My face flushed as I remembered how, when I was young, I’d constantly bragged to Grandma—who opposed my becoming a housewife—about how well Chu Thư Ngôn treated me, insisting over and over that all I had to do was be a good wife to him.
“But none of this is your fault. Social conventions led you to abandon yourself without even realizing it, sacrificing your interests, your work, even part of who you are, in exchange for a false sense of family harmony.”
“It’s just that once you give yourself up, you feel you don’t have to take responsibility for yourself. In the end, life turns out badly, and all you can say is, ‘He was the one who wronged me.’”
I was deeply shaken. Memories and reflections on the decades of my life kept flooding back.
【What good does it do for a girl to get so much schooling? She’ll have to get married in the end anyway.】
【Men are naturally stronger than women. As a woman, you have to work hard, or your husband’s family will look down on you.】
【If you knew I’d married such a good husband, you’d think I was lucky too.】
【My boyfriend deliberately got me a baby bowl. I’m so happy.】
【He cheats on me. He abuses me. But I believe he loves me.】
I suddenly remembered Grandma’s story about her comrades.
Some crossed rivers despite being on their periods, their blood staining the icy water red.
Later, some people treated menstruation as something shameful and stigmatized it.
Some ate their belts and chewed grass just to fill their stomachs, then trained to kill the enemy.
Later, some people judged whether women had self-control by how much they ate, and judged their worth by their figures.
Some had their feet bound and were physically constrained; others had their feet bound in spirit.
Suddenly, everything became clear to me.
I, too, had been shackled by convention and love. Luckily, it wasn’t too late for me to wake up now.
I hugged Grandma and choked out, “Thank you, Grandma.”
I thought I’d found my freedom.
18
In the second half of my life, I suddenly reclaimed the dream I’d had as a young girl.
To become a writer.
I stopped retelling Grandma’s story and began writing the stories I wanted to write.
Grandma was always my best reader. She said:
“Write, Thanh Tang. You’re no longer a pen in someone else’s hand.”
“Now you’re the one holding the pen.”
I wrote without stopping, striving to create work I could face with a clear conscience.
I wrote about the hardships of poor rural women, the educational journeys of girls from the mountains, and the sexual needs of middle-aged women.
My writing came from me, but it wasn’t only about me.
Some people called me shameless. Some wrote to me privately to tell me how much they liked my work. And some, inspired by it, made life-changing decisions and sought greater freedom.
These stories had lit a light in me, and they lit one in the people who read them, too.
When Chu Vũ Kiệt called me, I was still immersed in writing.
He said Chu Thư Ngôn had suffered a stroke.
He was paralyzed on more than half his body.
Ôn Như Ngọc couldn’t bear to see her once-dashing first love reduced to an invalid who couldn’t control his bladder or bowels, his mouth twisted to one side. She cut off contact with Chu Thư Ngôn, and there was no word from her after that.
Chu Vũ Kiệt wanted his wife to quit her job and care for Chu Thư Ngôn alongside his bedridden mother. His wife only smiled and said, “It’s not appropriate for a daughter-in-law to care for her father-in-law.”
So every day after work, Chu Vũ Kiệt had to grit his teeth and care for Chu Thư Ngôn. He couldn’t take it after just a week, and had to hire an expensive caregiver to look after both patients.
But his salary was limited. After the mortgage, car payments, and the caregiver’s wages, he had no choice but to work overtime like mad every day.
Chu Vũ Kiệt said, “Mom, I finally understand what they mean when they say that no child can remain filial through a long illness. I love Dad very much, but I really can’t stand having to wipe his bottom every day. How did you manage to keep caring for someone who wasn’t even related to you…”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I was really wrong…”
19
How had I managed to care for my paralyzed mother-in-law for ten years?
It was actually very simple: my mother-in-law had given me the maternal love I’d never known.
After giving birth to my mother, Grandma joined the army. My mother grew up eating at neighbors’ homes throughout the village. She didn’t know why Grandma had abandoned her, and by the time Grandma returned, she was already married.
She resented Grandma, and she didn’t know how to be a good mother. Using the daily work-point labor she had to do as an excuse, she left me with Grandma.
Even before I married Chu Thư Ngôn, my mother-in-law had treated me like her own daughter. In my heart, I thought of her as my mother, too.
That night, I told Chu Thư Ngôn I wanted a divorce. She heard me, too.
She said, “Thanh Tang, go. Don’t look back.”
“Most of us women are fated to suffer in this life, trapped by marriage and poverty, toiling like old oxen our whole lives and ending up with nothing.”
“He treats you badly, so don’t give him any importance. Go.”
So I left.
I returned with Grandma to that quiet little house, and it felt as if I’d gone back to my childhood.
The ups and downs, the love and hatred of the past several decades, all seemed to blow away on the wind.
Later, my mother came with Grandma’s book, leaning on a cane, and spoke privately with Grandma for a very, very long time.
