The flight to Ha Noi from Sai Gon was five hours late.
All three of us were dead tired and in low spirits as we waited around in the airport terminal. Our pockets were empty after a long and tiring trip through Can Tho, Ca Mau, Rach Gia and then Phu Quoc Island. We still had a long way to go, and who knew what would happen when that iron bird carring several hundred passengers in its belly might act up.

The plane was flying over the Central Highlands when a hard rain and strong wind started. We were shaking and rocking terribly. All the passengers were in a great panic. One old woman was mumbling prayers. One man phoned his wife to confess he had a secret lover. One girl fainted from fear. A woman phoned her husband to let him know she had some gold hidden under her bed. She cried and asked him not to get re-married and to raise their children alone. We were all greatly afraid and bewildered. The situation seemed to be getting out of hand.

Yet, catastrophe was averted. It was as if it had been a dream. But death haunted me even after I landed safe and sound.

Ha Noi was not rainy at all. It was Christmas Eve, so it was so cold, but dry. The Christmas spirit seemed to have captured everybody. Several welcoming parties were seen crowding around the terminal.

But at the end of the day, I had come home from a dangerous, tiring trip.

My wife answered the door. The maid was setting dinner on the table. Everyone in the family, including my daughter and my son, were already seated. My wife said:

"Please sit down and have dinner, dear! Your children are waiting for you."

"Dad, have dinner, please. I’m going to enjoy Christmas Eve now," my daughter said.

"Dad, please eat. I’m going to be playing an online game soon," my son said.

I wondered why my wife did not ask me: "Are you tired after the journey?", why my daughter did not say: "I think you look much thinner. You must have lost a few kilos", or why my son did not ask me: "Dad, what did you buy me?" Or at least they could have expressed some kind of grudge or complaint against me.

The table was full of a range of different dishes because each member of my family had different tastes. To my surprise, there was also steamed fat, lean pork with shrimp paste for dipping and a bowl of crab soup with pickled eggplants. They were my favourite dishes.

"How delicious!" I exclaimed.

"So, how are things at home, dear?" I asked my wife.

"So so!" she answered.

"What about your term exam results, daughter?" I asked again.

"So so, dad" she replied.

"What about you, son?" I asked.

"So so, dad!" he answered.

So so! This is what everyone really wants these days, when the world is so unpredictable and full of risks. Life is so hard now. Everything is so expensive. So the simple words "so, so" are quite common in daily life for all of us now. However, since it was my wife and children saying these words to me, I felt as if they were acting indifferent and impassive towards me.

"What do you think about my family?" I asked the housemaid.

"No, I can’t say anything. Nobody in your family wants to talk to each other. Well, you do, but not very often," she answered.

"You aren’t exaggerating, are you?"

"No, it’s true. You are the only one who still talks in the house."

I felt sad. My wife and two children continued to sit there, saying nothing. I stopped eating, looking at my wife. It was all so strange to me. She hardly seemed to be my wife anymore. On Christmas Eve, back when we were still in love, I took her to almost every church in the city. It was so sincere and romantic. Once she walked, linking her arms with mine, singing the song Sad Hymn in a low voice:

... ... Then the night sanctuary welcomes Christmas

Wandering through the memorable domain of the church

English hymns resound in the darkness

Reminding one of a lost love....

I was startled, struck with panic. She was only singing to herself, I thought. Or was she singing to me, I wondered? My heart had wrung suddenly. I was silent. But finally I was able to see how close we were, how warm we were to each other.

What had changed in her, I wondered? She no longer wanted to sing the Sad Hymn.

"What’s the matter with you?" I asked her. "Have I done anything to upset you?"

"No. I do not have any complaints," she answered.

"Have I done anything wrong," I asked my children.

"I don’t pay attention to what you do," my daughter said.

"I don’t care," my son replied.

I shook my head in disappointment.

The dinner was dull. It was totally quiet. No one praised the delicious food! No one said anything!

"My plane was caught in bad weather over the Highlands. It shook terribly. It made me dizzy...." I told the story.

Neither my daughter nor my son said anything. My wife said:

"How terrible! Good Heavens! What a hair-raising story!"

"Yes. It was so scary! I wasn’t sure I would be able to return to you."

"I’ve hear that the families of people who die in a plane crash receive US$60,000 in compensation. That could really help a poor family, don’t you think?"

I choked up and could not swallow. I put down my chop sticks and stood up.

"Are you full, dad?" my daughter asked.

"Your dad must be tired after such a long journey, so he’s eating less than normal," my wife said.

I went to my bedroom and banged the door shut. I looked around. No gun. No knife. No sword. I laid down on the bed, stretching my body. Why didn’t my family understand me? If I’d had a gun here, what would have been my fate?

I knew that I had been a nobody in the family for quite a long time, but I had never imagined I would find myself in such a deplorable situation. While we were stranded at the airport, my friends had talked about how much they wanted to get home. For men, home is like a nest to live in, rain or shine. It was really the last shelter. Whether in a prosperous situation or suffering from misfortune, home is the last refuge.

