by Ha Nguyen Huyen

For several decades, on the afternoon of the 15^th of January, old Vang would set off. With a touch of sadness on his face, he would walk straight to the river bank, find a flat, clean spot at the foot of a kapok tree and then arrange the offerings for the ceremony. While waiting for the rounds of incense to burn out, the old man would gaze listlessly at the river. When it began getting dark, and the incense had died, the old man would stand up, mumble something and pour one cup of spirits after another into the river. He would walk out into the darkness of the night, staggering home like a drunkard.

His wife found his behaviour strange, so she asked him about it several times, but he only gave a vague answer. In later years, he kept completely silent about his whereabouts. His silence made everyone in the household confused and then worried. People wondered what had happened to him when he came home from the river looking so panic-stricken, as if he were enchanted by devils. Was it because of his old age or something else?

He would stay in that state until the new sun appeared and breezes of southerly wind began blowing away the blood-red kapok flowers along the river. That was the beginning of farming time for the Dam villagers, and old Vang would become busy and forget those bleak days of early January. He returned to normal, but his taciturnity had become a deeply rooted habit. His wife knew that it was not his normal personality because he was not like that when they were first married. The habit had appeared right after the day he came home from a trip to the mountain.

That year, he was a burly 20-year-old. It was customary in Dam Village to give children a patch of land to use for farming after they married. The Vang couple received some land as well as a house with a sugarcane-leaf roof. Actually it was more like a hut, with a bed so small that Vang had to lie diagonally to fit in it.

While his wife slept soundly, Vang sneaked out to the river bank and sat there to enjoy the wind off the water, cooling him. He hated succumbing to poverty, especially since he was such a strong, capable man. He dreamt of a spacious, comfortable house and wondered how he could afford one. The question lingered in the young man’s mind for a long time.

With only a small amount of land for production, Vang had to work as a hired plough hand, and his wife worked as a sharecropper so that they wouldn’t go hungry. When his wife became pregnant with their first child, he said to her, "I’ve got to plan very carefully because when you’re lying in bed for several months, how will we have enough food?" His wife silenced his worries, but he couldn’t put them out of mind.

After many nights of tossing and turning, Vang said to his wife, "I think I’ll take a raft up north to the mountain."

"You want to go upstream in a raft? Are you kidding?"

"I’ve asked Mr Hai Cu, and he agreed."

His wife turned to face the wall without saying a word. The wind was howling outside over the sugarcane gardens. Vang fell asleep, his head spinning with plans. When he awoke the next morning, his father was standing in the middle of the yard overgrown with grass.

"This family has for generations toiled to earn a living without thinking of ‘setting the world on fire’ as you are doing now, Vang," his father intoned.

Vang knew his wife had told his father of the plan, but Vang did not care. He did not want his life to be like his father’s and those of the people in the village; he was determined to find something better than a life in poverty, and his determination was unshakeable.

On an early morning in late March, Vang and Hai Cu set off. After awhile, they looked back at the village, both anxious and excited because it was their first trip away from home. Vang pointed toward the place where the brilliantly red flower grew abundantly, saying, "Wherever you go, you can just look for those flowers by the river and you can find your way home!"

The village faded from their sight, leaving only the kapok tree standing imposingly amid the vast sky. For generations, the kapok tree had been closely associated with the people’s weals and woes.

Vang was almost obsessive about making a fortune, and he threw all of his energy into rowing the raft. Far upstream, lightening flashed across the sky, and thunder echoed, heralding the coming rainy season.

After several successful business trips, when his family had become well-off, his wife told Vang how pleased she was with his success.

"This time will be my final trip," he replied.

Vang and Hai Cu made some careful calculations and determined that a brick house was a possibility for them now. It was the dream of all of the Dam villagers. They pooled their money and waited nervously for the day to set out. When he heard the plan, Vang’s father warned, "Don’t gamble with God."

After five or six days heading upstream, the two arrived at Ben Go. In the past, they had stopped here and bought timber logs from other people, but the retail profits had been meager. This time, they decided to cut deep into the jungle, so that they could bargain with the timber cutters to get the best quality logs.

