The bird flu epidemic, like a whirlwind, swept across Hang’s chicken farm during one of the last days of the year. More than a thousand birds died suddenly. As she did her rounds, she cried her heart out over the fat hens, which were dead but still warm to the touch under the softness of glossy yellow feathers.
It was impossible to control her tears when she recalled her routine morning visits to the coop. How happy she was then to see so many ivory white eggs lying here and there and the hens "scuttling" towards her and making small noises as a tacit gesture of warm welcome. They were all so bright-eyed, rushing to her as she smilingly said: "Eat your fill and give a lot more good eggs...". Now they were lying in heaps, lifeless and still in the position of eating or laying eggs. Only some remained alive but feebly huddled in a corner of the coop. A cold, mourning atmosphere prevailed over the whole area.
In the next few days, despite being kept in quarantine and in hygienic conditions, the birds continued to die like flies, too fast to be buried. Some neighbours consoled her: "Hang dear! They are just following Mr Dau."
Dau, her husband, was a livestock engineer. He had sweated blood building up the large chicken farm in this village by the Vam Co river. When the breeding stock showed signs of substantial growth, he fell seriously ill. No matter how far Hang traveled in search of effective medical treatment for her husband, from the district clinic to the provincial polyclinic and even big hospitals in Ho Chi Minh City, he could not escape from the fatal disease. Finally, Dau passed away silently on a spring afternoon when the warm sunlight was streaming onto the verandah where he had previously enjoyed being sun-burnt and listening to the small noises of chuckling hens that caused a pleasant stir over the peaceful and calm surface of the riverside in front of the house. It was three years ago when she closed his eyelids for the last time and now all his hard work was going down the drain because of chicken flu, she brooded in sadness.
Having buried all the ill-fated fowl she allowed her farmhands to stop work for a while. Twice a day she burned incense to pray for her husband and also for thousands of deceased birds. Then, she lingered outside for hours near the coop. When falling asleep she often had incomplete dreams with jarring visions and sounds. It seemed to her that her husband was still there, somewhere around. Sometimes he was bending over the coop or calling back vaguely from behind the purple-blue cornflower bushes on the other side of the river. Sometimes he was bobbing up and down for breath on the rippling waves of the river. Sometimes it was the little cries for food from the chicks or the scuttling sounds from the glossy, yellow-feathered, red-crested hens...
In the large, three-section house there were only three living creatures: the cat that slept all day, the blackbird and Hang. The lazy but cunning cat always wanted to be fondled, trying its best to rub the long tail against her arms and legs even when she was so bored to death. The appearance of the cat, however, was good enough to scare away some insolent rats that attempted to run riot all day as they knew there was no masculine presence in the house. The bird was really her close friend indeed. It was a sacred present left behind by her husband. He had got it from one of his friends while going around to borrow money for construction of his chicken farm. He was told that a bird of this kind was very clever and could learn to speak within a year. Now it looked bigger with its glossy, black plumage, together with its orange beak and dark feet, and it became more active in the bamboo cage. She still remembered the way he had carefully whittled bamboo spokes to make a cage for the bird, whistling merrily all the time. In those days, whether it was morning or afternoon, the sounds of his whistling, laughing and talking had always filled her heart with joy.
One year later, when the bird tried to copy the call of another bird- the red-whiskered bulbul - he began teaching it to speak its first words: "Hang dear!". Each time she was coming over, he pointed to her, calling "Hang dear!..". The bird turned its head, looked at her for a long moment and painstakingly called: "Hang dear!..." in a bass voice of masculine warmth. To mark the first batch of hens laying eggs and the first spoken words of their bird, Hang and her husband decided to invite some friends over for a party.
