Early in the morning, she swept up the wet, black fur. The bristles of her broom became soaked in blood, painting the tiles with slowly diluting washes of red. She had to stop herself from throwing up in moments of nausea. Đào decided she would conceal this from her tenants. That’s what I’ll do, she thought.
The old woman heard the scraping of the broom, and stepped out of her studio quietly. She saw that Đào was already up and cleaning. Đào tried to hide what she was doing, but the old woman soon saw the bloody scene.
“He brought over his friends. I won’t let him bring them over again,” Đào said.
Bác did not speak for a long time. So long that Đào had almost forgotten she was there and resumed sweeping the wet floor.
Finally, the old woman said, “When you were on the boat, did you…think things?”
“Yes, there was nothing to do but think. Some of the younger women went mad looking on that vast, fizzing sea. Why are you bringing this up now?”
Bác tried not to sound too bitter. “None of us knew whether we were going to meet with god or the devil out there. And as we waited, we made promises to ourselves, our deities and Ancestors that if we got out we would live our lives better. I did it too, until I lost my son.”
“Bác ơi, it was very tragic about your son. But dwelling only on the past will make us sick. I can’t afford to get ill…things are different now. Try to think more about the present Bác, and the future. The past is gone.”
The old woman remained in a dark mood. “We think we left this behind when we escaped.”
“Left what behind Bác?” she said quietly. “Women cleaning up after men?” Đào continued sweeping.
“Left behind ma cô hồn, in the old world.”
Đào stopped. Wandering, hungry ghosts. Unable to be reborn as a human or animal, unable to enter heaven or hell because of their gruesome, untimely deaths.
“We think we have a new beginning because we escaped the terror, and came to a new land. But we haven’t left them behind, they came with us! Can’t you see it?” Bác’s gaunt face and grey eyes were unwavering in the morning light.
Đào begged the old woman not to tell Sinh, who was still asleep at this early hour. “Bác ơi, Bác đừng có nói về việc này cho Sinh nghe nhé ?” Đào said, trying to keep her voice low.
Bác pressed her thin lips together, bitterly.
“I beg you, con lạy Bác, please don’t let Sinh know.” Đào whispered with hysterical fear.
Đào made sure she watched Sinh go off to work later that morning. Đào sat there in the kitchen, waiting for Anguli to awaken. She tried to read the newspaper. The feature was about a beloved songstress who had, to the delight of her fans, managed to escape and resettle in America. The muse of Vietnam was free. Đào was agitated, and could not take in much else of the news.
At midday, Anguli Ma staggered gently from his garage across the yard, passing the old woman, who looked at him with cold eyes before going back into her studio room. Đào confronted him in the kitchen.
“Whose animal did you steal and kill?” Đào screamed.
“We did not steal it. It was on the road, injured.” Anguli answered in a neutral tone. He was staring at the almost bare laminate table.
“You brought it here?”
“Calm down. What have we done wrong?” He suddenly turned to her, and drank in her rage.
“What, are you stupid?” Đào stumbled and recovered, “This is not our country.”
Then he laughed at her, “You take everything so seriously, don’t you? You’re so funny. You live by yourself, you’ve forgotten how real men are?”
Đào refused to be unsettled by his dismissiveness. “Everything we do is suspicious to them. They turn their noses up at our fish sauce, our green oil, our large gatherings, our tightly knit way of living.”
“How’re you going to settle in here, if you get scared of everything that happens? You’re always smiling and obedient,” he said, watching her humiliation rise. “How are you going to make anything happen over here?”
“My neighbour can call the police about this,” Đào offered her threat indirectly.
Anguli’s smile froze. “So we got drunk – but it was already on death’s door and nothing could have saved it – I know about these things.”
Đào looked at him.
“You can believe me in this…Yes, it was inconsiderate of me to leave the mess, I shall clean it up,” he reassured her. Đào found herself beginning to soften under his apology. The doorbell rang, then rang again.
“Trời ơi!” Đào cursed.
Her son Trung called out from the front of the house.
“I will clean everything up. Yes,” Anguli Ma said.
“It’s already been done!” Đào snarled at Anguli. “I cleaned it up so the others didn’t have to look at it, you shit. I’m waiting for the day you leave!”
Trung was unlocking the front door with his keys, so she had to put her anger away, and make sure that all was clean and presentable for her hụi meeting. The hụi meeting!
Đào walked away from Anguli, to attend to her hụi scheme and all the people who were part of it. Anguli Ma’s black eyes remained on her, eyeballs rolling. Đào watched his body grow tense, blowing up bigger with red anger. He was going to erupt if she walked away from him now.
Đào got to the front of the house and ushered Trung and little Tuyết into the living room and closed the frosted sliding doors.
“Is anything wrong, Má?” Trung asked.
“No, no, nothing. I’ve just been doing a lot of cleaning this morning,” Đào managed to both summarise and omit the truth of her blood-stained morning.
“So I’ll pick her up after work.” Then, to his daughter, “Okay, see you Tuyết. See you tomorrow night.”
As he was walking back to the front door, Trung asked Đào, “Má, look how crowded it is in here. Why do you keep everything?”
“I need them.”
“We don’t need to hoard this stuff over here. How do you manage to find anything?”
“My memory is still good, don’t you worry.”