After two months of wrestling with mosquitoes and leeches, they finished making their raft with the logs they had bought. To return to Ben Go, the most dangerous thing they’d have to do was to pass the 12m-high Giot Dau Waterfall, but they would also have to snake though Da Coc Rapids before reaching the mouth of the Cai River.

Before they departed, Vang said to Hai Cu, "It can’t be so easy to get rich. We may have to risk our lives and hope that good luck will come to us."

Vang started cutting the rope that secured the raft, which had reached Da Coc Rapids, and he shouted over the roaring current, "Please, try to keep your hands firm for steering and leave the rowing to me!"

As soon as he said it, the strong current caught the raft, driving it forward. Vang offered a silent prayer that he would steer the raft well, escape death and reach home safe and sound. Vang had begun thinking about how man’s fate was so ephemeral, so small and hopeless, when the raft darted forward, making the two fear for their lives. Vang’s efforts to row were now useless. Pitch darkness loomed before him, while his body was lifted skywards.

The June sun was sultry, burning Vang to consciousness. He was sprawled, his two hands holding the raft tightly. Not a soul was in sight, and the gentle lapping of the waves against the raft was the only sound. Vang heaved a deep sigh of relief, thinking, "So we’ve passed the rapids and the waterfall safe and sound!" Fully conscious, he turned to speak to Hai Cu, but he was not there. Alarmed, Vang cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Hai Cu! Hai Cu! Where are you?"

He only heard his own voice echoing back. He ran to the head of the raft but found nothing. Grabbing a rope, Vang jumped into the water, fearing that if Hai Cu had been thrown into the swift current, he would be washed away. Vang walked very fast along the water’s edge but he saw no sign of his friend. It was late in the afternoon without any trace of Hai Cu.

His head was still very clear, but his legs were trembling in the sand. He swam and walked up to the waterfall. When he reached Da Coc, Vang could not believe his eyes. Vang and Hai Cu saw each other at the same moment. Cu waved his hands frantically to Vang. Vang rushed down to the hanging cliff, but he suddenly stopped when he realised that below him was the raging current. He eyed the distance and calculated. It should be several hundred arm’s lengths. Where could he find a rope that would be long enough? He thought and thought until it became dark.

Vang felt completely helpless. He knelt down, sobbing violently like a little boy. Over the roar of the waterfall, Vang heard his friend’s cry for help. He quickly rose up and strained his eyes to see in the darkness, but he could see nothing. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Hai Cu! Hai Cu!" Vang hoped his friend would recognise his voice and wait for him until the next day broke, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of the raging water.

Vang told himself he had to come down and lay on the ground, exhausted and worried. When he heard the wood grouse’s crow, he guessed the day was breaking.

He suddenly missed his home so much. In his head he could hear the sounds of humans and buffalo wading in the rice field. He would often stay in the field all day, having his wife bring him lunch. Such a hard life! He was reminded of why they had made the raft and surmounted rapids and the waterfall.

Vang suddenly got up, leaving Hai Cu behind and returning to the raft. He tried to row it down to Ben Go, where he thought he could sell the timber and then return with help to free Hai Cu.

When the first light appeared, Vang returned to the waterfall with two strong men, woodcutters he had hired to help him save Hai Cu. Vang stood at the bank of the abyss but saw nothing but black rocks amid the roaring rapids.

Vang racked his brain, wondering where Hai Cu could be. On a wild guess, Vang walked down to the foot of the waterfall to search. All three of them dived into the water to search, but found nothing until the next day, when they spotted Hai Cu’s torn shirt on a sand bank. Vang cried and cried, praying that his friend somehow survived.

All of a sudden, the torn shirt moved. Vang almost fainted. A turtle crawled out of the shirt pocket. Vang sighed deeply. It was a sign of bad luck. Vang decided to bury the shirt before going home because he did not want to bring the bad luck with him. Nearby there was a small tree, so he placed the turtle on a limb of the tree before burying the shirt.

