หิวบ่อย ๆ และเอาไว้นอนเบียดให้อุ่นได้เมื่อเวลามันหนาว พ อ ม อ ม จ า ค ว า ม ไ ด้ มั น ก็ รู้ ว่ า มี ค น มุ ด เ ข้ า ใ ต้ ถุ น บ้ า น น้ั น บ่ อ ย ๆ อี ก ค น ห น่ึ ง มนั รู้สึกวา่ มือคนน้นั มาอุม้ ชูลูบคลา มนั เล่นเสมอ มอมมนั คนั เข้ียวกา ลงั จะข้ึน มนั ก็กดั มือน้นั เล่นบา้ งเลียเล่นบา้ ง บางทีเจ้าของน้ันก็ยกตัวมันข้ึนใกล้ ๆ ติดกับหน้า มอมมันกระดิกหางดีใจจนตัวส่ัน เลียหน้าเลียปาก คนคนน้ันก็ไม่ว่า ปล่อยตามใจมัน มอมมันจ ากล่ินไว้ได้ก าหนดสัญญาไว้ว่าคนคนน้ันเป็ นนายของมัน แลว้ มนั กร็ ัก พอมอมมันเร่ิมเดินได้มันก็คลานจากใต้ถุนออกสู่ลานบ้าน โลกของมันกว้างข้ึนอีกเล็กน้อย มนั รู้วา่ นายอยูบ่ า้ นสองช้นั เล็ก ๆ ค่อนขา้ งจะเก่า และไม่ไดท้ าสี นอกจากนายแลว้ ก็มีคนอื่นอยูด่ ว้ ยอีกสองคน คนหน่ึงน้นั เป็นผหู้ ญิง นายบอกมนั วา่ คนน้ีคือนายผหู้ ญิง อีกคนหน่ึงเป็นเด็กเล็ก ๆ เพ่ิงสอนเดิน นายเรียกวา่ หนู แตม่ อมมนั พอจะเดาออกวา่ เป็นลูกของนาย เพราะกล่ินตวั เหมือนกนั พอมอมเร่ิมคลานออกจากใตถ้ ุนที่เคยนอน แม่ก็เร่ิมห่างไป แต่ก่อนพอมอมรู้สึกหิวนมทีไร ตอ้ งรู้สึกวา่ มีแม่อยูใ่ กล ้ ๆ คอยให้นมทุกคร้ัง แต่เดี๋ยวน้ีนาน ๆ แม่จึงจะมาหาสักคร้ังหน่ึง และน้ านมแม่ก็รู้สึกว่าน้อยและจางไป แต่มอมมันไม่เดือดร้อนเท่าไหร่นัก เพราะนายหาชามอ่างก้นทะลุ มาวางไว้ที่นอกชานหลังบ้านระหว่างครัวไฟกับตัวเรื อนใบหน่ึง เอาข้าวคลุกกับที่นายกินเหลือ ใส่ให้มันกินวันละสามเวลาทุกวัน เวลาเช้าเวลาเย็นนายให้เอง ส่วนตอนกลางวนั นายผหู้ ญิงเป็นคนให้ มอมมนั โตเร็วผิดหมาธรรมดา เพราะมนั เป็นพนั ธุ์พอ่ มากกวา่ พนั ธุ์แม ่ ย่ิงโตมันก็ย่ิงกินจุข้ึนทุกวัน แต่นายกลับดีใจ คอยให้ข้าวมันกินอ่ิมเพ่ิมเติมข้ึนเรื่อย ๆ ย่ิงกว่าน้ัน เวลานายผู้หญิงท าครัว มอมมันก็แอบเข้าไปอยู่ด้วย บางทีมันก็เกะกะกีดขวาง นายผู้หญิงก็ตีเอาบ้าง ไล่ออกมาบ้าง แต่แล้วมันก็กลับเข้าไปอีก เพราะมอมมันรู้ว่า ถึงแม้นายผู้หญิงจะดุจะตีอย่างไร ในที่สุดมนั กต็ อ้ งไดอ้ ะไรกินเสมอ

มอมมันโตวนั โตคืนจนกลายเป็ นหนุ่มใหญ่ แม่หายไปจากโลกของมัน ซ่ึงเดี๋ยวน้ีเหลือแต่นาย มอมไมไ่ ดร้ ักนายเทา่ ชีวติ แตน่ ายเป็นชีวติ ของมอม เชา้ ข้ึน นายหายไปจากบา้ น มนั ก็รู้สึกวา่ ชีวิตของมนั วา่ งเปล่า แ ต่ ม อ ม รู้ ว่ า ต ก บ่ า ย ก็ ต้ อ ง ก ลั บ ฉ ะ น้ั น ต า ม ป ร ก ติ มั น ก็ ไ ม่ เ ดื อ ด ร้ อ น เ ท่ า ไ ห ร่ นั ก มอมใช้เวลาที่นายไม่อยู่หาอะไรกินบ้าง เล่นกับหนูบ้าง บางทีหนูก็ดึงหูดึงหางมัน เล่นกับมันเจ็บ ๆ แต่มอมมนั ก็ทนได้ เพราะกล่ินของนายติดอยู่ที่ตวั ของหนู เหมือนกบั คนคนเดียวกนั ช่ัวแต่ว่าหนูตวั เล็กกว่า บางทีมอมมนั ก็ออกไปเที่ยวนอกบา้ นเดินไปก็ดมกล่ินอะไรต่ออะไรไป กล่ินคนแปลก ๆ ที่ติดอยูต่ ามทางเดิน กล่ินหนูที่ออกหากินตามถงั ขยะในเวลากลางคืน กล่ินหมาบา้ นใกลเ้ รือนเคียงและหมากลางถนนท้งั ตวั ผตู้ วเมียั เมื่อมอมตัวยงั เล็กอยู่ มันไม่ค่อยกล้าออกจากบ้าน เพราะหมาอื่น ๆ มันรุมกันเห่ามันรุมกันกัด แต่เดี๋ยวน้ี มอมมันโตกว่าหมาตัวอื่น พอออกนอกบ้าน ถึ งหมาอื่นจะเห่ า แต่ก็ว่ิงหนี มอมทุกตัวไป ในบรรดาตัวผู้ในละแวกบ้าน มอมมันเคยแสดงฝีมือให้ปรากฏมาแล้ว ไอ้ตัวไหนที่เคยเป็นจ่าฝูงเป็นหัวโจก มอมมนั ก็เคยปราบมาแลว้ ตามธรรมเนียมหมาน้นั ถา้ จะออกจากบา้ นไปไหนจะตอ้ งถ่ายปัสสาวะรายทางไว ้ ส าหรับดมกล่ินของตนเองกลับบ้านได้ถูก ที่ที่จะถ่ายรดน้ันก็ต้องเป็นที่ที่สังเกตได้ง่าย สูงเพียงระดับจมูก ไ ม่ ต้ อ ง ก้ ม ล ง ด ม ใ ห้ เ สี ย เ ว ล า เ ป็ น ต้ น ว่ า เ ส า ไ ฟ ฟ้ า หรือต้นไม้ข้างทาง ออกจากบา้ นเดินไปก็ตอ้ งยกขาถ่ายรดเอาไวเ้ ป็นส าคญั แต่ถ้ามีหมาตวั อื่นมาถ่ายทบั เสีย กล่ินน้ันก็เพ้ียนไป อาจถึงกลับบ้านไม่ถูก หรืออย่างน้อยก็ต้องล าบากทุลักทุเล การถ่ายปัสสาวะรดที่ตัวอื่นท าไว้แล้ว จึงเป็ นอนันตริยกรรมของสุนัข อภัยให้กันไม่ได้ และถ้าท ากันต่อหน้า ก็เป็ นการท้าทายกันโดยตรง เป็นการทา ลายเกียรติของหมาตวั ผดู้ ว้ ยกนั แสดงวา่ หมดความเกรงใจนบั ถือกนั ตอ้ งต่อสู้จนแพก้ นั ไปขา้ งหน่ึง ม อ ม มั น เ ค ย ถู ก ท้ า ท า ย ด้ ว ย วิ ธี น้ี ม า ม า ก แ ต่ มั น ก็ สู้ จ น เ อ า ช น ะ ไ ด้ ทุ ก ตั ว บางทีมันกลับบ้านเป็นแผลยับไปตามหน้าตาและแข้งขา นายผูห้ ญิงต้องคอยล้างแผลใส่ยาให้ หลังจากน้ัน มนั กจ็ ะถูกผกู ถูกขงั ไปสองสามวนั แลว้ มนั กแ็ อบหนีไปเที่ยวนอกบา้ นไดอ้ ีก

มอมมันเคยทิ้งนายไปแต่เพียงคร้ังเดียวในชีวิต เมื่อมอมแตกเน้ือหนุ่มเต็มที่ อากาศกา ลังหนาว น้า ข้ึนเจ่ิงคลอง บางวนั ก็ท่วมพน้ ตล่ิงข้ึนมา มอมมนั ก็ไปหลงรักนางนวลซ่ึงกา ลงั แตกเน้ือสาว อยถู่ ดั บา้ นไป 3 – 4 หลังคาเรือน มอมหลงใหลจนสิ้นท่า ข้าวปลาไม่เป็ นอันกิน กลางคืนดึก ๆ เ ดื อ น ส ว่ า ง ม อ ม น่ั ง ม อ ง พ ร ะ จั น ท ร์ แ ล้ ว ก็ ห อ น ด้ ว ย ค ว า ม วั ง เ ว ง ใ จ ในตอนแรกมันเพียงแต่หลบไปหานางนวลช่ัวครู่ช่ัวคราวแล้วก็กลับบ้าน คร้ันต่อมาอาการรักหนักข้ึน มนั ก็ไม่กลับเอาเลย เฝ้ าเวียนวนอยู่แถวน้ัน คอยไล่กัดตัวผูอ้ ื่น ๆ ท้ังหนุ่มท้ังแก่ที่มาตอมนางนวลเป็ นฝูง คนในบา้ นเขาหนวกหูหนกั เขา้ เขาก็ทุบตีเอาบา้ ง เอาอิฐขวา้ งเอาบา้ ง มอมก็ตอ้ งทน เพราะความรักกา ลงั ข้ึนหนา้ มอมหายจากบ้านไป 4 – 5 วนั หิวหนกั เขา้ ก็ตอ้ งโซกลบั บา้ น แทนที่นายจะวา่ กล่าวกลบั รีบหาขา้ วให้มนั กิน มอมมีอาการผิดประหลาดซูบผอมไปสัก 15 วัน แล้วมันก็กลับเป็ นปรกติเหมือนเก่า น่าประหลาดที่ความรักที่มีตอ่ นางนวลกห็ ายไปดว้ ย คงเหลือแตค่ วามรักนาย

พอตกบ่ายทุก ๆ วนั มอมมนั จะต้องไปหมอบคอยนายที่หัวกระไดบา้ น ตามนั จบั อยู่ที่ประตูบ้าน และประสาททุกส่วนเตรียมพร้อมที่จะรับนาย พอได้ยินเสียงฝี เท้านายเดินกลับบ้าน มอมก็หูต้ังคอยฟัง พอลูกบิดประตูหนา้ บา้ นเสียงดงั แกร๊กมนั กโ็ ผจากที่ดว้ ยกา ลงั ท้งั ตวั แลว้ กโ็ ถมเขา้ หานาย ดีใจเสียเป็นที่สุดที่แลว้ ที่นายกลับบ้าน มันจะว่ิงเข้าพันแข้งพันขานาย คาบข้อมือนายเลียต้ังแต่หน้าลงมาจนถึงเท้า ค ว า ม ดี ใ จ ข อ ง ม อ ม ก ว่ า จ ะ ส ง บ ไ ด้ ก็ เ มื่ อ น า ย ผ ลั ด ผ้า เ ข้ า ห้ อ ง อ า บ น้ า ห า ย ไ ป ที น้ี มนั ก็มีหน้าที่ติดตามนายไปทุกฝีก้าวไม่ว่านายจะน่ังหรือนอน หรือจะไปทางไหน มอมเป็นต้องอยู่ข้าง ๆ บ า ง วัน น า ย พ า มัน อ อ ก ไ ป เ ดิ น เ ที่ ย ว เ ล่ น น อ ก บ้า น ถ้า วัน ไ ห น ไ ด้อ อ ก ไ ป เ ที่ ย ว กับ น า ย วนั น้ันก็เป็ นวนั ที่มอมดีใจเอิกเกริกเป็ นพิเศษ ออกได้ก็ว่ิงน าหน้าไปบางทีก็ว่ิงเลยไป จนนายต้องเรียก บ า ง ค ร้ั ง ไ ด้ ก ล่ิ น อ ะ ไ ร ที่ ข้ า ง ถ น น น่ า ส น ใ จ เ ป็ น พิ เ ศ ษ มั น ก็ ไ ถ ล เ ที่ ย ว สู ด ด ม ก ล่ิ น น้ั น เ สี ย จ น น า ย ต้ อ ง เ รี ย ก อี ก เ ห มื อ น กั น มอมมันเป็ นหมาที่มีแต่หัวใจและหัวใจของมันน้ันก็มอบให้นาย ฉะน้ัน มิไย นายจะส่ังสอนให้ทา อะไร มอมกไ็ มค่ อ่ ยเอาใจใส่ เพราะเมื่ออยกู่ บั นายมนั มีแตค่ วามดีใจความสุข ไมม่ ีปัญญาจะไปจดจา อะไรไดก้ ี่มากนอ้ ย แต่ถึงกระน้ันมันก็ยังอุตส่าห์เรียนวิชาที่นายสอนให้ไว้ได้อย่างหน่ึง เวลาเดินไปริมคลองหรือริมบ่อ นายจะหาก่ิงไม้แห้ง ๆ ขว้างลงไปในน้ า มอมมันก็กระโดดน้ าว่ายไปคาบเอาก่ิงไม้กลับมาให้นาย ที่ ม อ ม มั น เ รี ย น ไ ด้ เ ร็ ว ก็ เ พ ร า ะ ว่ า มั น เ ห็ น เ ป็ น ก า ร เ ล่ น ช นิ ด ห น่ึ ง บางทีนายไม่อยากเล่นเพราะมันสะบัดขนน้ าเปี ยกนาย แต่มอมก็เที่ยวไปหาก่ิงไม้แห้ง ๆ คาบมาชวนนายเล่นทุกคร้ังที่มีบอ่ หรือคลองอยใู่ กล ้ ๆ

มอมมันอยู่กับนายเป็ นปรกติสุ ขมาได้สองปี กว่า จนมันเติบโตเป็ นหนุ่มใหญ่เต็มที่ ใครเห็นใครกต็ อ้ งชมวา่ มนั เป็นหมาที่งามไมน่ อ้ ยและเมื่อนายบอกกบั คนอื่นวา่ มอมเป็นหมาเกิดใตถ้ ุนบา้ นก็ไม่ค่ อยมีใครเชื่อ จนถึงวันหนึ่งซึ่งเป็นวันส าคัญที่สุดในชีวิตของมอม วันน้ันเป็ นวันหน่ึงในฤดูหนาว ม อ ม มั น คึ ก คั ก เ ป็ น พิ เ ศ ษ จึ ง ล อ ด ร้ั ว อ อ ก ไ ป เ ที่ ย ว น อ ก บ้ า น ต้ั ง แ ต่ เ ช้ า ต รู่ ย่ิงเที่ยวไปมนั ก็ย่ิงเพลินไกลบา้ นออกไปทุกที ถา้ มอมมนั เป็นคน มนั ก็จะสังเกตวา่ เช้าวนั น้นั ผูค้ นที่เดินถนน มีสีหน้าผิดปรกติ บางคนก็หน้าตาเศร้าหมอง บางคนก็หน้าตื่น ส่วนมากน้ันจับกลุ่มยืนพูดกัน แต่มอมมันก็มีธุระของมันที่จะต้องว่ิงดมกล่ินอะไรต่ออะไรเรื่อยไป ไหนจะกล่ินสัตว์ประหลาด ๆ ที่ อ อ ก ม า จ า ก ก อ ห ญ้า ห รื อ เ ล้ื อ ย ค ล า น ข้ึ น ม า จ า ก ค ล อ ง แ ล้ว รี บ ก ลับ ล ง ไ ป เ มื่ อ ใ ก ล้รุ่ ง มอมมันว่ิงลุยน้ าค้างที่จับขาวอยู่บนใบหญ้า อากาศเย็นเฉียบมากระทบหน้ากระทบใบหูและลิ้นของมัน ทา ให้เบิกบานใจกว่าธรรมดา แต่พอสายเขา้ หน่อยมอมก็เร่ิมสังเกตเหมือนกนั ว่า มีอะไรผิดปรกติไปเสียแล้ว เพราะบนถนนสายใหญ่น้ัน มีรถยนต์บรรทุกขนาดโตกว่าที่มันเคยเห็น ว่ิงตามกันมาเป็ นแถวยาวเหยียด แผ่นดินสะเทือนมาต้ังแต่ไกล บนรถน้ันมีคนอยู่เต็ม แต่งตัวอย่างที่มอมมันไม่เคยเห็นมาก่อน พูดจากันด้วยสุ้มเสียงที่มอมไม่เคยได้ยินมาก่อนเลย คนเหล่าน้ันรูปร่างเต้ียล่ าผิดกับคนไทยที่มอมรู้จัก มอมมันยืนน่ิงตัวแข็งอยู่ข้างถนน ขนคอชันหูต้ัง ความรู้สึกเหมือนกับขโมยเข้าบ้าน มันสูดกล่ิน แรง ๆ คนที่อยบู่ นรถน้นั ผดิ กล่ินเป็นแน่แลว้ เพราะมีกล่ินสาบกล่ินสางอยา่ งที่มอมไมเ่ คยรู้จกั มาแตก่ ่อนเลย พ อ ม อ ม มั น รู้ ว่ า มี อ ะ ไ ร ผิ ด ป ร ก ติ ใ จ มั น ก็ คิ ด ถึ ง น า ย ว า บ ข้ึ น ม า ทั น ที ป่ านน้ี นายจะ อยู่ที่ ไหนจะ เป็ นอย่างไร นายผู้หญิงจะเรี ยก มันเที่ย วตามหามันหรื อเปล่ า ใครจะมาท าอะไรหนูซ่ึงนายเคยส่ังให้มันเฝ้ าหรื อไม่ก็ไม่รู้ และป่ านน้ีคนแปลกหน้าผิดกล่ิน จะเข้าไปในบ้านของมนั บา้ งแล้วกระมงั พอหัวใจมอมมนั หวนกลบั ไปบ้าน ตวั มนั ก็หันกลับ และขาท้งั 4 ข อ ง มั น ก็ พ า ตั ว มั น ก ลั บ บ้ า น ทั น ที ม อ ม ก ลั บ ไ ป ถึ ง บ้ า น ไ ม่ เ ห็ น มี อ ะ ไ ร ผิ ด ป ร ก ติ เห็นแตน่ ายและนายผหู้ ญิงนง่ั พูดกนั เบา ๆ ดว้ ยสีหนา้ ไม่สู้ดี มอมเขา้ ไปเลียมือนาย แต่นายเพียงแต่ตบหวั มนั เบา ๆ 2 - 3 ที แล้วก็ไม่สนใจมันอีกต่อไป นายผู้หญิงก็ไม่ได้ทักมันหรือไล่มันอย่างเคย มอมกระดิกหางหมุนไปหมุนมาสักครู่หน่ึง เห็นไม่ได้เรื่อง มนั ก็ไปเล่นกบั หนูซ่ึงดีใจมากเมื่อมนั ไปอยู่ด้วย มอมลงนอนหงายให้ ห นู เ ก า ท้ อ ง แ ล้ ว ก็ ดึ ง หู ดึ ง ห า ง มั น ไ ป ต า ม เ รื่ อ ง วั น น้ั น มอมสังเกตวา่ นายไมไ่ ดอ้ อกไปไหนท้งั วนั ถา้ ไดย้ นิ เสียงรถแล่นหรือเสียงคนเดินดงั เอะอะก็เดินไปดูที่ประตูบา้ น มอมก็ฉวยโอกาสว่ิงตามนายไปเห่าล่ันที่ประตูบ้านเหมือนกัน เพราะมอมมันต้องการให้นายเข้าใจว่า มนั รู้เหมือนกนั วา่ มีอะไรผิดปรกติและถา้ หากเกิดมีภยั อนั ตรายมาถึงบา้ น มนั ก็พร้อมที่จะสู้และยอมตายให้นาย แต่นายกลบั จุ๊ปากบอกให้มนั น่ิง แล้วเดินกลบั เขา้ บา้ น ทา ดงั น้ีอยู่หลายคร้ังจนค่า นายกินข้าวแล้วก็ข้ึนบา้ น ปล่อยใหม้ นั เฝ้ าหวั กระไดอยา่ งเคย

รุ่งเชา้ ข้ึนตอนสาย ๆ มีคนมาเปิดประตูหนา้ บา้ น มอมมนั กา ลงั ระแวง มนั ก็เห่ากรรโชกทา ท่าจะเอาจริง นายผูห้ ญิงต้องว่ิงมาดึงคอมันไว ้ ส่วนนายผูช้ ายไปพูดกับคนแปลกหน้าที่มาหน้าบ้าน อีกประเดี๋ยวหน่ึง คนแปลกหน้าก็กลับไป นายเดินกลับเขา้ มาช้า ๆ หน้าเผือดไม่สบายใจ ในมือถือกระดาษขาว ๆ แผ่นหน่ึง ม อ ม ไ ด้ ยิ น น า ย เ รี ย ก น า ย ผู้ ห ญิ ง ใ ห้ ต า ม ข้ึ น ไ ป บ น เ รื อ น เ ห็ น พู ด จ า กั น สั ก ค รู่ ห น่ึ ง นายผหู้ ญิงเอากระดาษแผน่ น้นั มาดูแลว้ กซ็ บหนา้ ลงร้องไห ้

ต้ั ง แ ต่ น้ั น ม า น า ย ก็ เ ร่ิ ม ห า ย ไ ป จ า ก บ้ า น ห ล า ย วั น จึ ง ก ลั บ ม า ค ร้ั ง ห น่ึ ง มอมสังเกตเห็นนายแต่งตัวผิดไปกว่าแต่ก่อนคือนายแต่งตัวสีกากีแกมเขียว ใส่หมวกสีเดียวกัน มีอะไรสีทองติดที่หน้าหมวก กางเกงขายาวที่เคยนุ่งก็กลับเป็ นพันแข้งและเกือกหนังบางที่เคยใส่ และที่มอมมันเคยเลีย บางคร้ังก็แอบเอาไปกัดเล่น เดี๋ยวน้ีก็ไม่ใส่ กลายเป็ นไปใส่เกือกหนา ๆ สาก ๆ คร้ังแรกที่มอมเห็นนายแต่งตวั อย่างน้ีกลับบ้าน มนั เกือบจา ไม่ได้ แต่พอนายเดินเข้ามาใกล้ได้กล่ินมนั จึงรู้ ระหว่างที่นายหายหน้าไปคร้ังละหลายวัน มอมเห็นนายผู้หญิงเศร้ากว่าทุกคร้ังที่เคยเห็นมา งานการทางบ้านที่เอาใจใส่ก็ดูเนือย ๆ ลงไป นายผู้หญิงชอบอุ้มหนูไปน่ังกระได และน่ังอยู่นาน ๆ มอมมันเข้าไปหยอกล้อชวนเล่นด้วย นายผู้หญิงก็ไม่เล่น บางทีมันก็เอาหัวเข้าไปวางที่ตักนายผู้หญิง เธอก็ลูบหัวมนั เบา ๆ แต่สายตาน้นั เหม่อมองไปไกล ส่วนมากนายผูห้ ญิงนง่ั อยจู่ นพลบค่า แลว้ จึงกลบั เขา้ เรือน ต อ น ใ ก ล้ ๆ จ ะ พ ล บ เ ธ อ มั ก จ ะ เ อ า ห นู ม า ก อ ด ไ ว้ แ น่ น แ ล้ ว ก็ ร้ อ ง ไ ห ้ มอมมนั ไม่เคยเห็นนายผูห้ ญิงเป็นอยา่ งน้ีมาแต่ก่อน ใจคอมนั ก็เงียบเหงาลงไปตาม ที่มนั เคยเล่นหวั ก็น้อยลงไป ที่เคยแอบหนีไปเที่ยวเตร่ก็น้อยลงไปเช่นเดียวกนั เมื่อนายหายไปนาน ๆ มอมมนั ก็ตามนายผูห้ ญิงแทนนาย และมันมีความรู้สึ กในใจว่า ระหว่างที่นายไม่อยู่ มันจะต้องเฝ้ าบ้านท้ังนายผู้หญิงและหนู ไ ม่ ใ ห้ ใ ค ร ม า เ ก ะ ก ะ ท า อั น ต ร า ย ไ ด้ จ น ก ว่ า น า ย จ ะ ก ลั บ ม า วัน ไ ห น น า ย ก ลั บ บ้ า น ความรู้สึกในบ้านก็เปลี่ยนไปท้งั หมด นายผูห้ ญิงก็กระปร้ีกระเปร่าทา กบั ข้าวพิเศษ มอมมนั ก็ดีใจโลดเต้น ชีวติ ซ่ึงแตก่ ่อนเป็นปรกติประจา วนั น้นั เดี๋ยวน้ีกลายเป็นของที่มีเพียงชว่ั คร้ังชว่ั คราวระหวา่ งที่นายกลบั บา้ น

วันหน่ึง นายกลบั มาบ้าน และมาอยู่ได้ 2 – 3 วนั แต่มอมสังเกตดูนายและนายผูห้ ญิง ไม่สู้จะดีใจรื่นเริงเหมือนที่เคย เห็นแต่น่ังพูดกันเบา ๆ คร้ังละนาน ๆ บางคร้ังนายผู้หญิงก็ร้องไห ้ ส่วนนายน้ันก็มีสีหน้าและกิริยาอาการบอกให้มอมเห็นได้ว่ามีทุกข์หนัก มอมมันพยายามที่จะเข้าหานาย พ ย า ย า ม ที่ จ ะ ช ว น น า ย เ ล่ น ช ว น น า ย ไ ป เ ดิ น เ ที่ ย ว พ ย า ย า ม ทุ ก ๆ ทางที่หมามีหัวใจเต็มไปด้วยความรักอยา่ งมนั จะทา ได ้ เพื่อให้คนที่มนั รักน้ันหายทุกข์ แต่ก็ไม่เป็นผลส าเร็จ น า ย มัก จ ะ น อ น เ ห ม่ อ ที่ เ ก้ า อ้ี ย า ว ที่ เ ฉ ลี ย ง ไ ม่ พู ด จ า อ ะ ไ ร น า น ๆ ก็ ถ อ น ใ จ ย า ว ๆ มอมมนั ก็ไดแ้ ต่หมอบอยทู่ ี่เทา้ ของนาย ตาก็จบั อยทู่ ี่หนา้ นาย คอยดูวา่ เมื่อไรนายจะมีแววตาที่แสดงวา่ หายทุกข ์ ตอนเยน็ วนั ก่อนที่นายจะออกจากบา้ นไป มอมเห็นนายผหู้ ญิงเก็บของเล็ก ๆ นอ้ ย ๆ เขา้ ห่อ เป็นพวกยาสีฟัน สบู ่ และของกินแห้ง ๆ ใส่กระป๋ อง นอกจากน้ันก็มีเส้ือผ้าบ้าง นายผู้หญิงเก็บของไปก็ร้องไห้ไป ส่วนนายก็ติดตามนายผู้หญิงอยู่ตลอดเวลา ไม่ว่าจะเข้าห้องไหนหรือประการใด ช่วยห่อของให้บ้าง พูดปลอบนายผูห้ ญิงบ้าง แต่มอมก็ไม่เห็นนายผูห้ ญิงหยุดร้องไห้ ย่ิงเห็นนายอยู่ใกล้ ๆ ก็ย่ิงร้องไห้มากข้ึน คร้ังหน่ึง นายผหู้ ญิงเอามือนายไปกา ไวแ้ น่น ยกมือนายข้ึนไปที่หนา้ แลว้ ก็ย่ิงร้องไห้สะอึกสะอ้ืนหนกั ข้ึนไปอีก มอมเห็นนายเอาแขนโอบนายผหู้ ญิงไวก้ บั ตวั แลว้ นง่ั น่ิงอ้ึงอยนู่ าน

รุ่ งข้ึน นายตื่นแต่เช้าตรู่ นายแต่งตัวเสร็ จก็ถือห่อของพะรุ งพะรังออกจากบ้านไป มอมมนั วง่ิ ตามนายออกไป แตพ่ อถึงประตูหนา้ บา้ นนายกท็ รุดตวั ลงนง่ั กอดมนั ไวแ้ น่น “มอม – ไอ้มอม” เสียงนายกระซิบส่ังที่หู “ขา้ จะตอ้ งจากไปนาน จะไดก้ ลบั เมื่อไรก็ยงั ไม่รู้ เอ็งอยู่ทางหลังช่วยเฝ้ าบ้าน ช่วยดูนายผู้หญิง ช่วยดูหนู เอ็งรักข้ามากข้ารู้ เอ็งต้องท าตามที่ข้าส่ัง แลว้ คอยขา้ อยทู่ ี่นี่ ไมต่ ายขา้ จะกลบั ”

มอมเอาหน้ามันไปแ นบ ที่ ห น้า น าย ต า ม ใ บ หน้า ข อ ง น าย น้ัน อ า บ ไป ด้ว ย น้ า ต า เป็นคร้ังแรกที่มนั ไดเ้ คยเห็น มอมมนั ส่งนายเพียงประตูบา้ นแลว้ มนั ก็เดินกลบั เรือน หางตกหัวตก มนั เดินช้า ๆ ไปที่หัวกระไดที่มันเคยนอน ล้มตัวลงเหยียดยาว ตาจับอยู่ที่ประตูหน้าบ้าน มอมครางออกมาเบา ๆ เหมือนกบั จะอุทานความในใจของมนั ใหค้ นรู้วา่ ชีวติ ของมอมน้นั สิ้นสุดลงนบั ต้งั แตว่ าระที่นายออกจากบา้ นไป และจะเป็นอยเู่ ช่นน้นั จนกวา่ นายจะกลบั มาอีก

นายหายไปจากบ้านคราวน้ีไม่กลับมาอีกเลย อาทิตย์ กลายเป็ นเดือน เดือนกลายเป็ นปี จนกระท้งั ปีหน่ึงไดผ้ า่ นไปนายก็ยงั ไม่กลบั นาน ๆ จะมีบุรุษไปรษณียเ์ อาจดหมายมาส่งให้นายผหู้ ญิงสักทีหน่ึง มอมเห็นแต่นายผู้หญิงอ่านแล้วอ่านเล่า และในที่สุดก็ร้องไห้ทุกคร้ังไป พอนายไปได้สักปี กว่า ๆ มอมมันก็เร่ิ มเห็นความร่ วงโรยภายในบ้านมากข้ึนทุก ๆ วัน นายผู้หญิงซูบผอมผิดปรกติ การแต่งกายก็ปอนกว่าแต่ก่อน ท้ังมิได้ระมัดระวัง หนูน้ันเติบใหญ่ข้ึนจนว่ิงได้แล้ว แต่ก็ผ่ายผอม มิใช่อ้วนน่าเอ็นดูอย่างแต่ก่อน บ้านที่เรียบร้อยสะอาดสะอ้านน้ัน บัดน้ีรกรุงรัง เต็มไปด้วยหยากไย ่ เ พ ร า ะ น า ย ผู้ห ญิ ง มิ ไ ด้เ อ า ใ จ ใ ส่ เ ช็ ด ถู อ ย่า ง เ ค ย ม อ ม ต้อ ง เ รี ย น บ ท เ รี ย น ใ ห ม่ ใ น ชี วิ ต เ จ๊ ก ข า ย ข ว ด ซ่ึ ง น า ย ยุ ใ ห้ ม อ ม เ ห่ า แ ล ะ กัด ทุ ก ค ร้ั ง ที่ แ ว ะ ก ร า ย เ ข้า ม า ใ น บ้า น น้ัน บัด น้ี กลายเป็ นคนสนิทชิดชอบกันกับนายหญิง เพราะนายผู้หญิงห้ามปรามมอมเด็ดขาดมิให้กัด หรือแม้แต่เห่าเจ๊กขายขวดอีกต่อไป เป็ นอันว่าเจ๊กขายขวดมีสิทธ์ิเดินเข้ามาถึงหน้ากระไดบ้าน บางที ก็ถึ งกับน่ังอยู่ที่ ชานหน้าครั ว มอมเห็ นนาย ผู้หญิ งส นทนากับเจ๊ก ข าย ขวดนาน ๆ ทุ ก ค ร้ั ง จ ะ ต้อ ง ห ยิ บ ข อ ง ใ น บ้า น ม า ใ ห้ เ จ๊ ก ข า ย ข ว ด ดู เ ป็ น ถ้ว ย ช า ม บ้า ง ช้อ น ส้ อ ม บ้า ง บางทีก็เป็ นของอื่นที่มอมไม่รู้จัก แล้วเจ๊กขายขวดก็ยื่นกระดาษเล็ก ๆ สองสามแผ่นให้นายผู้หญิง มอมเห็นนายผูห้ ญิงเอากระดาษน้ันมานับ เสร็จแล้วเจ๊กขายขวดก็เอาของใส่หาบแล้วก็เดินออกจากบา้ นไป นายผู้หญิงท าอยู่อย่างน้ัน จนนานเข้า มอมสังเกตเห็นของในบ้านที่มันเคยชินลูกตาน้ันบางไปมาก บ า ง ที ห นู ม า ว่ิ ง เ ล่ น อ ยู่ ใ ก ล้ ๆ เ ว ล า น า ย ผู้ห ญิ ง พู ด กับ เ จ๊ ก ข า ย ข ว ด แ ต่ พ อ เ จ๊ ก ไ ป แ ล้ว น า ย ผู้ ห ญิ ง ต้ อ ง ค ว้ า ห นู ม า ก อ ด ไ ว้ แ ล้ ว ร้ อ ง ไ ห้ ทุ ก ค ร้ั ง ไ ป ขอ งที่ ม อม มันรู้ สึ ก ว่าเ ป ลี่ ย น ไป ม าก ก็คื อ เรื่ อ งอ า หา รก า รกิ น แ ต่ เมื่ อค ร้ั งน า ย ยัง อยู่น้ัน มั น มิ เ ค ย ต้ อ ง อ น า ท ร ร้ อ น ใ จ เ ล ย แ ต่ เ ดี๋ ย ว น้ี ม อ ม มั น ต้ อ ง ท น หิ ว อ ยู่ ต ล อ ด เ ว ล า เ มื่ อ น า ย อ ยู่ น า ย เ ค ย ใ ห้ มั น กิ น ข้ า ว วั น ล ะ ส า ม เ ว ล า ข ณ ะ น้ี ม อ ม ต้ อ ง อ ด ม้ื อ กิ น ม้ื อ แ ล ะ ม้ื อ ที่ มี กิ น น้ัน ก็ มิ ไ ด้ท า ใ ห้ ม อ ม ห า ย หิ ว ล ง ไ ด้ มัน ม อ ง ดู ต า น า ย ผู้ห ญิ ง อ ย่ า ง ส ง สั ย เ พ ร า ะ แ ท น ที่ จ ะ เ ป็ น อ า ห า ร ห นั ก ใ น เ ว ล า เ ช้ า น า ย ผู้ห ญิ ง เ พี ย ง แ ต่ เ ท น้ า ข้า ว ใ ห้ ม อ ม ม อ ม มั น ไ ม่ เ ค ย กิ น แ ต่ ด้ ว ย ค ว า ม หิ ว มั น ก็ ต้ อ ง ก ลื น กิ น หมดแลว้ มนั กเ็ งยหนา้ ดูนายผหู้ ญิงผซู้ ่ึงยนื มองดูมนั ดว้ ยความเป็นห่วง แตพ่ อเห็นมอมมนั มองเหมือนกบั จะขออีก นายผู้หญิงก็หันหลังรี บเดินหนีไป มอมมันรู้แล้วว่าม้ือกลางวันน้ันเป็ นอันไม่มีหวังที่จะได ้ เพราะมันเห็นนายผู้หญิงเตรียมอาหารเล็ก ๆ น้อย ๆ ให้หนู ส่วนมากก็เป็ นของเหลือมาจากม้ือเช้า ส่วนตัวนายผูห้ ญิงเองก็ไม่ได้แตะอะไรเหมือนกัน แม้ม้ือเย็นก็มีแต่บางวนั เฉพาะวนั ที่นายผูห้ ญิงกินข้าว วันไหนมอมหิวหนักเข้ามันก็ไปน่ังมองขณะที่นายผู้หญิงก าลังกิน ถ้านายผู้หญิงหันมามอง มันก็เลี ยปากให้รู้ ว่ามันหิ วมากเหมือนกัน แต่นายผู้หญิงก็จะน้ าตากบลูกตา รี บอ่ิมข้าว แลว้ เอาของที่เหลือคลุกใหม้ นั กินทนั ที

