The last of the winter rain was falling outside. There were only ten days to go before Tet (Lunar New Year). The wind from the river bank was blowing, spraying trails of fine rain towards the foot of the dike. The rain made a faint, whispering sound, almost as though it were human. In the large river basin which meandered along the dike of Chua Village, there stood only one small house, where two women had been living together for several decades. Their hair had long ago turned white. They sat in a small kitchen, warmed by the scent of dry straw and banana leaves and the heat of a burning fire. A cracked, wooden tray was placed on the earthen floor. The floor had become rockhard over time. On the tray there was a single bowl of steaming hot broth cooked with salted mustard-greens and some tiny shrimp. The old women sat at either end of the tray. Their bony knees were folded high, supporting their dark, wrinkled, faces.

"Who did you buy all these tiny shrimp from?" An asked as she stirred the broth with chop sticks.

"From some buffalo boys," Old Mat replied. "They brought it right here."

"How much was it?"

"Two thousand dong."

"You have a bad habit of buying too much. Why didn’t you ask them to give you only half?"

"It’s only a handful of tiny shrimp, if I bought only half of it, who would they sell the other half to?"

The two sat in silence with bowls of steamed rice in their hands.

"When you cook the salted mustard-greens soup, you should boil it gently," Old An grumbled. "The bones are hurting my gums!"

"How can you complain of bones from these tiny shrimp?"

"It’s easy for you to say. Your teeth are still strong. I have no more teeth left."

The two old women continued to eat and grumble. Outside the rain still whispered and dogs from the other side of the dike barked.

"Oh my," An cried faintly as she coughed, "I’ve choked on a fish bone!"

"Cough it up," said Old Mat in panic. An put down her half-eaten bowl of rice on the tray and turned away to cough it up.

"Are you all right now?"

"No, I can’t cough it up. I might die by choking on a tiny fish bone."

"Don’t bring bad luck on yourself," Mat shouted. "Let me try."

Old Mat quickly picked up two big flat sticks with steamed rice still stuck on top. She stomped over to An.

"Do sit still. Close your eyes," Mat said, as she raised the two flat sticks a hand-span over old An’s head. She tapped the sticks together and mumbled something, as if she was chanting a prayer: "Nearer, further; nearer, further." She did it exactly seven times and then stopped abruptly. "Are you OK now?" she asked.

An did not answer. She was trying to swallow saliva. A moment later, she said, "All right! I don’t want to eat any more. The broth will be cooked better by tomorrow morning."

After dinner, the two old women put one more piece of bamboo onto the fire and began chewing betel. An handed Mat a piece of fresh areca.

"Where did you get such fresh areca?" Old Mat asked.

"At Phan’s son’s wedding. They filled up my pocket."

"From Phan’s son?"

"He invited you too, remember? You were sick and couldn’t come."

They both sat there, chewing the betel in silence. The energy from the fire’s dancing flames lit up their dull eyes.

"How many banh chung (rice square dumpling made of glutinous rice wrapped in ruch leaves and boiled) do you want to make for Tet?" An asked Mat.

"It’s up to you, but not so many. A lot were left untouched and became mouldy last year."

"Is thirty OK.?"

"What? Do you want to invite the whole village?"

"We need to make at least thirty in case the children from the village visit. We must have something to give to them. And what if... what if…someone else comes... "

As soon as she heard that, Mat looked up slowly and asked in a low voice, "What if who comes…?"

***

A few decades ago, on a similar winter night close to Tet, the two old women were sitting by the fire and talking animatedly about making banh chung. They were very young at that time, only a little over twenty.

"Will he be home this Tet, sister An," Mat asked.

"Yes, I’m expecting him soon," An said, as if with her breath. "Last night, I dreamt that a cock bit my little finger. It’s been too many years, since they’ve been home for Tet."

"I’ve become sick of waiting, you know."

"If only I could have a child.... they could come home any time."

"Sister An," Mat suddenly called as she embraced An, "I had a dream a few nights ago. I saw him coming home... and that night... "

As she said it, Mat blushed and her eyes shone with joy and confusion.

"That night, I dreamt I was pregnant. When I woke up, I touched my belly and felt the difference. I was frightened."

"What nonsense!"

"No, it’s true. Up until today, I felt something strange in my belly," Mat said, moving An’s hand towards her belly, "Please touch it. Do you feel something?"

An pressed her hand on Mat’s belly with curiosity. A moment later, she seemed startled as she felt something abnormal inside Mat’s belly.