Vang dragged himself into Ben Dam after night had fallen. Still plagued by hunger, thirst and fear, he went to Hai Cu’s house to tell his friend’s wife the truth.

"I tried everything, but I could not reach the waterfall, the water was moving too fast... "

The widow was clearly in pain to hear the news of her husband’s loss. Now she had to bear bereavement as well as poverty. Vang had intended to give her part of the money he had made by selling the raft of timber, but he changed his mind at the last minute, thinking that Hai Cu had courted his mishap himself when he had brought along that turtle. Should I really take the blame? Vang wondered.

Several months later, Vang heard that Mrs Hai Cu was leaving the village, carrying her child in her arms. He rushed to Hai Cu’s house and found it deserted.

In the flash flood season that year, the kapok tree at Ben Dam wharf was swept away. Early the following year, on the afternoon of the 15th of January, the Dam villagers saw Vang struggling to carry a young kapok branch and planting it right near the wharf. It became his habit to plant a young kapok tree along the riverbank each year. Several decades later, Vang had grown rows of kapok trees for Dam Village. When the kapok flowers were blooming, Vang would often go to the river and sit down at the foot of a certain kapok tree in silence as if he were waiting for something.

Young Vang had become old Vang, a wealthy man in the village, who had built a house of his own. He had travelled to nearby villages to buy a carved bed and a chest made of precious wood.

He should have been living a happy life, but his grumpy face revealed his misery. Since his doomed rafting trip, each night he had been having feverish dreams, yelling and speaking nonsense. The Dam villagers whispered that he had the problem because of his raft trip with Hai Cu, that he had been punished by the Goddess of Mountain.

One day during the flooding season, old Vang was dozing on his carved bed when he had the sensation that there was a large rock on his chest, so heavy that he could not move it. Then the rock turned into a horrible-looking turtle, with sharp claws that could tear him to pieces. Old Vang screamed and woke up, his face glistening with sweat. Shocked, his wife asked, "What happened to you? What did you dream? You looked so frightened!"

"Nothing, nothing" old Vang said, keeping a straight face so that he wouldn’t have to explain his dream.

Old Vang did not know why he was plagued by these visions whenever he lay down to sleep. For several decades, while he slept he would see himself dragging logs, making a raft and then battling the rapids and the waterfall in a hopeless search for Hai Cu. He would find himself buried under logs or rocks or being swept along the rapids over the waterfall. Every time he tried to escape from the disaster, he would wake up, drenched with sweat. The turtle appeared to threaten him every night. One afternoon, in one of his horrible dreams, Vang ran to the river and sat there on the bank. The kapok flowers were blossoming, reflecting on the river’s surface and making the river appear a deep red colour. He sat there awhile and then suddenly ran home.

A few days later, old Vang left home for the mountain to search for Da Coc Rapids. He searched and searched but in vain. A small hydro-electric station had been built there since his trip as a young man. Feeling hopeless, Vang sat down at the foot of a tree, lost in memories of the old days.

All of a sudden, a little noise woke him up. He turned to see a head peeking out of the tree roots. Startled, he looked up and found that it was the branch where he had placed the turtle so many years ago. But the branch had now become another tree. So he tried to dig the turtle out of the tree root. The turtle now looked strange and deformed because it had been pressed down by the tree. All the things that had happened seemed buried with time to everyone but him, but the turtle compelled him to face the truth, the truth he had tried to forget.

Old Vang took the turtle home. Every night, he heard the turtle crawling on the brick-paved floor, and this made him think that he himself was like that turtle, dragging its feet heavily, plagued by a problem no one understood.

On the afternoon of the 15th of that January, he again brought offerings to the river. In broad daylight, he again poured spirits, but this time he prayed, "Hai Cu, please, come home along this river, now grown with kapok trees, to witness my repentance..."

Then old Vang went home, thinking that he must live the remaining days of his life with a punishment he would mete out himself. With that in mind, he started a journey to look for Hai Cu’s wife and children, which he was sure would be as difficult as the raft adventure trip he once took.

Translated by MANH CHUONG