มอมมันไม่เข้าใจว่าของที่เคยมีน้ัน เหตุไรจึงหมดไป มอมมันรู้แต่ว่านายจากบ้านไปนาน แต่สักวนั หน่ึง นายจะกลบั ระหวา่ งน้ีมนั ก็ไดแ้ ต่จะคอยนาย มนั หารู้ไม่วา่ นายถูกระดมไปเป็นทหาร ไปอยไู่ กล ไม่มีก าหนดกลับ และนายผู้หญิงซ่ึ งไม่มีรายได้อะไรเลยก็ได้แต่ขายของเก่าไปทีละชิ้ น แล ะ ต้องครองชี พไปอย่างอดม้ื อกิ นม้ื อ บา งวันนาย ผู้หญิ งต้องย อมอดเพื่อใ ห้ลู ก ได้กิ น หรือมิฉะน้ันก็ต้องกินแต่น้อย เพื่อให้มอมซ่ึงผัวฝากไว้ได้กินให้อ่ิม ๆ ต้ังแต่มอมมันยังตัวเล็ก ๆ น า ย เ ค ย ห้ า ม เ ด็ ด ข า ด มิ ใ ห้ มัน ไ ป เ ก็ บ ข อ ง กิ น น อ ก บ้า น ม อ ม มัน ก็ ป ฏิ บัติ ต า ม ต ล อ ด ม า เ พ ร า ะ เ มื่ อ ท้ อ ง มั น อ่ิ ม มั น ก็ ไ ม่ มี ค ว า ม จ า เ ป็ น ที่ จ ะ ต้ อ ง ไ ป ห า อ ะ ไ ร กิ น ที่ อื่ น อี ก แต่เดี๋ยวน้ีมอมต้องผิดคา ส่ังนายเพราะท้องมนั หิวเต็มทน ก็ตอ้ งพ่ึงถงั ขยะเช่นเดียวกบั หมาขา้ งถนนตวั หน่ึง ดว้ ยความอด ดว้ ยความตรอมใจที่นายหายไป มอมมนั เปลี่ยนไปจากแต่ก่อน ร่างกายก็ผา่ ยผอมลงไปเห็นไดถ้ นดั ขนที่เคยมนั ก็กลบั กลายเป็นดา้ น จมูกแห้ง นยั น์ตาเซื่องซึม กิริยาอาการที่เคยโลดเตน้ ร่าเริงก็กลายเป็นเชื่องช้า ส่วนมากมนั ใชเ้ วลานอนที่หวั กระไดบา้ น เพื่อคอยนายตามที่นายส่ังไว ้ อีกสองปี ผ่านไป ยงั ไม่มีแววว่า นายจะกลับมาเลย คืนวนั หน่ึงมอมอยู่ที่หัวกระไดที่มนั เคยนอน นายผู้หญิงกับหนูนอนอยู่ข้างบนเรื อน มอมมันหลับสนิทไปพักหน่ึง แต่มาตกใจตื่นตอนดึก เพราได้ยินเสียงนายผู้หญิงไอและเสียงหนูร้องออดแอด พอเสียงข้างบนเงียบไปมันก็นอนต่อ แต่หูน้ันคอยฟังเสียงต่างๆ ที่จะผิดปรกติ อีกสักครู่หน่ึง มันได้ยินเสียงเครื่องยนต์ดังห่ึงมาแต่ไกล มอมมันรู้ว่าเป็ นเสียงเครื่องบิน เพราะเมื่อมันยังเป็ นลูกหมา เห็นเครื่ องบินบินผ่านหลังคาบ้าน มั น ต้ อ ง ว่ิ ง ไ ล่ เ ห่ า ทุ ก ค ร้ั ง แ ล ะ น า ย เ ค ย หั ว เ ร า ะ ช อ บ ใ จ ที่ มั น ไ ล่ กั ด เ ค รื่ อ ง บิ น มัน น อ น ฟั ง เ สี ย ง ที่ อ ยู่แ ต่ ไ ก ล น้ัน สั ก ค รู่ ก็ รู้ ว่า เ ค รื่ อ ง บิ น น้ัน ก า ลัง ใ ก ล้เ ข้า ม า ทัน ใ ด น้ัน ม อ ม มั น ก็ ต ก ใ จ แ ท บ สิ้ น ส ติ ข น พ อ ง ชั น ไ ป ท้ั ง ตั ว แ ล ะ ผุ ด ลุ ก ข้ึ น ยื น อ ย่ า ง ร ว ด เ ร็ ว ในท่ามกลางความมืดและความเงียบสงัดน้ันมีเสียงที่มันไม่เคยได้ยินมาแต่ก่อนดังก้องไปท่ัว ม อ ม มั น เ ข้ า ใ จ ว่ า เ ป็ น เ สี ย ง ห ม า ห อ น แต่หมาตวั ที่หอนน้นั มนั จะตอ้ งใหญ่โตมหึมาน่าสะพรึงกลวั เสียเป็นที่สุดแลว้ เสียงหอนน้นั ดงั เป็นระยะๆ ถี่ๆ มอมตวั ส่ันเทาด้วยความตื่นเตน้ หมาที่ไหนหนอสามารถหอนดงั ให้ได้ยินทว่ั ท้งั เมือง มอมมนั หอนรับทนั ที แต่เสียงของมนั ดูดงั ค่อยจนตวั มนั เองแทบจะไม่ได้ยิน ทนั ทีน้ันมนั ก็สังเกตเห็นไฟตามถนนดบั พร่ึบลงหมด เสียงนายผู้หญิงหวีดร้องบนเรือน เสียงหนูร้องไห้ด้วยความกลัว นอกบ้านก็มีเสียงฝี เท้าคนว่ิง เสี ยงร้องเรี ยกกันโหวกเหวก เสี ยงปิ ดเปิ ดบานหน้าต่างประตู และเสี ยงเด็กร้องไห้ท่ัวไป มอมมนั เผ่นลงไปอยู่ที่ลานบ้านหน้าเรือน อีกอึดใจเดียวนายผูห้ ญิงก็อุ้มหนูซ่ึงกอดไวแ้ น่นลงมาน่ังอยู่ด้วย พ อ เ ห็ น น า ย ผู้ห ญิ ง ม อ ม มัน ก็ ห ม ด ค ว า ม ตื่ น เ ต้น แ ล ะ ค ว า ม ก ลัว จิตใจมันสงบลงทันที เพราะมนั รู้ว่ามนั มีหน้าที่จะตอ้ งทา มนั เบียดเขา้ ไปจนชิดตวั นายผูห้ ญิง มนั เลียมือนายผูห้ ญิงและเลียแขนหนู เป็นวธิ ีเดียวที่มนั จะบอกใหส้ องคนน้นั รู้วา่ ไมต่ อ้ งกลวั ไมต่ อ้ งตกใจ มอมยงั อย ู่ - มอมยงั อย ู่

มอมไมร่ ู้วา่ มนั นง่ั อยกู่ บั นายผหู้ ญิงนานสักเทา่ ไร แตข่ ณะน้นั มนั ไดพ้ บไดเ้ ห็นของที่มนั ไมเ่ คยพบเห็นหลายอยา่ ง มนั ไดเ้ ห็นไฟฉายเป็นทางยาวข้ึนไปบนฟ้ า เห็นเครื่องบินลา สีขาวบินฉวดั เฉวยี นอย ู่ เสียงปืนตอ่ สู้อากาศยานไดย้ นิ ดงั สนน่ั จนกระเทือนเจบ็ แกว้ หู เสียงลูกระเบิดแหวกอากาศดงั ซู่ลงมา สัญชาตญาณบอกใหม้ นั หมอบลงกบั พ้ืนดินทนั ที มอมรู้สึกเสียวไปตามสันหลงั และขนคอ และขนตามหลงั มนั ต้งั ชนั ขณะเดียวกนั มนั รู้สึกไดด้ ว้ ยความกระเทือนของแผน่ ดินวา่ มีการระเบิดข้ึนในระยะใกลต้ ิด ๆ กนั หลายคร้ัง มอมมนั เฝ้ านายผหู้ ญิงอย ู่ จนกระทง่ั ไดย้ นิ หมาใหญ่ตวั มหึมาน้นั หอนข้ึนเป็นกงั วานดงั ยาวรวดเดียวอีกคร้ังหน่ึง นายผหู้ ญิงลุกข้ึนจากที่นง่ั มอมสังเกตเห็นคนเร่ิมจุดไฟและเร่ิมใชไ้ ฟฉายในที่ตา่ ง ๆ อีกคร้ังหน่ึง เสียงคนพดู กนั และเสียงหวั เราะดงั จากที่ตา่ งๆ รอบบา้ น นายผหู้ ญิงลูบหวั มนั เบา ๆ เหมือนกบั จะขอบใจที่เฝ้ าอยเู่ ป็นเพื่อนแลว้ กอ็ ุม้ หนูกลบั ข้ึนเรือน

หลังจากน้นั ไมว่ า่ มอมจะไปทางใด เห็นแตค่ นขุดหลุมกนั ทว่ั ไปใหญบ่ า้ งเล็กบา้ ง มอมมนั เที่ยวดมตามกองดินที่เขาขดุ ข้ึนมา กไ็ มเ่ ห็นมีกล่ินอะไรเกินไปกวา่ กล่ินธรรมดา แมน้ ายผหู้ ญิงกข็ ุดหลุมที่ริมร้ัวขา้ งบา้ น ตาแก่ที่อยบู่ า้ นติดกนั แกมาช่วยขดุ ให ้ มอมนึกวา่ นายผหู้ ญิงคงขุดหาหนู หากระดูกเก่า ๆ ที่ฝังไว ้มนั ก็เขา้ ไปขดุ ใชส้ องเทา้ หนา้ ตะกุยดินไป พลางจมูกมนั กก็ ดลงไปที่ดิน สูดกล่ินแรง ๆ เพื่อจะไดร้ ู้วา่ หนูหรือกระดูก หรืออะไรกต็ ามที่นายผหู้ ญิงตอ้ งการน้นั ฝังอยทู่ ี่ใด มอมมนั คุย้ ดินข้ึนมาไดก้ องโตเอาการ นายผหู้ ญิงและคนแก่วางจอบเสียมนงดูมันแล้วหัวเราะ่ั เสียงตาแก่ชมกบั นายผหู้ ญิงวา่ “หมาตวั น้ีมนั รู้เอาการอย”ู่ แตม่ อมมนั กย็ งั ไมร่ ู้อยนู่ น่ั เองวา่ นายผหู้ ญิงขุดหลุมหาอะไร

ตอ่ จากน้นั เมื่อมีเสียงเครื่องบิน มีเสียงหมาหอน มอมกเ็ ห็นนายผหู้ ญิงอุม้ หนูว่ิงลงไปอยใู่ นหลุมน้นั ทุกคร้ัง จนในที่สุด มอมมนั กร็ ู้ ถา้ คืนไหนมนั ไดย้ นิ เสียงเครื่องบินมาแตไ่ กลมนั กห็ อนข้ึนก่อนแลว้ กเ็ ร่ิมตะกุยประตูเรือนดงั ๆ เพื่อปลุกนายผหู้ ญิง พอรู้วา่ นายผหู้ ญิงตื่นมนั กร็ ีบวง่ิ ลงไปนง่ั คอยอยใู่ นหลุมก่อนทุกคร้ังไป ความตื่นเตน้ ในเวลากลางคืนน้นั มีบอ่ ยคร้ังเขา้ และเสียงระเบิดน้นั ดงั ใกลบ้ านเข้ามาทุกที้ ชาวบา้ นแถบน้นั กเ็ ร่ิมหายไปจากบา้ น มอมเห็นแตป่ ิดบา้ นทิ้งไวเ้ป็นจา นวนมาก ผคู้ นในตรอกน้นั ที่เคยคึกคกั กเ็ งียบเหงาลงไป คงเหลือแต่นายผหู้ ญิงอยทู่ ี่บา้ นกลบั หนู มอมมนั ไมร่ ู้ มนั นึกวา่ นายผหู้ ญิงคงอยคู่ อยใหน้ ายกลบั เช่นเดียวกบั มนั มอมมนั เป็นหมามนั จะรู้ไดอ้ ยา่ งไร วา่ นายผหู้ ญิงน้นั กลวั แสนกลวั ไมเ่ ป็นอนั หลบั อนั นอนจนเกือบจะลม้ เจบ็ ลง มอมมนั ไม่มีหนทางจะรู้ไดเ้ ลยวา่ นายผหู้ ญิงของมนั อพยพหลบภยั ตามชาวบา้ นเขาไปไมไ่ ด ้ กเ็ พราะนายผหู้ ญิงมีแตต่ วั คนเดียว ไมม่ ีพวกพอ้ งวงศาคณาญาติที่ไหนที่จะไปอาศยั ได ้ และความจนน้นั กบ็ งั คบั ใหน้ ายผหู้ ญิงตอ้ งอยตู่ ่อไป ท้งั ที่แสนจะห่วงความปลอดภยั ของลูก และความรู้สึกเปลี่ยวเปล่าที่เกือบจะทนไมไ่ ด ้ คืนวนั หน่ึง มอมรู้สึกร้อนรนและตื่นเตน้ เหมือนกบั วา่ มีส่ิงใดบอกมนั วา่ ภยั กา ลงั ใกลเ้ ขา้ มา และกจ็ ริงดงั น้นั พอตกดึกกม็ ีเสียงหมาหอนดงั ข้ึนและเสียงเครื่องบินใกล้เข้ามาทุกที นายผหู้ ญิงอุม้ หนูวง่ิ ลงไปในหลุม มอมมนั กว็ ง่ิ ลงไปนง่ั ขา้ ง ๆ เช่นเคย เสียงเครื่องบินดงั กวา่ ที่มอมมนั เคยไดย้ นิ มา เสียงระเบิดดงั ใกลๆ้ บา้ นเขา้ มา มอมเลียมือนายผหู้ ญิง รู้สึกวา่ มือน้นั เยน็ ชืดดว้ ยความกลวั มอมไดย้ นิ เสียงลูกระเบิดแหวกอากาศตรงมาที่หลงคาบ้านั มนั หมอบน่ิงคอยความกระเทือนของระเบิด แต่แทนที่จะมีเสียงระเบิด มอมกลบั ไดย้ นิ เสียงดงั กราวใหญท่ างหลงั บา้ น อีกสักครู่หน่ึงมนั กไ็ ดก้ ล่ินเหม็นไหมอ้ ยา่ งแรง ไฟไหมบ้ า้ นแน่แลว้ มอมมนั โจนข้ึนจากหลุมวง่ิ ไปที่ครัว เห็นไฟกา ลงั ติดหลงั คาเป็นหยอ่ ม ๆ และกา ลงั ลุกลาม มอมมนั ตกใจเตม็ ที่ ไดแ้ ตเ่ ห่าแลว้ มนั กว็ ง่ิ กลบั มาเห่าที่หลุมเพื่อบอกนายผหู้ ญิงให้รู้วา่ ไฟกา ลงั ไหมบ้ า้ น แตน่ ายผหู้ ญิงกม็ ิไดก้ ระเต้ืองข้ึนจากหลุม มอมมนั กไ็ ดแ้ ตเ่ ห่า ไดแ้ ตว่ ง่ิ ไปวง่ิ มาดว้ ยความเป็นห่วงบา้ นกเ็ ป็นห่วง เป็นห่วงนายผหู้ ญิงและหนูกเ็ ป็นห่วง มอมมนั ตดั สินใจไมถ่ ูกวา่ จะทา อยา่ งไรดี ในทนั ใดน้นั มนั กไ็ ดย้ นิ เสียงลูกระเบิดแหวกอากาศลงมาอีกซู่หน่ึงทา ใหห้ ลงั มนั เยน็ วาบ แตก่ ่อนที่มนั จะทา อะไรได ้ มอมมนั รู้สึกเหมือนมีของหนกั ๆ มากระทบอยา่ งแรง ทา ใหต้ วั มนั กระเด็นไปไกล หูอ้ือไปหมด มอมหมดสติไปครู่หน่ึงเพราะแรงลูกระเบิดทา ลายลูกหนึ่งที่ตกลงมาระเบิดกลางลานบ้านพอดี

พอมอมฟ้ืนข้ึนมา ส่ิงแรกที่มนั เห็นกค็ ือ ไฟไหมบ้ า้ นท้งั หลงั ลุกโพลง ส่องแสงสวา่ งจา้ ทว่ั ไปหมด ส่ิงแรกที่ใจมนั นึกถึงกค็ ือนายผหู้ ญิงและหนู ป่านน้ีจะเป็นอยา่ งไร มนั ตะเกียกตะกายจะลุกข้ึนยนื แตม่ นั รู้สึกเสียวปลาบที่ขาหลงั มอมเหลียวไปดู เห็นขาหลังข้างซ้ายเป็นแผลยาว อาจเป็นสะเกด็ ระเบิดหรือเศษไมก้ ระเด็นถูก เลือดขน้ ๆ ของมนั กา ลงั ไหลออกมาแดงฉาน มนั ลม้ ตวั ลงนอนเพราะเดินยงั ไมไ่ หว มอมนอนเลียแผลอยนู่ านจนขาที่เจบ็ คอ่ ยหายชา มีความรู้สึกข้ึนมนั กค็ ร่ึงเดินคร่ึงคลานไปที่หลุมที่นายผหู้ ญิงอย ู่ ที่หลุมน้นั เงียบสนิท ไม่มีเสียงใด ๆ ลูกระเบิดที่ตกลงกลางลานบา้ นทา ใหด้ ินกระเด็นมากลบหลุมเสียกวา่ คร่ึง มอมเห็นเทา้ นายผหู้ ญิงโผล่ออกมาจากกองดิน มนั กม้ ลงเลีย เทา้ น้นั เยน็ ชืดไมม่ ีชีวติ มอมมนั รู้สึกร้อนผา่ วไปท้งั ตวั นายฝากนายผหู้ ญิงและหนูไวก้ บั มนั บดั น้ี นายผหู้ ญิงและหนูอยใู่ ตก้ องดิน มอมตดั สินใจใชข้ าหนา้ ท้งั สองลงมือขดุ ทนั ที มนั ขดุ ดว้ ยกา ลงั แรงที่สุดเทา่ ที่มนั มี หวั ใจมนั เตน้ เหมือนกบั จะระเบิดออกมานอกอก มนั จะตอ้ งเอานายผหู้ ญิงและหนูออกมาจากหลุมใหไ้ ด ้ แตด่ ินที่กลบน้นั หนานกั สุดกา ลงั ที่มอมจะคุย้ ผเู้ดียวไหว หมดปัญญาเขา้ มนั กเ็ ร่ิมเห่าและหอนอยปู่ ากหลุม เสียงหอนของมนั ทา ใหช้ าวบา้ นแถบน้นั วงั เวงใจ เพราะมันเป็นเสียงคร่าครวญของหมาพันทางตัวหนึ่งที่หัวใจแตกสลายลง

พอรุ่งสาง มอมไดย้ นิ เสียงคนอึกทึกนอกบา้ น มีรถบรรทุกคนั ใหญค่ นั หน่ึงมาจอดที่หนา้ ประตูบา้ น ตอนน้นั ไฟไหมบ้ า้ นจนมอดลงแลว้ ไมม่ ีอะไรเหลือนอกจากเถา้ ถ่านและควนั จาง ๆ คนกลุ่มหน่ึงถือพลว่ั ถือเสียมวง่ิ เขา้ มาในบา้ น พอเห็นมอมยนื เห่าอยทู่ ี่หลุมกต็ รงเขา้ มา พอเห็นเทา้ นายผหู้ ญิงโผล่จากกองดิน มอมกไ็ ดย้ นิ เสียงคนเหล่าน้นั ร้องตะโกนเรียกกนั เอะอะ อีกหลายคนวง่ิ มาที่หลุมแลว้ กเ็ ร่ิมโกยดินออกทนั ที ในที่สุด มอมกไ็ ดเ้ ห็นนายผหู้ ญิงนอนเหยยี ดยาวเหมือนดงั หลบั อยใู่ ตก้ องดินในหลุม หนูนอนน่ิงอยใู่ นออ้ มแขนของแม ่ มอมมนั โจนลงไปในหลุมคร่อมนายผหู้ ญิงไว ้ใครเขา้ มาใกลก้ ไ็ มย่ อม มนั เฝ้ าแตข่ คู่ า รามและแยกเข้ียวขาว ตามนั มีแววเขียวป้ัดอยขู่ า้ งใน คนท้งั โลกเป็นศตั รู คนเหล่าน้ีที่ทา ใหน้ ายตอ้ งจากไป คนเหล่าน้ีที่ทา ใหบ้ า้ นที่มนั เคยอยเู่ คยกิน ตอ้ งไฟไหมจ้ นหมดสิ้นไป คนเหล่าน้ีกา ลงั จะมาแตะตอ้ งตวั นายผหู้ ญิงและหนู จะทา อนั ตรายอยา่ งอื่นต่อไปอีก ชายคนหน่ึงเขา้ มาใกลต้ วั นายผหู้ ญิง มอมมนั กง็ บั เขา้ ที่แขน เสียงร้องใหค้ นช่วยลน่ั ไป แตม่ อมตวั เดียวหรือจะตอ่ สู้ขดั ขืนคนท้งั ฝงู ได ้ ในที่สุดเขากก็ ลุม้ รุมกนั เขา้ หามร่างอนั ไร้ชีวิตของนายผหู้ ญิงและหนูข้ึนรถบรรทุกแล่นหายไป มอมมนั วง่ิ ตามโขยกเขยกไปเพราะขามนั เจบ็ แตแ่ ลว้ มนั กห็ มดแรง ตอ้ งคอ่ ย ๆ ตะกายกลบั บา้ น บา้ นที่ไมม่ ีเรือน บา้ นที่ร้ัวพงั จนหมดเหลือแต่ซากของประตู บา้ นที่ไมม่ ีนาย ไมม่ ีนายผหู้ ญิง ไมม่ ีหนู บา้ นที่วา่ งเปล่า ไมม่ ีอะไรเหลืออีกต่อไป มอมมนั เดินวนเวยี นรอบลานบา้ น ตะวนั สายข้ึนมา มนั รู้สึกท้งั หิวและอยากน้า ขาของมนั เร่ิมเจบ็ มากข้ึนมาอีก จมูกของมนั แหง้ ผาก ลิ้นของมนั ห้อยและแผบ่ าน ตาของมันสาดแดงด้วยสายเลือด มอมล้มตัวนอนใกล้ ๆ ปากหลุมที่เขาขุดเอานายผู้หญิงไป มันครางเบา ๆ อีกคร้ังหน่ึง แลว้ กต็ ้งั ใจจะนอนอยทู่ ี่นน่ั จนกวา่ นายจะกลบั มา จะดุจะตีวา่ มนั ไมท่ า ตามที่นายส่ัง มนั กย็ อม ขอ้ สา คญั ขอใหน้ ายกลบั มาเท่าน้นั

มอมมนั นอนเช่นน้นั อยหู่ ลายวนั โดยที่ไมม่ ีใครรู้ไมม่ ีใครเอาใจใส่ เพราะมนั เป็นแตเ่ พียงหมาตวั หน่ึง ในที่สุดความหิวกระหายกบ็ งั คบั ใหม้ นั ตอ้ งโซเซออกหากิน มนั เดินไปตามถนน เจออะไรที่พอจะกินประทงั ชีวติ ไดก้ ก็ ินไมเ่ ลือก หมาซ่ึงแตก่ ่อนเคยกลวั มนั รุมกนั เห่ารุมกนั กดั มอมมนั กไ็ มส่ ู้ คอยหลบหลีกเพราะมนั ไมม่ ีกา ลงั ใจกา ลงั กายที่จะตอ่ สู้กบั ใครอีกต่อไปแลว้ มอมมนั เที่ยวตุหรัดตุเหร่ไปอยา่ งไมม่ ีความหมาย ยง่ิ เดินกย็ ง่ิ ไกลบา้ นเก่าออกไปทุกที ค่า ลงที่ไหนมนั กน็ อนที่นน่ั ใตห้ อ้ งแถวบา้ ง ริมกอหญา้ ขา้ งถนนบา้ ง เมื่อกา ลงั มนั ออ่ นลงทุกวนั มนั กไ็ ปหลบเงานอนอยทู่ ี่หนา้ ประตูบา้ นใหญร่ ิมถนนแห่งหน่ึง

มอมมันหลับอยู่นานเพราะความอ่อนใจ มาตกใจตื่นอีกทีตอนที่ได้ยินเสียงพูดกันอยู่ใกล้ ๆ เสียงเด็กผู้หญิงร้องเรียก “พอ่ พอ่ จ๋า” ดงั ๆ หลายคร้ัง มอมลืมตาข้ึนดู เห็นเด็กผหู้ ญิงคนหน่ึงอายุประมาณ 10 ขวบ คุกเข่าอยู่ข้างตัวมัน มือลูบหัวมันอยู่ด้วยความปราณี มอมมันรู้สึ กว่ามือน้ันไม่ใช่มือศัตรู แต่เป็ นมือของมิตร มนั กระดิกหางรับ อีกสักครู่ มันก็เห็นชายผูใ้ หญ่รูปร่างอ้วนคนหน่ึงเดินมาเปิ ดประตู โผล่หนา้ ออกมาดูแลว้ ถามวา่ “อะไรกนั ลูก”

“พอ่ ดูหมาตวั น้ีซี สวยจงั เลย มนั ขาเจบ็ น่าสงสาร หนูจะเอามนั เขา้ ไปเล้ียง” เด็กหญิงร้องตอบ

“อยาเลยลูก่ ” ชายคนน้นั พดู “หมาที่ไหนกไ็ มร่ ู้ บางทีมนั เป็นจะเป็นบา้ พอ่ ดูทา่ มนั ชอบกลอย”ู่

“ไมบ่ า้ หรอกพอ่ เมื่อตะก้ีมนั ยงั กระดิกหางกบั หนูเลย” เด็กหญิงพดู พลางพยงุ มนั ใหล้ ุกข้ึนยนื “หนูจะต้งั ชื่อมนั วา่ ไอด้ ๊ิก มานี่ไอด้ ๊ิก มานี่มะไอด้ ๊ิก”

มอมลุกข้ึนยนื แลว้ เดินโซเซตามเด็กหญิงเขา้ ไปในบา้ น ขณะที่มนั ตอ้ งเสียทุกอยา่ งไปแลว้ หากมีใครที่แสดงวา่ เป็นมิตร มนั กอ็ ยากจะคบดว้ ย ชายที่อยทู่ ี่ประตูไมพ่ ดู วา่ อะไร เปิดประตูทิ้งไวใ้ หล้ ูกสาว แลว้ เดินขา้ มสนามกลบั ข้ึนไปบนตึก

บา้ นที่มอมมาอยใู่ หม่น้นั เป็นตึกใหญ่โต ผิดกวา่ บา้ นเก่าของมอมมากมายนกั หนา้ ตึกมีเกา้ อ้ี มีกระถางตน้ ไมต้ ้งั ไวอ้ ยา่ งสวยงาม และมีตน้ ไมใ้ หญป่ ลูกไวร้ ่มเยน็ ในบา้ นน้นั มีคนอยหู่ ลายคน ทุกคนทกั ทายเด็กเพื่อนของมนั วา่ คุณแต๋ว ส่วนมากกพ็ ยายามเอาอกเอาใจคุณแต๋วท้งั น้นั พอ่ คุณแต๋วบอกหญิงคนหน่ึงใหไ้ ปเอาขา้ วเอาน้า มาใหม้ นั กิน มนั เห็นหญิงคนน้นั วง่ิ หายไปหลงั บา้ น อีกประเดี๋ยวเดียวมนั กไ็ ดก้ ินขา้ วคลุกกบั แกงบะช่อชามโต และมีน้า ใสสะอาดใส่ชามอา่ งมาวางไวข้ า้ ง ๆ คุณแต๋วส่ังใหต้ าแก่คนหน่ึงพามนั ไปอาบน้า ถูสบูห่ ลงั จากที่มนั กินขา้ วแลว้ พอตวั มอมแหง้ ดี คุณแต๋วกใ็ ส่ยาใหท้ ี่แผล

มอมมนั อยกู่ บั คุณแต๋วมานาน มนั รู้วา่ เดี๋ยวน้ีมนั ชื่อไอด๊ิก ถา้ คุณแต๋วเรียกมนั ดว้ ยชื่อน้นั มนั กจ็ ะเขา้ ไปหา แตม่ อมไม่มีวนั ลืมวา่ ชื่อจริงของมนั ที่นายต้งั ใหค้ ือ “ไอ้มอม” มนั อยกู่ บั คุณแต๋วมีอาหารการกินและคนเอาใจใส่บริบูรณ์ทุกอยา่ ง จนร่างกายมนั กลบั แขง็ แรง ขนเป็นมนั ขลบั ใครเห็นใครกช็ มวา่ คุณแต๋วช่างไปหาหมาจากไหนมาเล้ียง แตม่ อมมนั ไมก่ ระปร้ีกระเปร่ารื่นเริงเหมือนแตก่ ่อน เพราะถึงมอมมนั จะสบายกส็ บายแตก่ าย ใจของมอมยงั คอยนายอยเู่ สมอ ไมม่ ีวนั ลืม ถึงแมว้ า่ มอมมนั จะรักคุณแต๋ว มนั กร็ ักเพราะมือที่ใหข้ า้ วมนั กิน คุณแต๋วไมใ่ ช่ชีวติ ของมอม บางทีมอมมันออกไปนง่ั หนา้ บา้ น สังเกตดูคนที่เดินผา่ น เผื่อวา่ ในหมูค่ นที่เดินมาน้นั นายอาจเดินผา่ นมาบา้ ง บางทีคนแปลกหนา้ เขา้ มาในบา้ น มนั กต็ อ้ งวง่ิ ไปดูเผื่อจะเป็นนายมาตามหามนั

คืนวนั หน่ึงในฤดูร้อนอีก 2 ปี ตอ่ มา มอมมนั นอนรับลมเยน็ อยหู่ ลงั ตึก คืนน้นั คนในบา้ นมีอยไู่ มก่ ี่คน เพราะมอมมนั เห็นถือกระเป๋ าข้ึนรถไปกบั คุณแต๋วหลายคนต้งั แต่เชา้ เสียงพดู กนั วา่ จะไปตากอากาศ ดึกมากแลว้ แตม่ อมมนั ยงั ไมห่ ลบั มนั นอนอยนู่ ่ิง ๆ หูกค็ อยฟังเสียงตา่ ง ๆ เช่นเคย มนั ไดย้ นิ เสียงเหมือนใครใชเ้ หล็กงดั หนา้ ตา่ งขา้ งตึกช้นั ล่าง มอมมนั คา รามข้ึนคร้ังหน่ึง เสียงน้นั กเ็ งียบไปอีกครู่หน่ึง เสียงน้นั ดงั ข้ึนอีก มอมค่อยๆ ลุกข้ึนเดินออ้ มไปทางที่มาของเสียง ขนคอของมนั ต้งั ชนั เป็นแปรง ขโมยแน่แลว้ มิใช่ใครอื่น คืนน้ีมอมมนั จะจบั ขโมยใหค้ ุณแต๋วและคนท้งั บา้ นใหญน่ ้ีเห็นฝีมือมนั มอมมนั เดินอยา่ งเงียบที่สุด สะกดใจไวม้ ิใหเ้ ห่าออกมา พอมนั เดินออ้ มพน้ มุมตึก มนั ก็แลเห็นคนคนหน่ึง กา ลงั ปีนมา้ เล็ก ๆ งดั หนา้ ตา่ งอยจู่ ริง ๆ มอมมนั ยอ่ งใกลเ้ ขา้ ไปทุกที อีกประเดี๋ยวเป็นไดเ้ ห็นดีกนั ทนั ใดน้นั ลมพดั วบู หน่ึงพาเอากล่ินตวั คนคนน้นั มาตอ้ งจมูกมนั ใจของมอมเกือบจะหยดุ เตน้ ดว้ ยความดีใจ มนั โถมเขา้ ใส่คนคนน้นั ดว้ ยกา ลงั ท้งั หมดที่มนั มีอย ู่ ทา เอาคนคนน้นั หงายหลงั ศีรษะฟาดกบั พ้ืน นอนงงอยคู่ รู่ใหญ ่ มอมตวั ส่ันเทา กระดิกหางเร็วไม่เป็นจงั หวะ มนั เลียชายผนู้ ้นั ต้งั แต่หนา้ ไปท้งั ตวั เพราะกล่ินที่ลมพดั มาเขา้ จมูกมนั น้นั หาใช่กล่ินแปลกของใครที่ไหนไม ่ แตเ่ ป็นกล่ินที่มนั รู้จกั ดี เป็นกล่ินของนายที่มนั ต้งั ใจคอยมาตลอดเวลาหลายปี นบั ต้งั แตว่ นั ที่นายจากไป นายงงอยพู่ กั ใหญ ่ แต่แลว้ นายกจ็ า ได ้ เขายกแขนข้ึนกอดคอมนั ไวแ้ น่น “ไอ้มอม” เสียงนายกระซิบที่หูมัน “มอม” นายเรียกมนั อีกคร้ังหน่ึงดว้ ยเสียงสะอ้ืนเหมือนกบั มีอะไรมาจุกอยใู่ นคอ มอมมนั ไมไ่ ดย้ นิ ใครเรียกชื่อมนั มานาน พอไดย้ นิ นายเรียก มนั กด็ ีใจลิงโลด ส่งเสียงร้องหงิง ๆ ดว้ ยความดีใจ นายลุกข้ึนยนื เหลียวซา้ ยแลขวา จุป๊ ากคอ่ ย ๆ ใหม้ นั น่ิง มอมมนั กไ็ มน่ ่ิง เพราะความดีใจของมนั เกินที่จะน่ิงได ้ ความสุขความเป็นหนุ่มของมนั กลบั มาใหมโ่ ดยสิ้นเชิง นายวง่ิ ขา้ มสนามเบา ๆ พอถึงร้ัวพรู่ ะหงกม็ ุดออกไปนอกบา้ น มอมมนั โกยสี่ตีนตามและมุดร้ัวออกไปนอกบา้ นกบั นาย

นายทรุดตวั ลงนง่ั ลูบหวั ลูบคอมนั แลว้ กระซิบที่หูมนั วา่ “มอม ขา้ ไมน่ ึกเลยวา่ ขา้ จะไดพ้ บเอง็ ขา้ นึกวา่ ขา้ ไมม่ ีอะไรเหลือแลว้ ในโลกน้ี” นายหยดุ พดู ไปครู่หน่ึง “เขาส่งขา้ ไปไกล ข้าไมไ่ ดข้ า่ วคราวจากใครเลย พอกลบั มาบา้ น เขากบ็ อกวา่ บา้ นไฟไหมห้ มด ลูกเมียถูกระเบิดตาย งานการที่ขา้ เคยทา คนอื่นเขากเ็ อาตา แหน่งไปหมดแลว้ ไมม่ ีใครเขาจะมาคอย ขา้ หมดหนทางจริง ๆ มอมเอ๋ย แตเ่ อง็ อยา่ นึกวา่ ขา้ เคยลกั ขโมย คร้ังน้ีเป็นคร้ังแรก พอดีพบเอง็ เอง็ กท็ า ใหข้ า้ ตอ้ งอาย ทา ไมล่ ง”

“กลับเข้าบ้านเถิดมอม ” นายพูดพลางลุกข้ึนยืน “ข้าไม่มีปัญญา จะเล้ียงเอ็งได้เสียแล้ว” นายช้ีมือไปที่ร้ัวพลางไล่มัน “ไป ไอ้มอมเข้าบ้าน” แทนค าตอบ มอมมันกระดิกหางแรงกว่าเก่า แ ล ะ ว่ิ ง ร อ บ ๆ ตัว น า ย น า ย ไ ล่ มัน อ ยู่ ห ล า ย ค ร้ั ง แ ต่ ม อ ม มัน ก็ ไ ม่ ฟั ง น า ย ก ลับ ม า แ ล้ ว มอมจะไม่ให้นายพน้ สายตาอีกต่อไป ความจริง นายเปลี่ยนไปมากเพราะผอมลง ผมเผา้ รุงรัง เส้ือผา้ ขาดว่ิน แตอ่ ยา่ งไรกย็ งั เป็นนายของมอม นายที่มนั ทิ้งไมไ่ ด ้

ดึ ก ม า ก แ ล้ ว พ ร ะ จั น ท ร์ ข้ า ง แ ร ม เ ร่ิ ม ข้ึ น ท อ แ ส ง ส ว่ า ง ไ ป ท่ั ว นายเดินอย่างอ่อนระโหยไปน่ังที่ริมคูข้างถนน สายตามองไปไกล มอมไปน่ังชิดกับนายอยู่ครู่หน่ึง เห็นนายไม่ไหวติง มันก็นึกอะไรออก มอมว่ิงไปคาบก่ิงไม้แห้งมาวางไว้บนตักนายด้วยความเคยชิน นายเอาก่ิงไมข้ วา้ งลงไปในคู มอมมนั กก็ ระโดดโครมตามลงไปคาบก่ิงไมม้ าใหน้ ายอยา่ งที่เคยทา

นายซบหน้าลงบนหัวของมัน เสียงนายกระซิบเรียกชื่อมันหลายคร้ัง ไม่พูดว่าอะไรอีก น้ าตาร้อนผ่าวร่วงลงบนหน้าและจมูกของมอม นายน่ังอยู่เช่นน้ันอีกนาน ในที่สุด นายลุกข้ึนยืนช้าๆ คล าหูมนั อย่างใจลอย แล้วพูดว่า “ไอ้มอม เอ็งชนะข้า ไปด้วยกัน มา ตามข้ามา” แล้วนายก็ออกเดิน มีมอมตามติดไป คืนหน้าร้อนวันนั้น ถ้าหากมีใครเดินมาตามถนนราชวิถีตอนดึกประมาณสักตีสองครึ่ง จะได้เห็นชายคนหนึ่งรูปร่างสูงผอม เสื้อผ้าขาดวิ่น เดินช้า ๆ อยู่ข้างถนนอย่างอ่อนระโหยโรยแรง ข้าง ๆ ตัว มีหมาตัวผู้งามตัวหนึ่ง ปากคาบกิ่งไม้ คอตั้งหางเชิด วิ่งตามเขาไปด้วยความเบิกบานสุดขีด

