Chapter 6
One cheap beer went down the hatch, then another. It was easier when one was being invited and coerced from all sides to partake (otherwise they would start to ask why she was being quiet, again). Sinning wasn’t such a bad thing anymore with more accomplices involved. Being petite came with certain shortcomings in terms of constitution, and soon Hà felt control over her own mind slipping. She yawned once, twice, and then some. Hà started to slump. Her coworkers’ drunken banter was now abrasive background noise. It had been three years since her last alcoholic drink.
The Americans were sat at a different table, along with a selection of the most vital party members (who provided the bulk of the clamor coming from that end). They were served champagne over there. She stared into the mayhem of foodstuff and half-empty bottles, pondering the absurdity of bringing such important guests to witness what could have constituted cultural atrocity - the brutal slaughter of dignity in the name of gluttony and pride. Also known in Vietnamese as “nhậu”. She wondered if Americans could find it in them to brush it off as “cultural exchange”.
Hà didn’t want to abandon and let her friends down, but she was getting worn down. The bitter and metallic taste of beer, the pungent smell of tobacco, and the merging of individuals into an abominable group-consciousness fueled by drunkenness. They were all too much for her. Hà whispered into the woman next to watch over her bag while she stepped out. She left behind semi-conscious acquaintances, the haze of smoke, and the fluorescent light that was simultaneously sterile and filthy. The party went on without her, thus bookending Hà’s moment in the limelight.
The evening monsoon air was thick to breathe, but cooled the lungs once it got inside. Hà wandered around the unlit garden in front of the restaurant. Crossing a small wooden bridge over a pond, she checked out her own reflections in the black water. Only shadows between the lily pads, she couldn’t see much out here.
“Taking a break?”
Hà took much longer than usual to feel herself startle. It was a woman’s voice, husky and nonchalant in the way that Hà wasn’t even sure that it was directed at her. Then again, she rarely had people address her, only her, in English.
The distant light from the restaurant painted an imposing silhouette. It was hard to see her face, mostly because of the dark, but also much thanks her lush head of hair stealing all Hà’s attention. Hà had short hair, as did most women around her. This wasn’t just long. This was wild. The woman was leaning far against the rickety railing, yet she was still taller than Hà.
“Y-yes. I don’t want to sit for too long,” Hà managed.
The statuesque impression was betrayed by how the soft light contoured her smiling eyes and gentle flowing sundress that reached her ankles. Right there at the moment the light had hit at the right angle, It dawned on Hà whom this was. So the American girl had swapped out her tight-fitting cream dress for a more casual look. Hà turned away and looked back at the pond.
“Me neither.”
“It’s very loud,” Hà exaggerated her inflection of the word “very”, roughly imitating how a native would sound. The woman suppressed a giggle.
“No no, I’m so sorry,” the American gushed in between her gasps. Hà could feel a red warmth crawl up her neck and cheeks.
“I need to practice my English more.”
“Honey, no, it’s my bad. Look at me, I only know English,” the woman smiled empathically and opened her arms in that big, Western way that Hà had only seen in movies. Hà chuckled and the woman joined in, placing her hand on her new the shoulder of her new Viet friend. Sensing some apprehension at contact, the American withdrew her hand and redirected, “So what’s your name?”
“My name’s Hà. And you?” Hà looked into her eyes and knew whom this woman was.
“Oh I go by many names. Liz, Beth, Elizabeth, sometimes Ellie,” Liz-Beth-Elizabeth-Ellie swung and flicked her wrist in the air, as if counting. “Which one do you prefer?”
“I would prefer a Vietnamese name. It’s easier to say,” This time, their restrained chuckles bloomed into pure and simple laughter.
“Alright then, Hà, give me a Vietnamese name.”
“Beth sounds like ‘Bé’. Your name is ‘Bé’ now,” Hà then spent the next two minutes correcting Bé’s accent so that the American would say the accent mark correctly. With some frustration, Bé commented on how hard the language was. Hà perked up her chin and returned a smug and knowing look, to which Bé could only snigger in embarrassment and playfully slap Hà on the arm,
“I told you I was sorry. So ‘Bé” huh? It’s so cute. Does it have a special meaning?”
“It means ‘small’ or ‘young’.”
“Only half of it is true, then.”
“I can see that.”
A silence, Bé’s smiling eyes scanned Hà from foot to toe as if to size her up. Hà bit her lips and glanced away.
“You’re a riot, you know that?” Bé asked.
“I’ll go get my dictionary,” they shared another hearty laugh.
A bulky man in a loose business coat approached from afar. He beckoned. Bé answered curtly and said that she was needed inside again. Hà said goodbye and started to head inside too. Her anxiety about abandoning her post was returning after the American man broke the spell between the two women. She hurried, but Bé called out to her,
“Let’s walk in together. You’re my new friend now.”
Turning around to her American friend, Hà found herself dumbstruck. Bé had stepped out into the light. There was the girl Hà had met earlier that morning, in all of her glory. The shadows of leaves danced on her curvaceous form, parting like a black silk screen as Bé strode past. Hà could see her face now; the features were much more subtle than most of the fellow delegates, yet there was a level of polish the others didn’t have. It wasn’t so much specifically her come-hither eyes or persistent lip curls, but the full brunt of how all of these things came together. An ageless face, at once thirteen and thirty-one. Sunset bounced on her head.
Bé slid her hand into the crease of Hà’s elbow. The American signaled her to enter the building, all the while not breaking eye contact and the smirk on the curl of her lips.
“Lead the way,” and so Hà did. She looked so small walking with the redhead. On the way in, Hà stole glances of her companion still, not noticing the silence at her coworkers’ table. They had stopped the banter and were intently watching the duo.
