ALONE IN A STRANGE COUNTRY
©
NOTED OF THE AUTHOR:
This is a true story, only names and places were changed.To the soul of a Vietnamese old woman I met on a train.
Thảo was woken up by the noise of the loudspeakers announcing that the train almost arrived at Chaumont station. The train would stop five minutes so that passengers could check their luggages carefully before getting off. Thảo sat straight, looking at her watch. It was 14:50. Thảo had slept for over one hour, enough to make up for lacking sleep because she kept talking to Hạnh the night before.
Thảo looked out the window alertly. Snow was still falling, the white was covering the fields and the houses’ roofs in the distance. The man next to her stood up, pulled a suitcase out of the shelf and put it down near his feet.
“This winter is colder than the winter last year,” he said, putting on his coat.
Thảo turned to him. She gave him a smile in stead of an answer.
Then Chaumont station appeared in front of her eyes. The train stopped slowly, making a screech sound and came to a halt. Passengers waiting out there were crowded, but passengers getting off the train were just a few.
Thảo looked at the crowd. They were hustling to stand near the carriage’s door so that they could get in first and have a good seat.
Suddenly Thảo recognized an Asian face. An old woman, about seventy, stood at the end of the line. She was so small that she was almost hidden by the big and fat European people. She wore a grey woollen hat with a pointed top, it covered her forehead beyond the glasses. She wore a very long black coat, her right hand pulled a suitcase, her back carried a full bag. She opened her eyes, looking at people, looking along the windows, then caught Thảo’s eyes. She smiled, shaking her head, giving a meaning “I can’t beat up these European ladies and gentlemen…”. Thảo smiled back at her, understanding.
The man next to Thảo slightly nodded his head to say goodbye to her.
“Bye,” Thảo answered him politely.
Then an idea occurred in her mind, Thảo placed her coat on an empty seat, stood up straight so that the old woman could see her. Meanwhile, the old woman stepped forward near the exit of the carriage. Thảo raised her hand giving a signal to her. The old woman looked around then put her hand on her chest. Thảo nodded, putting her hand on her chest, too. The old woman followed other passengers, got in the carriage calmly, diddn’t pay attention to Thảo.
"Excuse me, may I sit on this empty chair?”, a young man asked Thảo.
“Sorry, it’s occupied…”, Thảo answered quickly.
Thảo moved herself, sat down on the empty chair. The loudspeakers made noise again, announcing the 16:40 train would depart to Troyes station, stop there for five minutes, then would go on to de l’Est-Paris station.
Now the passengers were hustling at the aisle. Thảo stood straight again, looking toward the exit. The old woman appeared, about ten rows of chairs from her.
Thảo asked the couple behind her to keep her two empty chairs so that she could meet the old woman. They said Ok.
Thảo left her chair, saying “sorry” continuously when she came slowly to the old woman. When Thảo was only three people from her, she smiled to imply that she was very happy to see Thảo.
Thảo didn’t know what nationality the old woman was, just pointed at the suitcase and used Vietnamese language. “Give me your suitcase,” Thảo said.
The woman pushed her suitcase to Thảo, using Vietnamese language, too. “Thank you,” she answered.
Then both of them moved inch by inch to the row of Thảo’s chair. Thảo said “thank you” to the couple, let the old woman sit down on the chai near the window and tried to put the woman’s suitcase on the shelf.
“Oh Madame, it’s very heavy,” she shook her head.
The man in front of Thảo helped her to put the woman’s suitcase on the shelf. She took off her woollen hat, combed her white hair with her fingers then put it into a bun. She wore her woollen hat back, looking at Thảo.
“It’s my fault, Madame. Coming to the train station, I didn’t pay attention to the bulletin board, just had my ticket punched, pulled my suitcase down the stairs, then pulled it up the stairs… In the waiting room, I tried to catch my breath, looking around, feeling strange because there were a few passengers there… The loudspeakers said that my train was canceled. I had to wait the Mulhouse train. I still had over one hour so I tried to return to the main station, but looking at the suitcase, I stopped…,” she explained.
“Which station will you arrive at?”, Thảo asked.
“I go to Paris,” she hasitated. “I have the doctor re-examine your health.”
“All the way to Paris to have the doctor re-examine your health?”, Thảo was surprised.
“Yes, the hospital where I live cannot treat my sickness.”
“What’s your sickness?”
“When I go to stool, sometimes I see blood and I think maybe I eat chillies a lot. Then the day I went to the hospital for general examination, they found out there was a lot of blood in my shit, they sent me there for ultrasound.”
The old woman stopped for a while, looking at her veined hand, letting out a sigh then looked at Thảo with her wet eyes.
