The Sorrow of War by Bao Ninh Page A

lasted forever in this world, he knew that. Even love and sorrow inside an aging man would finally dissipate under the realization that his suffering, his tortured thoughts, were small and meaningless in the overall scheme of things. Like wispy smoke spiral -ing into the sky, glimpsed for a moment, then gone.

    That cold spring Kien was frequently out on the streets late at night. On one memorable night, near theThuyen Quang park by the lake, he saw two figures struggling on the ground under a kapok tree. One of them, a man, rose quickly and drew a knife from his belt. Kien jumped into the fray, kicked the man, then knocked him into a gutter before chasing him off. He turned and saw that the second figure was an attractive young girl. Kien called a pedicab going past, bundled her into it, and headed for home. Once inside, he saw she was made up in the familiar flaunting way made famous by the "Green Coffee Girls" of the area.These were the most notable Hanoi prostitutes, so called because they waited for their men in a certain group of coffee houses.
    "Do you know whose life it is you've just saved, and brought into your home? Well, do you?" she asked. "I'm a Green Coffee Girl."
    She stood, feet slightly apart, looking directly at him. Not yet nineteen, but sure of herself. A little paler, a little less healthy than he had first thought. And on closer scrutiny her bright clothes, attractive from a distance, had seen better days.
    "That punch was worth a lot to me.That was real trouble for me. I owe you," she said, taking charge. "You were just wonderful," she added, stepping out of her skirt slowly. She continued to undress for him, ending by pulling her blouse lightly over her head. It was a smooth performance, but something was wrong. She began to shiver, smiling hesitantly, shyly. Kien noticed her smooth skin was blue with cold, that her ribs formed sharp lines under her breasts. She was starving.
    "Let's share that cigarette," she said in a final effort to retain her composure. But after only one puff she slid into his bed, sighed like a sleepy child, and was soon in a deep sleep.
    When she woke up she saw Kien sitting over by the table and realized with astonishment that she knew him. In the morning light she could see him clearly and recognized him as the friend of her big brother, in the same platoon, from years ago. Kien came over, lighting a new cigarette, then sat down on the bed beside her. In the light of the new day he had recognized her, too, despite the makeup.
    As she slept he had wondered how she came to be in town. Why had she left her village? How had she joined the most famous of all the street-girl groups, the Green Coffee Girls?
    She was embarrassed by the recognition. The shared memory of her brother Vinh, with him in the same platoon, at M'Drac batdefield with him, was with them both. And of their only other sad meeting.
    After the war Kien had taken his friend's last possessions toVinh's family, in a hamlet on the outer edges of Hanoi. The landscape was half marsh, half rubbish dump. The scrawny children wore rags. Dirty dogs ran here and there and the flies, mosquitoes, and rats were numerous and evident. The hamlet's inhabitants were semibeggars, gathering garbage for their meager living, and there were small dumps of obviously stolen goods lining the paths where thieves had set up tiny stalls.
    Someone pointed out Vinh's family house to Kien. It was like all the others, a shanty of tin and old timber, surrounded by garbage. Vinh's little sister was barely fifteen then. Her eyes had swollen and sent tears down her cheeks as she recognized her brother's knapsack and his personal belongings. There was no need to ask why Kien had come to visit them. The sad news was there for them to touch. Vinh's blind mother sat with the girl, feeling the items as she handed them over. A cloth hat. A folded knife. An iron bowl. A broken flute. A notebook.When Kien rose to leave, the old lady had reached up and touched