When she carried the tray in front of the cage the bird craned its neck towards her and called "Hang dear!..". Her friends were all wide-eyed in admiration to hear such tender words coming from the bird in a way so much like Dau’s thick voice. One of his friends said: "Hey, Dau! When you’re away your wife will be missing you less when hearing the bird’s call." Then, they all gathered around the cage, teaching the bird to speak more words: "Hang dear, I love you very much." The bird tried very hard to copy the words " I love you very much" but could not speak clearly as its syllables were closely linked together like overcooked sticky rice. But every time it repeated that sentence, Dau and Hang knew it wanted to say: " I love you very much...".
The bird was given a special diet: egg yolk mixed with under-milled rice, together with rain water collected from the tile roof. Gradually it began to speak a lot more words and sentences. When someone came to see Hang, the bird raised its head, calling: "Guest...Guest, Hang dear!". Every time she passed by the cage it jumped up and down, blinking its eyes repeatedly in joy and happiness and greeting her with the affectionate words that, she knew, really came from deep within: "Hang dear, I love you very much...". As if in a daze, she stopped short and said to him in tenderness: " Hello, dear! I love you too." The day of Dau’s funeral, the bird stood dead still with ruffled feathers in a corner of his cage. The pain of loss was too great for Hang to suffer. She had no time to think about other things and forgot to feed the bird. On the way back from the graveyard she heard a rather loud, drawn-out call: "Hang dear...!", so much like Dau’s, coming from the middle of the house that shocked her and made her sit down heavily on a seat, tears welling in her eyes.
After that surprising moment, Hang had hardly risen up and stepped over to Dau’s altar to burn a joss stick when she caught sight of the bird calling repeatedly: "Hang dear, Hang dear...I love you very much...". She then took down the cage and tenderly placed the bird in the palm of her hand. It blinked its eyes in sadness and called: "Hang dear...". She was really shocked and began to feel as if his soul had entered the bird to stay with her in the house.
The bird’s company had relieved her pain of loss to a certain extent. Strangely, since Dau’s death, the fowl stock grew quickly. Hang borrowed more money from the bank to double the herd of five thousand birds. As caring for the hens was becoming less of a burden thanks to the skilled and loyal farmhands she had employed, she could then have more time to spend with the bird. She often came to talk to the bird while watering the rose pots nearby and enjoyed hearing its tender words: "Hang dear, I love you very much...".
At a time when her business was thriving, the bird flu epidemic came like a hurricane to wreak havoc on the farm with its destructive power as terrible as an earthquake.
Sitting silently in her room with the bird cage hanging in front of her Hang looked like a dead soul. The bird also seemed to speak less than before as if sharing her sadness. But each time she burned incense for Dau and the dead hens, it again called softly: " Hang dear...".
One afternoon, while she was feeding the bird, the village chief came up to her with a serious face.
- "Hang, I know you will be very sad but, according to the village decision, all birds should be killed to prevent the spread of avian flu..."
Hang was not surprised to hear the news from him but that meant her pet would also be culled. Like being stabbed in the heart, she felt completely dizzy and lost for words, her face turning pale as if she herself were going to die.
After the village chief left she opened the cage and silently placed the bird in her palm. It seemed to understand the seriousness of what was happening and cast a worried look at her for sympathy. Oh, my God! It was Dau’s sacred present-a creature with a human soul that had become her close companion in this house. Soon, it would have to leave her forever. As she caressed the glossy black feathers of the bird, she could not hold back the tears, which were welling up in her eyes...
Next morning, when a group of local youths came to her house carrying bags loaded with dead birds of different species, she said to them in a sad voice.
- "My bird was snatched by a cat last night..."
The youths had almost walked away when a thick voice was heard from the cupboard hidden behind the wall of the sitting room: "Hang dear...". They all stopped short to listen. Locked up in the dark the bird continued calling: "Hang...Hang dear!.."- a painful cry for help.
Unable to hide the bird any more, Hang burst into tears like a little girl and went to the cupboard to take it out.
The bird rubbed its beak against the back of her hand and looked up at her eyes, uttering a mournful cry: "Hang dear!"
Translated by Nguyen Duc Phu