“I had cancer of bowel, but the doctors couldn’t operate on me because of my high pressure. I thought, I’m very old, what do I have an operation for?”
Thảo felt sad, thinking of Hạnh, her sister in Mulhouse, had been cut one of her breasts due to cancer…
“I live to wait for dying!”, the old woman lowed her voice.
Hearing that, Thảo felt her heart very hurt. She wanted to comfort her.
“The circle of life is being born, being old, being sick…,” Thảo stopped, avoiding the word “being dead” though every living creature had to reach that door.
“Why do you go to Paris alone in this bad weather?”, Thảo aked.
“I live alone so I go alone,” she answered with a sad smile.
“You live alone in France?”, Thảo was surprised.
“Yes. I have a daughter but… My life is very miserable. It is said people who are born in the year of “CANH” will be lonely. I was born in the year of “CANH NGỌ”, so I’m as miserable as a horse. I think horoscope is right, Madame!”
The old woman opened a small bottle of water, took a sip then continued her long story.
“Before 1975, I was a nurse at Grall hospital. After they stopped, they gave me a Certificate of working for French government. After that my husband had to live in a Re-education Camp but only for three days. Vietnamese government invited him to work for them as a professor because he was a civil engeneer.”
She stopped for a while then continue again.
“The government in my neighbor-hood announced that people who had worked for French must be present themselves. My old colleagues applied the forms at the Consulate. For many reasons, my husband didn’t want to go: He was the only son and his parents were very old; he didn’t want to live in a strange country; he said five years in Lyon was enough for him; nowhere was better than our country… That year, my only daughter was ten, was learning French education program. They closed the school, she changed into Vietnamese education program and fell behind for one year.”
She took another sip then looked at Thao.
“Were you in France in 1984?”, she asked.
“We came here in 1979,” Thảo smiled slightly.
“After finishing highschool, my daughter Hiền couldn’t attend any universities. Looking at her just stepping in and out with no job to work, I applied the forms at the Consulate again. My husband determined to stay therefore I and my daughter went to France without him.”
The old woman sighed, took another sip then continued.
“When we waited for the tickets, I prepare our luggages. At that time, my daughter looked very sad. I asked her and she cried. Her boyfriend Phúc had fleed across the border for two weeks and she didn’t have any information from him. I tried to comfort her many times, then two days before we went, we heard that Phúc was in a refugee camp in Thailand.”
“We were in France in 1986. We had to stay in a temporary camp for two weeks to finish all the procedures. I kept in touch with my old colleagues in Grall hospital. I decided to live with Cúc in Dijon. Cúc was ten years younger than I and she worked in a private hospital as an aide, means a nurse’s helper, is that right, Madame?
“Uh… Yes, maybe!”, Thảo was unsure.
“There were a few Vietnamese people in Dijon, luckily, the Red Cross Organization needed a person who knew French, who could teach French to other Vietnamese, therefore I got a job.”
“Why didn’t you continue you job?”, Thảo interrupted her.
“Oh, it wasn’t easy. They made me take the examination again though I had a Certificate of working for Grall hospital for over five years,” she looked at Thảo. “I know a good surgeon. But he couldn’t be a normal doctor let alone a surgeon. He applied for a nurse then he would take the examination later. I think, having a job here is very lucky.”
“What about your daughter?”, Thảo asked.
“She learned French for one year then she learned grade twelve at highschool. The day she passed her Baccalaureate, I cried a lot. After that she learned society for two years and the Welfare Office in Chaumont offered her a job officially. I and my daughter have moved to Chaumont from that day.”
“So where is she now?”, Thảo asked impatiently.
“In Australia,” she smiled.
“In Australia?”, Thảo repeated surprisingly.
“Yes. Phúc was sponsored by his brother who had lived in Australia for a long time. He was good at English therefore he attended a course of computer, and he became a computer expert. He wanted to marry Hiền, that made me think a lot. Phúc didn’t know French, how could I ask Phúc to come here? And what for? Finally, I agreed to let Hiền marry Phúc and follow Phúc to Australia.”
“You’re very brave…,” Thảo stared at her.
“I feel happy when my daughter’s happy,” she said loftily.
Looking at a small old woman with her large love, Thảo remembered her mother who had raised four children alone when her father left with another woman.
“Mother’s love is as immense as Pacific Ocean,” the old song suddenly occurred in her mind.
“Madame, have you ever come back to Vietnam?”, the old woman asked after a while.
“Yes, three times. How about you?”
“No!”, she answered, pressing the bottle very hard.
“Not once?”, Thảo startled.
