Compared to the other girls in Diem village, her beauty was only average. That is, not breathtakingly beautiful. But inherited from her mother rosy cheeks, a slender waist, and plump, white arms like grapefruit blossoms, she attracted the attention of many young men in the village.
At eighteen, she married a man from the same village. On their wedding night, her husband suddenly died after a terrible stomach ache. The fortune teller, wearing dark glasses that concealed his wide, vacant eyes, declared: "I predicted this perfectly. That mole the size of a black bean right next to the bridge of her nose is a very bad omen; she will weep for her husband."
That general was a husband killer; anyone who married her was certain to die a sudden and untimely death. From then on, she bore the infamous name Trích Lệ. After this unfortunate incident, her mother, grieving for her daughter, fell ill and quietly passed away. From then on, Trích Lệ lived a lonely life in her small house at the end of Diễm village.
From the mouths of those lecherous young lads, the whole village of Diem learned that Trich Le's body always emitted a pungent smell of female weasel urine, mixed with the scent of wild grass—a kind of grass no one could name.
It's strange. From then on, wherever she was, the atmosphere around her seemed to be subtly infused with a warm, gentle breeze. Everyone felt a similar sensation, like chewing betel nut or drinking rice wine, a lightheaded, euphoric feeling, and suddenly, their hidden instincts surged with waves of desire, both vague and intense.
She was a stunning beauty, but no village boy dared to propose to her. Approaching thirty, an age considered truly old enough to be an old maid, yet Trích Lệ's beauty remained as radiant as that of a young woman in her late teens or early twenties.
Most of her female peers were already carrying several children in their arms. She, however, showed no signs of change whatsoever; her dimples at the corners of her mouth were plump and juicy like ripe berries, and her round, full buttocks subtly revealed their alluring curves beneath her smooth, black silk trousers that swayed gently back and forth.
Night after night, many young men would wander past her house, intoxicated by the pungent, earthy scent emanating from where she lay, but none dared to open the bamboo gate, which was always slightly ajar.
One spring night, the village of Diem held a traditional opera festival. The village square was packed with spectators. Under a light drizzle, groups of young men and women huddled together, still shivering from the cold, hugging each other's shoulders and standing side-by-side, yet the biting chill running down their spines did not lessen.
That night, Truong Thot from Diem village abandoned his patrol and, in high spirits, waded across the windswept fields to Diem village. That night, except for the brightly lit stage, the entire village square was shrouded in darkness. Truong Thot stood on the outermost edge.
Before him, he could only see the undulating, tightly-knit headscarves of the women from Diem village. It seemed very close to him; a strange, pungent scent, acrid and strong, made Truong Thot dizzy, unconsciously drawing him closer to the warm, rustling mass of flowing skirts in front of him. He felt the trembling, plump buttocks rubbing against his lower abdomen, and in his panic, Truong Thot frantically swung his strong arms to tightly embrace the waist of the woman standing before him.
The man remained silent for a moment, then his burning fingers clasped Zhang Thot's hand tightly. For the first time, the young man, past his prime, experienced the dizzying sensation of being unsteady on his feet without drinking. The darkness conspired to help them escape the crowd.
That night, in Trích Lệ's house, permeated with the scent of wild grass mixed with the pungent smell of female weasel urine, Trương Thọt experienced the taste of a woman for the first time. For the first time, his pent-up emotions were unleashed, like a mad bull tearing through a grave, breathless and ecstatic, again and again, causing the bamboo bed to creak and shake.
Miss Trích Lệ was like a glowing ember in the wind, the fire that had been suppressed for years erupting into a raging forest fire. Without any vows or promises, with just one gesture of embracing Trương Thọt's head, Miss Trích Lệ whispered: "This rascal, Thọt, yet he's like a tiger. He makes me breathless." In an instant, they had become a close couple, albeit a little belatedly.
After that night, following a few simple, humble customs typical of poor families, they officially became husband and wife. Knowing that her daughter-in-law was a virgin with a reputation for killing her husband in Diem village, Truong Thot's mother felt somewhat uneasy and worried. But thinking that her son was disabled, she considered it fortunate that he married her.
Thinking of the saying, "A hundred blessings from the wife's family are not equal to the debt to the husband's family," she sighed, "It's just fate." After waiting a whole year without any sign of her daughter-in-law's pregnancy, she became restless and anxious. She went to the temple to pray for a child from Heaven and Buddha, but to no avail. She then sought out the herbalist Hiem, bringing back bitter herbal remedies and forcing her daughter-in-law to drink them three times a day. Truong Thot's wife wrinkled her nose and gagged, but she comforted her, "Having a child means enduring countless hardships, my dear. Our family is small, we only have Thot; if something happens to him, who will take care of the ancestral rites?"