"Mat, " An whispered. "Your husband is away from home... you’ve been so foolish... "

"What do you mean ‘foolish’?"

"Have you got another man?"

"No. Nothing of the sort. I’ll be punished, won’t I?"

"I’ll take care of you," An said. "If anything happens, you and I will have to leave this village and go to live in the woods."

An and Mat were orphans. When they grew up, they married and settled down by the river bank. One night, their men left with an army unit to cross the Day River to march towards Mieu Mon Mountain. Before they went, they said to their wives, "You’d better move in together. When Tet comes and our war of resistance against the French is over, we’ll be back."

Mat moved in with An, and they lived together like sisters.

As Tet approached, they both began preparing banh chung. They had chosen the best kind of banh chung for their husbands, but Tet passed and their husbands did not return. They waited and waited until the cakes had become mouldy at the corners. They cried. When night fell, the young women lay with their backs to each other on the straw-padded bed, trying hard to hide their heartbreak.

"Are you sleeping, An?" Mat always started these questions at night.

"Not yet," An answered from beneath the blanket, "Why didn’t they come home this Tet?"

"You’ll never know!" An said in a huff. "They are probably needed in the war."

"I think we’ll boil the banh chung again tomorrow, sister An."

"No, eat them now. If you boil them again, they’ll turn into rice porridge."

"How can we eat all twenty?"

They drifted off to sleep a few minutes later.

It was January. A warm wind blew up from the river, encouraging pleasant dreaming. In her dream, An saw the red-combed cock again. The bird bit her little finger. Mat dreamt about a returning soldier and becoming pregnant. When she woke up, she touched her belly and became slightly worried when she felt something move.

One Tet day, An’s husband dropped in. The knock on the door in the night was urgent and woke Mat abruptly.

"Who’s that? Who’s that?" Mat asked, her voice quivering in fear.

"It’s me, it’s Bac."

"Oh, God!" Mat cried, "Is it you, Bac?"

As soon as the door opened, the soldier rushed to embrace her.

"Oh, my dear Bac!" Mat said, "It’s me, it’s Mat."

The soldier’s arms dropped immediately.

"Where’s An?"

"Sister An went to the hamlet with another woman this morning to buy things at the Tet market sale. I stayed at home just in case. "

"When is she coming back?"

"Probably tomorrow," she answered. "When are you leaving?"

Bac stood in silence. A cold wind blew from the river, making its way into the house through the thatch-roofed.

"Do come in, dear. I’ll make a fire for you."

A short while later, the fire was roaring.

"Will I cook you some rice porridge?"

"I’ve already eaten. Will An come back in time?"

"She’ll be back. But why have you both been away for so long, without sending news? What about my husband?"

"After that day when we crossed the river, we stayed in the same unit for a month. Then we split. I’m told that your husband Ngu is now in Bac Can. Haven’t you heard anything from him?"

"No, nothing. Sister An and I have been waiting for you all this time. We make banh chung every Tet, expecting you home."

"We are launching a big offensive. My unit is moving to the Hoa Binh front. Are you all right at home?"

"We can bear it. We only worry about you, about the risk you’re taking. Why didn’t you give An notice before coming home?"

"How can I when we’re still fighting... ?" the soldier smiled.

The wind blew noisily through the banana leaves in the garden. Frost covered the roof. The fire was burning out.

"Will you take a short rest?" Mat asked.

"You’d better go to bed. I can sit here. It’ll soon be dawn."

Mat didn’t reply. She sat there in silence, looking at the burning coals twinkling like winter stars. Sister An would have been so happy, if she had just been home.

"We’re so unhappy at home!" Mat said, crying. "We wish we could have a child to help relieve our misery."

"Peace will be restored. We will be home soon. Then you won’t even have the energy to give birth, I’m afraid," the soldier said, laughing loudly. Mat laughed too.

***

The bamboo had burned out, but the two old women remained beside the fire, sitting in silence. Their tanned, wrinkled faces were expressionless as they rested on their bony knees. A little mouse crawled out of the corner in the kitchen. It was moving slowly to the tray and out of the blue, it jumped on a bowl, knocking it over.

"Are you sleeping?" An asked Mat.

"No, how can I?" Mat relied, opening her eyes.

"Did you cover the chicken coop this afternoon?"

"Yes, I did. But I’m afraid that the frost will harm the chickens."

Suddenly, old Mat got up, saying that she had left her shirt by the river when she had washed it. She wanted to get it back, so she went down to the river in the dead of the night. She slowly sat down and looked at the river, where decades ago, she had seen off her husband to the battle front. And right here, she had said good-bye to Bac, who had dropped in to see his wife, but missed her.

