VĂN HÓA ONLINE - VĂN HÓA - THỨ HAI 14 OCT 2024
Nhà văn Thanh Thương Hoàng và sách “The Refugee General”
Nhà văn Thanh Thương Hoàng, cựu Chủ tịch Hội Ký giả VN-Sàigon trước 1975.
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Sau nhiều lần cân nhắc, cuối cùng tôi quyết định dịch và xuất bản 14 truyện ngắn của mình, được chọn lọc từ gần 100 truyện mà tôi đã viết trong 50 năm qua.
Những truyện này đã được in trong tuyển tập “Tuyển Truyện Thanh Thượng Hoàng” bằng tiếng Việt, do Amazon xuất bản năm 2017 và được xếp vào danh sách những cuốn sách bán chạy nhất.
Chiến tranh Việt Nam đã lùi vào lịch sử, những vết thương chiến tranh đã dần được che phủ và che khuất theo thời gian, khiến con người gần như quên lãng (hoặc cố tình quên lãng).
Khi dịch và xuất bản tuyển tập truyện này, tôi chỉ muốn gợi lại nỗi đau của một dân tộc nhỏ bé trước những tham vọng điên rồ và tàn khốc của những kẻ vô tâm đã và đang hủy hoại xã hội và nhân loại. Có lẽ tiếng than khóc của một nhà văn nhỏ bé đến từ một dân tộc nhỏ bé sẽ chỉ là tiếng than khóc tuyệt vọng giữa sa mạc. Nhưng tôi tin rằng dù thế nào đi nữa, tôi vẫn sẽ làm điều đó mãi mãi. Thanh Thương Hoàng.
Tòa soạn Văn Hóa Online trích một truyện trong 14 truyện trong tuyển tập “The Refugee General”)
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The Cycle of Life And Death
Thanh Thuong Hoang
There were five of them: two gravediggers, Phuong’s mother, Phuong’s younger sister - Khanh, and Thanh. At down they arrived at the grave which was situated in a flooded rice field, surrounded by a vast expanse of land. The grass on the grave blended with the green of the rice.
Immediately after the ceremony, the two gravediggers began digging the grave.
Though three years had passed since Phuong’s departure, Thanh’s love for her remained undiminished. Phuong always lived on in his heart.
When Phuong’s mother visited Thanh and said, “Last night, I dreamed of Phuong. She said she was cold and wet. I’m going to pick a good day to move Phuong’s grave to a drier spot. If you have time...” Thanh eagerly agreed.
As Thanh watched the gravediggers’ hoes strike the earth, a peculiar feeling ran through him. Memories surged, overwhelming him. Their rendezvous, their adventures, their lovemaking... They were just a year away from Thanh’s graduation and their wedding when a serious illness tragically claimed Phuong’s life.
The round, red sun, like a balloon, had just risen in the East when the sharp strokes of a hoe echoed against wooden planks. Phuong’s mother lit incense sticks and placed them around the grave. Khanh, with wide, curious black eyes, watched, anticipating what would happen. Still only fourteen, she was too young to comprehend the profound tragedy of life and death.
The coffin creaked open, and dizziness washed over Thanh. Inside, submerged in water, Phuong’s body, clothes, and face appeared exactly as they had been in life. Thanh rubbed his eyes, disbelieving. It was the same... He yearned to jump in and hold Phuong.
The gravedigger poured the rice wine onto the ground. The water in the coffin rippled. Phuong’s image shimmered and then faded. A foul, pungent odor rose. The gravedigger plunged his arm into the murky water, groping around. First, he pulled out dirty, curved ribs, handing them to his companion who would wash and clean them before placing them in a ceramic urn. Then came the thin leg and arm bones, and the vertebrae. Watching the gravediggers did so, Thanh’s mind conjured images of Phuong’s vibrant beauty: her ample bosom, graceful legs, and the soft, tapered elegance of her fingers.
Could these fragmented bones have once been Phuong’s frame? Did she live and walk with these bones? Her skin, once warm and fragrant, now reeked of decay. But the vision of her beauty persisted.
The gravedigger lifted out a long, wet clump of hair, its once pure blackness faded. Thanh took it gently, stroking it as tenderly as before, though the hair was now coarse and devoid of its former softness and shine.
Then Phuong’s skull, mottled black and white, was unearthed. Its mouth hung open, revealing the chin bone, and the two deep, inky black eye sockets looked creepy. Thanh shuddered. There was nothing left of Phuong in this skull. Suddenly, Thanh looked at Phuong’s mother, who was tenderly stroking the skull. Her face was gaunt, her dark skin stretched taut over bone. Her cheeks were hollow, her cheekbones prominent, and her eye... Oh God, her eyes were as deep and dark as Phuong’s skull. Death had etched its mark upon her face. Thanh shivered. Phuong’s eyes had been famously beautiful when she was alive, and her teeth were even and white. Thank had jokingly called her teeth “diamonds caught by heaven”. He had passionately kissed her soft pink lips hundreds, thousands of times. Now, that beautiful mouth was a hideous, rough “cave”. Where had those pink lips and heavenly diamonds vanished? Thanh felt a creepy sensation on his lips. He looked at Khanh. Her eyes were dark and bright, her lips soft as a rose. Why did Khanh look so much like Phuong! There was no sign of death on her face. Only vibrant life radiated from her. Thanh kept looking at Phuong’s mother, Khanh, and the two gravediggers. Soon, they would all become lifeless, stinking piles of bones. He felt a chill run down his spine. Something inside him broke. His face turned pale and he suddenly ran away as if fleeing. He waded through the flooded rice paddies, the water nearly up to his knees.
Phương’s mother, Khanh, and the two gravediggers stared in surprise.
“Where are you going, Thanh?” Phuong’s mother asked.
“What are you looking for, Thanh? Come back!” Khanh cried out.
Thanh heard everything but did not answer. Where was I going, what was I looking for? I was looking for myself! I was running away from myself!
At that moment, the sun blazed down on the verdant rice fields, their heads heavy with grain, a vibrant source of life. A gentle breeze rustled through the air. Thanh saw his upside-down image reflected on the blue sky with white clouds floating lazily beneath the clear water of the rice paddy. Each step Thanh took made the water move, creating round waves. These waves connected to each other... spreading out and disappearing into the distance. Thanh’s image, the blue sky, and the white clouds also swayed and blurred indistinctly following the waves of water.
Thanh continued to trudge forward, his head bowed, each step heavy in the mud and impeded by the rice plants that seemed to cling to his legs. Vaguely, he heard a voice, like Phuong’s, calling, “Thanh, come back to us!” He could almost feel footsteps splashing through the water behind him.
(Quoted from the collection of stories “The Refugee General”)