Hearing his mother's lamentations, Zhang the Cripple also became worried. For the past year, every night he had been drifting between sleep and wakefulness amidst the pungent, strange scent of herbs, and every night his peculiar wife had regularly taken him to the peak of the immortal mountain, yet the immortals had given him not the slightest hope of having a child.
He thought it might be because of his limp. Pushing aside his embarrassment, he secretly went to see the old doctor Hiem. After taking his pulse for a while, the doctor frowned and asked, "Have you ever had mumps before?" Truong the Lame remembered that when he was a child, one side of his cheek had swollen and ached unbearably for several days before it healed. The doctor nodded, suddenly remembering that he had treated this very boy when he had polio.
He recovered from his illness, but the lingering effects left him limping for life. This meant he was likely infertile. Thinking this, the old man said, "You'll be fine. It's common for people to have children late in life." Relieved, Truong the Lame thought to himself, "With my wife's voluptuous breasts and buttocks, I bet even if I tried to cover them up, I wouldn't be able to stop them from popping out."
Truong Thot got married in the same year that Quan Dinh became the village headman. Truong Thot became the team leader of the village security team in Diem. His job was still patrolling and catching thieves around the village. But now, it was added to his duties: whenever he saw Viet Minh members entering the village, he would blow a horn to sound the alarm.
Having encountered several Viet Minh members from the village, Truong Thot pretended not to know them. Thanks to this, he was later pardoned for being a collaborator with the enemy. The village headman, Dinh, now nearly fifty years old, had already married three times, each wife bearing him a son. The children were still infants, yet all three mothers died without any illness. Rumors circulated that Dinh was a wife-killer because of his pointed nose, hooked like a hawk's beak, and his long, ape-like arms. These baseless rumors frightened Dinh, preventing him from seeking another wife.
All three of the old man's sons were tall and lanky, with the characteristic thick, spindly arms of the Dinh family. The French established the Green outpost last month, and the following month Dinh had his eldest son enlist in the Security Guard Regiment. He sent his other two sons to study in Hanoi . Now he lives alone in his spacious tiled house. A small squad of security guards is stationed around him, but Dinh only trusts Truong Thot.
Truong Thot had been bedridden with typhoid fever for several days when someone gifted Quan Dinh a pair of wild ducks. The old man sent someone to have Truong Thot slaughtered and cooked into porridge. Out of respect for his master, Truong Thot sent his wife to cook in his place. That day, as soon as Trich Le's foot stepped across the threshold, Quan Dinh immediately smelled a pungent, strong floral fragrance wafting throughout the rooms that had long been devoid of women.
He was still lucid enough to remember that he hadn't drunk his usual chrysanthemum wine, yet he felt an unbearable nausea. Waiting until Zhang Thot's wife came up from the kitchen, bending over to place the tray of food on the table, her ample buttocks bouncing in her smooth silk dress right in front of him, Quan Dinh couldn't restrain himself any longer. He jumped up and dragged Zhang Thot's wife into the bedroom.
At the end of that month, Truong Thot's wife hugged him affectionately: "Thot, you're going to be a father soon!" Truong Thot was overjoyed, leaning forward and pressing his ear against his wife's fresh, cool, white belly, holding his breath to listen. He only regretted not being in the middle of the field; he would have blown a horn to announce it to the whole village. When Truong Thot saw no sign of anything, he looked at his wife with a puzzled expression. She then patted his head and giggled: "Oh, you silly girl. It hasn't even been a month yet, what's there to hear or expect?"