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ปลำตะเพียน The barbs

ไพฑรู ย์ ธัญญา Phaitoon Thanya

ทนั ทีที่เขา้ บา้ น นอ้ งสาวกถ็ ามผมเรื่องกุญแจน้นั อีก เธอกา ลงั ง่วนอยกู่ บั การพบั ผา้ ออ้ มลูกชาย ใบหนา้ ที่เคย ซีดเซียวเนื่องจากการคลอดบุตรใหม ่ ๆ เร่ิมมีเลือดฝาดข้ึนมาบา้ งแลว้ ผมแกลง้ ทา เป็นไมไ่ ดย้ นิ พลางไพล่ไปดูหลานชายที่กา ลงั หลบั อุตุอยใู่ นเปล เจา้ หนูเพ่ิงลืมตาดูโลกไดไ้ มถ่ ึงสองเดือน ตวั กลมป้ อมแกม้ ยยุ้ ลงมากองอยบู่ นฟูก มือเล็ก ๆ ท้งั คูซ่ ่อนอยใู่ นถุงมือสีขาวอ่อนนุ่ม ผมกม้ ดูใกล ้ ๆ พยายามมิใหเ้ กิดเสียงดงั เพราะเกรงวา่ แกจะตกใจตื่น กล่ินหอมละมุนจากตวั หนูนอ้ ยอบอวลอยใู่ นลมหายใจ ผมสูดกล่ินน้ีแรง ๆ ผมชอบกล่ินน้ีมาก มนั ทา ใหเ้ กิดความรู้สึกแปลก ๆ ผสมผสานกนั ระหวา่ งกล่ินตวั เด็กอ่อน กล่ินแป้ งฝ่นุ กล่ินนมและกล่ินผา้ ออ้ ม ละมุนละไมและช่างคุน้ เคยเสียนี่กระไร “พี่ลืมอีกแล้วซิ?” นอ้ งสาวเอ่ยข้ึนอยา่ งรู้ทนั ผมหนั ไปยมิ้ แหย ๆ ใหเ้ ธอ พร้อมกบั แกต้ วั ถึงสาเหตุที่ลืมซ้ือกุญแจน้นั หลายวนั มาน้ีผมมีงานยงุ่ มาก เลยทาให้ลืมเรื่องกุญแจเสียสนิท นอ้ งสาวส่ายหนา้ อยา่ งเอือมระอาในความข้ีลืมของผม หลายวนั มาแลว้ ที่เธอบน่ อยากไดก้ ุญแจมาคลอ้ งประตูร้ัว บา้ นของเราอยในซอยเล็กู่ ๆ หน้าบ้านชิดถนน มีประตูเหล็กแคบ ๆ ชนิดเลื่อนไดต้ ่อจากกา แพงอิฐบล็อก ตอนกลางคืนผมจะปิดประตูใส่กุญแจไว ้ แตก่ ลางวนั เมื่อไปทา งานผมตอ้ งใชก้ ุญแจน้นั ล็อกขาต้งั มอเตอร์ไซคก์ นั ขโมย ประตูร้ัวจึงไมม่ ีกุญแจ เจา้ ตวั เล็กคงนอนหลบั สนิทอยใู่ นเปลหวาย เปลน้ีเป็นสมบตั ิเก่าแก่สมยั ที่แมย่ งั มีชีวติ อย ู่ ผมและนอ้ งสาวตา่ งเคยนอนในเปลน้ีมาแลว้ ท้งั น้นั กระทง่ั วนั น้ีถึงคราวของหลานชายบา้ ง วนั ที่ผมร้ือเปลออกมาซ่อมและทา ความสะอาด นอ้ งสาวหวั เราะเสียยกใหญ ่ เธอเอาแตพ่ ดู ซ้า ๆ วา่ ไมน่ ่าเชื่อ ไม่น่าเชื่อเลยวา่ แมก่ บั ลูกจะไดน้ อนเปลเดียวกนั ผมเองกพ็ ลอยสนุกไปกบั เธอดว้ ย ผมพดู วา่ ถา้ พอ่ ของหนูยงั อยกู่ ค็ งไดห้ วั เราะไปดว้ ยหรอก ผมพดู ไดแ้ คน่ ้ีนอ้ งสาวกบ็ อกใหห้ ยดุ เธอเบือนหนา้ ไปอีกทาง กอดเจา้ หนูไวแ้ นบออกแลว้ สะอ้ืนเบา ๆ ผมเสียใจ ผมไมค่ วรเอย่ ถึงพอ่ ของเด็กเลย แตท่ ุกคร้ังที่เห็นหนา้ เจา้ หนู ผมไมว่ ายคิดถึงเขาเสมอ เขาเป็นคนดี รักเมียและขยนั ทา งาน แตว่ า่ บุญเขานอ้ ยเกินไป เขามีอาชีพขบั รถบรรทุก แลว้ วนั หน่ึงอุบตั ิเหตุกพ็ รากเขาไปจากพวกเรา ในเวลาน้นั นอ้ งสาวของผมเพ่ิงทอ้ งไดส้ ี่เดือน เมื่อเขาตายผมกร็ ับนอ้ งสาวใหม้ าอยดู่ ว้ ยกนั ในบา้ นหลงั น้ี นอ้ งสาวของผมเป็นครูสอนในโรงเรียนประถมศึกษา ตอนน้ีเธอกา ลงั อยใู่ นระหวา่ งปิดเทอมใหญ ่ เราไมร่ ู้เลยวา่ เมื่อโรงเรียนเปิดแลว้ เราจะทา อยา่ งไรดีกบั พอ่ หนูนอ้ ย? ผมนง่ั อยขู่ า้ งเปลและเร่ิมดึงเชือกไกวชา้ ๆ เพราะไดย้ นิ เสียงเจา้ หนูดิ้นเบา ๆ เสียงเปลดงั ออดแอดเป็นจงั หวะซ้า ซาก ออ่ นโยนและเป็นทว่ งทา นองที่คุน้ เคย เสียงเปลทา ใหผ้ มหวนร าลึกไปถึงช่วงชีวติ ในวนั เด็ก แมเ่ คยเล่าใหฟ้ ังวา่ ผมนอนในเปลน้ีกระทง่ั แมม่ ีนอ้ งสาว ตอนน้นั ผมอายไุ ดห้ า้ ขวบแลว้ ตวั โตข้ึนและเปลกค็ บั แคบเกินไปสา หรับผม กระน้นั ผมกย็ งั ด้ือดึงจะนอนในเปลอีก เรื่องน้ีกลายเป็นหวั ขอ้ ที่แมช่ อบนา มาเล่าใหเ้ พื่อน ๆ ผมฟังในตอนหลงั มนั ทา ใหผ้ มอบั อายและเป็นที่ลอ้ เลียนของเพื่อน ๆ ทุกคร้ังไป ผมเลยคิดถึงแมข่ ้ึนมาอีก นี่ถา้ แมอ่ ยกู่ ค็ งดีใจไมน่ อ้ ยที่ไดห้ ลานคนแรกเป็นผชู้ าย แมจ่ ะตอ้ งเรียกแกวา่ ‘ไอ้หนู’ หรือไมก่ ็ ‘ไอ้คนน้อย’ อะไรทานอง น้นั นอ้ งสาวของผมกไ็ มต่ อ้ งกงั วลวา่ จะไมม่ ีคนช่วยเล้ียงลูก เวลาเจา้ หนูนอนหลบั แมก่ ค็ งนง่ั ฝ้ าอยไู่ มย่ อมห่าง มือคอยจบั สายเปลแกวา่ งไกวขณะที่ปากร้องเพลงกล่อมไปดว้ ย ผมยงั จา เพลงกล่อมเด็กของแมไ่ ดต้ ิดหู แมจ่ า เพลงกล่อมเด็กไดม้ ากเหลือเกิน ราวกบั วา่ ในทอ้ งของแม่เตม็ ไปดว้ ยบทเพลงเหล่าน้นั แม่ร้องเพลงดว้ ยน้า เสียงธรรมดา แตไ่ พเราะออ่ นโยนอยา่ งบอกไมถ่ ูก มนั ทา ใหผ้ มและนอ้ งสาวเคลิบเคลิ้มดื่มด่า กระทง่ั วา่ เราค่อย ๆ เผลอหลบั ไปโดยไมร่ ู้ตวั ผมเคยบอกใหน้ อ้ งสาวร้องเพลงกล่อมเจา้ หนูบา้ ง ผมบอกใหร้ ้องเพลงที่แมเ่ คยร้องใหเ้ ราฟัง แตเ่ ธอกลบั หวั เราะอยา่ งเกอ้ เขิน เธอบอกวา่ จา ไมไ่ ด ้ ผมรู้วา่ จริง ๆ แลว้ เธอจา มนั ไดบ้ า้ งหรอก เพียงแตเ่ ธอไมก่ ลา้ ทา เทา่ น้นั เจา้ หนูยงั ดิ้นไปมาและเร่ิมร้องไห ้ ผมรีบลุกข้ึนดู แกทา ที่นอนเปียกนน่ั เอง ผมรีบอุม้ แกข้ึนมาเพื่อเปลี่ยนผา้ ออ้ ม ตอนที่ผมร้ือตะกร้าผา้ น้นั ผมพบปลาตะเพียนสานตัวน้อย ๆ สองตวั ซุกอยกู่ น้ ตะกร้า มนั เป็นปลาตะเพียนที่สานจากใบมะพร้าว ยงั ใหมแ่ ละดูสดอยเู่ พราะสีเขียวของใบไมย้ งั ไมท่ นั หมองคล้า ผมรีบถามนอ้ งสาววา่ ไดป้ ลาตะเพียนน้ีมาจากไหน ผมไมเ่ คยเห็นเธอสานปลาตะเพียนมาก่อน นอ้ งสาวผมแปลกใจมาก ตอนแรกเธอหาวา่ ผมแกลง้ ลอ้ เล่น แตพ่ อผมเอาใหด้ ูเธอถึงกบั อ้ึงไป “พี่ไมไ่ ดเ้ ป็นคนเอามาแน่นะ” เธอถาม “เรื่องอะไรพี่จะอาเรา ” ผมวา่ “ถา้ ง้นั ...” เธอน่ิงอยา่ งใชค้ วามคิด แลว้ พดู ข้ึนอยา่ งตื่นเตน้ “ตอ้ งเป็นยายชอ้ ยแน่ ๆ เลย” เธอรีบควา้ ปลาตะเพียนสานไปดู ฉบั พลนั สีหนา้ กเ็ ปลี่ยนเป็นบ้ึงตึง แลว้ หนั มาบอกผมอยา่ งจริงจงั วา่ พรุ่งน้ีผมตอ้ งไมล่ ืมซ้ือกุญแจอีก หรือถา้ จะใหด้ ีกค็ วรออกไปซ้ือเสียเยน็ น้ีเลย “กุญแจกบั ปลาตะเพียนไมเ่ ห็นเกี่ยวกนั นี่” “เกี่ยวซี เกี่ยวมาก ๆ ดว้ ย” นอ้ งสาวพดู อยา่ งคนมีอารมณ์ “พี่รู้ม้ยั ? ยายช้อยมาที่นี่ทุกวัน แกเขา้ มาดูหนูเล้ียงลูก ขออุม้ เจา้ หนูบา้ งล่ะ อยากช่วยทา โน่นทา นี่บา้ งล่ะ มิน่า หนูถึงไดเ้ ห็นแกไมย่ อมห่างตะกร้าผา้ เลย ป่านน้ีขโมยอะไรไปบา้ งแลว้ กไ็ มร่ ู้” หลายวนั มาน้ี ผมไดย้ นิ นอ้ งสาวบน่ ถึงยายชอ้ ยอยบู่ า้ งเหมือนกนั แตน่ ึกไมถ่ ึงวา่ แกจะเขา้ มาวุน่ วายอยา่ งน้ี ถา้ อยา่ งน้นั ปลาตะเพียนสานนี่กค็ งเป็นของแก แตท่ า ไมแกถึงเอามาซุกไวก้ น้ ตะกร้า ทา ไมถึงไมบ่ อกนอ้ งสาวผม หากวา่ แกต้งั ใจจะเอามาใหจ้ ริง ๆ “หนูไมร่ ู้เหมือนกนั วา่ แกตอ้ งการอะไรกนั แน่” นอ้ งสาวพูดตอ่ ไปอีก “ทา ไมแกถึงไดช้ อบมาวนุ่ วายกบั หนูกไ็ มร่ ู้ แกมาทุกวนั มาถึงก็เปิดประตูเข้ามาในบ้านเลยทีเดียว ทา อยา่ งกบั วา่ เป็นบา้ นของตวั เองอยา่ งง้นั แหละ ที่ร้ายกค็ ือวา่ แกมาเฝ้ าเจา้ หนูไมย่ อมห่าง คงอยากอุม้ เสียนกั หนา แตห่ นูไมย่ อมหรอกพี่ ไมม่ ีวนั เสียล่ะที่แกจะไดถ้ ูกตวั เจา้ หนู พี่ลองดูสารรูปของแกมง่ั ซิ สกปรกและเหมน็ สาบกป็ านน้นั ” เธอพดู แลว้ ยกั ไหล่อยา่ งดูแคลน คา พดู ของเธอทา ใหผ้ มนึกเห็นภาพยายชอ้ ยชดั เจนข้ึน แกเป็น หญิงชราบา้ นอยทู่ า้ ยซอย ห่างจากบา้ นของเราไมไ่ กลนกั อนั ที่จริงครอบครัวของเรากไ็ มไ่ ดค้ ุน้ เคยอะไรกบั แกนกั หรอกเราเป็นเพียงคนที่อยซู่ อยเดียวกนั มานานแลว้ แตก่ ไ็ มร่ ู้รายละเอียดกนั และกนั มากนกั ยง่ิ เมื่อแมต่ ายจากไป ผมกบั ครอบครัวของยา้ ยชอ้ ยยง่ิ ห่างเหินกนั มากไปอีก ในการรับรู้ของผมกค็ ือ แกเป็นคนเก่าคนแก่ในละแวกน้ี ผมมกั เห็นแกเดินท่อม ๆ ผา่ นหนา้ บา้ นออกบ่อย แกชอบหิ้วตะกร้าใส่หมากและชอบเอาผา้ คลุมหวั เวลาเดินไปไหนมาไหน ทา่ ทางของแกจึงดูเหมือนแม่มดในนิทานมากเขา้ ไปทุกที ก่อนหนา้ น้ียายชอ้ ยเคยอยกู่ บั ลูก ๆ ลูกชายคนโตของแกอายไุ ล่เลี่ยกบั ผม แตอ่ อกจากบา้ นไป นานแลว้ ผมไมเ่ คยเห็นเขากลบั มาอีกเลย ลูกอีกคนเป็นผหู้ ญิง แก่กวา่ นอ้ งสาวของผมสักสองปีเห็นจะได ้ ความจริงเธอเป็นคนสวย แต่มีชื่อเสียงไมด่ ีในดา้ นความประพฤติ เมื่อหลายปีก่อนเธอหนีตามผชู้ ายไป กลบั มาอีกคร้ังกม็ ีลูกมาฝากยายชอ้ ยคนหน่ึง แตเ่ ด็กคนน้นั ไมค่ อ่ ยสมประกอบ ยายชอ้ ยเล้ียงหลานชายของแกไดส้ องปี เด็กกป็ ่วยหนกั และตายไปในที่สุด แตน่ ้นั มายายชอ้ ยกต็ อ้ งอยคู่ นเดียว ผมไมเ่ คยเห็นลูกสาวคนสวยของแกกลับมาอีก ผมไมเ่ ขา้ ใจวา่ ทา ไมเธอถึงปล่อยใหแ้ มผ่ ชู้ ราตอ้ งอยอู่ ยา่ งเดียวดาย “แกคงไมม่ ีเจตนาอะไรหรอก” ผมบอกน้องสาว “แกคงรักเด็กตามประสาคนแก่นน่ั แหละ เจา้ หนูของเรากน็ ่ารักน่าชงั เสียดว้ ยนี่นะ” แตน่ อ้ งสาวของผมไมค่ ิดอยา่ งน้ี เธอแสดงออกมาให้เห็นวา่ ไมช่ อบและไมว่ างใจยายชอ้ ยสักนิดเดียว เธอยงั คิดเหลวไหลไปอีกวา่ บางทีแกอาจมีเจตนาอะไรบางอยา่ งแอบแฝงอย ู่ เช่นวา่ อาจเป็นนกต่อของพวกแกง๊ ลกั เด็ก ทา ทีเขา้ มาตีสนิทก่อนจะหาโอกาสขโมยหลายชายของผมไปขายเหมือนที่ปรากฏเป็นข่าวในหนา้ หนงั สือพิมพอ์ อกบอ่ ย ๆ หรือไมอ่ ยา่ งน้นั เธอก็คิดวา่ แกอาจเป็นผปี อบ เพราะทา่ ทางและพฤติกรรมของแกชวนให้นึกวา่ เป็นอยา่ งน้นั จริง ๆ “เหลวไหลน่า” ผมไมเ่ ห็นดว้ ย ผมวา่ เธอคงดูละครประเภทมิติมืดมากเกินไป “แตห่ นูกลวั นะพี่ หนูอยบู่ า้ นคนเดียวเสียดว้ ย ซอยน้ีรึกเ็ ปลี่ยว บา้ นของเรากอ็ ยหู่ ่างกวา่ เขาหมด เกิดมีอะไรข้ึนมาหนูจะเรียกใครได ้ ถา้ มีกุญแจติดประตูร้ัวแกกค็ งเปิดเขา้ มาไมไ่ ด ้ แลว้ ก.็ ..ปลาตะเพียนนน่ั นะ พี่ช่วยเอาไปทิ้งทีเหอะ หนูไมอ่ ยากไดส้ มบตั ิของแกหรอก” ผมรับปลาตะเพียนสานคูน่ ้นั มาดูอีกที ความจริงฝีมือของยายชอ้ ยกไ็ มเ่ ลวนกั หรอก แกคงต้งั ใจทา มากพอดู เพียงแตไ่ มเ่ ขา้ ใจจริง ๆ วา่ ทา ไมแกตอ้ งเอามาซ่อนไวก้ น้ ตะกร้า แทนที่จะให้น้องสาวของผมโดยตรง แตป่ ลาตะเพียนกท็ า ใหผ้ มหวนนึกไปถึงเมื่อคร้ังยงั เป็นเด็กตวั เล็ก ๆ ผมจา ไดก้ ระทอ่ นกระแทน่ วา่ แมเ่ คยเอาปลาตะเพียนสานพวงใหญม่ าแขวนที่เปลหวาย แตแ่ มไ่ ดม้ าจากไหนผมกจ็ า ไมไ่ ดเ้ สียแล้ว มันเป็นปลาตะเพียนที่สวยงามมาก มีต้งั แต่ตวั เล็กสุดไล่ไปถึงตวั ใหญส่ ุด แขวนซอ้ นกนั เป็นช้นั ๆ แตล่ ะตวั มีสีสันสดใส เวลาแมไ่ กวเปล ปลาตะเพียนกไ็ กวไปดว้ ย มองดูเหมือนกบั ฝงู ปลาจริง ๆ ที่วา่ ยวนอยใู่ นน้า นอ้ งสาวผมชอบมนั ยง่ิ กวา่ อะไรดี เธอนอนจ้องปลาตาแป๋ ว พลางยกมือไขวค่ วา้ และหวั เราะเอ๊ิกอา๊ กชอบใจ แมจ่ ะปล่อยใหน้ อ้ งสาวนอนอยใู่ นเปลคราวละนาน ๆ ในขณะที่แมอ่ อกไปทา งานบา้ น ปลาตะเพียนพวงน้นั ทา ใหเ้ ธอพอใจและสนุกสนาน ตอนน้ีเปลหวายเก่ามากแลว้ วนั ที่ผมร้ือเปลออกจากห้อง เกบ็ ของเพื่อมาใหเ้ จา้ ตวั นอ้ ยน้นั ผมกลบั ไมเ่ ห็นปลาตะเพียนพวงน้นั อีก ไม่รู้เหมือนกนั วา่ มนั หายไปต้งั แต่ตอนไหน ผมรีบถือปลาตะเพียนท้งั คูข่ องยายชอ้ ยไปหลงั บา้ น จากน้นั กข็ บั รถออกไปซ้ือกุญแจที่ตลาด

เยน็ วนั ต่อมา เมื่อผมกลบั จากที่ทา งาน นอ้ งสาวกร็ ีบออกมาไขกุญแจประตูร้ัว พร้อมกบั ยนื่ ปลาตะเพียนสานใหด้ ูอีกคูห่ น่ึง ผมรีบรับปลาตะเพียนสานคูใ่ หมม่ าดูอยา่ งงุนงง มนั มีลกั ษณะและขนาดเดียวกบั คูเ่ มื่อวานไมผ่ ดิ เพ้ียน เพียงแตย่ งั ดูใหมแ่ ละสดกวา่ “ฝีมือยา้ ยชอ้ ยอีกนน่ั แหละ” นอ้ งสาวรีบบอก หนา้ ตาบอกบุญไมร่ ับ “อะไรกนั ” ผมสงสัย “กป็ ิดประตูใส่กุญแจแลว้ นี่นา ยายชอ้ ยเขา้ มาได้ยังไง” “ไมไ่ ดเ้ ขา้ มาหรอก แตเ่ อามาแขวนไวท้ ี่ประตู” “แกเป็นอะไรของแกนะ ทา อยา่ งน้ีหมายความวา่ ยงั ไง” “หนูกไ็ มร่ ู้เหมือนกนั แตบ่ อกตรง ๆ วา่ หนูไมช่ อบเลย พี่เอามนั ไปทิ้งใหพ้ น้ กแ็ ลว้ กนั ” ผมเอาปลาตะเพียนคู่น้นั ไปหลงั บา้ น ในตอนน้ีผมเร่ิมติดใจปลาตะเพียนสานของยายช้อยเสียแล้ว แกคิดอะไรของแกหนอ ถึงไดเ้ วยี นสานปลาตะเพียนมายดั เยยี ดใหน้ อ้ งสาวผม หรือวา่ แกหลง ๆ ลืม ๆ ตามประสาคนแก่ท้งั หลาย อาจเป็นไปไดว้ า่ แกลืมไปวา่ ไดส้ านปลาตะเพียนมาใหแ้ ลว้ แตเ่ มื่อวาน วนั น้ีแกเลยทา มนั ข้ึนมาอีก แตค่ วามคิดน้ีตอ้ งตกไปเมื่อรุ่งข้ึนอีกวนั หน่ึงผมกพ็ บวา่ มีปลาตะเพียนอีกคูแ่ ขวนอยทู่ ี่ประตูร้ัว ขณะที่ผมกลับมาถึงบ้านในตอนเย็น นอ้ งสาวของผมก็เห็น แตเ่ ธอไมก่ ลา้ ออกมาหนา้ บา้ นอีก เธอเล่าใหฟ้ ังวา่ ยายชอ้ ยมาหาในตอนกลางวนั เดินผา่ นไปมาหลายรอบ บางทีกห็ ยดุ เกาะประตูเหล็กชะเงอ้ มองเขา้ มาในบา้ นอยา่ งมีเจตนา ก่อนจะแขวนปลาตะเพียนสานไวท้ ี่ประตูร้ัว เธอคอ่ นขา้ งมน่ั ใจวา่ หญิงชราคนน้ีมีความประสงคร์ ้ายอยา่ งแน่นอน เธอมีเหตุผลอีกมากมายที่จะคิดไปในทา นองน้นั ยายชอ้ ยคงไมไ่ ดเ้ สียสติหรือหลงลืมอยา่ งที่ผมคิดเสียแลว้ คนที่เสียสติคงไมท่ า อะไรที่ดูลบั ลมคมในอยา่ งน้ีหรอก แตผ่ มกย็ งั ไมอ่ ยากคิดถึงแกในทางร้ายใหม้ ากกวา่ น้ี ถึงอยา่ งไรผมกย็ งั มน่ั ใจวา่ แกคงไมไ่ ดเ้ ป็นพวกแกง๊ ลกั เด็ก ผมรีบจดั การกบั ปลาตะเพียนของยายชอ้ ยเหมือนวนั ก่อน ๆ ตอนน้ีรวมกนั เป็นหกตวั แลว้ ปลาตะเพียนสานหกตวั หากเอามาแขวนรวมกนั ไวเ้หนือเปลเจา้ หนูกค็ งจะดี แกจะไดร้ ู้จกั มองอะไรไดเ้ ร็วข้ึน ผมไดแ้ ตค่ ิด... เพราะถึงอยา่ งไรนอ้ งสาวกค็ งไมย่ อมโดยเด็ดขาด พลบค่า น้นั เอง เจา้ หนูกร็ ้องไหข้ ้ึนมาอยา่ งไมม่ ีสาเหตุ... ทีแรกผมวา่ เด็กคงหิวหรือไมก่ ข็ ดั ใจอะไรสักอยา่ ง ผมรีบเขา้ ไปดู เห็นนอ้ งสาวกา ลงั เลิกเส้ือให้แกกินนมอย ู่ แตเ่ จา้ หนูเอาแตร่ ้องดิ้นไมย่ อมกิน ผมลองไปละลายนมผง เพราะคิดวา่ เด็กอาจเบื่อนมแม ่ แตค่ วามพยายามกเ็ หลวเปล่า เจา้ หนูกลบั ร้องหนกั ข้ึน ร้องสุดเสียงเหมือนมีใครลอบหยกิ อยา่ งไรอยา่ งน้นั ผมพยายามตรวจดูตามเน้ือตวั ของแก คิดวา่ อาจมีแมลงหรือมดกดั แตก่ ไ็ มเ่ ห็นวา่ มีตวั อะไรมาไตต่ อม ยง่ิ มืด แกยง่ิ ร้อง ร้องอยา่ งน่าสงสาร ร้องจนเกร็งไปท้งั ตวั มือเทา้ หงิกงอราวกบั วา่ แกเจบ็ ปวดอยา่ งเหลือประมาณ นอ้ งสาวของผมวา้ วนุ่ และพลุ่งพล่านจนทา อะไรไมถ่ ูก เธอเฝ้ าปลอบโยนเอานมใหก้ ิน แบกข้ึนบา่ เดินไปมา ทา ทุกอยา่ งเพื่อใหล้ ูกหยดุ ร้อง แต่ยง่ิ ทา เทา่ ไหร่ยง่ิ ไมเ่ ป็นผล หนกั เขา้ เธอเป็นฝ่ายร้องไหต้ ามลูกไปอีกคน “เป็นอะไรไปหรือลูกแม.่ ..เป็นอะไรไป ทา ไมลูกตอ้ งร้องไหอ้ ยา่ งน้ี” “พี่... ลูกเป็นอะไร พี่ช่วยหนูหน่อยสิ ช่วยทา ใหแ้ กหายร้อง...” เธอคร่ าครวญอยา่ งน่าสงสาร จอ้ งมองลูกและมองหนา้ ผมสลบั กนั น้า ตาของเธอนองหนา้ ตื่นตระหนกและงุนงง ผมรีบควา้ หลานชายมาอุม้ เงอะ ๆ งะ ๆ และพลุ่งพล่านจนทา อะไรไมถ่ ูกไปเหมือนกนั เจา้ หนูยงั แผดเสียงไมย่ อมหยุด ผมไมร่ ู้วา่ แกเอาเสียงและเรี่ยวแรงที่ไหนมาตะเบง็ ร้อง เขยา่ กแ็ ลว้ แบกข้ึนบา่ แลว้ พาไปเดินรอบบา้ น ร้องเพลงใหฟ้ ัง ทา อะไรแปลก ๆ ใหด้ ูเพื่อวา่ จะดึงความสนใจจากแกไดบ้ า้ ง แตย่ ง่ิ ทา กย็ ง่ิ ไร้ผล คืนน้นั เจา้ หนูร้องไหเ้ สียจนหมดเสียง ตวั อ่อนและหลบั พบั คาอกแมไ่ ปในที่สุด แตเ่ หตุการณ์วนุ่ วายน้ีไมไ่ ดเ้ กิดข้ึนเพียงคืนเดียว พลบค่า ตอ่ มาเจา้ หนูกม็ ีอาการที่วา่ นน่ั อีก คืนน้ีก็เลวร้ายพอ ๆ กบั คืนก่อน ทุกส่ิงทุกอยา่ งวุน่ วายและโกลาหลสิ้นดี นอ้ งสาวของผมวา้ วนุ่ หนกั ข้ึน เธอแทบจะกลายเป็นบา้ ไปเสียแลว้ ไดแ้ ตก่ อดลูกไวแ้ นบอกและคร่ าครวญอยา่ งสิ้นหวงั เสียงคร่ าครวญของผเู้ป็นแม ่ เสียงร้องไหข้ องพอ่ หนู เหมือนคมมีดแคะควา้ นในใจผมอยตู่ ลอดเวลา จากชว่ั โมงกลายเป็นสองชว่ั โมง แกไมม่ ีทีทา่ วา่ จะเงียบเสียที เอาแต่ร้องดิ้นจนตวั แดงก่า มือเทา้ เกร็งหงิกเหมือนวา่ เจบ็ ปวดสุดจิตสุดใจ ผมช่วยไดก้ เ็ พียงแคช่ ่วยรับแกมาจากอกแม ่ แลว้ ส่งคืนใหใ้ นที่สุด เวยี นรับเวยี นส่ง เวยี นปลอบอยอู่ ยา่ งน้ีเหมือนไมม่ ีที่สิ้นสุด มันเป็นประสบการณ์ที่เลวร้ายและผมไมเ่ คยประสบมาก่อน เราพยายามทบทวนและคิดหาสาเหตุตา่ ง ๆ ที่คิดวา่ เป็นตวั การทา ให้เจา้ หนูร้องไหไ้ มส่ บาย ไมว่ า่ จะเป็นเรื่องเส้ือผา้ อาหาร น้า นม แตก่ ย็ งั นึกไมอ่ อกอยดู่ ี ถา้ แกไมส่ บายมนั กค็ งเป็นโรคแปลกประหลาดสิ้นดี เพราะในตอนกลางวนั อาการของแกเป็นปกติทุกอยา่ ง แตพ่ อถึงตอนพลบค่า เวลาเดียวกนั กบั วนั ก่อน ๆ แกกจ็ ะแหกปากร้องเสียจนหมดแรง หลงั จากผา่ นช่วงเวลาน้ีไปทุกส่ิงทุกอยา่ งกค็ ืนสู่สภาวะปกติ “พี่” นอ้ งสาวผมเรียก เธอยงั สะอ้ืนเบา ๆ “ทาไมหรือ ” “พี่เอาปลาตะเพียนยายช้อยไปไว้ที่ไหน” “ทา ไมล่ะ” “พี่อยา่ วา่ อยา่ งโงน้ อยา่ งง้ีเลยนะ” นอ้ งสาวพดู สีหนา้ ของเธอเตม็ ไปดว้ ยความหวาดหวน่ั “หนูวา่ ปลาตะเพียนนน่ั แหละ ยายชอ้ ยตอ้ งทา อะไรสักอยา่ งหน่ึงแน่ ๆ ” ผมรู้ทนั ทีวา่ เธอคิดอะไรอย ู่ “ไมห่ รอก” ผมวา่ “มนั ไมม่ ีเหตุผล” “แต.่ ..” “เธออยา่ คิดมากเลยน่า” ผมรีบปราม พลางอธิบายใหฟ้ ังถึงเหตุผล แตน่ อ้ งสาวไมเ่ ชื่อ เธอไมเ่ ชื่ออะไรท้งั น้นั ในตอนน้ี และยง่ิ สันนิษฐานไปตา่ ง ๆ นานา เธอเชื่อแน่วา่ ในปลาตะเพียนสานของยายชอ้ ยจะตอ้ งมีเวทมนตร์ชว่ั ร้ายสิงอย ู่ หญิงชราคนน้นั เป็นแมม่ ดผปี อบ แกโกรธที่นอ้ งสาวผมไมย่ อมใหเ้ ขา้ บา้ น เลยเสกคาถาใส่ไวใ้ นปลาตะเพียน และนี่คือต้นเหตุที่ทาให้เจ้าหนูมีอันเป็นไป “ง้นั เอาแกไปหาหมอ” ผมตดั บท เพราะเห็นวา่ เธอจะฟ้ ุงซ่านไปใหญ ่ หมอเทา่ น้นั ที่จะบอกไดว้ า่ แกเป็นอะไร ยงั ไมถ่ ึงสองทุม่ ร้านหมอยงั ไมป่ ิด ผมขบั มอเตอร์ไซคพ์ านอ้ งสาวและลูกชายไปที่คลินิกหมอเด็ก เจา้ หนูหยดุ ร้องไหช้ ว่ั ขณะที่ออกจากบา้ น เราพยายามเล่าอาการของแกใหห้ มอฟังอยา่ งละเอียด หมอตรวจดูอาการอยพู่ กั หน่ึงกบ็ อกวา่ ไมม่ ีอะไรผดิ ปกติเพียงแตท่ อ้ งอืดเพราะร้องไหม้ ากไปหน่อย “แกไมเ่ ป็นอะไรแน่นะหมอ” ผมถามย้า อีกคร้ัง “เด็กเล็ก ๆ มกั จะร้องไห้โดยไมม่ ีสาเหตุอยา่ งน้ีแหละ แต่ไมต่ อ้ งตกใจหรอก พกั หน่ึงกห็ าย” หมอไมม่ ีเวลาใหผ้ มกบั นอ้ งสาวซกั ถามมากกวา่ น้ี เนื่องจากมีคนไขร้ ายอื่นรออยอู่ ีกมาก แตผ่ มกพ็ ออุน่ ใจที่ไดร้ ับคา ยืนยนั จากหมอ อยา่ งนอ้ ยผมกต็ อ้ งการให้นอ้ งสาวไดห้ ยดุ คิดเหลวไหลเสียที ความจริงเธอกเ็ ป็นคนมีการศึกษา เรียนรู้อะไรมาต้งั มากมาย ไมน่ ่าจะคิดเหลวไหลแบบน้ี แตค่ วามมน่ั ใจของผมกถ็ ูกทา ลายลงอยา่ งสิ้นเชิง ทนั ทีที่กลบั มาถึงบา้ นในคืนน้นั เจา้ หนูกก็ ลบั ไปสู่อาการเช่นเดิมอีก คราวน้ีขอ้ อา้ งของผมฟังไมข่ ้ึนเสียแลว้ “มันต้องเป็นเพราะปลาตะเพียนของยายชอ้ ยแน่นอน” น้องสาวผมปักใจเด็ดขาด เธอถามผมถึงปลาตะเพียน เธอไมแ่ น่ใจวา่ ผมไดเ้ อาไปทิ้งหรือทา ลายตามที่เธอขอร้องหรือไม่ ถึงตอนน้ีเสาหลกั แห่งความเชื่อมน่ั ในเรื่องเหตุผลของผมกเ็ ร่ิมส่ันคลอนเสียแลว้ คา พดู ของนอ้ งสาวและความพยายามที่สูญเปล่าท้งั หมด เหมือนกบั มืออนั ทรงพลงั ที่คอยโยกคลอนใหม้ นั ส่ันไหวทีละนิด แตผ่ มกเ็ ตือนตนเองวา่ ใหม้ น่ั คงเขา้ ไว ้ ผมยงั ไมอ่ ยากเชื่อวา่ ยายชอ้ ยคือตวั การที่แทจ้ รองของเรื่องน้ี เช่นเดียวกบั ทุกคืนที่ผา่ นมา เจา้ หนูร้องเสียจนอ่อนแรงและคอ่ ย ๆ หลบั ไปในที่สุด ผมกบั นอ้ งสาวกลายเป็นโรคกลวั กลางคืนไปเสียแลว้ ผมไมอ่ ยากใหม้ ีเวลาพลบค่า อยากใหพ้ น้ ช่วงเวลา อนั แสนทรมานใจน้นั แตผ่ มจะทอดทิ้งเธอไปไดอ้ ยา่ งไร เรามีกนั แคส่ องคนเทา่ น้นั ตา่ งคนตา่ งไม่เคยมีประสบการณ์เล้ียงดูเด็กมาก่อน จริงแลว้ นอ้ งสาวของผมกข็ วนขวายหาหนงั สือตา ราการเล้ียงเด็กมาอา่ นอยตู่ ลอด แตพ่ อถึงภาวะคบั ขนั น้ีเธอกลบั ลืมมนั เสียสนิท เธอไมส่ นใจอะไรท้งั น้นั นอกจากลูก ทา อยา่ งไรจะใหล้ ูกหยดุ ร้อง ความเป็นแมข่ องเธอฉายชดั ออกมาทางสีหนา้ แววตาและการกระทา ท้งั หมด เธอพลุ่งพล่าน ทุกขร์ ะทมและจมอยใู่ นความสิ้นหวงั ผมคิดถึงแม ่ ยง่ิ เห็นนอ้ งสาวผมยง่ิ คิดถึงแมข่ ้ึนอยา่ งบอกไม่ถูก เราสองคนพี่นอ้ งเสมือนคนที่วา่ ยอยกู่ ลางทะเลแห่งความวา้ วนุ่ ไร้ที่ยดึ เกาะ ไมว่ า่ จะเป็นทางกายหรือทางใจ นี่ถา้ แมย่ งั อยแู่ มค่ งช่วยเราได ้ ไมม่ ีแมก่ ข็ อใหม้ ีปู่ยา่ ตายายกย็ งั ดี แตเ่ จา้ หนูของผมมีแตล่ ุงผไู้ มป่ ระสีประสา มีแมท่ ี่หมดสิ้นความเชื่อมน่ั ในตวั เองเสียแลว้ แลว้ เราจะทา อยา่ งไรดี ลุงจะช่วยเจา้ ไดอ้ ยา่ งไรเล่าพอ่ หนูเอ๋ย... ความคิดที่จะออกไปหาหมอไมอ่ ยใู่ นหวั สมองผมอีกตอ่ ไป นอ้ งสาวน้นั ไม่ตอ้ งเอย่ ถึง เธอหมดสิ้นความเชื่อมน่ั ในทุกส่ิงทุกอยา่ ง จิตใจของเธอจดจอ่ อยทู่ ี่ปลาตะเพียนและยายชอ้ ย เธอมองไมเ่ ห็นเหตุผลอื่นใดอีกเลยนอกจากวา่ ยายชอ้ ยคือตน้ เหตุของเรื่องที่ไมม่ ีเหตุผล และส่ิงที่เธอสร้างข้ึนมากไ็ ดพ้ นั ธนาการเธอไวอ้ ยา่ งแน่นหนา และแลว้ ปลาตะเพียนของยายชอ้ ยกม็ าวา่ ยวนอยใู่ นหว้ งคิดของผม มนั ยดึ ครองเน้ือที่แห่งน้นั เป็นบึงกวา้ งใหญ ่ มนั พากนั ดา ผดุ ดา วา่ ยและแพร่พนั ธุ์อยา่ งรวดเร็ว ฝูงปลาตะเพียนได้เรียกผมออกมาจากบ้านในดึกของคืนวันหนึ่ง ภายหลงั จากพอ่ หนูนอ้ ยและแมข่ องแกไดห้ ลบั ใหลไปแลว้ ดว้ ยความอ่อนเพลีย ผมเดินออกมาหลงั บา้ น ขณะน้นั เป็นเวลาเกือบเที่ยงคืนแลว้ ผคู้ นจากบา้ นเรือนใกลไ้ กลปิดไฟนอนกนั เงียบสนิท คนที่อยใู่ นยา่ นห้องแถวกเ็ ป็นเช่นน้ี เรื่องราวของใครกข็ องคนน้นั ไมม่ ีใครสนใจใคร ไมม่ ีใครรู้วา่ เกิดอะไรข้ึนบา้ งในบา้ นหลงั อื่น ผมเดินไปที่ช้นั วางของ ร้ือกล่องกระดาษเก่า ๆ ออกมา ใจของผมเตน้ ตื่นข้ึนมาทนั ทีที่คิดอยากจะเปิดกล่องกระดาษ ความมืดโรยตวั อยรู่ อบขา้ ง อาศยั แสงสวา่ งเพียงเล็กนอ้ ยจากดวงไฟขา้ งทางเดิน ผมยงั มองเห็นกล่องกระดาษวางอยใู่ นสภาพเรียบร้อย แต่ ขา้ งในน้นั ... ผมรีบสลดั หวั ไล่ความคิดบางอยา่ งออกไป มนั เป็นเรื่องน่าละอายเหลือเกินที่ผมปล่อยใจไปกบั ความคิดฟ้ ุงซ่าน แตม่ ือกลบั ส่ันข้ึนมาในทันทีทันใด เปิดออกดูดีไหมหนอ... ผมตดั สินใจเป็นคร้ังสุดทา้ ย เปิดกล่องกระดาษอยา่ งรวดเร็ว และในวนิ าทีน้นั ผมกพ็ บวา่ มนั ยงั อยใู่ นสภาพครบถว้ น ปลาตะเพียนสานของยายชอ้ ยนน่ั เอง มนั นอนสงบน่ิงอยกู่ น้ กล่อง ท้งั หมดมีหกตวั ท้งั หมดมาจากใบมะพร้าวซ่ึงตอนน้ีแหง้ เหี่ยวไปหมดแลว้ แตร่ ูปทรงของมนั ยงั คงเดิม ไมม่ ีวแี่ ววและร่องรอยของความชว่ั ร้ายซ่อนอย ู่ ไมม่ ีอะไรสักอยา่ งเดียวนอกจากใบมะพร้าวแหง้ ๆ เทา่ น้นั เอง ผมยมิ้ ใหก้ บั ความขลาดเขลาของตวั เอง แลว้ ค่อย ๆ ปิดฝากล่องใบน้นั ก่อนจะเกบ็ กลบั ไปไวท้ ี่เดิม คืนน้นั ผมฝันเห็นปลาตะเพียนสานเต็มไปหมด