***

An did not come home all that day. When night fell, Bac said:

"It’s late now, and I’ve got to go, so please tell my wife An that I’m fit and well."

"But she’ll be back tomorrow morning. Please, go tomorrow night."

"No, I can’t. I have to be present at the unit tonight."

Bac left at about nine o’clock at night. Mat saw him to the river bank. When he reached the water’s edge, he turned and put his hand on Mat’s shoulder. She was trembling, her teeth were chattering.

"Good-bye," the soldier said in a low voice. "You two should love and care for each other. Ngu and I will be back soon."

Bac had been gone for about an hour when An came back home. Having heard the news about how she had just missed her husband, An rushed to the river and crossed it in the hope that she could catch him, against Mat’s advice.

Mat sat on the wet sand bank, sobbing. She saw An, who was soaked to the bone, walking towards her. The two women cried and embraced each other. That Tet, they had made lots of banh chung, but their husbands did not come home. A few years later, when peace was restored, Mat received notice of her husband’s death. An had time and again asked Mat to remarry some man, but Mat only smiled, saying, "Only when your husband Bac returns, will I remarry some man!"

***

It had been quite a while since old Mat had gone and An was getting worried. She called out to her, "Old Mat, where are you?"

"I’m coming!"

Old An was about to go back into the house when Mat came into sight.

"Let’s go back to sleep. I’m aching all over my back!" An said.

The small house seemed so big at night. The old women lay down, listening to the mice scurrying along the roof.

"Have you got some matches?" Old An asked.

"Yes. But what for?"

"I’ve got to examine these coffins. The moths could eat through them."

Old An lit the match to light the coffins. She stood there for a minute, listening attentively, and then she beat the coffins to silence the moths. When she felt reassured that the moths did not bore through the coffins, she blew out the light and went to bed again.

It was early morning, and the wind was still cold. Mat dreamt again of her husband coming home. She thought she could see his face, but it turned out to be Bac’s, not Ngu’s.

***

In early 1960, An had received a letter from Bac, saying that he was positioned in Quang Binh near a river as beautiful as the Day River.

"Sister An, do go and find him now. Be quick. Leave all the field work to me," Mat said passionately.

All that day, old An kept picking up herhusband’s letter, crying as she read it. Finally, she decided to pack up everything go to find her husband.

But life can be ironic. An had been gone for five days when Bac came home.

"Bac, did you meet An?" Mat asked in fear, feeling shivers through her bones."Sister An has gone to meet you in Quang Binh."

"Is she looking for me? When did she go?"

"She’s been gone for five days."

Having heard it, Bac stood dumbfounded. A few minutes later, he said, "Why would she go in seacrh of a moving soldier’s base all the time."

"Bac, you’ve got to wait for her this time," Mat said, sobbing. "I won’t let you go anywhere. Bac, my husband Ngu has died."

"Did he? When? And where?"

"Over three years ago."

That night, Bac said, "I’ll go early tomorrow morning. This time I have to go very far, and it might be a long time before I get back."

"No, you’ve got to wait for her or she will die."

"That’s all I can do, Mat. I’ve got to go!"

At midnight, Bac left. Mat saw him off again. She embraced him suddenly, sobbing bitterly.

"Oh, dear Bac, I feel for my poor sister An. I love her, and I love you so much. Why can’t you be Ngu, and why can’t I be An?"

Bac said nothing. He hugged her tightly in his lap. They both trembled. Then Mat pushed him away, speaking quickly, "Go. You’d better go now, Bac."

After he left, she ran down to the foot of the dike, crying for An and her husband.

After that, Bac did not return. An and Mat had turned forty years of age. They often went down to the river bank to cry, night after night. Tet was coming again, and the spring wind was blowing warmly through their house.

"Eh, Mat! Are you dreaming," Old An shook Mat, "Why are you crying?"

"Am I... ?" old Mat uttered in broken speech. "Is it the day-time?"

"Not for another while."

"Please let me have some matches," old Mat said, sitting up. She lit a kerosene lamp, filling the room with light.

The women woke up to the sound of the cocks crowing in the hamlet. Mat started chewing the betel.

"How many banh chung are you going to make this Tet?" Mat asked.

"Ask Ms Phan to get things ready to make thirty."

Old Mat stopped chewing the betel and moved her head towards old An as if she wanted to ask something. But, she stopped.

Outside, the early spring wind blew from the river through the small house. (VNS)

Translated by Manh Chuong