Wednesday Dinner - Short story by Pham Thi Hai Duong

When I arrived, Kim was walking back and forth between the kitchen and the terrace, as diligent as a worker bee hovering between flower clusters. The kitchen was actually a makeshift square placed right at the turn of the stairs, with a few incomplete spice boxes, probably dragged or shared from the fixed jars from the main kitchen downstairs. The bowls and chopsticks were laid out on a folding table placed on the protruding part of the terrace, like a balcony, but the railing was painted a different color than the rest. It was either on purpose or the homeowner wanted the terrace to be less boring.

ILLUSTRATION: TUAN ANH

There must have been something missing on the table, that's why Kim kept moving around. She moved so much that apart from the large mandala pattern embroidered on the belly of her apron, nothing was clear in front of her eyes. That dark circle kept flashing back and forth, making it already confusing and even more mysterious. The afternoon was getting redder and redder, Kim blurred as if I was looking at her through water. Every now and then, Kim would speak up, asking me to help her hold the plate of food or pick some kumquats from the lush pot right on the railing.

Kim seems to be particularly fond of housework or her previous performance has led others to think so. There is a reason why I or someone else would think that Kim loves cooking at first glance. A long time ago, we met through a cooking class. It was not a long-term professional training program, the course only lasted seven sessions, enough for a party menu including appetizers, soup, two to three main courses and dessert. The students were divided into three groups. Group one consisted of kindergarten teachers and small food business owners studying for a certificate, group two studied to know how to cook in a restaurant, and group three had people like me and Kim who happened to take the course. It was a gift from someone or a program that came with using another service. We didn't participate because we were interested, and there was no pressure to get results. We went to class simply because we had time.

At first glance, Kim doesn't stand out too much in terms of appearance or personality. She has an unremarkable office job, but according to Kim, that's enough to keep her from wanting to change jobs for nearly ten years. Kim says that, but after interacting with her a lot, I believe that wherever she works, she will stay for a long time. Just like how Kim rents a place but treats it like her own home, even though she explains that the owner has been living there for a long time, so she hasn't encountered any unpleasant situations like petty complaints, house demands, or mid-term rent increases. From the way she asked me what kind of shower head to replace, and how she filled a barely visible crack in the base of the wall, I know Kim really knows how to take care of her life.

Back at work, I suspect that Kim is not good at being a pushover or considering patience as the only solution to survival. She seems to know the rules, skillfully following the flow without violating many boundaries. She seems to blend in but is more detached from the observation position. Kim keeps herself from meddling in useless secrets and does not appear to be eccentric or unruly.

Standing on that thin line is difficult, I'm afraid. Just a little bit of movement will cause unnecessary trouble. Perhaps Kim has been careless many times before calming down, like the way she naturally folded two towels, wiped the water accidentally spilled on the table after passing the bowl of soup to me, while she was still telling a story. I didn't have time to listen, because I was busy following her fingers moving back and forth rhythmically, gently... She ate a little, then put her chopsticks down again, told a story again, then stood up to add more water or fire. Night kept falling. Lights were shining all around us. From above this yard. From the streets below. Kim went downstairs again, brought up here, something like sauce or pepper, chili and changed her hand towel. I was like a dice - standing still, being rolled out, then being shaken by the movements. When I looked up, I still couldn't see her any clearer than I had this afternoon, even though Kim had taken off her deep mandala apron and her hair was more or less pulled back with a graceful clip at the nape of her neck.

- Why is it always Wednesday, Kim? - I took a sip of Jim Beam—the regular whiskey I could buy at any supermarket I'd brought this afternoon. It tasted like soda and water.

As I slammed my glass down on the table, she looked away. Was it because I was so brave and full of myself? I had only asked her a very common question, but Kim's reaction was as if someone was trying to pry open the deepest secret she was harboring. Kim stretched a barrier between us. I sat on this side and listened to her, like an audience watching an artist on stage. All that was enjoyed was the cloak of incarnation and performance. Kim would not let me pass. That indulgent servility would immediately turn into hostility. What I would have to accept was the humiliation of someone who was at the top and suddenly suffered a loss of fortune.

The audience sat there quietly, not allowed to broaden their understanding by sneaking behind the scenes to see what their admirer really looked like after the pale makeup had been removed. To understand, the only way was to collect things that were half hidden, half wanted to be exposed. Several stacks of certificates of merit for outstanding achievements in the volunteer movement were placed among a bunch of souvenirs of various origins, the unit signing the certificate was some faraway border district. All those medals and certificates from before showed that the person being honored was once an outstanding child - at least in the scope and perspective of the village.