กลางวนั ไมม่ ีอะไรน่ากลวั สา หรับนอ้ งสาวผมอีก เธอบอกวา่ ในหลายวนั มาน้ีไมม่ ีวแี่ ววของยายชอ้ ยโผล่มาใหเ้ ห็น ไมม่ ีปลาตะเพียนสานมาแขวนไวท้ ี่ประตูเหล็ก แตก่ ลางคืนกลบั นา ความประหวน่ั พร่ันพรึงมาให้เราอยา่ งเตม็ ที่ มนั เกิดข้ึนซ้า ซากและบอ่ นทา ลายความรู้สึกสิ้นดี เจา้ หนูไดก้ ลายเป็นเด็กที่น่าชงั ไปเสียแลว้ เมื่อพลบค่า มาถึง แกยงั แหกปากร้องเหมือนถูกผสี ิง นอ้ งสาวของผมไดก้ ลายเป็นแมใ่ จร้ายไปเสียแลว้ เธอปล่อยใหล้ ูกชายร้องไหอ้ ยา่ งไม่อาลยั ใยดี และราวกบั ตอ้ งการประชดประชนั “แกอยากร้องกร็ ้องไปเถอะ... ร้องเสียใหพ้ อ...” เธอระเบิดออกมาอยา่ งกราดเกร้ียว แตเ่ พียงอึดใจเดียวเทา่ น้นั เธอตอ้ งถลนั เขา้ ไปควา้ เจา้ หนูข้ึนมาอุม้ “มนั ตอ้ งเป็นยายผปี อบน้นั แน่ ๆ มนั จะจองลา้ งจองผลาญไปถึงไหนกนั นะ...” ผมไมอ่ าจฝืนทนสภาพการณ์เลวร้ายน้ีต่อไปไดอ้ ีก หากขืนปล่อยใหเ้ ป็นเช่นน้ี ผมคงเป็นบา้ ไปเสียก่อน ในวนิ าทีน้นั ผมนึกถึงยายชอ้ ยดว้ ยความชิงชงั ผมจะตอ้ งไปหาแกเดี๋ยวน้ี ลากตวั มาและเคน้ ความจริงออกมาใหไ้ ดว้ า่ แกทา อะไรหลานชายของผม ผมรีบควา้ พวงกุญแจ ผลุนผลนั ออกจากบา้ นทา่ มกลางเสียงระงมของแมก่ บั ลูก หนา้ บา้ นมืดเพราะอยหู่ ่างจากเสาไฟหลายเมตร ผมเลือกหากุญแจไขประตู แตค่ วามมืดกท็ า ใหม้ องอะไรไมถ่ นดั เจา้ หนูยง่ิ ร้องจา้ เร่งใหผ้ มร้อนรนเป็นทวคี ูณ แตย่ ง่ิ รีบกย็ ง่ิ ลนลาน ผมหากุญแจดอกน้นั ไมเ่ จอสักที ท้งั ที่มนั มีอยใู่ นพวงแคห่ า้ ดอก แตย่ ง่ิ หายง่ิ เหมือนวา่ มนั มีจา นวนเป็นหา้ สิบ ทนั ใดน้นั ผมไดย้ ินเหมือนกบั มีใครมาเขยา่ ประตูร้ัว ผมรีบเงยหนา้ ข้ึนและมองไปทางที่มาของเสียง พระช่วย...ผมตกตะลึงอยกู่ บั ที่ ขนลุกเกรียวไปท้งั ตวั เมื่อเห็นเงาร่างของใครคนหน่ึงยืนตะคุม่ อยใู่ กล ้ ๆ “ใครน่ะ” ผมร้องเสียงหลงมากกวา่ จะออกปากถาม ร่างน้นั ค่อย ๆ ขยบั เขา้ มาใกล ้ เมื่อเจา้ ของเงาร่างปลดผ้าคลุมหัวออก ผมกต็ อ้ งเสียววาบไปท้งั ตวั อีกคร้ังหน่ึง “ยายช้อย” “จ๊ะ...ยะ ยายเอง” เสียงแหบ ๆ ตอบมาพอได้ยิน “ให้ยายเข้าไปเถอะ... ให้ยายเข้าไป” “ไม”่ ผมสวนตอบไป พร้อมผงะถอยหลงั พวงกุญแจตกจากมือเมื่อไหร่กไ็ มร่ ู้ ผมกา หมดั แน่น เตรียมพร้อมด้วยสัญชาตญาณมากกวา่ จงใจ ผมไมเ่ คยเห็นใครมีทา่ ทางน่ากลวั เหมือนหญิงชราคนน้ีมาก่อน แกมาปรากฏตวั ในยามวกิ าลเช่นน้ีดว้ ยจุดประสงคอ์ ะไรกนั แน่ หรือวา่ ...หรือวา่ แก “ใหย้ ายเขา้ ไปหน่อยเถอะ...ขอเขา้ ไปหน่อย” เสียงแหบแห้งแตร่ ้อนรนดงั ข้ึนอีก ผมลืมความต้งั ใจเดิมเสียแลว้ น้า เสียของยายชอ้ ยดูร้อนรุ่มและกระวนกระวายพิกล ผมตดั สินใจวา่ เป็นตายอยา่ งไรกไ็ มย่ อมเปิดประตูใหแ้ กเขา้ มา หญิงชราคนน้ีมีทา่ ทีไมน่ ่าไวใ้ จจริง ๆ แตย่ ายชอ้ ยยงั คงออ้ นวอนอยอู่ ยา่ งน้นั แกเขยา่ ประตูร้ัวหนกั ข้ึนเมื่อไดย้ นิ เสียงเจา้ หนูแผดจา้ ข้ึนมาอีก “ใหย้ ายเขา้ ไปเถอะ...ไอห้ นูมนั ร้องใหญแ่ ลว้ ยายอยากเขา้ ไปดูอาการ” แกพดู พร้อมกบั จอ้ งหนา้ ผมอยา่ งขอร้อง ในความมืดสลัว ๆ ผมมองเห็นดวงตาของแกเป็นประกาย “ยายมาดีนะพอ่ หนุ่ม...ยายเพียงแตม่ าดูอาการของพอ่ หนูเทา่ น้นั เอง” คา พดู ประโยคน้ีของยายชอ้ ยทา ใหผ้ มลังเล และนึกข้ึนมาไดอ้ ีกคร้ังวา่ ที่จริงแลว้ ผมตดั สินใจไปหายายชอ้ ย ผมตอ้ งการนา ตวั แกมาในคืนน้ี และตอนน้ีแกกม็ ายนื อยหู่ นา้ บา้ นแลว้ หากแกมีเจตนาร้ายกค็ งไมก่ ลา้ ขอเขา้ มาในบา้ นผมหรอก ผมตดั สินใจกม้ ลงหยบิ พวงกุญแจและไขประตูร้ัวเปิดใหแ้ กเขา้ มา ยายช้อยรีบผลุนผลันเขา้ มาอยา่ งร้อนรน แกบอกใหผ้ มนา เขา้ ไปในบา้ น น้องสาวของผมร้องเสียงหลงด้วยความตกใจ ทันทีที่เห็นหญิงชรา “นี่มนั อะไรกนั พี่พาตวั ยายชอ้ ยเขา้ มาทา ไม เอาออกไป พาแกไปใหพ้ น้ ” “แกจะมาดูเจ้าหนู” ผมบอก “ใช่จะ๊ ยายจะมาดูพอ่ หนูสักหน่อย เห็นแกร้องทุกคืน” “ไมน่ ะ...ไม่” นอ้ งสาวผมควา้ ลูกข้ึนไปกอด เหวยี่ งตวั ไปอีกทาง เธอเตรียมพร้อมที่จะปกป้องลูกชายเต็มที่ “ลองเชื่อแกสักคร้ังเถอะ” ผมพูด “บางทีแกอาจช่วยเราได”้ ผมเขา้ ไปขอตวั เจา้ หนูจากแม่ นอ้ งสาวผมไมย่ อมทา่ เดียว ผมตอ้ งพดู กบั เธออยนู่ านขณะเจา้ หนูยงั คงร้องจา้ สุดเสียง ในที่สุดเธอกต็ อ้ งยอมปล่อยลูกชายใหผ้ ม กระน้นั กย็ งั คุมเชิงอยใู่ กล ้ ๆ ยายชอ้ ยเขา้ มารับเด็กไปอุม้ แกประคองเจา้ หนูไวใ้ นออ้ มแขนอยา่ งทะนุถนอม ก่อนจะเปลี่ยนเป็นอุม้ พาดบา่ แกเอามือลูบหลงั เจา้ หนูแผว่ เบา ปากกพ็ ดู ตลอดเวลา... “โอะ...โอ๋เจ้าคนน้อยเป็นอะไรไปหรือลูก น่ิงเสีย...น่ิงเสียคนดีของยาย...” น้า เสียงของแกแหบแหง้ แตเ่ ยอื กเยน็ และยงั คงความอบอุ่นอยา่ งประหลาด เจา้ หนูคอ่ ย ๆ ลดเสียงลง แตก่ ย็ งั ไมห่ ยดุ ร้องไหเ้ สียทีเดียว สัมผสั อนั ออ่ นละมุมและแผว่ เบาน้นั กระมงั ที่ทา ใหแ้ กคลายจากการแขง็ เกร็ง ผมจอ้ งดูยายชอ้ ยไมค่ ลาดสายตา เมื่อเหลือบไปดูนอ้ งสาว กเ็ ห็นเธอตกอยใู่ นอาการเดียวกนั กบั ผม ยายช้อยยังคงปลอบโยนเจ้าหนูด้วยเสียงแหบเป็นห้วง ๆ ทา่ ทางของแกทา ใหผ้ มนึกไปถึงหญิงแมล่ ูกออ่ นบางคนที่เคยเห็น ผหู้ ญิงที่ตลอดชีวิตใชเ้ วลาหมดไปกบั การเล้ียงดูลูก เราไมค่ อ่ ยไดเ้ ห็นภาพเช่นน้ีในผหู้ ญิงที่เป็นแมส่ มยั ใหม ่ แมแ้ ตน่ อ้ งสาวของผมเองก็เถอะ ออ้ มแขนของเธอออ่ นแอและไมม่ น่ั คง ออ้ มอกของเธอกค็ ลา้ ยบอบบาง สัมผสั ที่มีใหล้ ูกนอ้ ยช่างแขง็ และกระดา้ ง ตา่ งกนั เหลือเกินกบั ทา่ ทางของยายชอ้ ยในตอนน้ี ความงกเง่ินเงอะงะของคนชราแทบไมม่ ีใหเ้ ห็นขณะที่แกกา ลงอุ้มเด็กั ยายช้อยยังคงอุ้มเจ้าหนูเดินวนไปมา แกพยายามพลิกตัวเด็กเหมือนจะสารวจดูอาการผิดปกติ สีหนา้ ของหญิงชราฉายแววกงั วล จากน้นั แกหยดุ นง่ั ลงที่เกา้ อ้ี เปลี่ยนเป็นอุม้ เจา้ หนูในทา่ นง่ั พร้อมกบั เป่ารดกระหมอ่ มของแกติดกนั สามคร้ัง “ทา อะไรน่ะ” ผมหลุดปากถามอยางลืมตัว่ ยายชอ้ ยไมส่ นใจผมและนอ้ งสาวที่ตะลึงงงกบั การกระทา ของแก แกทา ราวกบั วา่ ในบา้ นหลงั น้ีไมม่ ีพวกเราอย ู่ นอกจากแกกบั เจา้ หนูสองคนเทา่ น้นั เจา้ หนูเงียบเสียงลงฉบั พลนั แทบไมน่ ่าเชื่อ... เพียงอึดใจเดียวหลงั จากที่ยายชอ้ ยเป่ากระหมอ่ ม เจา้ หนูกห็ ยดุ ร้องไหเ้ ป็นปลิดทิ้ง ผมจะไมม่ ีวนั ลืมเหตุการณ์ในคืนน้นั ไดเ้ ลย ทุกส่ิงทุกอยา่ งที่เกิดข้ึนประจกั ษแ์ ก่สายตาของผมกบั นอ้ งสาวอยา่ งชดั เจน เราไมม่ ีเหตุผลใด ๆ ที่จะมาอธิบายวา่ ทา ไมเจา้ หนูจึงไดห้ ยดุ ร้องไหท้ นั ทีที่ยายชอ้ ยเป่ากระหม่อม เพราะวนั ต่อ ๆ มา หลานชายของผมกไ็ มห่ วนกลบั ไปสู่อาการอนั ชวนทรมานจิตใจน้นั อีก ผมยงั ไมอ่ ยากหาขอ้ สรุปสา หรับเหตุการณ์ท้งั หมดน้ี และสา หรับนอ้ งสาวของผมน้นั เธอไมต่ อ้ งการคา อธิบายใด ๆ อีกแลว้ สา หรับเธอจะมีส่ิงใดมีคา่ มากไปกวา่ การที่ลูกนอ้ ยไดก้ ลบั สู่สภาพปกติอีกคร้ังหน่ึง เธอเลิกพดู ถึงเวทมนตร์อนั ชว่ั ร้ายของแมม่ ดผปี อบ เธอเลิกถามถึงปลาตะเพียนสานที่ผมนา ไปซ่อนเอาไว ้ และถึงวนั น้ีกุญแจที่ติดประตูร้ัวกไ็ มม่ ีความหมายอีกตอ่ ไป ยายชอ้ ยไดก้ ลายเป็นแขกประจา บา้ นของเราไปแลว้ ในตอนน้ี แกสามารถเข้าออกได้ตลอดเวลาที่ต้องการ ความจริงแล้วผมมีคาถามมากมายที่รอฟังค าตอบจากหญิงชราค นน้ี ไมว่ า่ จะเป็นเรื่องปลาตะเพียนเหล่าน้นั หรือแมแ้ ตส่ ่ิงที่ผมอยากรู้อยา่ งยง่ิ ยวดวา่ แกทา อยา่ งไรหรือ ถึงทา ใหห้ ลานชายของผมเลิกจากการร้องไหเ้ ป็นปลิดทิ้ง ผมไมร่ ู้วา่ นอ้ งสาวจะมีความคิดเหมือนผมหรือไม ่ แตถ่ ึงเธอจะคิด เธอกค็ งไมม่ ีเวลามาซกั ถามยายชอ้ ยมากนกั เพราะทุกวนั น้ีเธอมีภาระใหมท่ ี่เพ่ิมข้ึนมาอีกอยา่ งหน่ึง นน่ั คือคอยเป็นธุระจดั การตกแตง่ เน้ือตวั ยายชอ้ ยเสียใหม ่ เธอหาเส้ือผา้ ใหม ่ ๆ มาใหแ้ ก สอนใหแ้ กเล้ียงเด็กใหถ้ ูกหลกั อนามยั บางวนั ผมยงั ไดย้ นิ เธออา่ นตา ราการเล้ียงเด็กใหย้ ายชอ้ ยฟังดว้ ยซ้า ไป “เราต้องเตรียมตัวแกให้พร้อม” นอ้ งสาวของผมช้ีแจงดว้ ยสีหนา้ ระรื่น “ไหน ๆ กจ็ า้ งใหแ้ กเล้ียงลูกแลว้ นี่ เวลาหนูไปทา งานจะไดไ้ มต่ อ้ งกงั วลไงล่ะ” เป็นอนั วา่ ปัญหาหนกั อกของเรากเ็ ป็นอนั หมดไป นอ้ งสาวของผมไปทา งานอยา่ งสบายใจเพราะได ้ พี่เล้ียงที่ไวใ้ จไดอ้ ยา่ งยายชอ้ ย เจา้ หนูของเรากน็ ่ารักน่าชงั มากข้ึนทุกวนั แกกินอ่ิมนอนหลบั และไมร่ ้องงอแงอีกต่อไป ยายชอ้ ยเล้ียงเด็กไดด้ ีกวา่ ที่คิด แกชอบอุม้ เจา้ หนูเดินเล่นมากกวา่ ทิ้งใหน้ อนในเปลหวายตามลา พงั แมน้ อ้ งสาวของผมจะติงวา่ การทา อยา่ งน้นั จะทา ใหเ้ จา้ หนูติดมือและจะไมย่ อมนอนตามลา พงั อีก แตย่ ายชอ้ ยกไ็ มฟ่ ัง “ไมเ่ ป็นไรหรอก ถึงแกจะติดมือ หนูกจ็ ะไมเ่ ดือดร้อน เพราะยายจะคอยอุม้ แกจนกวา่ ยายจะตายจากไปนน่ั แหละ...” ผมรู้วา่ ยายชอ้ ยพดู เล่น แตฟ่ ังแลว้ อดใจหายไมไ่ ด ้ เราไม่อยากใหแ้ กจากพวกเราไป ในความรู้สึก ของผม ยายชอ้ ยเหมือนอะไรสักอยา่ งหน่ึงที่เคยมีอยใู่ นบา้ นของเราแลว้ กลบั มาขาดหายไป แตบ่ ดั น้ี เจา้ ของมีคา่ น้นั ไดห้ วนคืนมาอีกคร้ัง แมว้ า่ จะไมท่ ้งั หมดแตก่ ท็ า ใหเ้ ราอบอุ่นและมีความสุข ผมยงั ไมล่ ืมปลาตะเพียนสานของยายชอ้ ย ปลาตะเพียนท้งั หมดของแกยงั อย ู่ วันหนึ่งผมทาให้น้ องสาวและหญิงชราแปลกใจมาก เมื่อผมนาปลาตะเพียนน้อย ๆ เหล่าน้นั มาร้อยเป็นพวงและแขวนไวเ้หนือเปลของเจา้ หนู “ยายนึกวา่ มนั ถูกทิ้งไปหมดแลว้ ” ยายชอ้ ยจอ้ งปลาตะเพียนของแกดว้ ยน้า ตาคลอเบา้ วันเสาร์-อาทิตยผ์ มกบั นอ้ งสาวไมไ่ ปทา งาน ผมชอบมาขลุกอยขู่ า้ ง ๆ เปลของเจา้ หนู นง่ั ดูยายชอ้ ยและนอ้ งสาวเล้ียงลูก เมื่อถึงตอนกลางวนั ซ่ึงไดเ้ วลาที่เจา้ หนูจะนอนหลบั ยายชอ้ ยจะจบั แกลงเปลหวาย ปล่อยใหเ้ จา้ หนูนอนจอ้ งปลาตะเพียนพวงใหญ ่ จากน้นั แกจึงคอ่ ย ๆ ไกวเปลชา้ ๆ พร้อมกบั ร้องเพลงกล่อมเบา ๆ น้า เสียงของยายชอ้ ยยงั แหบเครืออยอู่ ยา่ งน้นั แต่ฟังแลว้ เยอื กเยน็ และอ่อนโยนบอกไม่ถูก เสียงเพลงกล่อมเด็กดงั สลบั กบั เสียงอ๊ิดอา๊ ดของเปลหวาย เป็นทว่ งทา นองอนั เพราะพริ้ง ในเวลาน้นั ผมรู้สึกคลา้ ยกบั วา่ วนั เวลาแห่งวยั เยาวท์ ี่เลยลบั ไปนานแสนนานไดห้ วนกลบั มาสู่ตวั ผมอีกคร้ังหน่ึง บทเพลงกล่อมเด็กอนั เยอื กเยน็ และออ่ นโยนน้นั ทา ใหผ้ มนึกถึงแมผ่ ลู้ ่วงลบั ผมเห็นแมน่ ง่ั อยขู่ า้ ง ๆ เปลหวาย มือคอยจบั สายเปลแกวง่ ไกวเบา ๆ และรินหลง่ั บทเพลงกล่อมเด็กไหลเอื่อยดุจดง่ั สายน้า ในรางธาร ผมคอ่ ย ๆ เคลิ้มหลบั ไปกบั บทเพลงน้นั ต้งั แตเ่ มื่อไหร่กไ็ ม่รู้ แต่เมื่อตื่นข้ึนมาอีกทีกเ็ ห็นยายชอ้ ยยงั นง่ั ไกวเปลอยดู่ งั เดิม เจา้ หนูกห็ ลบั อุตุอยใู่ นทา่ เดิม ไมไ่ กลน้นั นอ้ งสาวของผมกห็ ลบั พริ้มคาตะกร้าผา้ อย ู่ อีกคน... ______

Brief Biographies of Thai Writers

Angkarn Kalayanapong อังคาร กัลยาณพงศ์

Angkarn Kalayanapong was born in 1926 in the southern town of Nakhon Si Thammarat, the son of Kamnan (sub-district chief) Khem and Khum Kalayanapong. His ancestors on both his father’s and mother’s side were goldsmiths. As a child he was of poor health, with bouts of fever that sometimes left him hemiplegic, until a traditional herbal treatment succeeded in healing him. From a young age he loved to read classical Thai poetry and to draw pictures. After he finished his secondary education at a local school, he went to further his studies at Pohchang Academy of Arts in Bangkok and, after that, studied painting, sculpture and graphic arts at Silpakorn University under famous professors Silp Bhirasri (Corrado Feroci) and Fuea Hariphithak, but on his third year got bored, left the university and was given the opportunity to study the restoration of ancient art with Professor Fuea by travelling to various archaeological and historical sites to trace and repair works of art while combining artistic activity with creative writing. In those years, Angkarn came to know many contemporary artists and poets such as MC Janjirayu Rachani (pen name: Toh na Tha Chang), Prayoon Uruchada (pen name: Nor na Paknam) and Phaiboon Suwannakoot, whose poems appeared along with his notably in Anusorn Nong Mai of Silpakorn University. He also met Sulak Sivaraksa, the founding editor of the influential, high-brow Sangkhomsat Parithat (Social Science Review), which welcomed his poetry. His reputation spread and his poems drew praise as well as criticism for not respecting traditional patterns of prosody. When Sulak Sivaraksa published his collected poems as a book, Angkarn’s reputation was made as a leading contemporary poet forging a new poetry path – even though criticism over his refusal to abide by convention didn’t die down. By 1972, a Thai cultural foundation proclaimed him an outstanding poet (kawee deedaen). In 1986 he received the SEA Write Award for his Panithan Kawee (The poet’s pledge) collection of poems and in 1989 he was named a National Artist for both his poetry and his drawing, which are both utterly personal and instantly recognisable. Angkarn Kalayanapong kept writing poems and drawing until he died of old age on 25 August 2012, leaving behind a wife and three children.

Chiranan Pitpreecha จิระนันท์ พิตรปรีชา

Chiranan Pitpreecha was born in 1955 in the southern town of Trang. Niran, her father, and Jira, her mother, ran a book-cum-stationery shop. Chiranan thus, along with her two brothers, grew up in a world of books and wanted to read and write from an early age. At thirteen, in the second year of secondary education at the provincial school, she came second in a poetry writing competition, read her poem in front of the city hall and had it, along with new pieces, published in various Bangkok reviews. She also took care of the school publication, writing almost all columns and typing the whole thing herself. She went to study pharmacology at the Faculty of Science of Chulalongkorn University and was elected the “star of Chula” in 1972. After following the courses for a while she began to question the quality of education provided and got increasingly involved in student political activities. After the events of 14 October 1973, her role as a student leader grew and some of her fiery poems gained widespread recognition but, after only two years, the writing on the political wall was such that she decided to take up arms in the jungle with her boyfriend and soon-to-be husband, student leader Seksan Prasertkul. There she would write poems under the pen name Binla Natrang. After six years in the jungle during which she gave birth to two sons, she, her husband and their friends gave up armed struggle. Chiranan and Seksan went to Cornell to resume their studies. She obtained a master’s in political science but could not complete her doctorate. Chiranan Pitpreecha has been praised for her idealistic struggle and as a major poet. A set of her poems entitled Born in the army and manually duplicated for distribution became Bai Mai Thee Hai Pai (Gone are the leaves) when published as a book and that book received the SEA Write Award in 1989. Even though she has long given up writing poems, Chiranan Pitpreecha keeps writing feature stories and is a noted translator of films, attached to the National Discovery Museum Institute.

Dhep Mahapaoraya เทพ มหาเปารยะ

Dhep Mahapaoraya was born in 1904 in an aristocratic family. His father was the governor of Nakorn Sri Thammarat and Phang-Nga, respectively. He went to the Royal Pages College (now Vajiravudh College), and then studied in Penang, Malaysia, for five years before moving back to Bangkok. He started his career at Louis T. Leonowens Ltd., then the department of immigration, the newspaper ‘Bangkok Daily Mail”, and the cinema theatre “Pattanakarn”. He later settled down with his family in Chonburi, working as a manager of Srimaharaja Wood Co.Ltd. He translated quite a few literary works from English into Thai, and wrote a few short stories. Champoon was his most famous short story which was later translated into English by M.L. Boonlua Thepyasuwan and published in Asia Magazine in February 1982. He was praised as one of the greatest short story writers by the Writers’ Association of Thailand. He passed away in 1942.

Kukrit Pramoj ม.ร.ว. คึกฤทธ์ิ ปราโมช

Mom Rajawongse (M.R.) Kukrit Pramoj was born in Thailand in 1911, member of a princely family on his father’s side and one of the most influential ministerial families on his mother’s side. He was the younger brother of Seni Pramoj, who was prime minister, leader of the Democratic Party, and member of Parliament. In his early life he was educated at home and had experienced life in the Grand Palace during the last years of the absolute monarchy. At the age of 15 he went to study in England, completing his secondary education at Trent College and graduating with an honours degree in Philosophy, Polities and Economics (PPE) from Queen's College, University of Oxford. Upon returning to Thailand, his first job was in the field of banking; but his true vocation was his mastery of many forms of arts, including politics and journalism. Socially prominent because of his royal connections, he was also the founder and publisher of Thailand's most influential Thai language newspaper (Siam Rath) and weekly magazine (Siam Rath Sapda Vicharn), the author of more than 30 books, a university professor, radio commentator, economist, capitalist (owner of the Indra Hotel), actor (the prime minister in the film “The Ugly American”), and narrator on an American educational television film series on Asian civilizations. More important for Thai history, he served as prime minister from 1976 to 1977, deputy finance minister, member of Parliament, and chairman of the constitutional convention. He was the principal author of the Thai constitution of 1974. He was also a professional Thai classical dancer, a photographer, and a horticulturalist.

M.R. Kukrit was a prolific writer. His writings were numerous and various. He wrote in prose as well as poetry. He was a daily columnist for his own paper, Siam Rath, as well contributor to other newspaper and magazines for 30 years. His creative writings included short stories, novels, stage plays and poetry. His scholarly works on Thai as well as Asian cultures are used as reference in colleges and universities. He was well known for his interpretation and presentation of Buddhism for modern audience, he himself having spent sometime in the monkhood. He was awarded the title of National Artist in the field of literature in 1985, the inaugural year for the honour. He also received The Special Commemorative Prize of The Fukuoka Asian Culture Prizes in 1990, the inaugural year for the honour as well. He was also known as a staunch loyalist and served the monarchy for his entire life. He is considered one of the great statesmen of Thailand. M.R. Kukrit passed away in 1995 at the age of 84. His former home is now a heritage museum which is preserved; paying homage to his life and Thai traditions.

Montri Sriyong

มนตรี ศรียงค์

Montri Sriyong, born in 1968 in Hat Yai, is the son of a Chinese immigrant who settled down in that southern town and married a Thai woman from neighbouring Nakhon Si Thammarat. The family sold braised duck with yellow noodles. After completing his secondary education in a local school, Montri registered at Ramkhamhaeng University’s Faculty of Humanities in 1986, but failing to pass the Literary Criticism course, switched to the Faculty of Political Science, only to give up and go back home a lame duck for more noodle-duck servings. The bloody events of “Black May” 1992 triggered his ire and lyre and the poetry pages of several national weeklies welcomed his versified salvos. Earlier, at Ramkhamhaeng, on the advice of a friend, reading Seni Saowapong’s radical novels of a previous generation (Wanlaya’s Love and Ghosts) had enticed him to acquaint himself with the best of Thai and foreign literature and to hone his own skills. His fourth collection of poems, entitled Lok Nai Duangta Khaphajao (The world in my eyes), received the SEA Write Award in 2007. Of course, Montri is known as the “duck-noodle poet” from the family business he has helped maintain to this day: in the Siriwan Duck Noodle Shop on Lamai Songkhroh Road in Hat Yai city centre, he keeps kneading dough with the help of his wife and relatives when he is not braising verse.

Nai Pee นายผี

Nai Pee is the pen name of Assanee Phollachan (also known as Sahai Fai or Lung Fai). He was born in 1918 in Ratchaburi. He graduated from Thammasat University where he began his interest in literature and adopted the pen name “Nai Pee”. After graduation, he worked as the assistant provincial prosecutor. He was based in Pattani, Saraburi, Ayutthaya and Bangkok respectively. Because of his integrity and straightforwardness, he got himself into trouble with authority several times until he decided to leave his government job in 1952. Since then, he became an underground writer during a dictator’s regime whereby the arrest of writers and journalists who criticized the government was commonplace. He joined the Communist Party of Thailand, and was given the name ‘Sahai Fai’ (Comrade ‘Fire’). To avoid getting arrested, he fled to Vietnam and China respectively. He passed away in Laos in 1987. His famous poem ‘Isan’, which reveals hardship while arousing the fighting spirit, gave him the title of the People’s Poet. He is also known as a song writer with the most well-known song of all time called ‘Duan Phen’ (Full moon), reflecting how he missed home during his escape abroad.

Naowarat Pongpaiboon

เนาวรัตน์ พงษ์ไพบูลย์

Born in 1940 at the onset of the Second World War in a province west of Bangkok, Naowarat Pongpaiboon is the son of Sombat and Somjai (Kaowongwan) Pongpaiboon. Sombat, his father, ran an opium den and had several children from various wives. Even before he graduated in law at Thammasat in 1965, Naowarat began working for the then National Development Ministry to help finance his studies, during which he also became an accomplished flute player. Once he had obtained his B.LL., he went back to Kanchana Buri to ordain locally and then went on a pilgrimage to Buddhadasa Bhikkhu’s famed Suan Mokkh sylvan retreat in Surat Thani province down south. Back to secular life, he joined the editorial board of Witthayasarn, a magazine of the Thai Watana Panich printing group, over 1968 and 1969. The next year he appeared as Phra Aphai Mani, the lead male character in a television adaptation of Sunthorn Phu’s epic poem by the same name, but didn’t complete his assignment. Then he went to teach creative writing at the Faculty of Education of Songkhla Nakkharin University in the South in 1971- 72, and in 1973 he joined the Bangkok Bank as an advisor and a leading light of the bank’s Music and Drama Centre in Bangkok. His first collection of poems, Kham Yat (Words on a drip), brought him fame. First published in 1969 it has known many reprints since then. Naowarat was the first poet distinguished by the SEA Write Award, in 1980, for his collection Phiang Khwamkhlueanwai | Mere Movement. Many of his poems have been selected by the Ministry of Education for study by pupils and several have been translated into various languages.

Naowarat Pongpaiboon married Prakhongkoon Isarangkura Na Ayutthaya in 1971. The two of them would later set up a publishing house bearing the names of their son and daughter to publish his work. In the course of years, the poet has received several honorary degrees in liberal arts. He has been an advisor on art and culture for both state and private institutions. He was named a National Artist in 1993 and given the title of “Rattanakosin poet”, a rare honour.

Phaitoon Thanya ไพฑูรย์ ธัญญา

Phaitoon Thanya is the pen name of Thanya Sangkhapantanont. He was born in 1956 in a village of Phatthalung province in the South where his father was a schoolteacher whose former family name, Chulaeh, denoted Muslim origins and was changed to Sangkhapantanont. As a child, Phaitoon read extensively. After obtaining his Certificate of Education from the local teachers’ training college, he entered Srinakharinwirot University in Songkhla and, while there, wrote his first short story, “The death of an intellectual”, in the stream-of-consciousness style favoured at the time by young writers such as Suchart Sawatsi, Surachai Janthimathorn or Nikom Rayawa. It was published in a university newsletter in 1979 under his real name. The formation of the Nakhorn group of Southern poets and writers led to the publication of his first poems in a collective work of the group. While he studied for a master’s in Thai writing in what is now Naresuan University in Phitsanulok in the Northeast, a second short story of his was published, received a prize and was subsequently translated into Malay for publication as a set of fifteen contemporary short stories. Quite a few of Phaitoon Thanya’s short stories were translated into English and published in bilingual format under the titles At the Western Battle Front: The So-So War (1997) and Paradise Waves (2001). These days he teaches writing and literary criticism at Mahasarakham University, where his wife also teaches the Thai language. Every year they organise a “literary camp” where writers and poets are invited to share their trade knowledge and experience with the students.

Ujjeni อุชเชนี

Ujjeni is the pen name of Prakin Chumsai Na Ayutthaya. She was born in 1919 in Bangkok, and raised as a Roman Catholic. She graduated with a highschool diploma in French when she was 16 years old, and also in English a year later from Saint Joseph Convent School. She has both BA and MA with honours (in French) from the Faculty of Arts, Chulalongkorn University in 1945. Then she received a one- year scholarship to further her studies in France. When she came back, Ujjeni worked as a lecturer at the Faculty of Arts, Chulalongkorn University.

Ujjeni started writing poetry when she was studying at Chulalongkorn University. Her senior friend gave her the pen name ‘Ujjeni’ following her religious name ‘Eug Enie’. In 1956, her co-authored book with Nid Nararak, Khop Fa Khlip Thong (The gold-trimmed horizon), was published.

Ujjeni is married to Mom Luang Chitasarn Chumsai. She writes both prose and poetry as well as translates some foreign literary works into Thai. Ujjeni was honoured the national artist in literature in 1993.

ASEAN 20TH CENTURY LITERATURES SELECTED POEMS AND SHORT STORIES FROM VIET NAM

Introduction to the Poems Introduction to the Short Stories Thơ (POEMS)

Thề non nước (The Pledge Of Mountains and Waters) by Tản Đà Trái tim em thức đập (Your Heart is Awake and Beating) by Xuân Diệu Bài ca cánh võng (Song of the Hammock) by Trần Đăng Khoa

Sóng (The Waves) by Xuân Quỳnh Từ ấy (Since Then) by Tố Hữu

Trường Sơn Đông, Trường Sơn Tây (Truong Son East, Truong Son West) by

Phạm Tiến Duật

Truyện (SHORT STORIES)

Vợ chồng A Phủ (The A Phu Couple) by Tô Hoài Sống trong không gian hai chiều (Living in two dimension Time) by Vũ Tú Nam

Đôi mắt (The Eyes) by Nam Cao

Bibliography Biography of Writers

Glossary

INTRODUCTION TO THE POEMS

The Pledge Of Mountains And Waters

In the classical tradition this was the name of a pledge of love which, like mountains, would never wear out, and like spring or seas would never dry up.

The image of mountains and waters is a highly classical one in ancient Vietnamese literature. It symbolizes the love between man and woman but also the love of nature, the love of the homeland (“mountain + water = homeland”). This very famous poem has given rise to numerous interpretations. According to some, the “mountain” represents the man who speaks in the first part and the “water”, the woman who speaks in the second part. According to others, the “mountain” is the patriot and the “water” is the mother country occupied, torn out at its source. Still others see in the “mountain’s nostalgia for the water” the poet awaiting his exiled friend, who, far away in a foreign country, pursues his clandestine struggle for national independence and freedom.

Like other works by Tản Đà, this poem reflects the transition of Vietnamese literature from tradition to modernity and served, to some extent, as a source of inspiration for innovations in tradition-bound Vietnamese literature at the time.

Your Heart is Awake and Beating

Dubbed “the King of Modern Vietnamese Poetry”, Xuân Diệu wrote many poems on youth and love, and was the most brilliant representative poet of the thriving New Poetry movement in Viet Nam during 1936-1939. He contributed an innovative voice to the lyric poetry. The poem Your Heart is Awake and Beating is one of his lyrics on love, which is the affirmation of the “self” or the “individual” in Vietnamese literature. This view is very much different from the Confucianism-tinted traditional concept of creative writing, which makes the “collective” predominant over the “individual” or the “self” in human relationships.

Since Then

The poem Since Then is the declaration of the poet on his determination to attach his life to the service of the enslaved Vietnamese people fighting for freedom and independence. It also marks the start of the so-called “revolutionary trend” in

Vietnamese modern literature, which was shaped by Vietnamese patriotic writers and poets. It is this trend that inspired the entire Vietnamese people in the two latest resistances again foreign invasions and served as the mainstream in the war-time creative writing.

The Waves

The poem The Waves is a much read writing on the topic of love reflected by women rather by men. It is a new voice in Vietnamese modern poetry, where women can express outspokenly their desire for love as a natural right of human beings. Their love is plain, innocent yet burning, and more importantly, is not separated from their daily routine as wives and mothers. Thus, in Xuan Quỳnh’s poems on this topic, like The Waves, motherhood as female instinct has been turned into an inspirational source for poetry.

Trường Sơn East, Trường Sơn West

During the Việt Nam War, the Trường Sơn Mountain Range in Central Việt Nam used to shelter thousands of Vietnamese soldiers on the way from the rear North to the battlefield in the South. While most of other writings of that time would focus on depicting the hardships, sacrifices and bravery of Vietnamese troops, this poem entitled Trường Sơn East, Trường Sơn West touches another aspect of the war-time life: young people’s love, which could not be stifled by any bombs or shells. In fact, the poem was very famous among the Vietnamese military and other readers, contributing optimism to the war-time literature. It energized the soldiers who were going into a life-or-death battle for their right to live in peace and happiness. As a hallmark of Vietnamese literature on war, it is so well-known and cherished by readers that it has been made into the lyrics for a song of the same name.

Song of the Hammock

The poem Song of the Hammock was written by Trần Đăng Khoa when he was just 9 years old. Well-known as a child prodigy in poetry, Trần Đăng Khoa made a considerable contribution to Vietnamese literature for children. This poem is one of his earliest creative writings. His childish views of the world around him are expressed through the image of a hammock, a simple daily utensil in the countryside of Việt Nam. The description is natural yet lively, imbued with the essence of Vietnamese folk literature, which, unlike classic literature, is characterized by simplicity, originality and expressiveness; it lacks flowery cliche and complicated references.

INTRODUCTION TO THE SHORT STORIES:

The A Phou Couple is taken from the collection of short stories titled Stories of the Northwest written by Tô Hoài in 1950, which won the First Prize of the Việt Nam Association of Culture and Art for 1954-1955. Việt Nam is a multi-enthnic country and the lives of the ethnic minorities are also an important topic for creative writing. This story is a successful narrative on how the ethnic Meo in the Northwest of Việt Nam lived under the French colonialists’ domination, and it has inspired a number of other authors of modern Vietnamese literature to go on with the topic on ethnic minorities in their writings. The Eyes, written by Nam Cao in 1948 when the national resistance against French colonialists was unfolding in Việt Nam, is based on the facts of a real encounter between the author and his friend, prototype for the main character. This short story describes how a French-educated urban intellectual from a traditional bourgeois family lives in the countryside in evacuation from the French occupation of cities. Yet, unable to break up with the habits of the urban life, he finds himself “out of tune” with the local common people, who are enthusiasts of the resistance war. The story reflects rather truthfully the mindset of a part of the Vietnamese intellegentsia at the time, contributing another topic to the revolutionary realistic trend of Vietnamese modern literature: the status of old-type intellectuals in a revolutionary society.