From the nights he freely embraced the fragrant, pungent body of Miss Trích Lệ, Trương Thọt's skin was permeated with that eerie scent. Sitting with the security guards, he was often scolded: "This fellow smells so strange!" Back home, Trương Thọt took off his shirt and sniffed his hands and armpits, realizing the pungent smell was indeed strong. He jumped into the pond to bathe, scrubbing thoroughly, but still couldn't get rid of the smell of female weasel urine clinging to his body. One day, sitting next to Officer Đĩnh, Trương Thọt suddenly realized his wife's scent emanated from him. Suspecting the pregnancy, he stormed home, furious, and tried to strangle his wife. Halfway through, he loosened his grip, stunned to remember the veiled words of the herbalist Hiềm. He numbly went to a tavern and drank a half-liter bottle alone. At the end of that year, Trương Thọt's wife gave birth to a son with two arms as long as ape's. To intimidate his wife, Truong Thot named the boy Quan. When Quan was three, our troops razed the Xanh outpost. The ceasefire agreement dividing the country was signed. Quan Dinh and his son packed up and fled to the South. That was the time when Khan Phet – the son of Khan Son, also known as Mr. Khi Phach – became the Chairman of the Farmers' Association in Diem village. He sent a message: "Those who tormented my father and me before, I will make them pay." Remembering how he had broken Khan Phet's father's wrist, Truong Thot was worried sick. Certain he would be imprisoned, he sobbed and told his wife to raise their child alone until he returned. After several nights of thinking, Truong Thot's wife whispered to her husband: "Let me handle this." That very night, Miss Trich Le, with her enchanting scent, entered the dilapidated house of the Farmers' Association Chairman. It's unknown how she resolved the matter, but everything went smoothly. All that was heard was that the villagers praised Mr. Khi Phach for his wisdom. Knowing the difference between friend and foe, the crime of attacking Khan Son that day was entirely orchestrated by Ly Con. Truong Thot was forced to do it. With a friendly pat on the shoulder, Khi Phach, squinting his squinting eyes, said, "What's so great about the old story?", and Truong Thot finally felt at ease. Nine months later, Truong Thot had another son. This boy had a squint, but the whites of his eyes didn't show red streaks, and his mouth didn't protrude like a fish's snout. Truong Thot named him Khan. Occasionally, in a cheerful mood, he would hold his son and whisper in his wife's ear, "This little boy is so small, yet he's already managed to save his father from prison. Clever, clever." Hearing this, his wife frowned and pointed to his forehead, "If I had known this, I would have let you go eat rice instead."
Khán learned to crawl, and Trích Lệ became pregnant again. This time, her maternal aunt kept urging her niece to return to Diễm village for her uncle's memorial service. That day, her aunt was so happy that she forced her niece to drink a few glasses of the hundred-day-old wine she had saved since Tet, making Trương Thọt's wife feel as restless and excited as she did when she was Trích Lệ in the old days. As dusk fell, her aunt urged her several times before she finally left. Stepping onto the embankment of the Nguồn River, she tilted her face to feel the cool breeze and saw the full moon already high in the sky. She thought it was getting late, but never mind. In the midst of this moonlit, breezy place, with the sounds of insects mating and calling to each other, who could resist? The Trích Lệ of yesteryear would stumble along, letting the wind freely penetrate her bodice and blow out the intoxicating, enchanting scent of wild grasses into the deserted space. At that moment, beneath the dike, a fisherman was laboriously pounding his drum to herd crabs and fish when he suddenly felt dizzy. Looking up, he was blinded by the sight of a fairy maiden in a flimsy bodice. Thus, a violent act of conquest met with feigned weak resistance. Beneath Trích Lệ's back, the surface of the Nguồn River dike that night seemed to tremble violently as if an earthquake were occurring, as if it were about to collapse into a swamp or lake. At the end of that year, Khán had a chubby, fair-skinned baby brother, who resembled his mother more and more as he grew older. This time, Trương Thọt secretly pointed his keen, dog-like noses at many suspects, yet absolutely could not find a culprit. He wondered if his masculinity had returned. Thinking this, he let his wife name the child. Trích Lệ, still intoxicated by that night of moonlit pleasure, pondered for a moment, then whispered: "Hoan, his name is Hoan, my little fairy child, Hoan is fitting."