We had different moods.

My friend A was really missing his three sons who still lived in the Highlands. He had to travel a long way to visit his family once or twice a year. My friend Z always thought about how to please his young wife when he got back home. Each of them had their own circumstance, but they were both happy. What about me? I visualised a pond filled with stagnant water in their houses. If the plane had been delayed for one, two or three days, it would not have mattered to me. I hadn’t been worried at all. I’d had no expectations.

I got up a little while later.

My daughter had just finished brushing her teeth and was already wearing warm clothes.

"Are you driving or is mother?" I asked.

"Mother."

"Are you heading over there with your mum?"

"No! I want to go alone."

Alone. Why did everyone want to be alone all the time? My daughter walked in silence out the door. She was riding a Japanese made motorbike she had just bought for hundreds of millions of dong. She looked so thin. What a pity on such a big bike!

My wife was putting on her make-up. She turned and asked me:

"Do you want to go to church with me?"

"I want to stay at home all alone," suddenly slipped off my tongue.

She did not seem to have heard it, but she said without worry:

"Oh, I forgot tell you that your old friend from secondary school, a fisherman, phoned you and said that he could not reach you."

"I was probably on the plane when he called. I had to switch my phone off. What did he want?"

"He said that you should go to the inauguration ceremony for the new church and attend the Christmas Eve Mass. Oh, dear, if you go to your home village, you should only lock the outside door so that I can still get in."

She went downstairs. Then I heard the roaring sound of her car’s engine gradually go away. It was Christmas Eve and I was home alone. I felt homeless in my own house. Our villa had many spacious rooms. It was quiet. It was deserted. Then all of a sudden I remembered that my son was still home. I barged right into his room. He had finished playing his online games and was sound asleep. His head was off to one side. I picked his head up and slipped a pillow underneath. Then I silently laid down by his side and embraced him and his dyed yellow hair. The smell of his sweat reached my nose, and I recognised it as my own. I could feel my love for him rise strongly. I pulled his head to my lap.

"Dad!" he pushed my hand away from his belly.

"Yes, your dad is here. Let me sleep with you for a little while!" I said lovingly.

"Please go back to your own room," he said as he pushed me away again.

"Are you driving your dad out?"

"No. But I want to be alone," he grumbled.

"Alone" again. Everyone in this family wanted to be alone! For a long time I could not let go of my son.

"I want to sleep with you," I insisted.

"If you sleep here, I’ll sleep in another room."

My son got up, looking angry. He snatched his pillow and went straight to the next room. He shut the door with a bang, and bolted it.

He wanted to be all alone in his own world. I felt as if I was powerless as I laid alone on the bed. Should I cry? No. My wife was not at fault. My son was not to blame. I was an honest man. So why couldn’t we come together?

****

Head to my home village!

Now!

The thought cropped up suddenly in my mind. I called a taxi and went to my home village right away. There was still time to meet my childhood friends, who had always gone to graze buffaloes with me.

I had been away from my home village for quite a long time, but many years in the city had not turned me into a city person. My friends told me I was difficult to change. I was still the same simple man as before. My home village had many Catholic churches, but my family was not religious. My non-Catholic hamlet lay mixed in between eleven Catholic hamlets. But my memories reached back to the cross-tipped bell tower and all the pigeon-eyed girls of my youth.

I pulled into the village at eleven that night. The Catholic villagers were crowding in the church, stirring up the Christmas Eve night. Everywhere was brightly lit. The cold winter night seemed to be getting warmer. The newly built church still smelt of fresh paint. It was quite imposing and majestic. It made me think of the years of war when US bombs had destroyed the church and left it in ruin, and only the bell tower remained standing. It remained stood majestically, reaching for the sky. The old bell tower has been incorporated into the new church.

I was like a dead man who come back to life. I was a bit uneasy, with all the old memories rushing back toward me. It all seemed like yesterday, as if I was reliving my childhood again.

... ... When I was young, I studied at a senior secondary school. Hoang Thi Mui, who lived in one of the Catholic hamlets, was my classmate. She took the Christian name of Teresa. Not many girls from the Catholic hamlets were able to go on to higher education. Most of them dropped out of school early, after finishing their elementary education, and they stayed at home to help their mothers weave sedge mats for a few years before getting married. Teresa was an intelligent girl. She had pigeon-like round eyes, snow-white skin and was quite shapely. The whole class called her Teresa Mui.

One Christmas Eve, Teresa invited the whole class to attend the ceremony. My friend, a son of a fisherman, and I, had to cross the river to get to Quang Phuc Church, which was already crowded. The whole area was brightly lit with electric bulbs and candles, giving warmth to the scene. We tried to elbow our way into the church, where I took great interest in the statues of the infant Jesus and the Virgin Mary. The priest was giving his sermon. Teresa had yet to welcome us because she was still with the other choir girls, all in white smocks, white hats and white kerchiefs. It was all pure white and very charming.

