Forty Years (1/11)

"Forty years ago today Saigon fell.

I wonder what my 60,000

fallen brothers would think

of the country they died for

if they could see the prison

it is becoming now.”  

2015

We decided to visit a local coffee shop, to indulge in the famed cà phê sữa đá . The cafe, which was also a phone repair shop, was located just at the rim of the streets packed with motorcycles and people threading through the traffic. The snarled traffic had a charm of its own. It was amusing to watch. The road system was terrible, however the river of motorbikes found a way to maneuver around the pedestrians, delicately brushing past them. 

I was met with a loud chorus of snorts and riotous banter crescendoing and descrescendoing, as masses amount of people walked by us. Tourists shuffled around with their cheap Communist slogan t-shirts, while obnoxious store owners tried to entice, more like pressure their customers to buy their exotic fruit. Two store owners debated over the sweetness of their produce, when in all honesty, they were likely getting their fruit from the same farmer. A comical scene really. I often wondered why foreigners found Vietnam an attractive holiday destination; the humid lick from Vietnamese weather, the rugged aesthetics of food stalls, the nauseating sound of motorbikes honking and people squawking. It took me ten years for my wife to convince me to come back here. 

Whilst we were observing the chaos on the streets, and Điệp and I finished joking about how insurance worked, a shrivelled lady humbly meandered into the café, shuffling at the freshly glossed lottery tickets in her hands. Some well dressed men turned their backs towards her, finding something else in the café to fixate their gaze on. Women pulled their children closer, so that they wouldn’t get into contact with  Others hastily gave her money so that she would leave them alone.

She made her way towards Điệp and I, not making eye contact with either of us. 

“Lottery tickets for ­­­1000 đồng”.

I stared at her sparse white hair, in hopes for some sign of human connection. However, she had already begun to shift towards the next table. 

“How many do you have there?”

“18”

“How many did you start with?”

“20”

She was still looking at my shoes. 

“I’ll take them all”.

Finally, she looked up at me and her eyes formed two mountains filled with jubilation. Her stiff, grainy hands counted the crinkled money, making sure that there weren’t any notes missing, because that meant that there would be one person who wouldn’t be able to eat at home. The crevice between her untamed eyebrows sunk deeper. 

“Sir, you gave me too much.” 

I was taken aback by her address. Sir? She looked as though she could have been the same age as my mother. 

“No, it wasn’t a mistake. Please keep it.”

She placed the tickets down with both hands on the table, crossed her arms and bowed, as a child does when an elder gives them red pocket money. Then she quietly left, making sure she hadn’t caused any more burden for the customers. 

 “Why did you buy all of them?” Điệp questioned.

“It’s only a few dollars.”

“We’re leaving in a few days. Do you even know how to claim your lottery ticket if you win? And what if she’s part of a larger corporation who use old people to attract sympathy from tourists?”

I love my wife, I really do. But sometimes I am convinced that she just picks on the most unnecessary things, just for the sake of spicing up our marriage. If that be true, I am truly appreciative. But I don’t think she realises that her nagging is no longer charming, rather it sounds like a broken radio wedged inside my ear drum. And so I looked at my wife and grabbed her by the hand. 

“Because that’s less money for you to spend, which means less kilos we have to buy at the airport.”

Điệp rolled her eyes and continued drinking her coffee, while I flicked through the lottery tickets. 

She was right. I didn’t know what to do with them.