Living in Two-dimentional Time

Upon its publication in the Literature and Art Weekly in 1982, the short story Living in Two-dimentional Time won at once the attention of readers as a great success in Vũ Tú Nam’s writing career at that time. Mr. An, the main character, is going to retire from civil services. In a bad mood, he comes back to his native village after 20 years of living far away from it. His re-union with his family relatives, the country folks, makes him refreshed and he can learn a lot from them. Obviously, common people are the infinite source of vitality and inspiration and the depositary of wisdom, knowledge and traditions of a nation. For Vietnamese literature this story was an attempt to examine the human internal world with struggles of different attitudes towards life, a topic rarely touched during the war time.

Thơ (POEMS)

Thề non nước (The Pledge Of Mountains and Waters) by Tản Đà

Trái tim em thức đập (Your Heart is Awake and Beating) by Xuân Diệu

Bài ca cánh võng (Song of the Hammock) by Trần Đăng Khoa

Sóng (The Waves) by Xuân Quỳnh

Từ ấy (Since Then) by Tố Hữu

Trường Sơn Đông, Trường Sơn Tây (Truong Son East, Truong Son West) by Phạm Tiến

Duật

THề NON NƯớC by Tản Đà Nước non nặng một lời thề Nước đi, đi mãi, không về cùng non Nhớ lời “nguyện nước thề non” Nước đi chưa lại, non còn đứng không Non cao những ngóng cùng trông Suối khô dòng lệ chờ mong tháng ngày Xương mai một nắm hao gầy Tóc mây một mái đã đầy tuyết sương Trời tây ngả bóng tà dương Càng phơi vẻ ngọc, nét vàng phôi pha Non cao tuổi vẫn chưa già Non thời nhớ nước, nước mà quên non Dù cho sông cạn đá mòn Còn non còn nước hãy còn thề xưa Non cao đã biết hay chưa Nước đi ra bể lại mưa về nguồn Nước non hội ngộ còn luôn Bảo cho non chớ có buồn làm chi Nước kia dù hãy còn đi Ngàn dâu xanh tốt non thì cứ vui Nghìn năm giao ước kết đôi Non non nước nước chưa nguôi lời thề.

TRÁI TIM EM THứC ĐậP by XUÂN DIệU

Trái tim em thức đập Nơi gốc của thời gian Một nhịp mạnh nhịp khẽ Ẩy tay anh nồng nàn

Trong đêm vạn trùng khơi Anh lắng nghe hồi hộp Nơi nguồn của suốt đời Mạch máu em chảy đập

Ôi đồng hồ năm tháng Ôi bếp lửa phút giây Răng sáng, mắt em sáng Cũng gốc từ nơi đây.

Anh gìn giữ trái tim Cho em yên giấc ngủ Lo lắng bởi yêu thương Biết bao nhiêu là đủ

Chao ôi sao ngủ ngon Ngủ ngon lành thế hỡi Tim anh hút tay anh Một nhịp hồng nóng hổi

Anh không hề dám nghĩ Trái tim em lạc đường Anh thức hoài thức huỷ Anh là trái tim thương.

BÀI CA CÁNH VÕNG / TIếNG VÕNG KÊU by TRầN ĐĂNG KHOA

Kẽo cà kẽo kẹt Kẽo cà kẽo kẹt Tay em đưa đều Ba gian nhà nhỏ Đầy tiếng võng kêu

Kẽo cà kẽo kẹt Mênh mang trưa hè Chim co chân ngủ Lim dim cành tre

Kẽo cà kẽo kẹt Cây na thiu thiu Mắt na hé mở Nhìn trời trong veo

Kẽo cà kẽo kẹt Võng em chao đều Chim ngoài cửa sổ Mổ tiếng võng kêu

Kẽo cà kẽo kẹt Xưa mẹ ru em Cũng tiếng võng này Cánh cò trắng muốt Bay - bay – bay – bay...

Kẽo cà kẽo kẹt Bé Giang ngủ rồi Tóc bay phơ phất Vương vương nụ cười...

Trong giấc em mơ Có gặp con cò Lặn lội bờ sông Có gặp cánh bướm Mênh mông, mênh mông Có gặp bóng mẹ Lom khom trên đồng Gặp chú pháo thủ Canh trời nắng trong

Em ơi cứ ngủ Tay anh đưa đều Ba gian nhà nhỏ Đầy tiếng võng kêu Kẽo cà kẽo kẹt Kẽo cà kẽo kẹt Kẽo cà...... kẽo kẹt

1967

SÓNG by XUÂN QUỳNH

Dữ dội và dịu êm Ồn ào và lặng lẽ Sông không hiểu nổi mình Sóng tìm ra tận bể

Ôi con sóng ngày xưa Và ngày sau vẫn thế Nỗi khát vọng tình yêu Bồi hồi trong ngực trẻ

Trước muôn trùng sóng bể Em nghĩ về anh, em Em nghĩ về biển lớn Từ nơi nào sóng lên?

Sóng bắt đầu từ gió Gió bắt đầu từ đâu? Em cũng không biết nữa Khi nào ta yêu nhau

Con sóng dưới lòng sâu Con sóng trên mặt nước Ôi con sóng nhớ bờ Ngày đêm không ngủ được Lòng em nhớ đến anh Cả trong mơ còn thức

Dẫu xuôi về phương bắc Dẫu ngược về phương nam Nơi nào em cũng nghĩ Hướng về anh - một phương

Ở ngoài kia đại dương Trăm nghìn con sóng đó Con nào chẳng tới bờ Dù muôn vời cách trở

Cuộc đời tuy dài thế Năm tháng vẫn đi qua Như biển kia dẫu rộng Mây vẫn bay về xa

Làm sao được tan ra Thành trăm con sóng nhỏ Giữa biển lớn tình yêu Để ngàn năm còn vỗ

Biển Diêm Điền, 29-12-1967

Nguồn: 1. Hoa dọc chiến hào, Xuân Quỳnh, NXB Văn học, 1968 2. Thơ Xuân Quỳnh, Kiều Văn chủ biên, NXB Đồng Nai, 1997

Từ ấY by Tố HữU

Từ ấy trong tôi bừng nắng hạ Mặt trời chân lý chói qua tim Hồn tôi là một vườn hoa lá Rất đậm hương và rộn tiếng chim...

Tôi buộc lòng tôi với mọi người Để tình trang trải với trăm nơi Để hồn tôi với bao hồn khổ Gần gũi nhau thêm mạnh khối đời

Tôi đã là con của vạn nhà Là em của vạn kiếp phôi pha Là anh của vạn đầu em nhỏ Không áo cơm, cù bất cù bơ...

Tháng 7-1938

TRƯờNG SƠN ĐÔNG, TRƯờNG SƠN TÂY by PHạM TIếN DUậT

Cùng mắc võng trên rừng Trường Sơn Hai đứa ở hai đầu xa thẳm Ðường ra trận mùa này đẹp lắm Trường Sơn Ðông nhớ Trường Sơn Tây.

Một dãy núi mà hai màu mây Nơi nắng nơi mưa, khí trời cũng khác Như anh với em, như Nam với Bắc Như Ðông với Tây một dải rừng liền.

Trường Sơn tây anh đi, thương em Bên ấy mưa nhiều, con đường gánh gạo Muỗi bay rừng già cho dài tay áo Rau hết rồi, em có lấy măng không.

Em thương anh bên tây mùa đông Nước khe cạn bướm bay lèn đá Biết lòng anh say miền đất lạ Chắc em lo đường chắn bom thù

Anh lên xe, trời đổ cơn mưa Cái gạt nước xua tan nỗi nhớ Em xuống núi nắng về rực rỡ Cái nhành cây gạt nỗi riêng tư.

Ðông sang tây không phải đường thư Ðường chuyển đạn và đường chuyển gạo Ðông Trường Sơn, cô gái "ba sẵn sàng" xanh áo Tây Trường Sơn bộ đội áo màu xanh.

Từ nơi em gửi đến nơi anh Những đoàn quân trùng trùng ra trận Như tình yêu nối lời vô tận Ðông Trường Sơn nối tây Trường Sơn.

Truyện (SHORT STORIES)

Vợ chồng A Phủ (The A Phu Couple) by Tô Hoài

Sống trong không gian hai chiều (Living in two dimension Time) by Vũ Tú Nam

Đôi mắt (The Eyes) by Nam Cao

Vợ CHồNG A PHủ (THE A PHU COUPLE) by TÔ HOÀI

Ai ở xa về, có việc vào nhà thống lý Pá Tra thường trông thấy có một cô gái ngồi quay sợi gai bên tầng đá trước cửa, cạnh tầu ngựa. Lúc nào cũng vậy, dù quay sợi, thái cỏ ngựa, dệt vải, chẻ củi hay đi cõng nước dưới khe suối lên, cô ấy cũng cúi mặt, mặt buồn rười rượi. Người ta nói: nhà Pá Tra làm thống lý, ăn của dân nhiều, đồn Tây lại cho muối về bán, giầu lắm, nhà có nhiều nương, nhiều bạc, nhiều thuộc phiện nhất làng. Thế thì con gái nó còn bao giờ phải xem cái khổ mà biết khổ, mà buồn. Nhưng rồi hỏi ra mới rõ cô ấy không phải con gái thống lý: cô ấy là vợ A Sử, con trai thống lý. Mỵ về làm dâu nhà Pá Tra đã mấy năm. Từ năm nào, không nhớ, cũng không ai nhớ. Những người nghèo ở Hồng Ngài thì vẫn còn kể lại câu chuyện Mỵ về làm người nhà quan thống lý. Ngày xưa bố Mỵ lấy mẹ Mỵ không đủ tiền cưới, phải đến vay nhà thống lý, bố của thống lý Pá Tra bây giờ. Mỗi năm đem nộp lãi cho nhà chủ nợ một nương ngô. Ðến tận khi hai vợ chồng về già mà cũng chưa xong nợ. Người vợ chết, cũng chưa trả hết nợ. Cho tới năm ấy Mỵ đã lớn, Mỵ là con gái đầu lòng. Thống lý đến bảo bố Mỵ: - Cho tao đứa con gái này về làm dâu thì tao xoá hết nợ cho. Ông lão nghĩ năm nào cũng phải trả một nương ngô cho người ta, tiếc ngô, nhưng cũng lại thương con quá. Ông chưa biết nói thế nào thì Mỵ bảo bố rằng: - Con đã biết cuốc nương làm ngô, con làm nương ngô trả nợ thay cho bố. Bố đừng bán con cho nhà giàu. Tết năm ấy, tết vui chơi, trai gái đánh pao, đánh quay rồi đêm đêm rủ nhau đi chơi. Những nhà có con gái, bố mẹ không thể ngủ được vì tiếng chó sủa. Suốt đêm, con trai đến nhà người mình yêu, đứng thổi sáo xung quanh vách. Trai đứng nhẵn cả chân vách đầu buồng Mỵ. Một đêm khuya, Mỵ nghe tiếng gõ vách. Tiếng gõ vách hẹn của người yêu. Mỵ hồi hộp lặng lẽ quờ tay lên, gặp hai ngón tay lách vào khe gỗ. Một ngón đeo nhẫn. Người yêu Mỵ đeo nhẫn ngón tay ấy. Mỵ nhấc tấm vách gỗ. Một bàn tay bắt Mỵ bước ra. Mỵ vừa bước ra, lập tức có mấy người choàng đến, nhét áo vào miệng Mỵ rồi bịt mắt cõng Mỵ đi. Sáng hôm sau, Mỵ mới biết mình đang ngồi trong nhà thống lý. Họ nhốt Mỵ vào buồng. Ngoài vách kia, tiếng nhạc sinh tiền cúng ma rập rờn nhảy múa. A Sử đến nhà bố Mỵ. A Sử nói: - Tôi đã đem con gái bố về cúng trình ma nhà tôi. Bây giờ tôi đến cho bố biết. Tiền bạc để cưới, bố tôi bảo đã đưa cả cho bố rồi. Rồi A Sử về. Ông lão nhớ câu nói của thống lý dạo trước; cho con gái về nhà thống lý thì trừ được nợ. Thế là cha mẹ ăn bạc nhà giàu kiếp trước, bây giờ người ta bắt con trừ nợ. Không làm thế nào khác được rồi. Có đến mấy tháng, đêm nào Mỵ cũng khóc. Một hôm, Mỵ trốn về nhà, hai tròng mắt còn đỏ hoe. Trông thấy bố, Mỵ quì, úp mặt xuống đất, nức nở. Bố Mỵ cũng khóc, đoán biết lòng con gái: - Mày về chào lậy tao để mày đi chết đấy à? Mày chết nhưng nợ tao vẫn còn quan lại bắt trả nợ. Mày chết rồi, không lấy ai làm nương ngô, trả được nợ, tao thì ốm yếu quá rồi. Không được, con ơi! Mỵ chỉ bưng mặt khóc. Mỵ ném nắm lá ngón xuống đất. Nắm lá ngón Mỵ đã đi tìm hái trong rừng. Mỵ vẫn giấu trong áo. Thế là Mỵ không đành lòng chết. Mỵ chết thì bố Mỵ còn khổ hơn bao nhiêu lần bây giờ. Mỵ lại trở lại nhà thống lý. Lần lần, mấy năm qua, mấy năm sau, bố Mỵ chết. Nhưng Mỵ cũng không còn nghĩ đến Mỵ có thể ăn lá ngón tự tử. Ở lâu trong cái khổ, Mỵ cũng quen khổ rồi. Bây giờ Mỵ tưởng mình cũng là con trâu, mình cũng là con ngựa. Con ngựa chỉ biết ăn cỏ, biết đi làm mà thôi. Mỵ cúi mặt, không nghĩ ngợi nữa, lúc nào cũng nhớ lại những việc giống nhau, mỗi năm một mùa, mỗi tháng lại làm đi làm lại: tết xong lên núi hái thuốc phiện; giữa năm thì giặt đay; đến mùa đi nương bẻ bắp. Và dù đi hái củi, bung ngô, lúc nào cũng gài một bó đay trong cánh tay để tước sợi. Bao giờ cũng thế, suốt năm, suốt đời thế. Con ngựa, con trâu làm còn có lúc, đêm còn được đứng gãi chân, nhai cỏ, đàn bà con gái nhà này vùi vào việc cả đêm cả ngày. Mỗi ngày Mỵ càng không nói, lùi lũi như con rùa nuôi trong xó cửa. Ở buồng Mỵ nằm kín mít, có một chiếc cửa sổ một lỗ vuông ấy mà trông ra đến bao giờ chết thì thôi. Trên đầu núi, các nương ngô, nương lúa gặt xong, ngô lúa đã xếp yên các nhà kho. Trẻ em đi hái bí đỏ, tinh nghịch, đốt những lều quanh nương để sưởi lửa. Ở Hồng Ngài, người ta thành lệ, cứ ăn tết xong thì gặt hái vừa đoạn, không kể ngày tháng. Ăn tết thế cho kịp mưa xuân xuống, đi vỡ nương mới. Hồng Ngài năm ấy ăn tết giữa lúc gió thổi vào cỏ gianh vàng ửng, rét càng dữ. Nhưng trong các làng Mông Ðỏ, những chiếc váy hoa đã được phơi ra mỏm đá, xoè như con bướm sặc sỡ. Hoa thuốc phiện nở trắng lại nở mầu đỏ hau, đỏ thẫm, rồi nở mầu tím man mát. Ðám trẻ đợi tết, chơi quay, cười ầm trên sân chơi trước nhà. Ngoài đầu núi, đã có tiếng ai thổi sáo rủ bạn đi chơi. Mỵ nghe tiếng sáo vọng lại, thiết tha bồi hồi. "Mày có con trai con gái Mày đi nương Ta không có con trai con gái Ta đi tìm người yêu" Tiếng chó sủa xa xa. Những đêm tình mùa xuân đã tới. Ở mỗi đầu làng đều có một mỏm đất phẳng làm sân chơi chung ngày tết. Trai gái, trẻ con ra sân ấy tụ tập đánh pao, đánh quay, thổi sáo, thổi khèn và nhảy. Cả nhà thống lý ăn xong bữa cơm tết cúng ma. Xung quanh chiêng đánh ầm ĩ, người ốp đồng vẫn nhảy lên xuống, rung bần bật. Vừa hết bữa cơm tiếp ngay cuộc rượu bên bếp lửa. Ngày tết, Mỵ cũng uống rượu. Mỵ lén lấy hũ rượu, uống ực từng bát. Rồi say, Mỵ lịm mặt ngồi đấy nhìn người nhảy đồng, người hát. Nhưng lòng Mỵ đang sống về ngày trước, tai văng vẳng tiếng sáo gọi bạn đầu làng. Ngày trước Mỵ thổi sáo giỏi. Mùa xuân đến, Mỵ uống rượu bên bếp và thổi sáo. Mỵ uốn chiếc lá trên môi, thổi lá cũng hay như thổi sáo. Có biết bao nhiêu người mê, cứ ngày đêm thổi sáo đi theo Mỵ hết núi này sang núi khác. Rượu tan lúc nào. Người về, người đi chơi đã vãn cả, Mỵ không biết. Mỵ vẫn ngồi trơ một mình giữa nhà. Mãi sau Mỵ mới đứng dậy. Nhưng Mỵ không bước ra đường. Mỵ từ từ vào buồng. Chẳng năm nào A Sử cho Mỵ đi chơi hết. Bấy giờ Mỵ ngồi xuống giường, trông ra cửa sổ lỗ vuông mờ mờ trăng trắng. Từ nãy Mỵ thấy phơi phới trở lại, trong lòng đột nhiên vui như những đêm Tết ngày trước. Mỵ trẻ, Mỵ vẫn còn trẻ. Mỵ muốn đi chơi. Bao nhiêu người có chồng cũng đi chơi Tết. Huống chi A Sử với Mỵ không có lòng với nhau mà vẫn phải ở với nhau. Nếu có nắm lá ngón trong tay lúc này, Mỵ sẽ ăn cho chết ngay, chứ không buồn nhớ lại nữa. Nhớ lại, chỉ thấy nước mặt ứa ra. Mà tiếng sáo gọi bạn vẫn lửng lơ bay ngoài đường. " Anh ném pao Em không bắt Em không yêu Quả pao rơi rồi..." A Sử vừa ở đâu về, lại sửa soạn đi chơi. A Sử thay áo mới, khoác thêm vòng bạc vào cổ rồi bịt cái khăn trắng lên đầu. Có khi nó đi mấy ngày mấy đêm. Nó còn đương rình bắt nhiều người con gái nữa về làm vợ. Cũng chẳng bao giờ Mỵ nói. Bây giờ Mỵ cũng không nói. Mỵ đến góc nhà, lấy ống mỡ, sắn một miếng, bỏ thêm vào đĩa đèn cho sáng. Trong đầu Mỵ đang rập rờn tiếng sáo. Mỵ muốn đi chơi. Mỵ cũng sắp đi chơi. Mỵ quấn lại tóc. Mỵ với tay lấy cái váy hoa vắt phía trong vách. A Sử sắp bước ra, bỗng quay lại, lấy làm lạ. A Sử nhìn quanh thấy Mỵ rút thêm cái áo. A Sử hỏi: - Mày muốn đi chơi à? Mỵ không nói. A Sử cũng không hỏi thêm. A Sử bước lại, nắm Mỵ, lấy thắt lưng trói tay Mỵ. Nó xách cả một thúng sợi đay ra trói đứng Mỵ vào cột nhà. Tóc Mỹ xõa xuống. A Sử quấn luôn tóc lên cột. Mỵ không cúi, không nghiêng được đầu nữa. Trói xong. A Sử thắt cái thắt lưng xanh ra ngoài áo rồi phẩy tay tắt đèn, đi ra khép cửa buồng lại. Trong bóng tối, Mỵ đứng im như không biết mình đang bị trói. Hơi rượu còn nồng nàn. Mỵ vẫn nghe thấy tiếng sáo đưa Mỵ đi theo những cuộc chơi. "Em không yêu, quả pao rơi rồi. Em yêu người nào, em bắt pao nào!" Mỵ vùng bước đi. Nhưng chân đau không cựa được. Mỵ không nghe tiếng sáo nữa. Chỉ còn nghe tiếng chân ngựa đạp vào vách. Ngựa vẫn đứng yên, gãi chân, nhai cỏ. Mỵ thổn thức nghĩ mình không bằng con ngựa. Chó sủa xa xa. Chừng đã khuya. Lúc này, lúc trai đang đến gõ vách làm hiệu, rủ người yêu dỡ vách ra rừng chơi. Mỵ nín khóc, Mỵ lại bồi hồi. Cả đêm Mỵ phải trói đứng như thế. Lúc thì khắp người bị dây trói thít lại, đau nhức. Lúc lại tràn trề tha thiết nhớ. Hơi rượu toả. Tiếng sáo. Tiếng chó sủa xa xa. Mỵ lúc mê, lúc tỉnh. Cho tới khi trời tang tảng rồi mà không biết sáng từ bao giờ. Mỵ bàng hoàng tỉnh. Buổi sáng âm âm trong cái nhà gỗ rộng. Vách bên cũng im ắng. Không nghe tiếng lửa réo trong lò nấu cám lợn. Không một tiếng động. Không biết bên buồng quanh đấy, các chị vợ anh, vợ chú của A Sử có còn ở nhà, không biết tất cả những người đàn bà khốn khổ sa vào nhà quan đã được đi chơi hay cũng đang phải trói như Mỵ. Mỵ không thể biết. Ðời người đàn bà lấy chồng nhà giàu ở Hồng Ngài, một đời người chỉ biết đi theo đuôi con ngựa của chồng. Mỵ chợt nhớ lại câu chuyện người ta vẫn kể: đời trước, ở nhà thống lý Pá Tra có người trói vợ trong nhà ba ngày rồi đi chơi, khi về nhìn đến, vợ chết rồi. Mỵ sợ quá, Mỵ cựa quậy. Xem mình còn sống hay chết. Cổ tay, đầu, bắp chân bị dây trói xiết lại, đau đứt từng mảnh thịt. Có tiếng xôn xao phía ngoài. Rồi một đám đông vào nhà. Thống lý Pá Tra xuống ngựa vứt cương cho "thị sống" (một chức việc đi hầu thống lý như người làm mõ thời trước) dắt ngựa vào tàu. Nghe như bọn họ khiêng theo con lợn, hoặc một người phải trói, vừa vứt huỵnh xuống đất, cứ thở phò phò. A Sử chệnh choạng vào buồng. Áo rách toạc một mảnh vai. Cái khăn xéo trắng loang lổ máu, sụp xuống quanh trán. A Sử nằm lăn ra giường. Thống lý Pá Tra bước vào. Theo sau thống lý, một lũ "thống quán" (Một chức việc như phó lý), "xéo phải" (như trưởng thôn) và bọn thị sống vẫn thường ra vào hầu hạ, ăn thịt uống rượu, hút thuốc phiện nhà thống lý. Có người bấy giờ mới nhìn thấy Mỵ phải trói đứng trong cột. Nhưng cũng không ai để ý. Họ xúm lại quanh giường A Sử. Pá Tra, tay vẫn cầm cái roi ngựa, lại từ từ đi ra. Mỵ nhắm mặt lại, không dám nhìn. Mỵ chỉ nghe hình như có tiếng ông thống lý gọi người ra ngoài. Mỵ hé nhìn ra, thấy chị dâu bước tới. Người chị dâu ấy chưa già, nhưng cái lưng quanh năm phải đeo thồ nặng quá, đã còng rạp xuống. Người chị dâu đến cởi trói cho Mỵ. Sợi dây gai cuốn bắp chân vừa lỏng ra, Mỵ ngã sụp xuống. Chị dâu khẽ nói vào tai Mỵ: - Mỵ! Đi hái thuốc cho chồng mày. Mỵ quên cả đau đứng lên. Nhưng không nhích chân lên được. Mỵ phải ôm vai chị dâu. Hai người khổ sở dìu nhau bước ra. Vào rừng tìm lá thuốc, Mỵ nghe nói lại, mới biết A Sử đi chơi bị đánh vỡ đầu. Nửa đêm qua, A Sử vào làng tìm đến đám tiếng sáo, tiếng khèn. Nhiều chàng trai làng ấy vào các làng khác, chơi quay, thổi sáo suốt ngày, chập tối vừa tan xong chầu rượu trong nhà, bây giờ vẫn còn chưa chịu tan về. Lúc A Sử và chúng bạn kéo đến, không còn ai chơi trong nhà. Nhưng người ra người vào còn dập dìu quanh ngõ. A Sử đứng ngoài, tức lắm. Nó bàn với lũ khác, dọa đánh bọn trai lạ bám quanh nhà, khiến bọn A Sử bị vướng không thể vào được. Bọn A Sử ném vào vách. Ông bố trong nhà ra chửi. Vẫn ném. Ông lão vào trong cửa, bắn ra hai phát súng. Thế là tan những đám hẹn. Nhưng cũng chưa người trai nào vội về. Họ tản vào các nhà quen trong xóm. Ðợi sáng mai lại lên sân đánh pao với con gái trong xóm. Bọn A Sử cũng không chịu để cánh kia yên. Sáng sớm, khi họ vừa ra đầu ngõ, bọn A Sử đã kéo đến gây sự. A Sử đi trước, nạm vòng bạc rủ xuống tua chỉ xanh đỏ, chỉ riêng con cái nhà quan trong làng mới được đeo. A Sử hùng hổ bước ra. Bọn kia đứng dồn cả lại, xôn xao. - Lũ phá đám ta hôm qua đây rồi. - A Phủ đâu! A Phủ đánh chết nó đi! Một người to lớn chạy vụt ra, vung tay ném con quay thẳng vào mặt A Sử. Con quay gỗ ngát lăng vào giữa mặt. Nó vừa kịp bưng tay lên, A Phủ đã xộc tới, nắm vòng cổ, kéo dập đầu xuống, xé vai áo, đánh tới tấp. Người làng nghe tiếng hò hét đổ ra. Bọn trai làng lạ tản hết lên rừng. Mấy người đuổi đón đầu A Phủ. A Phủ bị bắt sống, trói gô chân tay lại. Vừa lúc thống lý Pá Tra tới. Chúng nó xọc ngang cái gậy, khiêng A Phủ mang về ném xuống giữa nhà thống lý. Mỵ đi hái được lá thuốc về, thấy trong nhà càng đông hơn lúc nãy. Ngoài sân, dưới gốc đào lại buộc thêm mấy con ngựa lạ. Mỵ đi cửa sau vào, hé mắt nhìn thấy một người to lớn quỳ trong góc nhà. Mỵ đoán đấy là A Phủ. Bọn chức việc cả vùng Hồng Ngài đến nhà thống lý dự đám kiện. Các lý dịch, quan làng, thống quán, xéo phải, đội mũ quấn khăn, xách gậy, cưỡi ngựa kéo đến xử kiện và ăn cỗ. Trong nhà thống lý đã bày ra năm bàn đèn. Khói thuốc phiện tuôn ra các lỗ cửa sổ tun hút xanh như khói bếp. Cả những người chức việc bên làng A Phủ cũng tới. Chỉ bọn trai làng ấy phải ngồi khoanh tay cạnh A Phủ, vì họ bị gọi sang hầu kiện. Bọn chức việc nằm dài cả trên khay đèn. Suốt từ trưa cho tới hết đêm, mấy chục người hút. Trên nhất là thống lý Pá Tra. Thống lý hút xong một đợt năm điếu, đến người khác, lại người khác, cứ thế lần lượt xuống tới bọn đi gọi người về dự kiện. Chỉ có đàn bà ngồi trong buồng và đi bên ngoài dòm ngó đám xử kiện và A Phủ quỳ chịu tội ở xó nhà, không được dự tiệc hút ấy. Một loạt người vừa hút xong, Pá Tra ngồi dậy, vuốt ngược cái đầu trọc dài, kéo đuôi tóc ra đằng trước, cất gọng lè nhè gọi: - Thằng A Phủ ra đây. A Phủ ra quỳ giữa nhà. Lập tức, bọn trai làng xô đến, trước nhất, chắp tay lạy lia lịa lên thống lý rồi quay lại đánh A Phủ. A Phủ quỳ chịu đòn, chỉ im như cái tượng đá... Cứ mỗi đợt bọn chức việc hút thuốc phiện xong, A Phủ lại phải ra quỳ giữa nhà, lại bị người xô đến đánh. Mặt A Phủ sưng lên, môi và đuôi mắt dập chảy máu. Người đánh, kẻ chửi, lại hút. Khói thuốc phiện ngào ngạt tuôn qua các lỗ cửa sổ. Rồi Pá Tra lại ngóc cổ lên, vuốt tóc, gọi A Phủ... Cứ như thế, suốt chiều, suốt đêm, càng hút, càng tỉnh, càng đánh, càng chửi, càng hút. Trong buồng bên cạnh, Mỵ cũng thức suốt đêm, im lặng ngồi xoa thuốc dấu cho A Sử. Lúc nào Mỵ mỏi quá, cựa mình, những chỗ lằn trói trong người lại đau ê ẩm. Mỵ lại gục đầu nằm thiếp. A Sử đạp chân vào mặt Mỵ. Mỵ choàng thức, lại nhặt nắm lá thuốc xoa đều đều trên lưng chồng. Ngoài nhà vẫn rên lên từng cơn kéo thuốc phiện, như những con mọt nghiến gỗ kéo dài, giữa tiếng người khóc, tiếng người kể lào xào, và tiếng đấm đánh huỳnh huỵch. Sáng hôm sau, đám kiện đã xong. Mấy người chẳng biết từ bao giờ, ngủ ngáy ngay bên khay đèn. Bọn xéo phải đang bắc cái chảo đồng và xách ấm nước ra nấu thêm lạng thuốc để hút ban ngày cho các quan làng thật tỉnh, các quan làng còn một tiệc ăn cỗ nữa. Thống lý mở tráp, lấy ra một trăm đồng bạc hoa xoè bày lên mặt tráp, rồi nói: - Thằng A Phủ kia, mày đánh người thì làng xử mày phải nộp vạ cho người bị mày đánh là hai mươi đồng, nộp cho thống quán năm đồng, mỗi xéo phải hai đồng, mỗi người đi gọi các quan làng về hầu kiện năm hào. Mày phải mất tiền mời các quan hút thuốc từ hôm qua tới nay. Lại mất con lợn hai mươi cân, chốc nữa mổ để các quan làng ăn vạ mày. A Phủ, mày đánh con quan làng, đáng lẽ làng xử mày tội chết, nhưng làng tha cho mày được sống mà nộp vạ. Cả tiền phạt, tiền thuốc, tiền lợn, mày phải chịu một trăm bạc trắng. Mày không có trăm bạc thì tao cho mày vay để mày ở nợ. Bao giờ có tiền trả thì tao cho mày về, chưa có tiền trả thì tao bắt mày làm con trâu cho nhà tao. Ðời mày, đời con, đời cháu mày tao cũng bắt thế, bao giờ hết nợ tao mới thôi. A Phủ! Lại đây nhận tiền quan cho vay. A Phủ lê hai cái đầu gối sưng bạnh lên như mặt hổ phù. A Phủ cúi sờ lên đồng bạc trên tráp, trong khi Pá Tra đốt hương, lầm rầm khấn gọi ma về nhận mặt người vay nợ. Pá Tra khấn xong, A Phủ cũng nhặt xong bạc, nhưng chỉ nhặt làm phép lên như thế rồi lại để ngay xuống mặt tráp. Rồi Pá Tra lại trút cả bạc vào trong tráp. Con lợn vừa bắt về cho A Phủ thết làng ăn vạ đã kêu eng éc ngoài sân. Ðếm tiền rồi, A Phủ không phải quỳ, phải đánh nữa. A Phủ đứng lên cầm con dao, chân đau bước tập tễnh, cùng với trai làng ra chọc tiết làm thịt lợn hầu làng. Trong nhà, thuốc phiện vẫn hút rào rào. Thế là từ đấy A Phủ phải ở trừ nợ cho nhà quan thống lý. Ðốt rừng, cày nương, cuốc nương, săn bò tót, bẫy hổ, chăn bò chăn ngựa, quanh năm một thân một mình rong ruổi ngoài gò rừng. A Phủ đương tuổi sức lực. Ði làm hay đi săn cái gì cũng phăng phăng. Không còn có lúc nào trở về làng bên. Nhưng A Phủ cũng chẳng muốn trở về làm gì bên ấy. A Phủ cũng không phải người bên ấy. Bố mẹ đẻ A Phủ ở Hắng Bìa. Năm xưa, làng Hắng Bìa phải một trận bệnh đậu mùa, nhiều trẻ con, cả người lớn chết, có nơi chết cả nhà. Còn sót lại có một mình A Phủ. Có người làng đói bắt A Phủ đem xuống bán đổi lấy thóc của người Thái dưới cánh đồng. A Phủ mới mười một tuổi, nhưng A Phủ gan bướng, không chịu ở cánh đồng thấp. A Phủ trốn lên núi, lưu lạc đến Hồng Ngài. Ði làm cho nhà người, lần nữa mùa này sang mùa khác. Chẳng bao lâu A Phủ đã lớn, biết đúc lưỡi cày, biết đục cuốc, lại cày giỏi và đi săn bò tót rất bạo. A Phủ khỏe, chạy nhanh như ngựa. Con gái trong làng nhiều cô mê. Nhiều người nói: "Ðứa nào được A Phủ cũng bằng được con trâu tốt trong nhà. Chẳng mấy lúc mà giàu". Người ta ao ước đùa thế thôi chứ phép rượu cũng chẳng to hơn phép làng, còn tục lệ cưới xin, mà A Phủ không có bố mẹ, không có ruộng, không có bạc, A Phủ không thể lấy nổi vợ. Tuy nhiên, đang tuổi chơi, trong ngày tết đến, A Phủ chẳng có quần áo mới như nhiều trai khác, A Phủ chỉ có độc một chiếc vòng bằng sợi dây đồng vía lằn trên cổ. A Phủ cứ cùng trai làng đem sáo, khèn, đem con quay và quả pao, quả yến đi tìm người yêu ở các làng trong vùng. Vì thế sinh sự đánh nhau ở Hồng Ngài. Một năm kia, phải khi đang đốt rừng. Hổ gấu từng đàn ra phá nương, bắt mất nhiều bò ngựa. Nhà thống lý lúc nào cũng đầy ngựa trong tàu trước cửa, đầy lưng bò đứng chen chân trong cột cửa, và dê, chó, lợn nằm quanh nhà. Ngày nào cũng lũ lượt hàng mấy chục con đi nương ăn. Bây giờ gặp khi rừng đói, mỗi lần bò ngựa đi nương, A Phủ phải ở lại trong rừng. A Phủ ở lều hàng tháng ngoài nương. Ðêm đến, dồn bò ngựa về nằm chầu nhau ngủ quanh lều. Mấy ngày A Phủ mê mải đi bẫy dím, không đếm được ngựa. Hôm ấy vào rừng thấy vết chân hổ, A Phủ vội phóng ngựa chạy vờn quanh đàn, dồn chúng quấn lại để đếm. A Phủ đếm lại mấy lần. Thiếu một con bò. A Phủ nhào vào rừng, lần theo lốt chân hổ, tìm được con bò đã bị hổ ăn thịt, chỉ còn lại một nửa mình nằm ngay dưới cây thông cụt. A Phủ nhặt mấy miếng thịt rơi quanh đấy rồi vác nốt nửa con bò về. Nghĩ bụng: "Con hổ này to lắm. Hãy còn ngửi thấy mùi hôi quanh đây. Ta về lấy súng đi tìm, thế nào cũng bắn được". Về đến nhà, A Phủ lẳng vai ném nửa con bò xuống gốc đào trước cửa. Pá Tra bước ra hỏi: - Mất mấy con bò? A Phủ trả lời tự nhiên: - Tôi về lấy súng. Thế nào cũng bắn được. Con hổ này to lắm. - Pá Tra hất tay, nói: - Quân ăn cướp mất bò tao. A Sử đâu! Ðem súng đi lấy con hổ về. Rồi Pá Tra quay lại, bảo A Phủ: - Mày ra ngoài kia, lấy vào đây một cái cọc, một cuộn dây mây. Tao trói mày chỗ kia. Bao giờ chúng nó bắn được con hổ về thì mày khỏi phải chết. Nếu không bắn được con hổ về thì tao cho mày đứng chết ở đấy. A Phủ cãi: - Tôi được con hổ ấy còn nhiều tiền hơn con bò. Pá Tra cười: - Lấy cọc dây mây vào đây! Không nói nữa, như con trâu đã đóng lên tròng. A Phủ lẳng lặng ra vác chiếc cọc gỗ rồi lấy cuộn dây mây trên gác bếp xuống. Tự tay A Phủ đóng cọc xuống bên cột, Pá Tra đẩy A Phủ vào chân cột, hai tay bắt ôm quặt lên. Rồi dây mây cuốn từ chân lên vai, chỉ còn cổ và đầu lúc lắc được. Ðàn bà trong nhà, mỗi khi đi qua đều cúi mặt. Không một ai dám hỏi. Cũng không một ai dám nhìn ngang mặt. Ðến đêm, A Phủ cúi xuống, nhay đứt hai vòng mây, nhích dãn dây trói một bên tay. Nhưng trời cũng vừa sáng. Pá Tra quàng thêm một vòng thòng lọng vào cổ. Thế là A Phủ không cúi, không còn lắc được nữa. A Sử và lính dõng của thống lý đi đuổi, mấy ngày không lùng bắt được con hổ. Thì cũng mấy ngày A Phủ phải trói đứng góc nhà. Ðằng kia, bếp lò bung ngô cao ngang đầu người vẫn hừng hực đỏ rực. Mỗi hôm hai buổi, người ra người vào ăn uống tấp nập. A Phủ đứng nhắm mắt, cho tới đêm khuya. Những đêm mùa đông trên núi cao dài và buồn. Nếu không có bếp lửa sưởi kia thì Mỵ cũng đến chết héo. Mỗi đêm, Mỵ dậy ra thổi lửa hơ tay, hơ lưng, không biết bao nhiêu lần. Thường khi đến gà gáy, Mỵ dậy ra bếp sưởi một lúc thật lâu, các chị em trong nhà mới bắt đầu ra dóm lò bung ngô, nấu cháo lợn. Mỗi đêm, nghe tiếng phù phù thổi bếp, A Phủ lại mở mắt. Ngọn lửa bùng lên, cùng lúc ấy Mỵ cũng nhìn sang, thấy mắt A Phủ trừng trừng. Mới biết nó còn sống. Mấy đêm nay như thế. Nhưng Mỵ vẫn thản nhiên thổi lửa, hơ tay. Nếu A Phủ là cái xác chết đứng đấy, cũng thế thôi. Mỵ vẫn trở dậy, vẫn sưởi, Mỵ chỉ biết, chỉ còn ở với ngọn lửa. Có đêm A Sử chợt về thấy Mỵ ngồi đấy, A Sử ngứa tay đánh Mỵ ngã xuống cửa bếp. Nhưng đêm sau Mỵ vẫn ra sưởi như đêm trước. Lúc ấy đã khuya. Trong nhà ngủ yên. Mỵ trở dậy thổi lửa, ngọn lửa bập bùng sáng lên. Mỵ trông sang thấy hai mắt A Phủ cũng vừa mở. Dòng nước mắt lấp lánh bò xuống hai hõm má đã xám đen. Thấy tình cảnh thế, Mỵ chợt nhớ đêm năm trước, A Sử trói Mỵ, Mỵ cũng phải trói đứng thế kia. Nước mắt chảy xuống miệng, xuống cổ, không biết lau đi được. Trời ơi nó bắt trói đứng người ta đến chết. Nó cũng bắt mình chết thôi. Nó đã bắt trói đến chết người đàn bà ngày trước ở cái nhà này. Chúng nó thật độc ác. Chỉ đêm mai là người ta chết, chết đau, chết đói, chết rét, phải chết. Ta là thân phận đàn bà, nó đã bắt về trình ma rồi, chỉ còn biết đợi ngày rũ xương ở đây thôi... Người kia việc gì mà phải chết. A Phủ ... Mỵ phảng phất nghĩ như vậy. Ðám than đã vạc hẳn lửa. Mỵ không thổi cũng không đứng lên. Mỵ nhớ lại đời mình. Mỵ tưởng tượng như có thể một lúc nào, biết đâu A Phủ chẳng trốn được rồi, lúc đó bố con thống lý sẽ đổ là Mỵ đã cởi trói cho nó, Mỵ liền phải trói thay vào đấy. Mỵ chết trên cái cọc ấy. Nghĩ thế, nhưng làm sao Mỵ cũng không thấy sợ... Trong nhà tối bưng, Mỵ rón rén bước lại, A Phủ vẫn nhắm mắt. Nhưng Mỵ tưởng như A Phủ biết có người bước lại... Mỵ rút con dao nhỏ cắt lúa, cắt nút dây mây. A Phủ thở phè từng hơi như rắn thở, không biết mê hay tỉnh. Lần lần, đến lúc gỡ được hết dây trói ở người A Phủ thì Mỵ cũng hốt hoảng. Mỵ chỉ thì thào được một tiếng "Ði đi..." rồi Mỵ nghẹn lại. A Phủ khuỵu xuống không bước nổi. Nhưng trước cái chết có thể đến nơi ngay, A Phủ lại quật sức vung lên, chạy. Mỵ đứng lặng trong bóng tối. Trời tối lắm. Mỵ vẫn băng đi. Mỵ đuổi kịp A Phủ, đã lăn, chạy xuống tới lưng dốc. Mỵ thở trong hơi gió thốc lạnh buốt: - A Phủ cho tôi đi theo với A Phủ chưa kịp nói, Mỵ lại vừa thở vừa nói: - Ở đây chết mất, A Phủ chợt hiểu. Hai người đỡ nhau lao xuống dốc núi. Hai người đi ròng rã hơn một tháng. Họ chuyền trên những triền núi cao ngất, lốm đốm nhà, thấp thoáng ruộng, đất đỏ, suối trắng tinh, trông thấy trước mặt mà đi mấy ngày chưa tới. Từ Hồng Ngài xuống qua vùng ruộng ở Mường Quài của người Thái, từ Nậm Cất sang Chống Chia, từ Chống Chia qua dốc Lùng Chùng Phủng lại trở về bờ sông Ðà phía giữa châu Phù Yên sang châu Mai Sơn, chỗ đầu mối giao thông của ngoài vùng tự do vào khu du kích của các dân tộc Thái, Dao, Mèo bên kia sông. Rồi họ về trong những làng Mông Ðỏ hẻo lánh vùng Phìa Sa. Xa lắm rồi, thống lý không đuổi được nữa... Họ nghĩ thế. Ròng rã, ăn rau rừng, củ nâu, mộc nhĩ, vừa hết mùa mưa, tới Phìn Sa. Hai người tới Phìn Sa, ở đấy không ai biết đấy là A Phủ, người ở nợ nhà thống lý. Người ta ngỡ đấy là hai vợ chồng trong một nhà đông anh em ở bên kia dốc Lùng Chùng Phủng, nương vỡ được ít mà miệng ăn thì nhiều, anh em, vợ chồng phải chia ra, đem nhau đi tìm ăn nơi khác. Hai người nhận là vợ chồng. Mà thật thì A Phủ và Mỵ đã thành vợ chồng.