Then Teresa led the choir with the song Silent Night.

The ceremony, solemn and sacred, was held in reverence. The voice sang slowly and passionately, praising the Saviour. Teresa Mui’s image was there, deeply imprinted in my heart, all through my childhood and in later life. At midnight we all went to Teresa Mui’s house to enjoy dinner. It was a simple but long evening party in this poor Catholic hamlet. There were no luxury dishes such as fish, lobster, turkey and pork. We ate only rice pancakes and carp soup.

We stayed up late, past midnight, yet we found it difficult to go home....

****

... ... My wife phoned me:

"How is the Christmas ceremony in the village, dear?"

"Oh, very enjoyable," I said. "What about you?"

"The same as the last Christmas Eve. No excitement. No joy. No sadness."

I could tell that she did not enjoy it. She did not ask me when I would get back home. She was so indifferent.

My family members were only ever together at dinner time. They were dinners without meaning, not like having a family reunion or a family gathering. All of us sat there, at the dinner table, eating in silence without speaking a word. I thought the whole family would plunge in depression one day. I broke the ice, asking my wife:

"What are you thinking about?"

"I’m thinking about traffic accidents in this country, which kill about 33 people every day. Isn’t this the same number of people as an army platoon?"

"Yes, the same, the same.... What about you, daughter? What are thinking about?"

"My classmate moved out of the house yesterday afternoon to live alone. She doesn’t want to live with her parents anymore."

"What are you thinking, son?"

"The other day you told us that if you die, we should give offerings of all your favourite foods. If the dead were able to eat a lot, I don’t think the alter could be big enough. What do you think, dad?"

If the dead were able to eat a lot.... Listening to his words gave me goose bumps. We were all sitting together at the dinner table, but we weren’t sharing anything. We seemed separated.

Reality was bitter, but I could not run away from it.

I wished I could run away, back into the past. I wished my life could have been like they were in the good old days....

In the old days.... The US Air Force was conducting bombing raids over northern Viet Nam. It was the winter of 1972. It was so cold and chilly, but fires could be seen everywhere. The enemy’s bombs were dropping, destroying our villages and cities. With ten of my fellow villagers, I had registered to join the Army.

On the day I enlisted, Teresa Mui’s fate had been decided. Our truck had just left the village when US bombers dropped their bombs, hitting the church. We earnestly asked the driver to take us back to the village. We found the church in ruins, only the bell tower was left standing. And God had been unable to protect his flock. A bomb fragment had cut off both of Teresa’s legs. Blood was gushing from her. Her two round, pigeon-like eyes stared indignantly at the blue sky....

Later when I left active duty, I returned to my home village and looked for Teresa Mui. My mother said that she was still alive. She told me she had met Teresa on the way to the market one day. Teresa asked: "Your son has written letters to you, hasn’t he? If so, has he asked about me?" I felt a great deal of remorse when my mother told me this....

When I finally returned to the church she had already married. Her husband was my ex-classmate. He was a fisherman who would spread his net over the river all day, every day to catch fish. Teresa wove mats with her daughter, whose eyes were similar to her mother’s. Their life was so safe, simple and warm, I thought.

The old days were actually not so far away. Teresa was the same. But my wife was no longer my wife. I recognised that my other half did not belong to me any more....

"Mui! Are you Teresa Mui?"

I was so astonished. Those dreamy, round eyes. That body. Those full breasts! All were so familiar to me.

"Uncle, I’m Mai."

"Oh, I’m sorry! I was mistaken. Are you.... Teresa Mai?"

"Yes. I’m Mui’s daughter."

"I can see that."

"Are you well, uncle?"

"Yes, I am. What about you?"

"I’m a freshman at the Foreign Trade University. I’m taking Christmas off to be here. The choir is short of singers, so I have to join in."

"Yes. Can you sing Silent Night?"

"Yes, I can. You’ll hear it in a moment."

"Thank you. I’ll be so moved tonight."

"My parents have been expecting you the last few days. My mother always mentions you at every Christmas dinner. She was always sure that each Christmas would be the one when you would return."

It made me feel so warm at heart. So near and dear!

I felt as if I had just passed through an impassive desert, to an immense green grass land filled with tropical wind and sun light. I thought about a fisherman’s hut. About a bamboo boat. About Teresa Mui, Teresa Mai with all those dreamy round eyes.... And I thought about my villa....

I stepped inside the church.

That manger. The cave. The baby Jesus. Those small sheep.... It was so warm. The cold winter night could only be felt outside.

Teresa Mai was standing with the choir. All in white. So moved. So worried. A clear voice rose, resounding around the church. It was so passionate!

"Silent night/Holy night/ All is calm all is bright/ ‘Round yon virgin Mother and Child/ Holy infant so tender and mild/Sleep in heavenly peace...."

So many memories of the old days were rushing back to me. I loved Silent Night. (VNS)

Translated by Manh Chuong