Short story: The Red Marble

Illustration: Vu Thuy

The street is long and melancholic, like the sound of a zither. The two banyan trees standing there listening to the music are perhaps a hundred years old. The rain plays the zither with a million pale, delicate fingers.

Sad streets give rise to sad markets. People are like banyan leaves. They come and go suddenly. No wind is needed. They linger in the market for a moment and then scatter.

My house is near the market. I love the evening smoke. It's all dried Terminalia leaves and sugarcane pulp. The smoke is sweet and pungent, like the calls of poverty yet pure. It rises silently with the evening mist...

Next to my house is Mrs. Mai's house. Everyone says she's the woman with the most vicious and melodious curses in the area. Fifty-two years have passed, but I still remember some of her curses:

- "I pray that your family gets bitten by snakes in the fields. May you be struck by lightning at home. May your wife give birth to a crowbar while pregnant. I pray that fire never burns in your kitchen. May your child be unable to speak, only able to eat with the dog with their head down..."

Why do the memories of childhood take so long to fade? Eight-year-old Hoa was so pretty and intelligent; she was the daughter of Mrs. Mai and in my class. How could a woman with thin legs, a gaunt face, who drank alcohol and smoked tobacco so heavily, give birth to such a lovely little girl?

I secretly loved her with the love of an eight-year-old boy. That is, if there was a ripe guava or a sweet star fruit, I would always save it for her. Watching her eat with relish, a thought burned inside me: Why did I give it all to her? I should have bitten off half before giving it to her so it wouldn't be such a waste. And why was she so greedy? She wouldn't even let me have a bite...

It seems like Uncle Mai hates Hoa. He often beats her. He only loves Son, Hoa's younger brother. That boy has terrible asthma. Every time he has an attack, he wheezes, rolls around, and convulses like an epileptic. Uncle Mai was gathering duckweed to make medicine for his asthma while muttering curses at her husband, a geologist who's gone to hell somewhere and doesn't bother to come home. I heard Uncle Nam, who sweeps the market, say that Hoa isn't this husband's child, that Uncle Mai is doing extra farming. I've only heard of farming potatoes and cassava. How could he be farming people?

That day, Hoa cried constantly in class, her face swollen and clearly marked with five finger marks. Teacher Hien asked her what was wrong, then started crying. Hoa hugged Teacher Hien, sobbing: "Teacher, it hurts so much..."

A raging fire of hatred burned within me. I wouldn't let Hoa be tortured like that. I would protect her like a hero in a fairy tale. That night, I wrapped human excrement in bricks and stones and threw them at Uncle Mai's roof. The next morning, the whole neighborhood heard an unforgettable, horrifying song. Of course, it was a song steeped in the stench I created.

I met Hoa on my way to school, and she said: "Don't do that anymore. It's just that I get beaten up unfairly. And it stinks so badly. I can't wash it off no matter how much I try..."

I was shocked to hear that Uncle Mai had admitted Hoa to a mental institution. I skipped lunch. I was unbearably hungry that afternoon, so I ate again. Even if you beat me to death, I wouldn't believe Hoa was mentally ill. She was so smart, and so pretty too. How could someone with mental illness be so beautiful?

Then that autumn, I was mowing the grass for the fish in the backyard when Hoa suddenly jumped out from the bushes, grabbed my hand tightly, and burst into tears.

- Please save me. I'll die in there. I just escaped. My mother is hunting me. I'm not crazy...

Hoa was very thin. Her shirt was torn. There were red marks on her wrists, like those from being tied up. Her mouth was still bleeding...

I looked up at the sky, looked around, and saw only the bewildered sesame plants, a few scrawny banana trees, and a sudden gust of wind that made me shiver, even though I was sweating. Trembling, I gave her the raw potato I had just gleaned, along with three marbles—blue, red, and yellow—my most prized possessions. Hoa took them, bewildered, still crying and pleading:

- Please save me. I'm going to die...

Suddenly, a kick sent me tumbling backward. A subsequent slap made Hoa's mouth bleed bright red blood. Uncle Mai dragged her away. Hoa cried and begged. The potato fell to the ground. Two marbles shattered under the heel of the man who was the doctor taking Hoa back to the camp. Tears blurred my vision. I could only see the blood-red marble rolling along, trying to catch up with Hoa's worn-out sandals, but failing. Hoa turned to look at me one last time. Why were her eyes like two red marbles?

Uncle Mai kicked me in the stomach. And since then, I've had chest pain. Many nights I dream that Hoa comes and stands at the head of my bed, vomiting up countless red marbles dripping with blood.

Months later, news broke that Hoa had fallen ill and died in a mental asylum. The news caused a stir in my neighborhood for half a day. It was wartime. Enemy planes were constantly bombing. So many people had died. We were used to being close to death. What was a mentally ill child dying from illness...?

But I didn't believe it. I often went to the riverbank and sat there for hours. I'd raise my hand and look down at the water. My hand was so small. The river was so wide and cold. Was my reflection in the water cold too? So many questions, like water hyacinths drifting by...

Fifty-two years have passed since that autumn began. I've never forgotten. I read books. When I got a little older, I picked up a pen and wrote. Beneath the pages, there was often the blood-red gaze and pleading voice of Hoa from all those years ago. The red marble became an eye, staring at me in pain.

Many nights I dreamt of Hoa. She had white wings like an angel. I was so happy. Yes, fly away, my friend. There will be a fairytale world waiting for you. Fly away peacefully...

Autumn has arrived again this afternoon. I returned to that village. So much has changed. Yet I still see that red marble rolling down the hillside like before. I frantically chased after it. Oh look! That marble has turned into the sun.

My friend, I owe you so much, please forgive me... It seems like autumn is gently smiling. Then the bright red marble of the sun rolls away to a faraway place…