SốNG TRONG KHÔNG GIAN HAI CHIềU (LIVING IN TWO DIMENSION TIME) by VŨ TÚ NAM

I - Bác ơi! Bác ốm đấy à? Cháu có lọ dầu cao sao vàng đây bác lấy mà xoa … Ông An sực tỉnh khỏi những nghĩ ngợi triền miên đang dày vò ông, gượng cười đáp lại cô gái ngồi hàng ghế đối diện: - Cám ơn cô. Tôi không ốm đâu. Chỉ hơi lạnh một chút. - Bác cứ xoa dầu đi. Cháu cho bác mượn cái khăn len này, bác quấn thêm vào cổ… Thế, được rồi… Khăn của chồng cháu đấy, cháu mới mua cho anh ấy đấy. Ông An chưa kịp từ chối thì cô gái đã quàng tấm khăn vào cổ ông, rồi cô nhìn ông vẻ ái ngại: - Nom mặt bác tái mét, đi, cháu hãi quá. Gió mùa đông bắc bổ sung, đài báo tối qua đấy bác ạ. Bác xuống ga nào thế? - Ga Trình. - Thế thì hết ý! Cháu xuống ga Gai, sau bác một ga. Bác cháu ta tha hồ nói chuyện, cháu thích nói chuyện lắm. Ông An lúc này mới nhìn kỹ cô gái ngồi trước mặt. Cô người thấp bé, bụng chửa vượt mặt, chắc đã gần đến ngày sinh. Cô mặc áo len dài tay màu đỏ tươi, cổ quàng khăn ni-lông tím nhạt, nom ngộ nghĩnh lạ. Thấy ông đã có phần tươi tỉnh, cô bắt chuyện tiếp: - Bác ơi, bác được mấy anh chị cả thảy? - Một gái, một trai. Con gái tôi đã ở riêng sắp sinh cháu rồi. Cô gái reo lên: - Hay nhỉ… Thế thì giống cháu! Cuối tháng này cháu đẻ đấy bác ạ. Bác ơi, vợ đẻ thì chồng là bộ đội có được nghỉ phép không hả bác? Ông An cười, vui vui nhìn khuôn mặt tròn đỏ au và hơi rám của cô gái: - Cũng tùy. Thế anh ấy đóng quân ở đâu? - Chồng cháu là lính lái xe lưu động bác ạ. Anh ấy hay vù về với cháu lắm. Quý vợ cấp kiện tướng đấy!... Chả bù cho ngày xưa ấy à, bác không biết đâu, ngày xưa anh ấy chê cháu bé này, xấu này, tuềnh toàng này, suốt một năm bảy tháng chẳng thèm về mà cũng chẳng thèm viết cho vợ một chữ nào… Một chị ngồi bên, thấy vui câu chuyện hỏi góp: - Thế rồi làm sao mà anh ấy lại quí cô? - Úi dào em cũng chẳng biết nữa!... Cuối năm ngoái, tình cờ anh ấy đánh xe về qua nhà. Giời hôm ấy rét ơi là rét. Mẹ chồng em xăng xái ôm rơm vào giải ổ cho cái giường của chúng em trong buồng. Em ngượng ơi là ngượng. Em bắt con gà mái, thịt cho anh ấy ăn. Mãi cuối bữa, anh ấy mới hỏi em một câu: “Hồi này cô làm gì?”. Em bảo em làm ở trại lợn. Thế rồi không hiểu sao em cứ tòn tòn phô với anh ấy về công việc của em, những đêm mưa rét em thắp đèn đỡ đẻ cho lợn, rồi chuyện lai giống lợn, rồi chuyện lợn bị dịch, chuyện em bị con lợn nái say con, nó táp một miếng rách ống quần… Buồn cười quá. Thế rồi mẹ em đi ngủ. Thế rồi anh ấy gọi em: “Mong! Lại đây anh bảo”. Thế là từ đấy trở đi kiện tướng lắm nhé! Anh ấy cứ vù về với em luôn. “Này, áo len của Mong đây” – “Này, phần kim chỉ anh để dành cho Mong” – “Này, cái quần lụa cho Mong”… Buồn cười lắm, tên anh ấy là Nhớ. Bọn bạn cứ trêu em: “Nhớ mong Mong, Mong nhớ Nhớ!”. Cô gái vui tính kể chuyện choang choang. Mỗi người góp vào một câu. Tiếng cười lan ra gần nửa toa tàu. Riêng ông An lại chìm đắm vào những liên tưởng miên man không dứt. … Cái Vân nhà mình cũng sắp đến ngày sinh, sao mình lại bỏ đi thế này nhỉ? Mình giận vợ à? Hay giận thằng Thu ăn diện đua đòi, không chịu đi nhận công tác ở tỉnh xa – mà mẹ nó thì chiều con không phải lối? … Trải ổ rơm. Cái cô Mong ngồi trước mặt ta đây kể chuyện mẹ chồng xăng xái trải ổ rơm để Mong mau có cháu. Ngày xưa, trời, bao nhiêu năm rồi nhỉ, một ngàn chín trăm bốn sáu – ba mươi lăm năm rồi – mẹ ta cũng lặng lẽ trải ổ rơm trong buồng cho con trai con dâu. Mẹ là người sớm cảm thấy sự lạnh nhạt của ta đối với vợ, và mãi sau này ta mới biết mẹ vốn không đồng tình với thầy trong cuộc hôn nhân gượng ép này. Thế là đêm ấy chị ta nằm một góc, còn ta thì úp mặt vào tường. Ta trốn. Ngay hôm sau, ta kiếm cớ ra tỉnh và tìm cách vào bộ đội. Gói cơm nếp mẹ bọc cho ấm một bên hông, ta dừng lại ngoái nhìn, thấy chị ta ngước trộm theo, chao ôi đôi mắt buồn đau đáu. Nhưng ta biết làm sao được! Chị ta hơn ta những bốn tuổi, lại đã qua một đời chồng. Thầy ép ta phải lấy, vì đó là “con nhà tử tế, lam làm, lại có trong tay gần hai mẫu ruộng”. Thật đơn giản như vậy đấy ông cụ có cần tính gì đến chuyện tình cảm yêu đương!... Con tàu rầm rầm lao qua chiếc cầu sắt. Mắt nhìn lơ đãng ra cánh đồng mờ mưa bụi, ông An tưởng như mình đang khoác tay Phương – một thằng bạn chí thân, hai đứa đều mặc quần sooc, đội mũ ca-lô hát vang bài Ra đi không về trên chuyến tàu năm ấy. Trên cánh cửa cổng làng từ sau ngày 23 tháng 9 năm 1945, An đã kẻ một khẩu hiệu lớn: Kiên quyết ủng hộ cuộc chiến đấu anh dũng của đồng bào Nam Bộ! Khi con tàu đi qua làng, anh nhìn thấy dòng khẩu hiệu trắng nhờ. Anh hy vọng thấy thêm một lần hình dáng hiền hậu của mẹ anh. Và – ác nghiệt sao – đôi mắt đau đáu buồn của chị ta cứ ám ảnh anh hoài, cho đến nhiều năm sau này nữa. Cũng là một nạn nhân như anh, chị ta nào có tội tình gì? Con tàu tăng tốc độ, ru lắc đều đều. Ông An ngả đầu, nhắm mắt. Cả đêm qua, ông mất ngủ. Thằng Thu – con trai ông – cãi tay đôi với ông. Vợ ông làm ra vẻ dàn hòa, nhưng thực ra thì bênh nó. Đối với đứa con trai duy nhất, ông bà thường xung đột. Bà luôn chì chiết con về chuyện quần loe tóc dài. Còn ông thì không bữa ăn nào là không giáo dục con về ước mơ, lý tưởng. Ấy vậy mà nó vấn cứ đi đường nó, ông bà cứ đi đường ông bà. Bất lực trước đứa con, ông bà quay ra đổ trách nhiệm cho nhau. Ông trách bà hay cho con tiền. Bà trách ông không chăm nom gì đến việc học hành của nó, chỉ suốt tuần bận họp hành, khách khứa. Bà thì hay mắng nhiếc con, nhưng lúc nó dỗi, bỏ ăn, thì bà lại dàn hòa trước. Ông lành nhưng cục, bực lên là tát là đấm cậu con trai đã hai mươi hai tuổi. Đấy, tối qua chuyện đã xảy ra như thế. Ông tát thằng Thu, và đuổi ra khỏi nhà. Nó đi thật, cả đêm không về. Bà khóc, quay ra dằn dỗi ông. Ông An một mình leo lên gác xép, đắp mỗi cái chăn chiên, không sao chợp mắt được. Thế là ông quyết định sáng nay ra tàu về quê; ông đã có giấy phép từ hôm trước, đang định cho thằng Thu cùng về, trước khi nó đi nhận công tác xa. Ông đi vội vàng, không mang đủ cả quần áo ấm… - Bác ơi, sắp đến ga Trình rồi đấy! Ông An giật mình, tháo chiếc khăn len đưa trả cô Mong. Ông mở túi xách, lấy cái khăn mặt khô choàng vào cổ. - Bác ơi, bác về xã nào? - Tôi về làng Nghệ. - Làng Nghệ à bác? Quê thầy cháu đấy! Bác về nhà ai thế bác? - Nhà bà Thơ, bà chị tôi đấy mà. - Bác ơi, bác họ Đỗ phải không? - Phải. - Chết rồi bác ơi! Cháu là con gái họ Đỗ đây! Cháu phải gọi bà Thơ là bà, cháu phải gọi bác là ông bác đấy. Thầy cháu là ông Ro, làm nghề thợ mộc, bác… à quên ông, ông có còn nhớ không ông? Ông An nhìn cô Mong, cười, khẽ lắc đầu: - Tôi đi xa lâu ngày quá, chẳng nhớ hết được họ hàng. - Cháu lấy chồng bên Yên Thái ông ạ. Thế nào ông cũng sang chơi bên nhà cháu nhé. Thầy mẹ cháu đi khai hoang mãi tận trên Hòa Bình đã bảy tám năm rồi… Tàu đỗ ga Trình. Khi ông An dắt cái xe đạp tồng tộc đi qua cửa toa, cô Mong vội vàng chạy xuống, dúi vào túi xách của ông mấy quả hồng xiêm: - Ông cho cháu gửi lời thăm bà Thơ và các bác, các cô trong họ. Ông cứ nói cái Mong lấy thằng Nhớ bên Yên Thái là ai cũng biết. À quên ông ơi, cháu định đặt tên con trai là Ước, con gái là Nhung có được không hở ông? - Được, được, được đấy. Ông An gật gật đầu, vỗ vào vai đứa cháu gái họ có gương mặt hồng đang nhìn ông một cách tin cậy và trìu mến. Rất nhẹ nhàng, con tàu chuyển bánh. Ông An dừng lại ở sân ga cho đến khi con tàu đi xa hút, mờ dần trong mưa bụi. II - Chú An mới về đấy à? - Ơi chao, anh Lận! - Chú vẫn nhận ra tôi ư? Giỏi đấy! Dắt xe vào đây cái đã. Gớm là chú, dễ đến hai mươi năm chú mới lại về quê! Nom già quá rồi, thành ông lão rồi. Chú đã nghỉ hưu chưa? - Chưa anh ạ, còn thiếu ba năm mới đầy sáu mươi. - Thế chú làm đến cái chức quan gì rồi mà đi cái xe đạp cởi truồng thế này? Người ta Cơ-vít, Măng-ca, mình thì hai bánh đạp ra đạp về… Ấy, cái câu ca người ta đùa mấy ông cán bộ kiết đi làm ở tỉnh ở huyện đấy. Chú xơi nước. Nhà tôi, các cháu ra đồng tuốt ráo cả. Dạo này làm khoán mà, ai cũng tham công tiếc việc. Sáng nay tôi đẵn mấy gốc xoan sau vườn để chuẩn bị sửa cái nhà ngang. Này, nói thật với chú, xin mẹ nó hưu non đi, về đây chúng tôi mỗi người một chân một tay giúp cho chú có nhà cửa đàng hoàng. Ở Hà Nội chật chội khổ bỏ bố đi, cái tăm xỉa răng cũng phải bỏ tiền ra mua… Chú về đây ấy à, cái gì chứ cua cá thì bữa nào cũng có sẵn. Các cháu nó sẽ cung cấp cho. - Nghe nói anh vẫn kiếm cá với ếch, lươn giỏi lắm? - Ừ, thì ngày trước bó buộc, mình phải làm thế nào mới có đồng ra đồng vào. Bây giờ khoán thoải mái, tôi chỉ cày cuốc cũng đủ hết thì giờ rồi. Đấy, chú xem, vườn tôi có hai nghìn gốc mía. Ấy là chưa kể phải lo cho lúa, lạc, khoai lang, khoai tây ở ngoài đồng… Này, sao chú không cho thím ấy với các cháu về chơi nhân thể? - … - À, phải rồi, chú hãi cái nhà chị ta phải không? Chú nhát gan bỏ bố đi. Việc ấy, chú đã giải quyết xong xuôi từ lâu, ai làm gì chú mà chú sợ?... Với lại chị ta bây giờ đã là bà lão sáu mươi rồi, lại là người biết điều, biết ăn ở, sẽ không khi nào quấy rầy chú đâu. Này, mấy mẹ con bà cháu chị ta đang ở đây cả đấy. - … - Chú không hiểu ư? Sau khi chú đi bộ đội, rồi Tây càn về đốt tan cái nhà của chú ngoài xóm Trại ấy, thế là chị ta đếch sống được, phải tản cư vào Thanh. Chị ta chẳng lấy ai cả, xin một đứa con gái về nuôi, làm giấy khai sinh cho nó, tên bố là Đỗ Văn An. Con bé được ăn học tử tế, hiện là giáo viên trường ta. Tội nghiệp, chồng nó là con ông Thào làng Triền, đi bộ đội, hy sinh ở Campuchia. Vợ chồng nó được mỗi thằng cu năm nay lên bốn, sáng sủa thông minh lắm, đi đâu cũng khoe với lũ trẻ “tao có ông ngoại tao ở Hà Nội!”. Chú cứ yên trí tự nhiên lại có thêm con thêm cháu, sướng bỏ bố đi còn gì nữa!... * * * Câu chuyện bỗ bã thẳng ruột ngựa của ông Lận khiến ông An đêm ấy lại bồn chồn khó ngủ. Sau khi khách khứa đã về cả - ở làng Nghệ này mỗi khi có người ở xa về thăm quê, bao giờ cũng phải có một nón chè tươi để đãi bà con đến thăm hỏi – bà Thơ dọn giường chiếu cho ông em, nói nhỏ: - Chú đi nghỉ đi, khuya rồi. Chú xem, chú về quê họ hàng ai nấy mừng rỡ như thể được của thế này. Những chú nên bảo nhau năng năng lại về quê chơi, trước là thăm đất tổ ông bà, sau nữa để chị em chúng tôi thấy mặt đàn ông họ Đỗ nhà ta. Khốn thân lắm, chú ạ. Cái xóm Trại nhà ông bà mình đây, bây giờ vắng vẻ quá đi. Những chú đi làm việc chính phủ, các cháu đi công nhân, đi bộ đội, người già thì cứ mất dần, buồn lắm. Người ta đồn là Ủy ban muốn lấy đứt cái xóm Trại này để xây trường sở gì đó, có phải vậy không chú? Ông An nằm trong màn, lặng yên không trả lời bà chị. Bà Thơ là chị dâu họ của ông. Ngày xưa, cậu bé An được cha kể cho nghe rằng cụ cố là người đầu tiên khai phá, lập nên cái xóm Trại này. Hai cụ đều nghèo, sống bằng nghề đánh dậm và làm mướn. Cụ bà ăn ở phúc đức, thiếu ăn đấy nhưng thường rắc thóc nuôi chim sẻ. Sau hai cụ sinh hạ được một con trai, tức là ông nội của An. Ông nội An tất cả bốn con, ba trai một gái. Cha An là con út lại thuộc chi dưới, nên hầu như trong thôn ai cũng gọi An là chú. Xóm Trại, hồi An còn bé, có cái chùa nhỏ nằm nép bên gốc hai cây muỗm cổ thụ. Trước cửa chùa, một đôi chó đá đứng chầu. Khóm hải đường tết nào cũng ra hoa đỏ bóng. Và bốn cái ao quây quanh chùa là nơi An thường đùa nghịch, câu cá, tắm bơi… Bây giờ, tất cả đều đã đổi khác. Từ đâu năm 1953, quân Pháp đã triệt phá hoàn toàn xóm Trại, dỡ chùa lấp ao, đốt nhà hạ cây, xăm vườn, cày ngõ. Chúng cay cú vì bị du kích bí mật liên tiếp đánh mìn đường giao thông. Năm 1955, sau khi hòa bình lập lại, anh em An đã hiến cho Ủy ban xã miếng đất cũ của nhà mình, vì tất cả đều đi thoát ly, không ai nghĩ đến chuyện sẽ trở về quê cũ. Xóm Trại trở thành trung tâm hành chính của xã, vì trụ sở Ủy ban được xây dựng tại đó, ngay trên mảnh đất của cha mẹ An xưa. Đêm càng về khuya càng lạnh. Ông An trằn trọc trở mình. Ông không ngờ chị ta lại đang ở đây, như ông Lận – người anh họ của ông – đã nói. Thế là mình trốn việc khó xử ở gia đình, về đây lại gặp việc khó hơn! Vẫn biết mình đã biên thư cho chị ta từ 1948, nói rõ mọi điều, để trả lại tự do cho cả hai bên; và từ khi mình lấy vợ cho tới nay, chị ta chưa hề quấy phá điều gì; thế nhưng trong cách đối xử, chị ta vẫn coi mình là con dâu họ Đỗ. Suốt trong kháng chiến chống Pháp dù ở quê hay đến chỗ tản cư, chị ta vẫn đi lại, giỗ tết, quà cáp với anh em con nhà họ Đỗ. Chính bác Thơ đây cũng đã có lần khen: “ Thím ấy khéo ăn ở lắm chú ạ, nghĩ càng thương tình”. Nhỡ chị ta tìm đến gặp mình thì sao? Thật là rắc rối. Mà đã trót về đến đây rồi, chả lẽ lại bỏ đi ngay? Mình cứ tưởng chị ta vẫn ở Thanh, biết đâu đã đưa được cô con gái nuôi về xã. Chuyện này, ngay từ trước khi cưới, mình đã không giấu gì Duyên. Cô ấy có cái gì đó ngại ngần, ít khi muốn cùng mình về quê thăm bà con trong họ. Mà chính mình nữa, mình cũng ngại… Vẫn gió mùa đông bắc ấy. Gió táp vào khóm chuối đầu hồi nhà. Chao, có mùi chuột chùi hôi quá. Và mùi mốc ẩm. Mùi của ngôi nhà thiếu bàn tay người đàn ông sửa dọn… Thế là lần lượt: cô, bác, rồi thầy, mẹ, cậu mợ mình đã theo nhau ra đi hết cả. Các cụ như những lớp lá khô trút xuống, trở về với đất. Và đến lượt cánh mình phơi ra giữa trời như những lớp lá già, che nắng che sương chuẩn bị cho những chồi non. Chồi non là con mình, cháu mình, chắt mình. Chúng nó đi xuôi thời gian. Các cụ ngược về dĩ vãng. Còn mình thì đứng giữa ư, hay theo về hướng nào? Ít lâu nay mình hay nghĩ nhiều về những kỉ niệm xa xưa – dấu hiệu của tuổi già đang đến. Thật đáng buồn là cái tuổi già. Ta chưa sửa soạn gì để đón chờ nó cả. Mình bước vào đời, đi vào cách mạng, lòng luôn phơi phới, tưởng như cái gì cũng đơn giản, dễ dàng. Đến bây giờ đụng vào cái gì mình cũng chưa biết chưa hiểu được đến nơi đến chốn. Và vấp váp khó nhọc, buồn phiền, đôi lúc chán nản – biểu hiện của tuổi già chăng? Gà gáy mấy lần rồi. Lại có tiếng tàu xuôi. Chao ôi, tiếng xe lửa đêm khuya vẫn in hệt ba mươi lăm năm trước, cả tiếng con sạch sành kêu ngoài bờ giậu. Mẹ ơi, mẹ đi chợ về đấy à? Ồ thích quá, mẹ cho con quả thị… Màu quả thị vàng như nắng. Nắng trên đồng lúa chín. Nắng trên nương ngô Tây Bắc mình hành quân qua. Tiếng suối chảy róc rách. Những con cá lượn vòng, lượn vòng. Những vòng ánh sáng xanh lá cây, tím, hồng, vàng sẫm, nhập vào nhau, lồng vào nhau rồi nhảy nhót tách ra, nổ tóe trong im lặng. Rồi tất cả chìm dần, chìm dần trong một làn sương rất mỏng rất thanh… III Ông An tỉnh dậy thì trời sáng bạch. Bà Thơ bưng từ dưới bếp lên một chậu nước ấm để ông rửa mặt và một rổ khoai lang mới luộc còn ngút khói. Bấy giờ ông mới nhìn và hỏi kỹ về lũ cháu đứng thập thò ở cửa. Cái Xuân học lớp 5. Cái Mai lớp 3. Thằng Thu lớp 1. Và cuối cùng là cái Thoa mới ba tuổi rưỡi. Bố chúng làm công nhân ở thành phố Nam Định, còn mẹ chúng đang theo học một lớp tập trung bổ túc cho giáo viên mẫu giáo. Lũ cháu lúc đầu sợ sệt, sau thấy ông cười hỏi niềm nở, chúng dần dần xúm đến bên ông. Riêng chỉ cái Thoa là không tới gần ông. Nó như cố giữ một khoảng cách. Nó đứng ngoài hè, đôi bàn chân trần nhỏ xíu trên đất lạnh, nhìn ông chằm chằm không chớp mắt. Tóc nó vàng hoe, và đôi mắt, thì tròn xoay, nâu, trong suốt, tưởng như cái gì dù nhỏ bé hoặc mờ ảo đến đâu, soi vào đấy cũng hiện lên rõ nét từng ly từng tý. Đấy, nó cứ đứng ngoài cửa, nó nhìn ông. Đôi mắt như vượt rất xa cái tuổi lên ba của nó. Cái nhìn soi mói, cái nhìn phán xét. Sự phán xét sâu xa, im lặng. Sự phát xét của hậu thế - có phải đúng thế không, hay là do ông suy diễn; dù sao thì ông An cũng không chịu được lâu cái nhìn của con bé. Ông quay mặt đi. Ông hút thuốc. Đến khi liếc nhìn nó, ông lại bắt gặp đôi mắt trong trẻo và tinh khôn ấy. Ông gần như lúng túng trước cái nhìn của cái Thoa, đứa cháu gái bé bỏng của ông. Bà Thơ cười nói: - Cháu lạ ông đấy. Ông mà ở đây lâu lâu, rồi cháu nói như khướu cho ông nghe. Cái Xuân, đứa cháu lớn tuổi nhất, hai tay cắp chậu cắp rá, nói với bà: - Bà ơi, cháu vào ông Lận cháu xay bột bà nhá! - Ừ nhanh lên con. Để còn làm bánh cúng cụ… Quay sang ông An, bà Thơ nói: - Chú về đúng dịp Tết Lùng Cùng, mùng Một tháng Hai ta. Nhà ai cũng làm bánh cúc. - Bánh cúc là bánh gì, chị? - Gớm ghỉnh là chú, ở tỉnh thành nhiều quá quên hết cả rồi. Cái bánh trùng tên với ông nhà ta, chúng tôi cứ bắt trẻ gọi chệch đi là bánh cúc… Vâng, bánh khúc. Phải rồi, thầy mình tên là Khúc. Và Tết Lùng Cùng, còn gọi là Tết Vỗ Bồ - trong bồ còn gì vét ra ăn cho hết – bắt nguồn từ câu chuyện ngày xưa các cụ mải đáng giặc, không được ăn Tết chính, bao nhiêu bánh chưng ném xuống ao xuống giếng hết cả; đến khi dẹp xong giặc, ăn tết lại vào mùng Một tháng Hai. - Chú có nhớ hết những bà những chị đến chào chú tối qua không? - Có chứ. Toàn những học trò bình dân học vụ của em ngày xưa, làm gì em chẳng nhớ. Hồi ấy, các cô toàn mặc váy. Thế mà bây giờ các cô đã có cháu nội cháu ngoại cả rồi, nhanh thế… - Chú còn nhớ cái Ngữ không? - Ngữ con bà Thủ phải không chị? Cô bé có đôi mắt rất sắc, và học rất thông minh. - Vâng, trong trận Tây càn năm Năm Hai, nó tiếc của, đảo về nhà cắn ổ khóa (vì đánh rơi mất chìa) gãy cả răng cửa, lấy thêm gạo mang đi. Dọc đường, bị Tây nó bắn chết. - Thế còn cô Bốn, hồi đó rất xinh, răng trắng, tóc cắt ngắn như tóc con trai? - Gớm là chú tài nhớ! Cô Bốn lấy chồng xa, mãi dưới Si kia. Bây giờ già rồi, đã có cháu nội cháu ngoại bốn đứa tất cả. Trò chuyện hồi lâu, bà Thơ sai thằng Thư cái Mai (đều học buổi chiều cả) dắt ông đi chào thăm các gia đình họ hàng. Mỗi đứa nắm một bên tay ông đưa ông đi. - Đây là nhà bác Trương, ông vào đi. Tại nhà ông trưởng họ Đỗ, ông An được nghe một bài thuyết lý dài về “họ hàng và giai cấp” (!) Ý ông trưởng muốn lên lớp cho ông An về sự lãng quên, không chú ý đến gia tộc, họ hàng. Ông An tủm tỉm cười, nhũn nhặn ngồi nghe. Ông nhớ lại nhà thờ họ ngày xưa – đã bị Tây phá mất – thường hay cúng giỗ, đứa con trai họ Đỗ nào ra đó cũng được chia phần một nắm xôi, miếng thịt; con gái thì chẳng được chia gì. - Nhà cố Mạc đây, ông vào đi. Cố Mạc là chú họ ông An. Cố hiện nay là người cao tuổi nhất trong họ. Cố có cái thú chơi chim; chơi hoa và cây cảnh, mặc dầu hai mắt rất kém, gần như không còn trông thấy gì. Cố tự hào khoe với ông An đôi câu đối ông đồ Thân (hồi còn sống) ca tụng gia cảnh nhà cố: Công đức khéo vun trồng, sự nghiệp chín con thành cả chín – Nhân duyên khôn kén chọn, đức tài ba rể đáng nên ba. - Ông ơi có vào nhà bà Thiềng không? - Ông ơi, nhà cô Hướng có con chó mới đẻ, dữ lắm. Để cháu đi trước nhé! - Ông ơi chỗ này trơn, khéo ông ngã đấy! - Ông kìa, bà Mưỡu đang rửa dưới cầu ao, ông chào đi! Ông An bật cười về sự hướng dẫn của cái Mai. Ông bỗng nhớ lời cha ông dạy ông hồi bé: “Về quê ta, hết cứ gặp ai ngoài đường cũng phải chào. Người ta đang chổng mông giặt giũ dưới ao, mình cũng phải chào người ta trước. Nếu không, người ta chê mình, trách mình!”. - Ông ơi điện sắp bắc đến xóm Trại ta. Nhà anh Tân có cái vô tuyến, xem hay lắm. - Ông ơi, đây là Trại cá. Kẻ cắp hay đánh cá trộm lắm. Gác đêm phải có súng đấy ông ạ. - Ông có biết ăn cái ngọn đậm cừng này không? Tước cái vỏ nó đi, ăn chua chua ngon lắm. - Ông ơi, ông có biết ăn quả mây không? Chát lắm ông nhỉ! - Ông ơi, thôi ta vòng về xóm Trại ta đi… Ở xóm Trại, ông An vào thăm ba bà chị họ, đều góa chồng cả ba. Mỗi bà có một tấm bằng liệt sĩ. Đỗ Văn Yên đội trưởng du kích, hy sinh anh dũng trong kháng chiến chống Pháp. Năm ấy, ông Yên bị địch bắt, tra tấn đóng cọc tre xuyên suốt từ hậu môn lên ngực, khi địch rút, chi bộ đổ sâm cho ông, ông bảo “Tôi không sống được. Để dành sâm cho đồng chí khác”. Ông chết, không khai báo một câu… Đỗ Hùng Vượng, đại đội trưởng, hy sinh ở Đà Nẵng tháng 3-1975. Ôi cháu Vượng của chú! Đứa cháu lanh lợi, khéo tay, những ngày đói kém cháu thường đi kiếm cá, mò cua giúp mẹ. Trên bàn thờ Vượng, đặt một cái bát sứ nhỏ và đôi đũa mun đen Vượng thường dùng để ăn trong những ngày lặn lội ở miền Nam. Đỗ Văn Thọ chiến sĩ pháo cao xạ hy sinh tại Hà Nội năm 1966. Cháu Thọ đã từng bảo vệ Hà Nội, và mất ở Hà Nội, thế mà mình không biết! Vượng và Thọ đều có ảnh, mặc quân phục, phóng to, tô màu. Từ trong ảnh hai cháu tươi cười nhìn ông An. Cái nhìn ấy đã là dĩ vãng ư? Sao lại có thể như thế được! Tối hôm ấy, bà Thơ bày một mâm bánh khúc, thắp hương cúng cụ. Bà đứng chắp tay cúi đầu trước bàn thờ, lầm bầm khấn như người nói chuyện: - Hôm nay là ngày mùng Một tháng Hai, ngày Tết Lùng Cùng, gọi là lòng thành có mâm bánh, xin rước bà Tổ Cô họ Đỗ, các cố các cụ họ Đỗ, xin rước những bác những ông những bà về hưởng Tết với gia đình, phù hộ cho gia đình mạnh khỏe, ăn nên làm ra… Cái Xuân cái Mai nhìn bà khấn, bưng miệng cười ngặt nghẽo. Ông An cũng tủm tỉm cười: - Có mỗi một mâm bánh mà chị mời các cụ đông thế, ăn sao cho đủ! Bà Thơ nét mặt trang nghiêm: - Bà Tổ Cô họ ta thiêng lắm đấy chú ạ. Rằm tháng Bảy năm ngoái, không ai đốt vàng mã cho Cô. Thế là Cô báo mộng cho cố Mạc. Cố hát lên một câu Cô trách: Người ta quần lụa áo tơ – Cô thì áo giấy quần hồ cũng không! Chị em tôi phải ra chợ Gạo, sắm cho Cô ba bộ áo quần đấy. Cái Mai nói chen vào: - Ông ơi, buồn cười lắm, bà cháu mua ba bộ quần áo bằng giấy xanh đỏ, cắt theo kiểu áo quần đồng bộ các cô Sài Gòn hay mặc ấy! Bà Thơ cười lườm cháu: - Mày nói thế phải tội. Dương sao âm vậy, đâu cũng phải có mặc có ăn… Chú không biết, chứ lắm nơi họ lại theo về sống cũ (không sống mới như ở ta đâu), họ đua nhau đốt mã kể đến tiền trăm tiền nghìn. Họ đốt cả giường cả tủ, cả máy làm nước đá, cả máy phim vô tuyến, cả cái xe con gì… con gì hả Xuân?... à, cả cái con đa nữa chú ạ, cái xe bình bịch ấy mà, bây giờ người ta đặt ra lắm cái tên khó gọi quá đi! Ông An được mẻ cười thoải mái. Những kẻ hãnh tiến vì kiếm được tiền, vì buôn bán phất to, muốn xuất cảng sự lố bịch xuống tận âm phủ! Ông bỗng nhớ đến nhà mụ Thất ở đầu phố ông, chuyên bán hàng giải khát và buôn lậu. Mụ ta xưa kia nhỏ người, nay phát phì ra, hầu như lúc nào cũng ngồi ghế bành vênh mặt lên ôm con chó Nhật lông xù. Cả chó và người đều nhìn khách qua đường bằng nửa con mắt! Mụ ta – không biết kiếm vật tư ở đâu? – xây nhà gác rất nhanh. Trên sân thượng mụ không quên lập cái miếu thờ, sao chép hoàn toàn kiểu nhà buôn bán của miền Nam cũ.