“I applied a form to change my nationality but I was refused due to my husband,” she answered slowly. “Either I must devorce him or I must sponsor him to France…”
“That’s strange! I’ve never heard this,” Thảo frowned.
“But it was my situation!”, she continued. “After that I quitted because my husband still worked for the government. He retired three years ago. Now I’m seventy, and I don’t want to change my nationality any more because he insists on staying in Vietnam.”
“So… both of you haven’t met each other for fifteen years?”, Thảo asked.
“Oh, yes, yes…,” she changed her tone. “Phúc’s brother sponsored my husband and I going to Australia to attend the wedding. Last July, I met him again in my grand-daughter’s the first birthday party.”
“You and your husband met each other twice in Australia?”
“We don’t have another choice,” she smiled. “It’s my destiny. Maybe I did something wrong in the past life, and I must pay in this life.”
The old woman took out a tissue, wiped her tears then squeezed it in her hand.
Tears also ran down on Thảo’s face. She turned over, looking at somewhere. The sky outside was very dark.
The loudspeakers made noise again with a woman’s voice: “Here comes de l’Est station… Please check your luggages before getting off the train…”
Passengers started standing up, putting on their coats, wearing their gloves. The two women still sat there.
“What Paris will you go to?”, Thảo aked later.
“I will take a taxi to Paris 20, stay in my Vietnamese old neighbor’s house. Tomorrow I will go to the hospital.”
The train stopped. Thảo and the old woman followed another passengers getting off the train. Thảo suggested to pull the suitcase for her.
The main gate of the station had been being fixed so passengers had to go out with other gates. Thảo pulled the suitcase to big a stone pillar, told her to wait, then Thảo went to a taxi station nearby. The taxi driver put the old woman’s suitcase into the trunk.
“Thank you very much. Take care,” she squeezed Thảo’s hand.
The old woman got in the taxi, sat on the back seat. Thảo said good luck to her, then the taxi rolled the wheels. She raised her hand, waving at Thảo goodbye.
Thảo returned to the station, went down the subway station. She smiled at herself with something occurred in her mind: “Having been talking with each other for two hours but none of us know our names.”
One afternoon, the telephone rang, Thảo heard unclearly her husband Nghiêm’s voice: “Wait a minute, I will call her for you.”
“Hạnh calls you,” Nghiêm went into the kitchen later and said.
Thảo went to the living room, picked up the telephone.
“Thảo speaking. How are you, Hạnh?”, she asked.
“So so. Do you remember my friend Vân?”
“I met Vân in Tang Fères market last week,” Thảo interrupted Hạnh. “She said her mother-in-law had been in hospital for two weeks. She had fallen and broken a vain in her brain!”
“Yes. She died this morning. She will be cremated next Monday then her urn will be put in Khánh Anh pagoda in Evry,” Hạnh stopped then continued. “When I was in hospital, she came to visit me with Vân and her husband. She was so nice and gentle, right?”
“Uhm…”, Thảo answered.
“She had something look like our mother…”, Hạnh continued.
“When will you go? Today is Saturday,” Thảo asked.
“Oh, I must go to my doctor to have my breast re-examined,” Hạnh moaned in the telephone. “You will go to help me.”
“Don’t worry, I can go without you,” Thảo said.
“Thank you. Call me when you come back home, ok?”
Thảo followed Vân’s family bringing the urn into Khánh Anh pagoda. After the ceremony, Thảo went around to see pictures of the urns on the shelves. Suddenly, her eyes stopped a the portrait of an old woman. Thảo adjusted her glasses then asked herself: “Was she the old woman I met on the train from Chaumont station?”
Coming nearer, Thảo read the sentences: “Madame Trần Thị Vui, died on 28 January 2007, lived to be 74 years.” Thảo was stunned by the fact the old woman had died for twenty five days.
Thảo looked for the high-ranking monk of the pagoda, asked him about madame Trần Thị Vui. He said that there was a woman (madame Cúc) bringing an urn to the pagoda. The dead had really lived in Dijon. The day she went to Chaumont hospital, her daughter Hiền was pregnant. She requested madame Cúc not to tell Hiền about her death until Hiền gave birth. Her wish was to be cremated, after that her urn would be placed in a pagoda. Some day, Hiền would fly to France, take her urn back to Vietnam.
Thảo clasped her hands together, bowing to the high-ranking monk goodbye. She walked out as if her feet wouldn’t have touched the ground…
Paris 27.01.2006 – 25.05.2007
© Copyright : All texts on Newvietart.com
may not be reproduced in any form without our written permission.
. Updated: 01.12.2008 with the agreement of author.
