A Collection Of Short Stories | ✔

The River Of Retrospection

Fifteen-year-old Lang Mai was briskly striding back home, his gaze steady on his shadow formed on the wide tree-lined avenue of Hanoi. The sweltering heat of the ferocious sun made him perspire heavily as he occasionally wiped his forehead with a damp handkerchief. The scorching heat wasn't burning him though, it was pure, unbridled shame. Shame for not fearlessly raising his voice when the French teacher callously yelled at him to go and sit at the back so a French colon student could take his seat instead. Shame for not listening to his friends' vehement opposition against injustice. Shame for looking down at his own brown hands and silently moving in the back.

Wasn't he following ton ti trat tu, respecting order and knowing his inferior place?

"Ah come in," his mother lovingly called him and he smiled half-heartedly, surreptitiously hoping that she would see through his façade and enquire him about his disconcertment. She would assure him that it wasn't his cowardice, but his wisdom of knowing the repercussions of rebellion. "You're just in time for lunch."

"Yes---"

"Come in quickly," she interrupted him excitedly, her clean face glowing in the sunlight. "Your brother's home!"

All his perturbing thoughts dissipated as he sprinted inside, decreasing his pace when he reached the kitchen. He heard deep voices and shyly peeped in. Duong Mai, his brother older to him by six years, was the cynosure of all eager eyes. Duong Mai had arrived all the way from France where he had studied commerce. He was one of the clever four hundred students from the whole of Vietnam to be granted this golden opportunity. He was intelligent and looked like it in a smart, navy blue suit and his hair combed neatly.

"Em trai!" Duong Mai exclaimed when he spotted the lanky figure of his younger brother coyly lurking outside. "Come, come."

Lang Mai suddenly felt small, smaller than he felt in the domineering presence of the French. His brother was innately intimidating and exuberated bravery and superiority. His hold was firm when he embraced him whereas Lang Mai could only squeeze timidly. However, he noticed the imperceptible uncertainty swimming in his older brother's eyes upon carefully inspecting him.

"I have studied there ba and I can see how they have captured all of our Vietnam and made us feel so dirty," Duong Mai said fervently to his father, shifting his attention from Lang Mai. "It's been what, five years since our independence? They still have a hold over us like we're some puppets for them to play with!"

Five years ago at Hanoi's Ba Dinh Square, all of them foolishly believed that their puppet strings had broken when they gained independence from the French and the Japanese that had invaded their lands and infiltrated their minds. Lang Mai recalled how he had venerated his brother when he ran to the front and cheered uncontrollably for the freedom they had gained. Lang Mai was joyous simply because the aboriginal people surrounding him were merry. At ten and now at fifteen, he had accepted the bigoted authority and submitted to their indoctrination. He wasn't alone to quietly bow down, his parents were similar too. His brother had been like them not long ago, education seemed to have empowered him.

"Don't spoil your mood now," their mother said gently, pacifying him. "I have made your favourite food- pork, fish, tofu and rice. Wash yourself and we'll all eat together. Like old times."

Duong Mai conspicuously calmed at his mother's soothing voice, yet the uncertainty lingered in his eyes. Their father solemnly patted their backs and they went to wash themselves. Lang Mai stared at the mirror- at his round nose, his deep-set eyes, his flushed cheeks and his jet black hair. Earlier Vietnamese men groomed their hair long, but the French schools made them snip it short.

"How's your school going?" Duong Mai's voice was muffled against the thick towel. "I bet they still derisively raise their noses at you all, those snobs, those---"