IV Sáng hôm sau, trời hửng nắng. Cô giáo Đỗ Thị Yên Bình dắt con trai là thằng cu Minh ra nhà bà Thơ. Cô giáo len lét đi ngay xuống bếp, thì thầm với bà Thơ những gì lâu lắm. Lát sau, cô giáo rón rén theo bà Thơ lên nhà trên, nơi ông An đang ngồi hút thuốc, uống trà. Cu Minh cất tiếng rất to: - Cháu chào ông ngoại ạ! Ông An giật mình, đứng vội dậy. Nét mặt ông không ra cười, không ra nhăn nhó. Cô Bình sợ hãi kéo tay con, lừ mặt nhìn nó. Cô liếc vội về phía ông An, cố ghi nhanh vào tâm trí mình hình ảnh người cha mà mình quý yêu từ bé nhưng chưa bao giờ được gặp. Trước khi lấy chồng, cô đã được mẹ cho biết sự thực chua xót – là cô không có cha, mà mẹ cô cũng chẳng có chồng! Trong cái đêm dài khủng khiếp ấy, hai mẹ con đã ôm nhau mà khóc. Bình đã tấm tức oán trách ông An, nhưng mẹ cô đã ra sức bênh vực, bào chữa cho ông. Bà nói bà một lòng quý ông, không bao giờ bà muốn ông khổ tâm về bất cứ điều gì. Bà đã tự nguyện xa rời ông sau khi số phận đã đưa đẩy bà đến nông nỗi ấy. Bà trao cho cô con gái nuôi – người bạn tâm tình duy nhất của bà – lá thư ông An viết gửi bà ngày đó, lá thư mà cho đến nay cô giáo Bình vẫn thuộc lòng từng chữ từng câu: Bộ đội, ngày 15 tháng 3 – 1948 Gửi chị Ngàn. Tôi thật khổ tâm phải viết những dòng này, để chia tay cùng chị. Tôi đã có lỗi với chị, khi chịu để cho thầy tôi tổ chức lễ thành hôn. Tôi và chị đều là nạn nhân của gia đình. Tự nhiên chị phải gánh chịu những điều đau khổ. Mong chị tha lỗi cho tôi vì tôi đã nhu nhược quá. Mong chị quên tôi đi. Và từ nay, cả chị và tôi đều được tự do. Cùng với thư này, tôi đã viết cho thầy mẹ tôi và cho ông anh của chị. Tôi cảm ơn chị về những điều chị đã giúp đỡ thầy mẹ và các em tôi trong hai năm vừa qua. Chị đừng biên thư và đừng tìm cách gửi quà cáp gì cho tôi nữa. Tôi vẫn ở trên rừng. An Để phá đi sự yên lặng nặng nề, bà Thơ nhẹ nhàng nói: - Mẹ con cô giáo Bình đến chào ông. Con gái bà Ngàn đây, chắc ông chưa gặp bao giờ… Bình đứng khép nép, khẽ bảo con: - Con khoanh tay chào ông đi! Cu Minh khoanh tay trước ngực, cúi đầu chào ông. Rồi nó ngước nhìn ông, nhận xét: - Ông không mặc áo bộ đội! Ông An cười, được giải thoát khỏi sự lúng túng. Ông kéo ghế, nói trống không: - Mời ngồi, mời ngồi… Bình ngồi xuống trước mặt ông An. Lúc này cô bình tĩnh nhìn ông không chớp mắt. Bà Thơ lại phải lái chèo câu chuyện: Chồng cháu Bình hy sinh ở Campuchia, ông ạ. Con trai ông Thào bên làng Triền. Chú ấy đẹp như cái hoa, lanh lợi tháo vát, ai cũng thương cũng tiếc. Bình cúi đầu, nước mắt rưng rưng. Trong khi đó, thằng Minh đã leo vào lòng ông ngồi. Ông xoa đầu cháu, cố nén tiếng thở dài, bàn tay ông run lên nhè nhẹ. - Ông ơi, có phải ông học giỏi nhất tỉnh phải không ông? Bà cháu bảo thế. - Ông ơi, có phải ngày bé ông bắn chim giỏi lắm phải không ông? Ông bắt được một ổ con cáo ở vườn chón. Bà cháu bảo thế. - Ông ơi, ông thích ăn canh bún phải không ông? Bà cháu bảo thế… - Ông ơi, ông đi bộ đội giết nhiều thằng Tây lắm. Bà cháu bảo thế… Cu Minh đưa hai cánh tay bụ bẫm kéo đầu ông xuống mà hỏi, rồi lại tự trả lời. Mẹ nó âu yếm nhìn hai ông cháu, đôi mắt vẫn đỏ hoe. Bỗng nhiên cu Minh sờ cằm ông hỏi: - Ông ơi, sao ông lại không có râu? Cả ba người lớn đều bật cười. Ông An đứng dậy, rút trong cái túi du lịch ra cuốn tranh truyện Sơn Tinh – Thủy Tinh, đưa cho cu Minh: - Đây là quà của cháu. Bảo mẹ đọc chữ cho mà nghe nhé. Cô giáo Bình chớp mắt liên hồi, đôi mắt đen thẳm và buồn đau đáu? Sao lại có thể như thế nhỉ? Hai cái nhìn với khoảng cách gần bốn mươi năm, của chị ấy ngày xưa và của cháu Bình bây giờ, sao có cái nhìn giống nhau đến thế! Trong lòng ông An như có lửa đốt. Ông hắng giọng muốn nói một điều gì đó, nhưng không sao thốt được ra khỏi miệng. Cô Bình đã lấy lại được bình tĩnh, xuống bếp hồi lâu rồi bưng lên một bát canh bốc khói: - Bà cháu nấu bát canh bánh đa, con mang ra mời ông xơi… Ông An lặng đi, ấp úng: - Đừng. Đừng. Sao lại còn… bày vẽ ra làm gì… Sao lại còn… Ông An chưa nói hết câu thì cô giáo Bình, lấy hết sức can đảm, không dám nhìn vào mặt người cha mà mình mang họ từ bé, kéo tay cu Minh ra về: - Con chào ông con về… - Cháu chào ông ạ! Cu Minh hét to lên, mắt vẫn chăm chú xem những trang truyện ông cho. Cô Bình kéo tay con bước ra sân như chạy, má cô đỏ bừng, và chỉ một chút nữa là cô có thể òa lên khóc. * * * Ông Lận gắp cái phao câu gà vào bát ông An, cười nói: - Chú nhắm đi chứ! Gớm, nom chú đờ đẫn cứ như cái anh sắp xuống lỗ ấy! Không chừng đi theo các cụ sớm thì khổ vợ khổ con… Chú cứ tự nhiên đi, thoải mái đi. Việc gì mà chuốc nghĩ vào người cho nó mệt. Tôi ấy à, cứ rời cái cày cái cuốc ra là tôi ăn, tôi ngủ… Mà làm sao chú phải buồn? Chú có khuyết điểm là không dứt khoát ngay từ đầu, nhưng bà Ngàn bà ấy là người biết điều, bà ấy chẳng bao giờ gây khó khăn cho chú đâu. Mấy chục năm, bà ấy vẫn quý chú – nói như đám trẻ con bây giờ là: bà ấy vẫn yêu chú – ha ha… Thế mới chết! Thế mới có chuyện!... Tôi nghĩ chú về nên bàn với thím ở nhà, nhận đỡ đầu cho mẹ con cái Bình. Thôi thì cứ coi như con cháu mình, tội nghiệp. Nó cũng là con gái họ Đỗ đấy chú ạ, ha ha… Tớp một ngụm rượu, ông Lận nói tiếp: - Chú là cán bộ, tôi là thợ cày. Nhưng tôi là anh, chú là em, tôi bảo thật chú: Chú dở bỏ mẹ đi! Chú đã từng đánh đông dẹp bắc, Tây chú chẳng sợ, Mỹ chú chẳng tha, thế mà việc riêng của chú, chú giải quyết không gọn, đến nỗi phải tránh né xa rời họ hàng, quê quán. Chú làm công tác cho Chính phủ nghe nói giỏi lắm cơ mà?... Ông An tái mặt, buông đũa xuống mâm. Ông Lận cười làm lành: - Thôi chú đừng giận. Tôi mời chú ăn cơm để anh em tâm sự, với lại tôi làm theo di chúc của bà đấy. Hồi bà sắp mất, bà gọi tôi đến bà bảo: “Thầy mày đừng đánh giấy cho chú An làm gì. Đường xa, đi máy bay máy bò vất vả. Tao còn đàn gà đấy, khi nào tao chết, thầy mày làm vài mâm báo hiếu cho tao. Để lại một con gà mái, tiện bữa nào chú An về làm cơm mời chú ăn. Bảo với chú rằng: “Cô vẫn nhớ cháu lắm…”. Đấy, chú phải ăn thật lực đi… tôi đã làm theo đúng lời bà dặn. Tôi nuôi con gà mái ấy, chờ chú mãi, tôi cho nó đẻ, nó ấp nó sinh con sinh cháu đầy đàn… Hôm nay tôi chọn một con béo nhất để đãi chú, hà hà… Ông An rân rấn nước mắt. Ông rút khăn mùi soa giả vờ lau miệng, rồi chấm vội lên đôi hàng mi… Mình vô tình với cô mình thế kia ư? Trong khi cả đến lúc hấp hối bà vẫn nhớ tới mình! Sẩm tối hôm ấy ông An nhận được bức điện khẩn đánh đi từ Hà Nội: “Anh về ngay. Con sinh cháu trai. Em: Duyên” Ông đeo kính đọc đi đọc lại bức điện, vẻ mừng rỡ lộ ra nét mặt. Ông xuống bếp khoe với bà Thơ: - Chị ơi, cái Vân nhà em sinh con trai! Cô ấy vừa mới đánh điện đây! Ông bỗng nhớ đến đứa con gái lớn của ông vô cùng. Nó hiền và ngoan, rất nghe lời bố mẹ. Lấy chồng ở riêng rồi, hầu như trưa nào nó cũng từ cơ quan nơi nó làm việc đến xí nghiệp của mẹ, ăn cơm trưa với mẹ và ríu rít đủ mọi thứ chuyện trên đời. Căn nhà của vợ chồng nó là nhà ở tạm, vách nứa, mái lá dầu, mùa đông thông thống lạnh. Được cái có vườn, có chuồng lợn, chuồng gà hai vợ chồng chịu khó tăng gia. Hai đứa đã chuẩn bị kỹ để đón đưa con đầu tiên. Đôi lần nhìn con gái bụng to, chịu khó đi quét lá khô về nấu cám nuôi lợn, ông An đã có những cảm giác khó tả. Vừa thương con vất vả - con đã chấm dứt vĩnh viễn cuộc đời thơ trẻ vô tư để bắt đầu phải lo toan mọi việc – vừa có cái gì đó rầu rầu: con gái ông đã tách khỏi ông, nó không còn là bông hoa trên cành bố mẹ, mà nó đã thành một cây non riêng biệt, có khoảng trời riêng, mảnh đất riêng của nó. Đã mãi mãi xa rồi những năm con còn bé nằm giữa bố mẹ hát bi bô. Những năm chống Mỹ, mẹ đèo nồi đèo củi đạp xe bốn chục ki-lô-mét đến tận nơi con sơ tán nấu nước cho con tắm… Thế mà bây giờ con đã làm mẹ rồi! Và ông đã chính thức trở thành ông ngoại! Đặt tên cho cháu là gì?... Lại thêm một sự kiện mới mẻ, lần đầu tiên ông gặp trên đời. Chưa đủ kinh nghiệm làm cha, đã phải học làm ông! Thế đấy cuộc sống là thế đấy! Quy luật cứ cuốn hút ta, guồng ta vào cái guồng đời, dù ta muốn hay không muốn. Đôi khi – thật buồn cười – ta cứ ngỡ ta còn trẻ lắm, hai ba mươi tuổi. Còn nhớ lần đầu tiên một bà bán rau ở chợ gọi ta bằng cụ, ta đã ngạc nhiên và hơi khó chịu. Nhưng khi soi gương, nhìn kỹ, thì thấy tóc ta đã bạc nửa mái đầu. Và đó là sự thực, một sự thực không vui cho lắm, nhưng đành phải chấp nhận chứ sao. Vài ba năm gần đây, ông An thường có những lúc trầm tư suy nghĩ. Đôi khi nửa đêm tỉnh giấc, một nỗi buồn lo khó tả cứ cắn dứt ông. Ông sống trong sạch, làm việc cần cù. Nói chung, ông được chung quanh yêu mến và tin cậy. Thế nhưng ông luôn luôn cảm thấy có cái gì đó chưa đủ, chưa ổn trong đời sống của ông. Vợ ông lâu lâu lại trách móc ông là kém tháo vát, không quan tâm tới vợ con, rồi dằn dỗi so sánh ông với ông chồng này ông chồng nọ. Con trai ông – thằng Thu – hầu như không hiểu những khó khăn của bố mẹ, luôn luôn đòi hỏi nào quần áo mốt, máy ghi âm, băng nhạc, nào xe đạp, đồng hồ… Nó không phải là một thanh niên hư hỏng, rất thông minh tháo vát, có tình, nhưng thiếu hẳn tinh thần tự lực, ỷ lại vào bố mẹ, ích kỷ một cách hồn nhiên. Mẹ nó, một mặt quá khắt khe về đầu tóc quần áo của nó – điều này chẳng có ý nghĩa quyết định gì, theo ý ông An – mặt khác lại thương con vô lối, có khi đi vay mượn để cho con sắm sửa. Và khi sắp nhận công tác, cô ấy cố tình xoay xở cho nó được ở Hà Nội. Chao ôi, mấp mé sáu mươi tuổi đầu, ta chưa đủ sức làm đúng nhiệm vụ một người chồng, một người cha. Những điều xưa kia ta tưởng rất dễ dàng, đơn giản (như nuôi con, dạy con…) té ra là không phải như vậy. Nhiều sự việc đã khiến ta sáng mắt, ta hiểu được thêm, nhưng tiếc thay khi đã tích lũy được ít nhiều từng trải thì tuổi tác và sức khỏe hầu như không cho phép ta làm lại hoặc làm được gì thêm nữa. Còn gì chán ngán bằng sống theo thói quen, hôm nay chẳng khác hôm qua, và ngày mai lại giống in như thế. Một đòi hỏi tự hoàn thiện vẫn còn âm ỉ trong ta, đó là một điều may mắn. Ta còn trẻ chút nào là ở chỗ ấy chăng?... Ông An thắp đèn, thu dọn đồ đạc để sáng hôm sau đi sớm. Cô ấy đánh điện cho mình, thế là cô ấy chủ động làm lành. Mà đặt tên cho cháu là gì nhỉ? Ông bà thông gia đã nhường mình cái vinh dự nhỏ này. Bà Thơ từ lâu ngồi bậu cửa nhìn ông An thu dọn cất tiếng hỏi: - Ngày mai chú đã đi rồi ư? - Phải về thôi chị ạ. Em xin nghỉ phép có năm ngày. - Chú đi tàu mấy giờ? - Chuyến sáng, chị ạ. - Vậy thì chú chịu khó đi chào bà con một tí. Chả mấy khi chú về quê… Thế là cái Mai thằng Thư lại sốt sắng nắm hai bên tay ông, dắt ông đi từ giã các gia đình. Ông lại đi qua mảnh đất năm xưa cha ông đã dựng nhà ở đấy trước khi hỏi vợ cho ông. Chính tay ông đã đào hầm trú ẩn ở đầu vườn, khi tiếng súng kháng chiến bắt đầu nổ… Và trên gò Chùa kia, ông đã dừng chân ngoái lại nhìn ngôi nhà mình lần cuối, khi rời quê đi Vệ quốc quân. Ánh mắt đau đáu của Ngàn đã đeo đẳng dõi theo ông, ngay cả trong những đêm chiến dịch sau này. Mãi đến mùa xuân năm 1948 ông mới quyết định viết bức thư dứt khoát. Ai ngờ… - Ông ơi, có đến nhà cô giáo Bình không ông? Cái cô mang đến biếu ông bát canh bánh đa ấy mà? - Không, không… Ông An lẩm bẩm, như muốn gạt bỏ những phiền toái mà ông không muốn gặp. Đột nhiên tim ông đập rộn lên, ông thấy hổ thẹn với hai cháu nhỏ. Chúng nó có lên án ông không? Ông bỗng nhìn thấy đôi mắt nâu trong suốt của cái Thoa – lúc này chắc nó ngủ rồi – đôi mắt tinh khôn, soi mói và phán xét. Thôi được, đáng đời ông lắm, các cháu cứ phán xét ông đi. Muốn sống cho yên thân, đó là căn bệnh của ông, ông tự biết. Nhiều lần ông quyết tâm chữa bệnh, nhưng bệnh nó biến hóa đủ dạng đủ hình… Đêm ấy ông An thức rất khuya, hết đứng lại ngồi, uống nước và hút thuốc vặt. Trong màn, các cháu đã ngủ say. Ông lại nghe thấy tiếng sạch sành kêu khàn khàn ngoài giậu ruối. Và tiếng tàu đêm. Tiếng đoàn tàu lăn bánh trên đường sắt như tiếng sấm đầu mùa ấp úng ở chân trời, rồi lớn dần, lan dần, rùng rùng tỏa rộng khắp không gian. Ông An nhắm mắt lại. Ông như ở trạng thái nửa mơ nửa tỉnh. Ông thấy như đứng chơ vơ trên một gò đất, hai bên là hai đoàn tàu chạy ngược, chạy xuôi. Đoàn tàu ngược chở thầy ông, mẹ ông, cô ông, các bác ông, cậu mợ ông, các cháu ông, và biết bao bạn bè đồng đội của ông đã hy sinh ở khắp các mặt trận. Đoàn tàu xuôi mang theo các con ông – cái Vân bế cháu mới sinh, thằng Thu – cô giáo Bình và cu Minh, các cháu Xuân, Mai, Thư, Thoa… Và thật lạ lùng, có cả cô Mong vui tính bụng to – cô gái họ Đỗ lấy chồng ở Yên Thái – đi trên con tàu xuôi ấy. Rầm rầm rầm rầm, hai con tàu xuôi ngược lượn sát bên ông như hai ánh chớp dài phóng trái chiều nhau, khiến ông lóa mắt. Ông vẫn kịp nhận ra biết bao khuôn mặt, thân quen lướt qua, lướt qua. Người chết cũng như người sống, ai nấy đều im lặng lạnh lùng như giận dỗi gì ông vậy… Bỗng tiếng còi tàu huýt lên. Ông An bừng tỉnh. VI Không biết ai báo cho cô giáo Bình mà đúng bảy giờ sáng cô đã dắt xe ra chào ông An. Lần này cô mạnh dạn nói với ông, không còn e sợ như hôm trước: - Ông ạ! Con ra tiễn ông đây. Rồi không đợi ông trả lời, cô vui vẻ xếp vào túi du lịch của ông một cái gói khá to: - Con còn ít gạo nếp, gửi biếu em mới sinh cháu để em ăn có sữa. Theo phản ứng tự nhiên, ông An toan nói: “Đừng, đừng, sao lại…”. Nhưng nhìn thấy vẻ mặt hồn nhiên hoan hỉ của Bình, ông không nỡ. Ông hỏi: - Cu Minh đâu? - Thưa ông, cháu ông đi mẫu giáo. Vừa lúc đó ông Lận huỳnh huỵch từ xóm trong chạy ra, xách theo cái lồng có một đôi gà giò. - Tôi gửi chú đôi gà, cho cháu Vân bồi dưỡng sau khi đẻ. Tôi đang mải bỏ bố đi đây. Chú về mạnh khỏe nhé! Cho tôi gửi lời thăm thím! Bước vội đến giữa sân, ông Lận quay lại, cười toe toét: - Không có cái anh thợ ảnh ở đây để chụp một bô hai cha con cô giáo… Bình cúi mặt, bẽn lẽn cười. Ông An cũng cười, cái cười bị động, hơi ngô nghê một chút. Sau vài phút im lặng, ông An như chợt nhớ ra điều gì hỏi bà Thơ: - Chị có biết cái Mong con ông Ro lấy chồng bên Yên Thái không? - Biết chứ. Tôi hay gặp nó ở chợ Gai. Nó mới lớn lên, sao mà chú hiểu rành nhà nó thế? - Em gặp nó trên chuyến tàu về đây. Nói chuyện mãi mới nhận ra người trong họ. Con bé vui tính lắm. Khi nào chị có dịp gặp nó, chị nói em có lời hỏi thăm, chúc nó sinh nở mẹ tròn con vuông. Bà Thơ giúp ông gói ghém đồ đạc, không quên nhét vào cái bị hai ống lạc làm quà. Lát sau, ông An và cô giáo Bình dắt xe đạp đi trước, bà Thơ cùng lũ cháu rồng rắn theo sau, ra đến tận đường cái. Khi chia tay, ông An cúi đầu hôn từng cháu một. Bấy giờ cái Thoa lỏn lẻn nhìn ông cười, cái cười của nó làm ông mát cả ruột gan. Còn lại hai ông con đạp xe về phía ga Trình, cô giáo Bình muốn đi sóng đôi để nói một điều gì đó, nhưng ông An chốc chốc lại lùi lại – ông vẫn chưa quen trò chuyện với cô con gái nuôi bất đắc dĩ của ông. Trời hôm nay ấm và ẩm. Hai bên đường, những cành xoan đã nở đầy hoa tím. Tới sân ga, cô Bình dựa xe vào gốc bàng, lấy trong túi xách ra một gói nhỏ, đến bên ông An khẽ nói: - Ông cho con gửi Vân cái này. Đây là bộ áo quần sơ sinh của cháu Minh. Con muốn hai cháu sau này coi nhau như… anh em ruột thịt… Nói đến đây, cô giáo Bình bật lên tiếng khóc. Ông An bối rối, vỗ nhẹ vào vai cô: - Thôi con… đừng… đừng khóc thế… - Nghe thấy tiếng con thốt ra từ chính miệng mình, ông An muốn nói chữa, nhưng không sao kịp. Ông cúi đầu, chớp chớp mắt, rồi ra xếp hàng mua vé. Bình đứng trông xe cho ông, nhìn ông kính cẩn và trìu mến. Con tàu lùi lũi đến, ngược chiều gió, nên hầu như không ai nghe tiếng động. Cô Bình cuống quýt giúp ông An đưa xe đạp và hành lý lên toa. Cô kiễng chân nói với lên cửa toa, nơi ông An đang ngoái cổ ra nhìn: - Nhà con hy sinh ở gần sân bay Pô-chen-tông, tháng giêng năm Bảy-chín. Nếu có dịp sang bên đó công tác, ông thăm mộ anh ấy giúp con một chút… Tên anh ấy là Nguyễn Văn Lương, bộ binh, c7, d3, Đoàn 98… Thôi con chào ông nhé! Ông đi mạnh khỏe… Con tàu huýt còi, giật mình một cái, rồi trườn lên phía trước; ông An nhoài người ra, nhìn theo mãi bóng người con gái đưa khăn lau nước mắt rồi lại giơ khăn lên vẫy chào ông. Ông ngồi xuống ghế, ngơ ngác như người mất hồn. Mấy hôm vừa qua, ông đã sống với hai chiều thời gian của mấy chục năm. Thời gian đã cật vấn ông, nhào nặn ông phán xét và thúc đẩy ông. Nhìn lại mình, như qua một tấm gương soi công bằng và nghiêm khắc, ông thấy biết bao người đã quan tâm săn sóc đến ông, mà sự đền đáp lại của ông thực là ít ỏi. Ông mà là kẻ vô tình ư, ích kỷ ư?... Dù sao thì những sự kiện dồn dập trong mấy ngày qua đã xới lộn dữ dội tâm hồn ông, phá vỡ “thế cân bằng tinh thần” mà ông luôn luôn muốn có. Và kỳ diệu sao, sau những đảo lộn quyết liệt ấy, lúc này ông ngồi trên tàu, ông thấy bình tâm trở lại. Hơn thế nữa, một cái gì mới mẻ, tươi xanh đang được nhen nhóm trong lòng ông… Cái đó đã bắt đầu từ đâu? Từ đôi bàn chân nhỏ xíu của cháu Thoa dẫm trên đất lạnh và cái nhìn trong trẻo của nó? Từ sự ân cần của bác Lận, bác Thơ? Từ những câu hỏi của cu Minh, hay từ tình cảm của mẹ nó? Từ những tấm hình liệt sĩ đặt trên các bàn thờ? Từ những gợi mở của kỷ niệm xa xưa? Từ tiếng tàu đêm? Từ tiếng con sạch sành cọ cánh? Hay là từ câu chuyện ríu ran của cô gái họ Đỗ ta gặp trên tàu?... Có lẽ từ tất cả những cái đó cộng lại. Nhưng vô hình mà cụ thể nhất là tác động của bà ấy đối với ta. Ta không ngờ hơn ba mươi năm bà ấy vẫn tự nguyện lệ thuộc vào ta như một ảo ảnh, thầm lặng lánh xa trong những năm tháng chiến tranh dài đằng đẵng, để rồi có mặt bên ta qua cô con gái nuôi và đứa cháu được dạy dỗ theo ước vọng của bà. Ta sẽ đền đáp lại tất cả như thế nào, và sống cách nào cho xứng đáng?... Mấy ngày sống ở quê, ta đã như được thâu nhận thêm bao nhiêu năng lượng tinh thần. Nhân dân bao giờ cũng giàu tiềm lực tâm hồn trong sáng và cao đẹp. “Nhân dân không biết có tuổi già!”. Ông An thích thú thầm reo lên, tự coi đó là một phát hiện. Một bà bế con nhỏ đi ngang ghế ông An ngồi, kéo ông về thực tại. Ta sẽ đặt tên cho đứa cháu trai mới sinh của ta là gì nhỉ?... Phải rồi, ta sẽ đặt tên là Nguyễn Bình Minh. Bố nó họ Nguyễn mà – còn Bình và Minh đối với ta đã trở thành những cái tên thân thuộc. Có nên giải thích với vợ ta về điều đó không? Phải cân nhắc, không khéo lại gây thêm rắc rối. Ta sẽ nói Bình Minh là rạng đông, là tương lai… Dù sao thì cũng kể hết cho Duyên biết. Và ta sẽ làm theo lời khuyên của bác Lận: đỡ đầu mẹ con cu Minh. Ta sẽ trò chuyện với con trai ta bình đẳng như giữa hai người bạn đàn ông. Ta sẽ xin lỗi con về sự thô bạo của ta, và sẽ chịu khó lắng nghe con, rồi ôn tồn lựa lời khuyên bảo nó… Tàu dừng ở ga. Một chuyến tàu xuôi rầm rầm lao ngược lại. Lần này thì ông An không đứng ngơ ngác giữa hai ánh chớp thời gian như đêm nào ông thấy, mà ông đã có chỗ ngồi vững chắc trên một chuyến tàu cụ thể ông đang về với vợ với con, về với trách nhiệm hàng ngày. Xin chúc ông giàu nghị lực và may mắn. Tháng 3 - 1982

ĐÔI MắT (THE EYES) by NAM CAO

Anh thanh niên làng chỉ một cái cổng gạch nhỏ, quay lại bảo tôi: - Ngõ này đây, ông Hoàng ở đây. - Cám ơn anh nhé. Lát nữa tôi sẽ sang nhà anh chơi. Tôi vỗ vai anh bảo vậy. Tôi toan vào. Anh vội ngăn tôi lại: - Khoan đã. Anh để em gọi cho anh trong nhà xích con chó lại. Con chó to và dữ lắm. Tôi mở to đôi mắt, khẽ reo lên một tiếng thú vị. Tôi nhớ đến những lần đến chơi nhà anh Hoàng ở Hà Nội. Bấm chuông xong, bao giờ tôi cũng phải chờ anh Hoàng thân hành ra nắm chặt cái vòng da ở cổ một con chó tây to bằng con bê, dúi đầu nó vào gầm cái cầu thang, rồi mới có đủ can đảm bước vội qua đằng sau cái đuôi nó để vào phòng khách. Tôi rất sợ con chó giống Ðức hung hăng ấy. Sợ đến nỗi một lần đến chơi, không thấy anh Hoàng ra đứng tấn để giữ nó lại mà anh lại buồn rầu báo cho tôi biết nó chết rồi, thì mặc dầu có làm ra mặt tiếc với anh, thật tình thấy nhẹ cả người. Con chó chết vào giữa cái hồi đói khủng khiếp mà có lẽ đến năm 2000, con cháu chúng ta vẫn còn kể lại cho nhau nghe để rùng mình. Không phải vì chủ nó không tìm nổi mỗi ngày vài lạng thịt bò để nó ăn. Anh Hoàng là một nhà văn, nhưng đồng thời cũng là một tay chợ đen rất tài tình. Khi chúng tôi đến nỗi chỉ còn một dúm xương và rất nhiều bản thảo chẳng biết bán cho ai, anh Hoàng vẫn phong lưu, con chó của anh chưa phải nhịn bữa nào. Nhưng xác người chết đói ngập phố phường. Nó chết có lẽ vì chén phải thịt người ươn hay vì hít phải nhiều xú khí. Thảm hại thay cho nó. Thế mà bây giờ đến thăm anh Hoàng ở chỗ gia đình anh tản cư về, cách Hà Nội hàng trăm cây số, tôi lại được nghe đến một con chó dữ. Thật là thú vị!... Tôi cười nho nhỏ. Chẳng biết tôi cười gì, anh thanh niên cũng nhe răng ra cười. Ðáp lại tiếng anh gọi, tiếng những chiếc guốc mỏng mảnh quét trên sân gạch nổi lên, lẹc khẹc và mau mắn. Một thằng bé mũ nồi đen, áo len xám, chạy ra. Một đôi mắt đen lay láy nhìn tôi... - Bác Ðộ, ba ơi! Bác Ðộ!... Thằng Ngữ, con anh Hoàng. Nó chẳng kịp chào tôi, ngoắt chạy trở vào, reo rối rít. - Cái gì? Cái gì? Hừm! Tiếng trầm trầm nhưng lại có vẻ nạt nộ của anh Hoàng hỏi nó. (Bao giờ nói với con, anh Hoàng cũng có cái giọng dậm doạ buồn cười ấy). Thằng bé líu ríu những gì tôi nghe không rõ. Rồi thấy tiếng thanh thanh của chị Hoàng giục con: - Ngữ xích con chó lại. Xích con chó lại cái cột tít đằng kia. Anh Hoàng đi ra. Anh vẫn bước khệnh khạng, thong thả, bởi vì người khí béo quá, vừa bước vừa bơi hai cánh tay kềnh kệnh ra hai bên, những khối thịt ở bên dưới nách kềnh ra và trông tủn ngủn như ngắn quá. Cái dáng điệu nặng nề ấy, hồi còn ở Hà Nội anh mặc quần áo tây cả bộ, trông chỉ thấy là chững chạc và hơi bệ vệ. Bây giờ nó lộ ra khá rõ ràng trong bộ áo ngủ màu xanh nhạt, phủ một cái áo len trắng, nó nịt người anh đến nỗi không còn thở được.

Anh đứng lại bên trong cổng, một bàn tay múp míp hơi chìa về phía tôi, đầu hơi ngửa về đằng sau, miệng hé mở, bộ điệu một người ngạc nhiên hay mừng rỡ quá. Tôi có thì giờ nhận rõ một sự thay đổi trên bộ mặt đầy đặn của anh: trên mép một cái vành móng ngựa ria, như một cái bàn chải nhỏ. Sững người ra một lúc, rồi anh mới lâm li kêu lên những tiếng ở trong cổ họng: - Ối giời ơi! Anh! Quý hoá quá! Anh quay lại: - Mình ơi! Anh Ðộ thật. Xa thế mà anh ấy cũng chịu khó đến thăm chúng mình. Chị Hoàng lúc bấy giờ đã chạy ra, tay còn đang cài nốt khuy chiếc áo dài màu gạch vừa mới mặc vội vào để ra đón khách. Người đàn bà vồn vã: - Mong bác mãi. Lúc thằng cháu mới chạy vào, nhà tôi cứ tưởng nó trông nhầm. Cứ tưởng bác ở cách hàng mười lăm hai mươi cây số... Bắt tay tôi xong, anh Hoàng dịu dàng đẩy tôi đi trước. Chị vợ đã nhanh nhẹn chạy trước vào nhà, dọn bàn dọn ghế. Sao lại có sự săn đón cảm động như thế được? Tôi đâm ngờ những ý nghĩ không tốt của tôi về anh, từ hồi Tổng khởi nghĩa trở đi. Sau Tổng khởi nghĩa, anh Hoàng đối với tôi đột nhiên nhạt hẳn đi. Mấy lần tôi đến chơi với anh, định để xem anh thay đổi thế nào trong cuộc thay đổi lớn của dân tộc chúng ta, nhưng đều không gặp anh. Cửa nhà anh đóng luôn luôn. Thằng nhỏ nhà anh đứng bên trong cái cửa nhìn qua một lỗ con, bao giờ cũng hỏi cặn kẽ tên tôi, để một lúc sau ra bảo tôi rằng ông nó không có nhà. Mấy lần đều như vậy cả nên tôi đã sinh nghi. Lần cuối cùng, trước khi bấm chuông, tôi còn nghe thấy tiếng vợ chồng anh. Nhưng thằng nhỏ vẫn quả quyết rằng ông bà nó về trại những từ tối hôm trước kia rồi. Ðã đích xác là anh không muốn tiếp tôi. Chẳng hiểu vì sao. Nhưng từ đấy tôi không đến nữa. Mỗi lần gặp nhau ở ngoài đường, chúng tôi chỉ bắt tay nhau một cách rất lạnh lùng, hỏi thăm nhau một câu chiếu lệ, rồi ai đi đường nấy. Tôi đã biết Hoàng vẫn có tính tự nhiên "đá" bạn một cách đột ngột, vì những cớ mà chỉ mình anh biết. Có khi chỉ là vì một tác phẩm của người bạn ấy được cảm tình của một nhà phê bình đã chê một vài tác phẩm của anh. Có khi cũng chẳng cần đến thế. Anh có thể là một người bạn rất thân của anh Hoàng khi anh chỉ là một nhà văn ở tỉnh xa, chỉ góp mặt với Hà Nội bằng những bài gửi về đăng báo, nhưng nếu anh lại về sống hẳn ở thủ đô, giao thiệp với ít nhiều nhà văn khác, anh sẽ không phải là bạn anh Hoàng nữa. Có lẽ anh Hoàng biết cái giới văn nghệ sĩ Hà Nội chửi anh nhiều quá. Riêng tôi, trước đây, tôi vẫn không hiểu sao người ta có thể khinh ghét anh nhiều thế. Tận đến lúc bị anh đá tôi mới hiểu. Tôn còn được hiểu rõ ràng hơn. Vào cái hồi quân đội Ðồng minh vào giải giáp quân Nhật ở nước ta, một số gái kiếm tiền trút bộ đầm ra để mặc bộ áo Tầu. Còn anh bạn của tôi, chẳng biết bám được ông má chín nào, ra một tờ báo hằng ngày để chửi vung lên. Chửi hết cả mọi người rồi anh mới lôi đến một số bạn cũ của anh ra. Toàn là những người hiền lành, xưa nay chưa hề chạm đến một sợi tóc của anh. Nhưng tên họ trên những tờ báo của phong trào giải phóng quốc gia được hoan nghênh làm ngứa mắt anh. Anh hằn học gọi mỉa họ là những nhà văn vô sản và cho họ là một bọn khố rách áo ôm đã đến ngày mả phát, ăn mặc và tẩm bổ hết cả phần thiên hạ. Tôi cười nhạt. Không phải tôi khó chịu vì những lời vu cáo của anh. Tôi khó chịu chính vì thấy đến tận lúc ấy mà vẫn còn một số nhà văn Việt Nam dùng ngòi bút mình để làm những việc đê tiện thế. Anh Hoàng vẫn là con người cũ. Anh không chịu đổi. Tôi đã tưởng anh với tôi chẳng bao giờ còn thân mật với nhau trở lại... Nhưng sao gặp tôi lần này anh lại hân hoan đến thế? Anh đã đủ thì giờ để lột xác rồi chăng? Hay cuộc kháng chiến mãnh liệt của dân ta đã quét sạch khỏi đầu anh những cái gì cũ còn sót lại? Thật tình, tôi rất cảm động khi nghe thấy anh kể lể: - Chẳng ngày nào chúng tôi không nhắc đến anh. Nguyên một hôm xem tờ báo của ông hàng xóm thấy có bài của anh, tôi đoán anh làm tuyên truyền ở tỉnh này. Tiện gặp một cán bộ về làng, tôi nhờ gửi cho anh một bức thư. Cũng là gửi cầu may. Thật không dám chắc thư đến tay anh. Mà có đến, có lẽ anh nhiều việc, cũng khó lòng về chơi với chúng tôi. Thế mà lại được gặp anh. Trông anh không lấy gì làm khoẻ mà sao anh đi bộ tài thế? Mà sao anh lại tìm vào được đúng làng này? Hồi mới đến đây, tôi ra khỏi nhà độ mươi bước là đã lạc. Nhiều ngõ quá mà ngõ nào cũng giống ngõ nào. Có khi ra đồng về cũng nhầm ngõ... Cái nhà Hoàng ở nhờ có thể gọi là rộng rãi. Ba gian nhà gạch sạch sẽ. Hàng hiên rộng ở ngoài. Sân gạch, tường hoa. Một mảnh vườn trồng rau tươi rười rượi. Xinh xắn lắm. Thích nhất là gia đình anh được ở cả nhà. Chủ nhân cũng là người buôn bán trên Hà Nội. Ông thường nhờ vốn liếng và mối hàng của vợ chồng anh. Còn gì hơn là lúc này trả nghĩa lại nhau. Ông đã dọn sang nhà ông bố ở liền bên, nhường lại nhà cho anh hoàn toàn sử dụng. Anh cho tôi biết thế và bảo tiếp: - Giá chúng tôi chưa tìm được nhà ông thì chưa biết ra sao. Tôi thấy nhiều người tản cư khổ lắm. Anh tính có đời nào anh ruột tản cư về nhà em mà đến lú vợ đẻ, em bắt ra một cái lều ngoài vườn để đẻ! Tôi cho anh biết người nhà quê mình có tục kiêng... - Thì đã đành là vậy... Anh nói giọng tức tối và bất bình - Thì đã đành là vậy, nhưng lúc này còn kiêng kỵ gì? Mà có những thế thôi đâu! Thấy anh bây giờ khổ sở, em đã chẳng thương, lại còn xỉa xói, nhắc đến những lúc hoang phí trước để mà xỉ vả. Nào "lúc có tiền thì chẳng biết ăn biết nhịn để dè, chỉ biết nay gà mai chó!", nào "lúc buôn bán phát tài, bảo gửi tiền về quê tậu ruộng vườn thì bảo không cần vườn ruộng, để tậu nhà ở tỉnh kia, bây giờ không bám lấy nhà ở tỉnh đi?..." Tệ lắm! Anh tính mấy đời mới có một phen loạn lạc thế này? Có tiền, thằng nào chẳng ăn chơi? Có mấy người cứ còm cọm làm như trâu, ăn chẳng dám ăn, mặc chẳng dám mặc, ở thì chui rúc thế nào cho xong thôi, để tiền mà tậu vườn, tậu ruộng như họ? Chị Hoàng tiếp lời chồng: - Họ làm chính chúng tôi cũng đâm lo. Có thể nói rằng trong một trăm người thì chín mươi người cho rằng Tây không đời nào dám đánh mình. Mãi đến lúc có lệnh tản cư tôi vẫn cho là mình tản cư để doạ nó thôi. Thế rồi đùng một cái, đánh nhau. Chúng tôi chạy được người chứ của thì chạy làm sao kịp? May mà còn vớt vát được ít tiền, một ít hàng để ở cái trại của chúng tôi, ở ngoại thành. Khéo lắm thì ăn được độ một năm. Ðến lúc hết tất nhiên là phải khổ rồi. Chỉ sợ đến lúc ấy, họ lại mỉa lại. Thành thử bây giờ, lý ra thì có muốn ăn một con gà chưa đến nỗi không mua nổi mà ăn, nhưng ăn lại sợ người ta biết, sau này người ta nói cho thì nhục. Họ tàn nhẫn lắm cơ, bác ạ! Anh Hoàng cười: - Mà sao họ đã bận rộn nhiều đến thế mà vẫn còn thì giờ chú ý đến những người chung quanh nhiều đến thế? Anh chỉ giết một con gà ngày mai cả làng này đã biết. Này, anh mới đến chơi thế mà lúc nãy tôi đã thấy có người nấp nom rồi. Ngày mai thế nào chuyện anh đến chơi tôi cũng đã chạy khắp làng. Họ sẽ kể rất rạch ròi tên anh, tuổi anh, anh béo gầy thế nào, có bao nhiêu nốt ruồi ở mặt, có mấy lỗ rách ở ống quần bên trái. Tôi mỉm cười, cắt nghĩa cho anh hiểu: lúc này họ cần để ý đến những người lạ mặt tới làng. Tôi chắc mấy người nấp nom tôi là mấy người có trách nhiệm trong uỷ ban mấy anh tự vệ. - Lại còn các ông ủy ban với các bố tự vệ nữa mới chết người ta chứ! Họ vừa ngố vừa nhặng sị. Ðàn bà chửa mà đến nỗi cho là có lựu đạn giắt trong quần! Họ đánh vần xong một cái giấy ít nhất phải mất mười lăm phút, thế mà động thấy ai đi qua là hỏi giấy. Anh đi, hỏi. Anh về, hỏi, hỏi nữa. Anh vừa ra khỏi làng, sực nhớ quên cái mũ, trở lại lấy, cũng hỏi rồi mới cho vào. Lát nữa anh ra, lại hỏi. Hình như họ cho cái việc hỏi giấy là thú lắm. Anh cười gằn một tiếng, nhìn bao trùm cả người tôi, hỏi: - Anh sống ở nhà quê nhiều, anh có hiểu tâm lý của họ không? Anh thử cắt nghĩa hộ tôi tại làm sao họ lại nhiêu khê đến thế? Từ trước đến nay, tôi chỉ hoàn toàn ở Hà Nội, thành thử chỉ mới biết những người nhà quê qua những truyện ngắn của anh. Bây giờ gần họ, tôi quả là thấy không nhịn được. Không chịu được! Nỗi khinh bỉ của anh phì cả ra ngoài theo cái bĩu môi dài thườn thượt. Mũi anh nhăn lại như ngửi thấy mùi xác thối. Vợ chồng anh thi nhau kể tội người nhà quê đủ thứ. Toàn là những người đần độn, lỗ mãng, ích kỷ, tham lam, bần tiện cả. Cha con, anh em ruột cũng chẳng tốt với nhau. Các ông thanh niên, các bà phụ nữ mới bây giờ lại càng lố lăng. Viết chữ quốc ngữ sai vần mà lại cứ hay nói chuyện chính trị rối rít cả lên. Mở miệng ra là thấy “đề nghị”, “yêu cầu”, “phê bình”, “cảnh cáo”, “thực dân phát xít”, “phản động”, “xã hội chủ nghĩa”, “dân chủ” với cả “tân dân chủ” nữa mới khổ thiên hạ chứ! Họ mà tóm được ai thì có mà chạy lên trời! Thế nào họ cũng tuyên truyền cho hàng giờ. Có lẽ họ cho những người ở Hà Nội về như vợ chồng anh đều lạc hậu, chưa giác ngộ nên họ không bỏ lỡ một dịp nào để tuyên truyền vợ chồng anh. Mà tuyên truyền như thế nào!... Anh trợn mắt bảo tôi: - Tôi kể cho anh nghe chuyện này thế nào anh cũng cho là bịa. Nhưng tôi có bịa một tí nào, tôi chết. Một hôm, tôi đi chợ huyện chơi. ở nhà đã hỏi đường cẩn thận rồi, nhưng đến một ngã ba, lại quên béng mất, không biết phải rẽ lối nào. Ðành đứng lại, chờ có người đi qua thì hỏi. Chờ mãi mới thấy một ông thanh niên nghễu nghện vác một bó tre đi tới. Tôi chào rồi hỏi: "Ði chợ huyện lối nào, ông làm ơn chỉ giúp tôi!" Anh ta trố mặt nhìn tôi chẳng nói chẳng rằng, như nhìn một giống người lạ mới từ Hoả tinh rơi xuống. Tôi biết hiệu, rút giấy đưa cho anh xem rồi lại hỏi. Bây giờ anh ta mới bảo: "Ông cứ đi lối này, đến chỗ có một cây đa to thì rẽ về tay phải, đi một quãng lại rẽ về tay trái, qua một cách đồng, vào đường gạch làng Ngò, vòng qua đằng sau đình, rẽ về tay phải, đi một quãng nữa là đến chợ". Ðại khái thế, chứ không hoàn toàn đúng thế. Chỉ biết là nó lôi thôi rắc rối, nhiều bên phải bên trái quá, đến nỗi tôi không tài nào nhận ra được. Anh ta bày cho tôi một cách: đứng đợi đấy, gặp ai gánh hàng đi chợ thì theo. Tôi cho là phải. Anh ta cười bảo: "Thôi thế chào ông. Cháu vô phép ông đi trước. Cháu vội lắm. Cháu phải vác ngay bó tre này lên Thượng để làm công tác phá hoại, cản cơ giới hoá tối tân của địch. Cuộc trường kỳ kháng chiến của ta phải chia làm ba giai đoạn: giai đoạn phòng ngự, giai đoạn cầm cự, giai đoạn tổng phản công. Giai đoạn phòng ngự nghĩa là..." Anh ta cứ thế, đọc thuộc lòng cho tôi nghe cả một bài dài đến năm trang giấy. Chị Hoàng cười rú lên. Tôi cũng cười, nhưng có lẽ cái cười chẳng được tươi cho lắm. Anh thấy cần phải thề lần nữa: - Tôi có bịa thì tôi chết. Mà tôi lại thề với anh rằng lúc ấy tôi ngạc nhiên quá, không còn cười được, vả lại cũng không dám cười. Cười, nhỡ anh ta đánh cho thì tai hại. Nhưng từ hôm ấy ngày nào tôi cũng bắt nhà tôi đóng cổng suốt ngày không dám đi đâu nữa. Tôi cười gượng. Ðiều muốn nói với anh, tôi đành giấu kín trong lòng không nói nữa. Tôi biết chẳng đời nào anh nhận làm một anh tuyên truyền nhãi nhép như tôi. Vả lại dầu có rủ được anh làm như tôi, khoác cái ba lô lên vai, đi hết làng nọ đến làng kia để nhận xét nông thôn một cách kỹ càng hơn cũng chẳng ích gì. Anh đã quen nhìn đời và nhìn người một phía thôi. Anh trông thấy anh thanh niên đọc thuộc lòng bài "ba giai đoạn" nhưng anh không trông thấy bó tre anh thanh niên vui vẻ vác đi để ngăn quân thù. Mà ngay trong cái việc anh thanh niên đọc thuộc lòng bài báo như một con vẹt biết nói kia, anh cũng chỉ nhìn thấy cái ngố bề ngoài của nó mà không nhìn thấy cái nguyên cớ thật đẹp đẽ bên trong. Vẫn giữ đôi mắt ấy để nhìn đời thì càng đi nhiều, càng quan sát lắm, người ta chỉ càng thêm chua chát và chán nản.