The three children of Truong Thot grew up incredibly fast. They ate like gluttons. Even with just two meals a day, usually just a huge basket of water spinach and a meager pot of rice, they were already struggling to make ends meet. Seventeen-year-old Quan, thin as a stick, with hands as gnarled as a monkey's, would quickly gobble down his three standard bowls of rice before standing up, patting his stomach and complaining, "I've never had a full meal." His mother comforted him, "Just bear with it. When you're a little older, you can get a job as a factory worker and you can eat whatever you want." Khan, a few years younger than his brother, had a squint, but he was kind and quick-witted. Before finishing junior high school, he insisted on quitting and joined the pig-raising team of the Diem village cooperative. He was naturally gifted at butchering pigs. The knife in his hand moved like a dance. A huge pig, squealing in its sty, was transformed into a delicious dish on the feast table in no time. The cooperative's pig pens had hundreds of pigs, and there were always a few dozen slow-growing, head-damaged ones ready to be culled. When the management board met, or whatever meeting it was, late at night, and everyone was hungry, they'd call the manager and there would be a feast ready, more discreet than a ghost eating a feast. This manager, though tiny, was shrewd and knew how to keep his mouth shut. He was trusted, and he participated in every week's vegetarian feast. At least a few times a month, in the middle of the night, the whole Truong Thot family would slurp up bowls of offal porridge or munch on hot boiled meat he brought home. At ten years old, Hoan had already developed a knack for catching fish with both hands. On land, he was a shy child, but in the pond or river, he transformed into a shimmering white otter. He could easily hook a fish weighing several kilograms and carry it ashore. One morning, his mother, carrying a basket, went to a distant market and met the chairman walking along inspecting the fields. Seeing the bright red carp's tail sticking out from the rim of the basket, and about to ask where the fish came from, the headman was suddenly paralyzed by the pungent smell of wild grass, and lowered his voice: "Go sell it at a market a little further away, otherwise the villagers will see it and cause a big fuss." "Thank you, headman. Oh, by the way..." "Headman? I didn't expect Truong Thot to have such a beautiful wife. Could you send your son over sometime when the weather is nice?"
Every year on the twenty-fifth day of the third lunar month, the entire village of Diem holds a memorial service. This is the day the French invaders attacked the village, killing over fifty people. As was customary, on that day the cooperative allowed fishing in the communal pond to be shared among all the households for the memorial feast. Early in the morning, a large crowd gathered around the pond. Unexpectedly, a swarm of American planes swooped down and dropped clusters of cluster bombs. This attack meant nearly a hundred more families in Diem village were shrouded in white mourning cloths. Quan was among those who died a painful death that day. Holding his son's blood-soaked body, Mr. Truong Thot sat silently, weeping uncontrollably. His mother's dying words echoed in his ears: "That's your fate, son. Whoever's fish enter our pond, we get them. Heaven has given our family incense and offerings for the future; have pity on them. What crime did they commit?" Suddenly, he cried out: "Now you've gone to join your mother! And I haven't given you the full love of a father!" From now on, I can't keep patting my stomach and complaining about never having a full meal. It's so painful!
Still in the middle of tenth grade, Hoan used his own blood to write a volunteer application to join the army and fight to avenge his brother. After April 30, 1975, Truong Thot's family received a death notice stating their son had died at the northern gateway to Saigon. At the memorial service for martyr Hoan, an old man appeared, his hair and beard as white as fish skin. He calmly asked permission from the bereaved family to light three incense sticks, then bowed three times to the deceased's spirit. From the corners of his aged eyes, two streams of thick tears rolled down his beard, down his neck, onto his pristine white clothes, onto the burning ground beneath his cold feet, soaking Truong Thot's wife's feet, and up his spine to the back of her neck. The old woman, Trich Le, shivered all over, recognizing her brother from years ago, and suddenly the eerie, haunting aura that had clung to her life vanished completely.
The first person to notice that Trích Lệ no longer possessed any trace of her eerie, ghostly aura was Trương Thọt. He sadly embraced his wife, comforting her: "Our life has been adrift enough. From now on, let's just focus on raising Khán. If someone else's fish enters our pond, we'll take it, my dear." At that moment, Trương Thọt's heart was filled only with the warmth of compassion for her husband, who had grown old without her realizing it. His breathing was labored, his gait unsteady, and each step seemed to tip over on his limping leg.
Now, only Khan remains of Truong Thot's children. The cooperative has disbanded the livestock team. Khan has switched to slaughtering a pig each day for his wife to sell in the village market. The income is enough to support his two healthy sons and his elderly parents, who are becoming senile. One would think he'd be content living such a simple life. But yesterday he expressed his intention: "I'm thinking of working in information and propaganda. The cultural officer said my voice is so melodious, like singing, and I'd be perfect for reading news." Mrs. Truong Thot shuddered as if she'd bitten into a sour plum, blurting out: "Damn your family! Even if you don't itch, you'll still be bothered by this family lineage."
Yesterday afternoon, the two children of Khan Phet came home from school, excitedly showing off several green dollar bills to their grandfather:
"The overseas Vietnamese woman who visited you the other day hugged us both and gave us these papers. She said, 'Take these home and give them to your parents.' She was very beautiful, and smelled of something very strange, Grandpa." Truong Thot patted his grandson's head and mumbled, "If someone else's fish comes into our pond, we get it."
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