"A completely different view from the stationary and unchanging universe of astronomers who had come before, Edwin Hubble saw a universe continually expanding with time; slowly becoming colder, darker, and lonelier, the planets growing ever more distant from the very same planets that once attracted each other, until all that remains is frozen nothingness; but the universe will continue this unceasing expansion, and, at its utmost limit, tear itself apart to the very last atom; however, it may also be that the universe does not explode with a bang like an overstretched balloon, but slowly exhausts its strength of attraction, collapsing onto its very self."
Period. Without reading it over, Khanh turned away from the computer, leaned back in his chair, and lit a Marlboro. He exhaled slowly, watching the fragrant blue smoke drift through the window and into the golden maples outside. His wife, Uyen’s view of the universe was just too depressing. A wave of exhaustion set in, draining him of all interest to translate another line, though the day had only just begun.
After nearly half a year living in the U.S., it was only the last few days Khanh was able to smoke like before. Up until then, he had gone out on the veranda, following one of Uyen’s unwritten rules. He had been dreading the approaching winter: renouncing the warmth of the house in his leather jacket and hat, all for a lousy Marlboro. The solution had come while he was helping Uyen move some crates of junk to the attic, a room as high up as the old maple trees in the garden. He had lingered by the window admiring the American autumn scene as he paused for a smoke. At that moment, Uyen came up with the idea for him to translate books as a way to pass the empty days. He chose the attic for his office, a place where no one would be bothered by his cigarettes, or anything else for that matter.
Though he loved literature, Khanh knew the linguistic prowess of a physics teacher would not be enough to reproduce an English novel in his mother tongue. The best thing to do, which might even stir up some interest, was to translate Uyen’s recently published book, an extension of her PhD thesis. But now, Khanh was finding that the work originally meant to help him kill time while his wife was away was not only not serving its purpose, it was starting to make him physically sick.
Outside, the maples shone bright as the sunlight grew stronger. Every so often, a firey red leaf freed itself and floated silently down. Khanh thought back to a book by Paustovsky he had once read as a student, ‘Alone with Autumn.’
If only he could write a book, or at least something to that effect, he would use the same title because it captured the present moment so well. He edited the work in his mind, and decided ‘Alone with a Distant Autumn’ would be better to sidestep the copyright. As he lit a second cigarette, another title came to him: ‘Alone with a Marlboro.’ Unlike the others, this one didn’t imitate, yet still managed to capture his sentiments. Khanh chuckled at his meandering thoughts, then stamped out his cigarette and stood up. He decided to go to a bar, where he’d get some lunch to avoid the trouble of cooking at home.
The thought of the universe’s slowly weakening power of attraction in the face of dark energy, forever pushing the planets apart into cold and lonely space continued to occupy Khanh’s mind as he drove from the town of Maple Grove in search of Pine Hill bar, the place Uyen had once taken him to drink a rather impressive bottle of French wine. The likelihood of universal oblivion in another five billion years would not be having this effect on him if it weren’t for Uyen’s book. He felt as if she had written it especially for him, about these days with her, about the ever widening gap between husband and wife that grew with each passing day, and the slow yet undeniable thinning strength of attraction holding two people together. People may be a minute universe, but they are people all the same. Different from planets, which become desolate when they disperse, people can still love passionately across thousands of miles, or can become desolate under the same roof, sharing the same bed. What’s more, people even can and want to conceal that desolation out of regret for things they’ve done in the past, out of respect for one another, and out of a desire to improve the present situation. But also like the ever expanding universe, the end will inevitably come, tearing itself apart into tiny pieces, which Uyen described as The Big Rip in her book.
Khanh still remembered how the excitement burned deep in his gut the night Uyen drove him home from the airport after more than ten years apart. He felt the warmth of her body beside his, like a hot coal buried in the ashes. They had seized each other and made passionate love on the living room floor, then stroked each other, and cried in each other’s hair when it was over. The bedroom Uyen had carefully prepared two weeks before was not used until dawn the next day. However, their passion did not last for long, and slowly faded with time. They each understood what was happening, though they tried to ignore it, waiting for a magic spell to cure them. Finally, with a nerve tempered by many years in the West, Uyen spoke first. Yesterday, before flying to Australia for a three week conference at the Siding Spring observatory, she suddenly broke the silence. Whether it was intentional or not, she had done it right after they’d had sex, one of the rare times in the last few months. Uyen got out of bed and stood before the full-length mirror. Gazing into it, she asked plainly.
“You slept with her, didn’t you?”
They both understood that ‘her’ referred to Phuong, Uyen’s younger sister.
Khanh stared at Uyen’s reflection in silence, feeling the need for a Marlboro rise up inside him. This time, however, he couldn’t retreat to his private world in the attic. Slouched against the headboard, half-lying, half- sitting, with the patience of a man who knows he’s done wrong, Khanh watched her without moving.
“She’s a lot like I was ten years ago.” Uyen continued to study herself, then added unexpectedly, “I have no idea why our parents decided to have us ten years apart.”