I didn’t know exactly what they’d said. I only remembered the faint, relieved smile on my mother’s face when she came out.
It was good. Everyone was all right.
Until one morning.
I woke up and didn’t see Grandma in the living room. By then, she should have eaten breakfast long ago.
I calmed myself, pushed open the bedroom door, and saw Grandma still sitting on the bed. I let out a quiet breath of relief.
“Grandma, the rooster’s crowed several times already. Why are you still sprawled out in bed?”
Grandma slowly turned to look at me. Our eyes met, and in an instant my whole body seemed to freeze. My hands and feet went ice-cold.
She opened her mouth:
“Who… are you?”
20
Alzheimer’s disease, also known as dementia in old age.
This illness had stolen my extraordinary, all-capable Grandma.
Grandma no longer remembered who I was, or even who she was.
She no longer remembered how to make sticky rice cakes filled with mugwort, or how to eat, or how to use the bathroom.
I patiently fed her, taught her how to use the bathroom, and cleaned the waste she smeared carelessly on the walls.
My mother and Chu Vũ Kiệt advised me to put Grandma in a nursing home.
“Couldn’t we find the most expensive nursing home? You’re getting older, and if Grandma has an episode, she won’t be easy to care for!”
I shook my head and refused.
“The doctor said that staying in a familiar environment would help her condition. Besides, Grandma is very well-behaved.”
She really was very well-behaved.
Once, a military movie happened to be playing on TV. The main character gave the order, “Attention!”
Grandma had been lying dazed on the sofa, but suddenly she sprang up and stood at attention, ramrod straight, her expression solemn.
She had forgotten everything, but she still remembered her instinct to defend her country.
21
Once I learned that military bugle calls still got a response from Grandma, I started imitating the commander's voice to call her to eat and use the bathroom. I used bugle calls to wake her in the morning and signal lights-out at bedtime.
Grandma followed every instruction, one by one, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
I just never expected Ôn Như Ngọc to come looking for me.
Her silver hair was curled just so, and her fitted qipao complemented the translucent green jade bracelet on her wrist.
“Lâm Thanh Tang, I’ve read your book. The person Chu Thư Ngôn described is nothing like you.”
“In his eyes, you’re a farmer who knows nothing about literature and does nothing but wash clothes and cook. But through your words, I’ve seen your heart and your talent...”
I smiled and cut her off. “If you came to critique my writing, believe me, I know more about that than you do.”
She fell silent for a moment, then handed me a bag of fruit.
“I just came to say I’m sorry.”
“And you and your grandmother are both wonderful.”
I took the bag of fruit. “Looking at how things turned out, I should be thanking you all.”
But there was too much fruit for the plastic bag. I couldn’t get a good grip on it, and two round mangosteens rolled out.
Before I could react, Grandma, who had been sitting obediently beside me, suddenly lunged forward.
She threw her whole body over the two mangosteens, waving her hands and shouting at us:
“Run! Run!”
In an instant, the scene of a desperate battle on the battlefield decades ago thundered through my mind.
Grandma and the neighbor girl had gone to the battlefield together.
When a grenade landed in front of them, Grandma’s mind was still blank. The neighbor girl instinctively lunged forward, and exploded into pieces right before her eyes.
Fresh blood mixed with white matter splattered across Grandma’s face.
Afterward, countless times, Grandma woke in the middle of the night and regretted not having thrown herself onto that grenade.
“If I’d been the one to throw myself on it, could the neighbor girl have survived?”
Perhaps she had rehearsed that forward lunge in her mind countless times.
Even the most terrifying illness couldn’t make her forget.
Neighbor girl, this time I was faster.
22
After that “charge at the mangosteen,” Grandma was lucid for a little while.
We were still sitting in the old reclining chair in the yard, basking in the sun.
The osmanthus tree in the yard was covered in blossoms, their rich fragrance spreading everywhere.
When I was little, Grandma would often pick a whole bunch of osmanthus flowers and steam two large baskets of osmanthus cakes for me.
“Thanh Tang, I wasn’t a good wife or a good mother in this life.”
“Luckily, I was still a good soldier and a good grandmother.”
“Taking care of your sick grandmother must have been hard, hasn’t it? Thank you for not letting Grandma spend the end of her life in a nursing home.”
“These days with you have made Grandma so, so happy.”
“From now on, even if you’re all alone, you have to live well...”
Grandma’s voice grew fainter and more indistinct.
A child’s sing-song voice came from the radio:
“Beyond the long pavilion, beside the old road, green grass stretches for miles... I ask when you’ll set out; when will you stop lingering?”
“At the ends of the earth, at the edge of the sea, close friends grow few; reunions are rare in life, while partings are many...”
Tap.
I looked up through tear-filled eyes and discovered an osmanthus blossom had fallen onto my head.
Grandma’s blossoms had fallen.
(The End)