When I was shaking the fragments of the past, a hundred times like a hundred times I heard my heart urging, Kim, please help me like any other host, approaching the table where the guests stood, sparkling or regretful, pretending to flip through it, saying that this year I got to stay at a civilian's house, my parents who supported the army were still healthy, still keeping in touch until now. In this part, my friend and I were logistics for the whole tournament, taking athletes to the provinces, so much that the airport security remembered my face. This sheet of paper is a certificate of exceeding the quota at the old company, the bonus money to treat the whole team to hot pot was left over. The magnet with the image of Taj Mahal you're holding was a gift from your ex-lover. The fridge was full of stickers so I threw into the vase the statue of a girl holding flowers that I went to the store to paint in my free time...

I gathered those fragments and imagined how Kim's life had turned out. Was she abused at home, bullied in class. Or was she a violent person? Perhaps Kim had dreamed and then had her dreams shattered, like most people on their journey to adulthood. The path and destination, over the years, became further and further away from the original scenario. Accepting her own high talent and low status, finding a place to stop, living a mediocre life on the edge of the slope. Or was she a noble character with an old soul - like the spiritual discoveries that are hot on the internet, coming to this world again to wander and breathe and then leave, not wanting to leave behind any children or home.

After several visits to Kim's house, my questions kept coming out like that but Kim did not mention it at all. She was not afraid that the above images would distort her, become an anomaly in the entertaining stories. She was busy with cooking, occasionally saying a few words to ease the silence. Even when she was drunk like this, Kim only talked about the mandala on her apron meaning fullness and fulfillment. That the humidity had been too low recently, which was probably why none of the tulips she had planted had sprouted in the whole year, otherwise the place that provided the seeds with so many purchases would sell poor quality goods. She laughed and teased that for the same amount of money, her rented house was more spacious than the one I rented. If she wanted, she could put the whole sofa set in the living room and still have room to push two motorbikes in.

So, my only role was to keep the seat across from Kim from being empty on Wednesday dinners. But why Wednesdays and not Mondays or Sundays? At first it was just a small question I blurted out when Kim asked me out for dinner several times in the middle of the week. Then Kim didn’t explain, like all the other questions about her that I had never heard her express. And so everything grew into a question that seemed useless at first glance but was a door into the vast space of a person’s soul.

I had held this question for so long that it had become a legend of its own. And legends are never exactly true to the nearest known truth. So I would never get an answer from Kim? The more I tried to shake the bolt, the more she tightened it. As long as she did not answer, the rejection remained. There was no way forward. I felt myself stretching out like a miserable man forced to abandon his possessions to avoid a storm at night. I had a storm in my heart that urged me to let go of the rod silently in a long hopeless state.

Because I had drunk a lot and it was time to go home, I got up to say a few words to Kim, but before I could, she signaled to call me. At this moment, Kim was standing in front of the protruding part of the terrace, like the balcony I had described earlier. Looking down from this position, it was as if we were standing on the shoulders of passersby. The sunken houses lower than this one were still bright. Further away was the park, the kind of small green space that every district has, planted with a few spindly trees that had not yet had time to grow leaves. There were a few public gym equipment with peeling paint, but not much. Swings and slides for children, with fine sand underneath. There weren't many adults, children, or pets out there playing at this time.

- If it's the weekend, everything's out of the ordinary. Crowds. Kids are out in the park because they're not in class. The lights stay on later. You come here with more carefully chosen things than that bottle of Jim Beam. And what you'll say, I can guess...

- Let's eat together - Kim turned to look at me like she was looking at a jellyfish - on a normal weekday. Dates like this make our lives less boring and repetitive. But I don't want it to be special...

***

Life shows us a myriad of ways to end. If I were a talented author, I would rewrite the story of that night. Something like when I heard Kim whispering that if she were alone, except for the dream of buying a house that was out of reach, with her seniority salary, plus not spending money on impulse, she could just live comfortably. But she couldn't say no when her brother called every month. Sometimes because of the unseasonal flood. Sometimes it was a hidden grocery store because customers owed her a lot of money and hadn't collected it yet. The eldest son was due for his rent. The youngest daughter was sick all day. She always seemed hesitant, "Do you have any extra money this time? I'll borrow a little bit." In the middle of the story, she would mention it again, even though she had mentioned it many times, "Mom said to let me continue studying, but I love her..." And so the person on the other end of the line felt like there was a rock pressing on his chest.

That when she said she could bear it if the monthly electricity bill was three or four, but a dozen or so like that would be very tiring for her. At that time, I would smile mischievously, actually wanting to test her so I pretended to be poor. Her nieces called her aunt. Her tulip. The sofa she wanted. Even in the long life that followed, she could confidently add a few names to the family register. Not as discouraged as she was then. Standing in the vast sky, afraid of having an extra person. But I couldn't change my fate with just a bottle of wine, I had to balance it if I wanted to be with her every week.

Oh, the burdens of life, no matter how calm or refined one appears, are still constantly hostile and harassing. The only thing we can do well is to grit our teeth and turn the special into the ordinary.

Source: https://thanhnien.vn/bua-toi-thu-tu-truyen-ngan-cua-pham-thi-hai-duong-185250517190553393.htm