Tôi biết lắm. Trước mặt người đàn anh trong văn giới ấy, tôi chỉ là một kẻ non dại, mới tập tọng học nghề. Bởi vậy tôi không dám nói hết những ý nghĩa của tôi ra. Tôi chỉ rụt rè và đưa ra vài điểm nhận xét: - Có nhiều cái kỳ lạ lắm. Người nhà quê dẫu sao thì cũng còn là một cái bí mật đối với chúng ta. Tôi gần gũi họ rất nhiều. Tôi đã gần như thất vọng vì thấy họ phần đông dốt nát, nheo nhếch, nhát sợ, nhịn nhục một cách đáng thương. Nghe các ông nói đến "sức mạnh quần chúng", tôi rất nghi ngờ. Tôi vẫn cho rằng đa số nước mình là nông dân, mà nông dân nước mình thì vạn kiếp nữa cũng chưa làm được cách mạng. Cái thời Lê Lợi, Quang Trung, có lẽ đã chết hẳn rồi, chẳng bao giờ còn trở lại. Nhưng đến hồi Tổng khởi nghĩa thì tôi đã ngã ngửa người. Té ra người nông dân nước mình vẫn có thể làm cách mạng, mà làm cách mạng hăng hái lắm. Tôi đã theo họ đi đánh phủ. Tôi đã gặp họ trong mặt trận Nam Trung Bộ. Vô số anh răng đen, mắt toét, gọi lựu đạn là "nựu đạn", hát Tiến quân ca như người buồn ngủ cầu kinh, mà lúc ra trận thì xung phong can đảm lắm. Mà không hề bận tâm đến vợ con, nhà cửa, như họ vẫn thường thế nữa. Gặp họ, anh không thể tưởng tượng được rằng chính những người ấy, chỉ trước đây dăm tháng, giá có bị anh lính lệ ghẹo vợ ngay trước mặt cũng chỉ đành im thin thít mà đi, đi một quãng thật xa rồi mới dám lẩm bẩm chửi thầm vài tiếng, còn bao nhiêu ghen tức đành là đem về nhà trút vào má vợ. Hoàng nhếch một khoé môi lên, gay gắt: - Nhưng anh vẫn không thể chối được rằng họ có nhiều cái ngố không chịu được. Tôi thấy có nhiều ông tự vệ hay cả vệ quốc quân nữa táy máy nghịch súng hay lựu đạn làm chết người như bỡn. Nhiều ông cầm đến một khẩu súng kiểu lạ, không biết bắn thế nào. Nước mình như vậy, suốt đời không được mó đến khẩu súng thì làm gì biết bắn, họ đánh mãi rồi cũng biết. Thì cứ để cho họ đánh Tây đi! Nhưng tai hại là người ta lại cứ muốn cho họ làm uỷ ban nọ, uỷ ban kia nữa, thế mới chết người ta chứ! Nói thí dụ ngay như cái thằng chủ tịch uỷ ban khu phố tôi ở Hà Nội lúc chưa đánh nhau, nó là một anh hàng cháo lòng. Bán cháo lòng thì nó biết đánh tiết canh, chứ biết làm uỷ ban thế nào mà bắt nó làm uỷ ban? Ông chủ tịch làng này, xem giấy của nhà tôi, thấy đề Nguyễn Thục Hiền, cứ nhất định bảo là giấy mượn của đàn ông. Theo ông ấy, thì đàn bà ai cũng phải là thị này, thị nọ. Chị Hoàng cười nhiều quá, phát ho, chảy cả nước mắt ra. Rút khăn tay lau nước mắt xong, chị chép miệng lắc đầu, bảo tôi: - Giá bác ở đây thì nhiều lúc bác cũng cười đến chết. Thế mà ông chủ tịch ấy cứ nằn nì mãi hai ba lượt, yêu cầu nhà tôi dạy bình dân học vụ hay làm tuyên truyền giúp. Anh chồng tiếp: - Tôi chẳng có việc gì làm, lắm lúc cũng buồn. Nhưng công tác với những người như vậy thì anh bảo công tác làm sao được? Ðành để các ông ấy gọi là phản động. Muốn lảng chuyện, tôi hỏi: - Lúc này nhiều thì giờ thế, chắc anh viết được. Anh đã viết được cái gì thú chưa? - Chưa, bởi vì ngay đến một cái bàn viết ra hồn cũng không còn nữa. Nhưng thế nào chúng mình cũng phải viết một cái gì để ghi lại cái thời này. Nếu khéo làm còn có thể hay bằng mấy cái "Số đỏ" của Vũ Trọng Phụng. Phụng nó còn sống đến lúc này phải biết! Cơm chiều xong vào lúc bốn giờ, Hoàng mời tôi cùng đi với vợ chồng anh đến chơi nhà mấy người ở phố cũng tản cư về. Có đâu một ông tuần phủ về hưu, một ông đốc học bị thải hồi vì một vụ hiếp học trò, một cụ phán già trước đây chuyên môn sống về nghề lo kiện, hay chạy cửu phẩm cho thiên hạ. Anh chẳng ưa gì họ bởi vì họ chẳng biết gì đến văn chương nghệ thuật, chỉ tổ tôm là giỏi. Nói chuyện với họ chán phè. Nhưng nếu chẳng giao thiệp với họ thì cũng chẳng biết đến chơi nhà ai được nữa... Anh vừa đi vừa tâm sự nhỏ với tôi như vậy, và thì thầm kề sát tai tôi những cái thối nát, ngu ngốc, gàn dở, rởm đời của từng người một, trong khi chúng tôi bước chầm chậm để đợi chị Hoàng ra sau chúng tôi một chút. Chị Hoàng rảo bước để theo kịp chúng tôi. Hai má đỏ ửng vì lửa bếp. Chị cắt nghĩa sự chậm trễ của chị: - Tôi xem lại nồi khoai lang vui, để lát nữa về ăn. ở đây cao lương mỹ vị chẳng có gì, nhưng được cái thức ăn vặt thì sẵn. Bác ở chơi đây, mai tôi xem nhà ai có mía to mua mấy cây về ướp hoa bưởi ăn thơm lắm. Ðến một cái cổng gạch lớn có dây leo, anh Hoàng giật dây chuông. Một thằng bé chạy ra, lễ phép chào: - Lạy ông! - Không dám. Cụ Phạm có nhà không cậu? - Bẩm ông, cụ sang bên ông đốc. - Sao thấy nói ông đốc ở đây từ sáng? - Bẩm không ạ! Sáng nay không thấy ông đốc sang chơi bên này.

Chúng tôi quay trở lại. Qua mấy cái ngõ ngoằn ngoèo khác, đến một cái cổng gạch có dây leo khác. Một chị vú ẵm em đứng cổng: - Lạy ông! Lạy bà! - Không dám. Ông đốc có nhà hay đi chơi vắng? - Bẩm ông, ông đốc con sang cụ tuần. - Sao bên cụ tuần bảo sang đây? - Bẩm ông, không ạ! Anh Hoàng quay ra. Ði được mấy bước, anh quay lại khẽ bảo vợ: - Các bố lại tổ tôm. Mụ Yên Kỷ cũng không có nhà, phải không? Con mụ ấy cũng là đệ tử tổ tôm hạng nặng. Chắc họ tụ tập ở đây hay ở bên nhà cụ Phạm, sai người gác cổng. Chị Hoàng không có ý kiến gì. Anh Hoàng vỗ vai bảo tôi: - Anh nghĩ có buồn không? Trí thức thì thế đấy. Còn dân thì... như anh đã biết. Tôi thầm rủa sự tình cờ sao lại xô đẩy anh về đây cùng với bằng ấy thứ cặn bã của giới thượng lưu trí thức. Sao anh không đi theo bộ đội, đi diễn kịch tuyên truyền nhập bọn với các đoàn văn hoá kháng chiến để được thấy những sinh viên, công chức sung vào vệ quốc quân, những bác sĩ sốt sắng làm việc trong các viện khảo cứu hay các viện quân y, những bạn văn nghệ sĩ của anh đang mê mải đi sâu vào quần chúng để học họ và dạy họ, đồng thời tìm những cảm hứng mới cho văn nghệ? Tôi cười nhạt: - Nghe anh nói, tôi nản quá. Như vậy cuộc kháng chiến của ta có lẽ đến hỏng à? Anh chộp lấy câu của tôi, nhanh như một con mèo vồ con chuột: - Ấy đấy, tôi bi quan lắm. Cứ quan sát kỹ thì rất nản. Nhưng tôi chưa nản có lẽ chỉ vì tôi tin vào ông Cụ. Tôi cho rằng cuộc Cách mạng tháng Tám cũng như cuộc kháng chiến hiện nay chỉ ăn vì người lãnh đạo cừ. Hồ Chí Minh đáng lẽ phải cứu vãn một nước như thế nào kia, mới xứng tài. Phải cứu một nước như nước mình kể cũng khổ cho ông Cụ lắm. Anh tính, tượng trưng cho phong trào giải phóng cả một cái đệ tứ cường quốc là Ðại Pháp, mà chỉ có đến thằng Ðờ-Gôn. Tôi nhắc đến tên mấy nhân vật kháng chiến khác của Pháp, còn đáng tiêu biểu bằng mấy Ðờ-Gôn. Anh lắc đầu: - Bằng thế nào được Hồ Chí Minh! Và anh tiếp: - Ông Cụ làm những việc nó cừ quá, đến nỗi tôi cứ cho rằng dù dân mình có tồi đi nữa, ông Cụ xoay quanh rồi cũng cứ độc lập như thường. Những cú như cú Hiệp định Sơ bộ mồng 6 tháng 3 thì đến chính thằng Mỹ cũng phải lắc đầu: nó cho rằng không thể nào bịp ông già nổi. Thằng Pháp thì nghĩa là gì? Bệt lắm rồi. Không có thằng Mỹ xúi thì làm gì Pháp dám trở mặt phản Hiệp định mồng 6 tháng 3? Mình cho nó như vậy đã là phúc đời nhà nó lắm rồi. Ðáng lẽ nó phải bám chằng chằng lấy chứ? Buổi tối ăn khoai vùi xong, uống mấy tuần trà rồi đi nằm sớm. Anh sợ tôi đã đi hàng mười cây số, lại ngồi nói chuyện suốt từ lúc đến, chắc không thể ngồi được nữa. Vả lại tuy chưa buồn ngủ nhưng nằm đắp chăn cho ấm và buông màn cho khỏi muỗi thì vẫn tốt. Hai cái giường nhỏ kề song song, cách nhau có một lối đi nhỏ. Màn tuyn trắng toát. Chỉ trông cũng đã thấy thơm tho và thoải mái. Hoàng với tôi đi nằm trước. Một gói thuốc lá thơm và một bao diêm đặt ở bên cạnh cái đĩa gạt tàn thuốc lá ở đầu giường. Tôi để nguyên cả quần áo tây và chỉ ngay ngáy lo đêm nay một vài chú rận có thể rời sơ-mi tôi để du lịch ra cái chăn bông thoang thoảng nước hoa. Mọi hôm tôi vẫn đắp chăn chung với anh em thợ nhà in, cái giống ký sinh trùng hay phản chủ ấy, ở người tôi, không dám cam đoan là tuyệt nhiên không có. Chị Hoàng thu dọn đồ đạc, đóng cửa, rồi đem một cây đèn to lại chỗ cái giường chúng tôi, lấy ra một cái chai. Anh Hoàng trông thấy, hỏi: - Mình thắp đèn to đấy à? - Vâng, tôi đổ thêm dầu đã. Anh Hoàng hỏi tôi: - Anh có thích đọc Tam Quốc không? Tôi thú thật là chưa bao giờ được xem trọn bộ. - Thế thì thật là đáng tiếc. Trong tất cả các tiểu thuyết Ðông Tây, có hai quyển tôi mê nhất là Tam Quốc và Ðông Chu Liệt Quốc. Về cái môn tiểu thuyết thì thằng Tàu nhất. Nhưng cũng chỉ có hai bộ ấy thôi. Thủy Hử cũng hay, chẳng kém Tam Quốc và Ðông Chu Liệt Quốc. Những tiểu thuyết khác hay đến đâu, anh cũng chỉ đọc một lần. Ðọc đến lần thứ hai là giảm thú rồi. Nhưng Tam Quốc với Ðông Chu thì đọc đi đọc lại mãi vẫn thấy thú như mới đọc. - Anh có hai bộ ấy ở đây không? - Bộ Ðông Chu mất ở Hà Nội, không đem đi được. Thế mới sầu đời chứ! Hận quá, may mà bộ Tam Quốc lại để ở ngoại thành, đem đi được. Nếu không thì buồn đến chết. Anh gạt tàn thuốc lá rồi bảo tiếp: - Sở dĩ lúc này tôi hỏi anh là có thích đọc Tam Quốc không là vì mỗi tối trước khi đi ngủ, chúng tôi có cái thú đọc một vài hồi Tam Quốc rồi mới ngủ. Nhưng hôm nay không biết có nên bỏ cái lệ ấy đi không? Nếu anh thích nói chuyện thì nghỉ một tối để chúng mình nói chuyện cũng chẳng sao. Cố nhiên là tôi mời vợ chồng anh cứ giữ lệ thường. Anh có vẻ mừng rỡ lắm: - Vâng, nếu anh cho phép thì ta cứ đọc. Chúng mình cùng nghe rồi lúc nào buồn ngủ thì ta ngủ. Tôi trông anh hơi mệt có lẽ cần ngủ sớm. Không biết đèn sáng lại đọc thế có phiền anh không?

Tôi cho anh biết là tôi vẫn ngủ ngay trong nhà in, đèn sáng và máy chạy ầm ầm, ở đây chăn ấm thế này thì dẫu súng có nổ ngay ở liền bên, tôi vẫn ngủ ngon lành lắm... Anh cười cùng cục trong cổ như một con gà trống: - Vâng, thế thì ta cứ đọc. Mình lấy ra đi. Chị Hoàng chạy lại bếp lấy một quyển sách bìa dày, gáy da, đem lại. - Mình đọc hay tôi đọc? - Mình đọc đi. Chị để cây đèn lên trên cái đôn thấp ở đầu giường, cởi áo dài lên giường nằm cạnh thằng con đã chui vào chăn trước. - Hôm qua đọc đến đâu rồi nhỉ. Hình như... - Không cần, mình đọc lại cái đoạn thằng Tào Tháo nó tán Quan Công ấy. Thế nào? Theo ý anh thì Tào Tháo có giỏi không? Tôi trả lời qua loa cho xong chuyện: - Tôi thấy nói là nó giỏi. - Giỏi lắm anh ạ! Giỏi nhất Tam Quốc. Sao nó tài đến thế. Chị Hoàng đã tìm thấy, bắt đầu cất tiếng thanh thanh đọc. Anh Hoàng vừa hút thuốc lá vừa nghe. Mỗi khi đọc đến đoạn hay anh lại vỗ đùi kêu: - Tài thật! Tài thật! Tài đến thế là cùng! Tiên sư anh Tào Tháo.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

1. Anthologie de la littérature vietnamienne. Editions en langues étrangères. Hanoi 1972 2. Đinh Gia Khánh et al. Tổng tập văn học Việt Nam. Nhà xuất bản Khoa học Xã hội, 2000 3. Hữu Ngọc and Françoise Corrèze. Anthology of Vietnamese Popular Literature, Red River, Foreign Languages Publishing House, 1984 4. Nam Cao. Đôi mắt, Nhà xuất bản Văn học, 1948 5. Nguyễn Trác et al. Hợp tuyển thơ văn Việt Nam, 1963 6. Phạm Tiến Duật. Trường Sơn Đông, Trường Sơn Tây, “Tuyển tập Phạm Tiến Duật”, Nhà xuất bản Hội Nhà văn, 2007 7. Tản Đà. Thề non nước, tập “Thơ Tản Đà”, 1925 8. Tô Hoài. Vợ chồng A Phủ, tập truyện “Tây Bắc”, Nhà xuất bản Văn học, 1953 9. Tố Hữu. Từ ấy, tập thơ “Thơ”, Nhà xuất bản Văn học, 1946 10. Trần Đăng Khoa. Bài ca cánh võng, tập thơ “Từ góc sân nhà em”, 1968 11. Từ điển Văn học. Nhà xuất bản Thế Giới, 2004 12. Vietnamese Literature. Foreign Languages Publishing House, Hanoi, 1978 13. Vũ Tú Nam. Sống với thời gian hai chiều, Nhà xuất bản Văn học, 1983 14. Xuân Diệu. Trái tim em thức đập, tập thơ “Riêng Chung”, Nhà xuất bản Văn học, 1960 15. Xuân Quỳnh. Sóng, tập thơ “Hoa dọc chiến hào”, Nhà xuất bản Hội Nhà văn, 1968

BIOGRAPHY OF WRITERS TÔ HOÀI (1920-2014) A novelist and story writer, Tô Hoài was born in 1920 in a village near Hà Nội. He exercised many trades before embarking upon a literacy career. He became known during the years of the Second World War by his book for children and his novels describing the life of peasants and craftmen driven out of their villages by poverty and unemployment. He took part in the Cultural Movement for National Salvation under the Franco- Japanese occupation of Việt Nam. During the resistance against the French (1946- 1954), he lived and worked for a long time among the national minorities in the mountainous regions of the Northwest. In 1957, he became the secretary of the Việt Nam Writers’ Association. He was also Chairman of the Hà Nội Literature and Art Association from 1966 to 1996. He was awarded the Hồ Chí Minh Prize for Literature and Art in 1996. Main works: Dế Mèn Phiêu lưu ký (Dairy of a Cricket), a story for children, 1941; Truyện Tây Bắc (Stories of the Northwest), 1954; Vợ chồng A Phủ (The A Phou Couple), film script, 1960; An Autobiography, 1978; Old Stories of Hà Nội, short stories and essays, 1980; Portraits, memoirs, 1980; The Home Village, short stories, 1981; Whose Are the Dust-Covered Feet?, memoirs, 1992; Late Afternoons, memoirs, 1999; and many other writings.

NAM CAO (1917–1951) Nam Cao was born in 1917 into a Catholic peasant family in Hà Nam province (Red River delta). A teacher by profession, he becamed known as a writer around 1940 when French colonialists handed over Việt Nam and other countries in Indochina to the Japanese. In defiance of official censorship which stifled even the faintest show of revolt on the part of patriotic writers, he tried to expose the injustice and hypocrisy of the regime, through describing the lives of poor intellectuals and peasants – lives which offered no way out and which feudal oppression alone rendered impossible. In 1943, he joined the Cultural Association for National Salvaion and participated in the August 1945 General Insurrection in his home town. As a writer and journalist, he took an active part in the National Resistance War against the French colonialists. In 1951 he was killed when on a mission in the occupied zone. Main works: Chí Phèo, a short story, 1946; Cười (The Smile), 1946; Đôi mắt (The eyes), a short story; Sống mòn (The Exhaustion of Survival), 1946.

VŨ TÚ NAM (Born 1929) Born in Nam Định, writer of the People’s Army from 1947 to 1958. He worked as Director of the Publishing House “New Works” under the Việt Nam Writers’ Association. He was also member of the Excutive Committee of the Việt Nam Writers’ Association for the 1st, 2nd and 3rd tenure; General Secretary of this Association for the 4th tenure. He was awarded the State Prize for Literature and Art in 2001. His tales and shorts stories, dealing with life in the Army and the countryside, reveal a profound attachment to people and to the country. He also writes for children. Main works: Bên đường 12 (Along Highway 12), 1950; Quê hương (Native Village), 1960; Cây gạo (The Kapok Tree), 1973; Living in Two Dimensional Time, short stories (1983); Spring-Bird’s Twittering, short story (1985).

TẢN ĐÀ (1889–1939) Born into a family of mandarins in the suburbs of Hà Nội, at the age of 24, he gave up his study of classical Chinese to earn a living as a freelance journalist, poet and short story writer – an unusual thing to do at that time. In 1921 he was Chief Editor of the journal Hữu Thanh. Then he founded the Tản Đà Thư Điếm publishing house. In 1924 he brought out the journal An Nam Tạp Chí. During the last years of his life he translated Tang poetry and some classical Chinese works. Most of Tản Đà’s poems and stories reflect an Epicurian soul, tired, searching a way of escape to the world of winds and clouds, mountains and waters, to find again the lost paradise of fairies and dreams, pleasures and loves. Some of his poems express his preoccupation with the fate of the nation. As a poet, he was the link between the old lyrical poetry and the new poetry of the 1930’s, particularly in his boldness with metrics. His works remains intact till this day. Throughout his entire life he worked in poverty, seeking neither money nor honours. That his found such a powerful echo in his time was above all because it was a voice that knew how to combine patriotic accents with the spleen and the need for evasion of certain strata of Vietnamese society during the early decades of the 20th century.

Main works: Khối tình con (Little Crystal of Love), collection of poems; Giấc mộng con (Little Dream), a novel; Khối tình (Crystal of Love), essays; Đài gương kính (Mirror of Women), book of morals for young girls and women; Nguyễn Khắc Hiếu Tùng Văn (Selection of Literary Writings of Tản Đà himself); Chuyện thế gian (News of this World); Thề non nước (The Pledge of Mountains and Waters), a story; Giấc mộng lớn (The Great Dream), an autobiography.

XUÂN DIỆU (1916-1985) Ngô Xuân Diệu (Ngô: family name), native of Nghệ Tĩnh province, took the penname of Xuân Diệu. He was one of the pioneers of the “New Poetry” movement in 1930’s in Việt Nam. In 1946, Xuân Diệu wrote Ngọn Quốc Kỳ (The National Flag), a long poem to the glory of the 1945 August Revolution. The poet of love par excellence, like most authors of his generation, he put his pen to work in the service of national independence and construction. His poetic vein was thereby enriched and his human vision enlarged. A true “troubadour”, he read before audiences of workers, peasants, and students in hundreds of poetry readings. He also wrote short stories, essays and literary criticism. He was member of the First National Assembly of the Democratic Republic of Việt Nam. Main works before 1945: Thơ thơ (Poems), 1938; Gửi hương cho gió (Perfume On the Wings of the Wind), poems, 1945; Phấn thông vàng (The Golden Pollen of the Pine), short stories, 1939. After 1945: Ngọn Quốc Kỳ (The National Flag),1946; Riêng chung (Private and Shared), a collection of poems, 1960; Mũi Cà Mau (the Cape of Cà Mau), 1962; Cầm Tay (Hands Inter-twined), 1962; Hồn tôi đôi cánh (On the Wings of My Soul), a collection of poems, 1976; and studies of classical Vietnamese poets, in particular Nguyễn Du and Hồ Xuân Hương, 1981, 1982.

TỐ HỮU (1920-2002) He was born in the village of Phù Lai (in the former province of Thừa Thiên-Huế, central Việt Nam). His father, a post office employee, had a passion for both Vietnamese classical and popular poetry. His mother, a scholar’s daughter, came from a small village near Huế with which Tố Hữu kept close ties throughout his childhood. It was she who, with her songs and lullabies, awakened his sensitivity to the beauty of folk and popular songs. At college in Huế, Tố Hữu was active from the age of 16 in the Communist Youth. He joined the Communnist Party at 18. Arrested by the French in 1939, he was sent to several prisons but escaped in 1942. His first poems appeared in political journals or newspapers in Saigon and Hà Nội, often copied by hand or transmitted orally through prison bars. At 25 years of age, during the 1945 August Revolution, he led the insurrection in Huế. After the August Revolution, Tố Hữu’s poetry reflected the life and events of Việt Nam. Tố Hữu was a famous statesman; he was member of the Politburo, Secretary of the Communist Party of Việt Nam and Vice Prime Minister. He was awarded the Hồ Chí Minh Prize for Literature and Art in 1996. Tố Hữu spoke of his poetry thus: “I attach myself to the needs of the country, to the people’s problems. To speak of heroes, of simple people, that is what touches them above all…And the other factor, although much less crucial, is the use of popular language, popular expressions, images of the life of the people and of the country. My language cannot be conceived of other than between friends – indeed between lovers. They are love poems, my very own, written in my way. I don’t write love poems, concretely, directly. Perhaps because it is not my strong point. Besides, it’s not easy to make that kind of poem because one says over again things that everyone has already said, whereas it is necessary to say new things, and that isn’t easy. In any case, I prefer these forms of expression. I love my country and my people and I talk of them as to a love.” (Blood and Flowers; Foreign Languages Publishing House, Hà Nội, 1978) Main works: Việt Bắc, collection of poems from the Anti-French Resistance, 1954; Gió lộng (Full Wind), collection of poems, 1961; Ra trận (Going to the Front), collection of poems, 1972; Máu và hoa (Blood and Flowers), collection of poems, 1977; A Musical Sound, collection of poems, 1992; The Revolutionary Life and Culture & Art, collection of essays, 1981.

XUÂN QUỲNH (1942-1988) Born in the suburbs of Hà Nội, she began as an artist in the People’s National Song and Dance Ensemble. In 1960, she turned to literature. After 1964, she worked on the weekly Văn Nghệ (Arts and Letters), then moved to work at the New Works Publishing House under the Writers’ Association. In 2001, she was posthumously awarded the State Prize for Literature and Art. Her poetry is fresh and suggestive, and expresses a delicate sensitivity. Xuan Quỳnh is regarded as one of the most representative Vietnamese poetesses of the period of resistance against US invasion (1954-1975). Collections of poems: Chồi biếc (Emerald Buds); Hoa dọc chiến hào (Flowers by the Trenches), 1968; Gió Lào cát trắng (Wind from Laos, White Sand), 1974; Lullabies on the Earth, collection of poems, 1978; Self-singing, collection of poems, 1984; The Platform Where You Departed That Late Afternoon, collection of poems, 1984; Chrysopogon Flowers, collection of poems, 1989.

PHẠM TIẾN DUẬT (1941-2007) Born in Phú Thọ province, north of Hà Nội, he joined the Army after studying literature at the University of Hà Nội. He lived many years among the fighters and the members of the Youth Shock Brigades who tracked back and forth over the Hồ Chí Minh Trail during the resistance against US invasion. His poetry, direct, rough and chaotic, full of effervescence, is expressionistic rather than lyrical. After his military service, Phạm Tiến Duật came back to Hà Nội to work as Vice Chairman of the External Relations Department of the Việt Nam Writers’ Association until passing away. He was awarded the State Prize for Literature and Art in 2001, and the Hồ Chí Minh Prize for Literature and Art in 2012 (posthumously). Main works: Vầng trăng quầng lửa (The Moon Haloed with Fire), poetry, 1970; Ở hai đầu núi (At the Two Sides of a Mountain), poetry, 1981; Thơ một chặng đường (A Distance of Poetry), collection of essays, 1994; Nhóm lửa (Kindling a Fire), collection of poems, 1996; Tiếng bom và tiếng chuông chùa (Bomb Explosion and A Buddhist Temple Bell’s Ringing), epic, 1997; Tuyển tập Phạm Tiến Duật (A Selection of Phạm Tiến Duật’s Works), 2007.

TRẦN ĐĂNG KHOA (Born 1958) Born in Hải Dương province, from the age of 8, Trần Đăng Khoa wrote very simple and pure poetry, famous throughout the country. His poems were presented on French television at the end of 1968. From his village near Phú Lương Bridge in Hải Dương province, he could hear the roar of American planes and the fire of the Vietnamese anti-aircraft guns. Khoa’s grandmother, an old illiterate peasant, used to tell the ancient legends to him and rocked him to sleep to the rhythm of old folksongs. His father, a peasant, worked at the local cooperative. His mother, who recited Vietnamese popular versified stories by memory, learnt to read quite late. His elder brother, a teacher, made Trần Đăng Khoa a gift of a little library as soon as he knew how to read. He drew from it incessantly, carefully annotating whatever he read. After his service in the army, Trần Đăng Khoa was dispatched to the Gorky Institute for World Literatures in Russia for education. Back in Việt Nam, Trần Đăng Khoa worked as editor for the Army Literature and Art Review. Now, he is working at the Voice of Việt Nam Radio Station. Main works: Từ góc sân nhà em (From the Courtyard of My Home), collection of poems, 1968; Góc sân và khoảng trời (Courtyard Corner and Space of Sky), collection of poems, 1970; Khúc hát về người anh hùng (Ode to a Heroine), epic, 1975; Bên cửa sổ máy bay (By An Airplane’s Window), collection of poems, 1986; Chân dung và đối thoại (Portraits and Dialogues), literary critiques, 1998; Thơ tình người lính biển (A Marine’s Love Poems), 1981; Đảo chìm (Submerged Islands), collection of stories and accounts, 2009. GLOSSARY

Works Vietnamese English The pledge of Suối khô dòng lệ The spring cries out its tears mountains and waters (Tản Đà) Xương mai The bones of the withered apricot tree Tóc mây Heads of clouds Tuyết sương A veil of snow Since then (Tố Hữu) Khối đời Forces of life Vạn kiếp Hundred thousand humiliated lives Your heart is awake Gốc của thời gian Root of time and beating (Xuân Diệu) Vạn trùng khơi Huge spaces Bếp lửa phút giây Glowing matrix of minutes Thức hoài thức hủy Without respite Song of the hammock Kẽo cà kẽo kẹt, The hammock chirps, (Trần Đăng Khoa) Kẽo cà kẽo kẹt The hammock sings Cây na Custard-apple tree Mổ tiếng võng kêu A bird taps out the rhythm The waves Sông không hiểu nổi mình The river cannot hold its waves (Xuân Quỳnh) Bồi hồi Swelling Xuôi Downstream Ngược Upstream Muôn vời Many Truong Son East Trường Sơn Đông The Eastern Chain Truong Son West (Phạm Tiến Duật) Trường Sơn Tây The West

Con đường gánh gạo The shoulder of the trail beneath baskets of rice Lèn đá The rocks Đường chắn bom thù Bombs that cut my path Gạt nỗi riêng tư Keep our sorrows apart “ba sẵn sàng” Hard at work The A Phu couple Thống lý Chief (Tô Hoài) Đánh pao Play pass-ball Nhẵn cả chân vách Settled down outside the bamboo wall Nhạc sinh tiền Rhythm of ritual prayers. Cúng trình ma Sacrificed to the genie of the house Kiếp trước Many years before Lá ngón Poisonous ngon leaves ốp đồng A sorcerer Lịm mặt Looked with a distracted eye at Buổi sáng âm âm The diffused daylight Bàn đèn Beds had been laid out with a lamp on each Rên lên từng cơn kéo thuốc The muttering of the smokers phiện Phép rượu The vapors of alcohol Quả yến Shuttlecocks Cột cửa In the narrow space of the stables Rừng đói The famine had struck the wild beasts in the forest Đóng lên tròng You have put a ring in the nose Vạc hẳn lửa The flames had subsided again Củ nâu Cu nau roots Mộc nhĩ Mushrooms The eyes Tay chợ đen A profound knowledge of the black (Nam Cao) market Khệnh khạng Majestic walk Thằng nhỏ The little servant Chiếu lệ For politeness’ sake Bị anh đá He had to get angry at me Ông má chin Chinese comprador Ngứa mắt anh Make him angry Cầu may It was something like throwing a bottle into the sea Tường hoa Lined with bougainvillea Tục kiêng One of the customary taboos Mấy đời mới có One day Nấp nom Spying to find out who you are Nhặng sị Pretentious Hỏi giấy Ask for your papers Nhiêu khê Complicate everything Dân tân chủ “New democracy”. Ngã ngửa người Flabbergasted Đánh phủ Captured the district centre Gọi “lựu đạn” là “nựu đạn” Called grenades ‘renades’ Lính lệ Militiaman of the colonial administration Chết người ta These people want us to be massacred Cháo lòng Tripe soup Đánh tiết canh Make blood sausage Chạy cửu phẩm Getting things past the administration Tổ tôm Card games Thứ cặn bã Dregs Đi sâu vào quần chúng Their new jobs among the masses Cười cùng cục Laughed in the bottom of his throat Tiên sư anh Tào Tháo Ah, that Tao Thao Living in two- Lọ dầu cao sao vàng Aromatic balm dimensional time (Vũ Tú Nam) Gió mùa đông bắc bổ sung New cold front Chửa vượt mặt Well advanced in her pregnancy ở riêng Be married Lái xe lưu động A driver Cấp kiện tướng đấy Can’t bear living far from me Rét ơi là rét Very cold Giải ổ Laid a new straw mattress Lợn nái say con The mad sow Không phải lối Who had been spoiled by his mother Trải ổ rơm A straw mattress Đau đáu The sadness of her silent eyes Cãi tay đôi The boy had answered him back Chì chiết Complained about Quần loe Way of dressing Gác xép The loft Chăn chiên A thin blanket Khai hoang Move to a newly reclaimed area Hồng xiêm Sapodilla Xe đạp cởi truồng Old bicycle Cán bộ kiết Third-rate local clerk Làm khoán The contract system Nhát gan bỏ bố đi That’s nonsense Tản cư Move to Năng năng Come more often Muỗm Bachang mango trees Hải đường A magnolia tree Thoát ly Move to Giỗ tết Had no intention of returning home Quả thị Persimmon Nói như khướu Be a chatterbox Bình dân học vụ I taught them the ABCs Trưởng họ The head of the clan Nhà thờ họ The old ancestral house Cầu ao By the pond Cúng cụ Lit some joss sticks Bà Tổ Cô Great Grand Auntie Thiêng Is not to be trifled with

Phải tội You silly girl Dương sao âm vậy The dead need the same things as the living do Miếu thờ Ancestral shrine Lái chèo câu chuyện Start the ball rolling Mái lá dầu A thatched roof Tăng gia Worked hard to increase their income Ông bà thông gia My in-laws Mải I’m in a hell of a hurry Lỏn lẻn Smiled up brilliantly