The lack of resentment in her voice encouraged Khanh to venture a few words, “Yeah, ten years, you know. Ten years.”
“Ten years … was it worth it?”
Khanh didn’t know if Uyen was asking him or asking herself, and what she was trying to say: Had it been worth it to move to America, or had it been worth it to vouch for him and wait all this time?
“It’s not her fault,” Khanh finally blurted. “And besides, you asked her to look after me. Some things happened that just couldn’t be helped. But you’ve got to understand that we tried to avoid it, and kept it inside for so many years until all hope was gone. Then, out of nowhere, the immigration office called and …”
“I was also surprised,” Uyen cut him off in a tone difficult to read. She grabbed a pile of towels from the wardrobe and headed to the bathroom.
“What time do you leave?” Khanh asked through the half-open frosted glass door.
“Six o’clock.”
Khanh slipped on a robe and walked over to the desk at the window. He poured himself a glass of scotch and drank it in a single gulp.
“I’ll take you to the airport.”
“Huh? No, traffic is terrible. And besides, you don’t know the roads.”
“I’ll learn on the way.”
Khanh’s effort to improve his own universe was met with the drumming of the shower. The water inside poured down the glass door, revealing the curves of Uyen’s figure. He was reminded of Phuong and her habit of always locking the bathroom door behind her, even after their first night together. Khanh concluded that his fate would be forever caught between these two women, and between two distant longings. When he was with Phuong, he missed Uyen. Now, it was the other way around.
Nevertheless, there was one distinct difference: with Phuong, he could confide his feelings for Uyen in her, and received comfort and support in return. But here, his feelings for Phuong had become a secret inside him—a bittersweet and unspoken desire.
Uyen wrapped herself in a towel as she stepped out of the shower. Khanh poured another glass of scotch and handed it to her before returning to the topic of the airport.
“I’m fine with you seeing me off from here. I’ll carpool with Ted to make things easier,” Uyen said after a sip from her glass.
“Who?”
“Ted, you know, Professor Edwards, the one who edited my book. You met him before.”
“Oh …”
“If it wasn’t for Ted, I wouldn’t even be going on this trip.”
“You don’t say.”
“How much have you translated so far?”
“Almost finished chapter three, The Big Rip,” Khanh replied absently. His mind pinpointed the image of the man with the masculine air of a middle-aged Hemmingway. How could he have missed the look in their eyes when they’d spotted each other through the crowd during the book signing at the university where Uyen researched and taught?
“Whenever you’re done, email me a copy, okay?”
Khanh nodded, then added, concerned, “Being at home and doing everything by myself, progress will most likely be slower than expected.”
Uyen smiled at Khanh with a look she might give a helpless young child, then said half-jokingly he was a man who always needed someone to take care of him.
“Take your time; there’s no rush,” Uyen said, as she walked down the hall toward the stairs.
As he reached the edge of a slope, Khanh hit the brakes. It was clear he was lost, and had been since the intersection leading out of Maple Grove. Immersed in his thoughts about a cold, sad universe, and his predicament with these two women, he had completely forgotten the signs whizzing by, and was also unsure of how long he’d been gone. Below in the distance was a deserted beach he’d never bothered to visit since he moved here six months ago. A light grey fog hovered over the sea and a flock of seagulls circled above, tirelessly searching for food. A few of them swooped down into the waves, bobbing on the endless roaring surf. At that moment, Khanh wanted to believe that they, too, had migrated here.
“What’s the difference whether I’m here or Pine Hill?” Khanh thought, as he stepped out of the car and strolled down to the beach with a lit cigarette.
Never before had he been so grateful for a Marlboro as he was then.
--------------------The End------------------
Debris of Debris is not only the first novel written in English by a Vietnamese author living in Vietnam, but also the first novel written about Vietnamese intellectuals who grew up in the South of Vietnam before 1975 and remained there after the war. Vinh Quyen shares a perspective that has not yet been adequately presented in world literature, yet one which carries a universal theme: To survive the war is one thing, but to live happily in the postwar time is another. If Bao Ninh's novel, The Sorrow of War, represents the loss of innocence and anguish experienced by North Vietnam's frontline soldiers, then Debris of Debris is the voice of the young Southern intellectual class, who struggle to take their first steps on the long and difficult journey to heal the scars of their past, and to build a new future for themselves. Through this work, readers will come to better understand the political and emotional turbulence of Vietnam during the post-war era, and gain insight into the lives of a lost generation, that is, until now.
Read a customer's review about Debris of Debris
With all due respect, it's still a surprise and a humbling experience for a Vietnamese American like me to find out that a Vietnamese writer living in Vietnam is able to write such a piece of literature in English. I checked with my adult American born son and it seems that native English speakers would appreciate the book's English as well as its content. I am familiar with Danang and Hue and this tremendously added to the pleasure of reading this account of my generation, from another perspective. My congratulations to the author.
