Chapter 59
The small party at the restaurant ended with the sound of laughter and the lingering smell of wine in the air. Huu Thang, my father, was a little drunk. The alcohol, combined with the pride of his wife’s victory, made his face red. He put his arm around Minh Cuong, Khoi’s father, in a very intimate manner, laughing heartily, the typical sound of a successful man who was completely satisfied with life.
“See, I told you! My wife is unrivaled!”
Minh Cuong also smiled, but his smile was a little different. It wasn’t entirely one of celebration. His gaze, in a moment when he thought no one was looking, swept over my mother, Ngoc My. It wasn’t a social glance. It was an appraising glance, the gaze of a hunter sizing up its prey. He looked at my mother’s bare back, where the two straps of her black silk dress hung loosely over her shoulders, then his gaze slid lower, stopping at her round buttocks covered by soft fabric that seemed to cling to her skin with every movement.
“Thang is truly lucky,” Cuong said, his voice low. “My here is truly a masterpiece.”
My mother, as if sensing that gaze, turned slightly. She did not appear upset. Instead, a barely perceptible smile crossed her lips. She was a peacock accustomed to being admired, and she knew exactly the value of every hair on her body. She sat next to Hue Lan, Khoi’s mother, two women with two opposing beauties. Mrs. Lan was elegant and noble like a white lily, a beauty that made people want to cherish and preserve. As for my mother, she was a red velvet rose, thorny and inviting, a beauty that made men want to possess, want to crush. They were talking about something, maybe shopping trips, plans for the children. But I knew, with my mother, even the most trivial stories were part of the performance. Every gesture, from the way she crossed her legs causing her skirt to ride up a bit, to the way she tilted her head back to smile, revealing her long, white neck, was calculated down to the last detail.
We moved to the resort’s outdoor bar for dessert. The sea air was hot, humid, and sticky. Jazz music played softly from a speaker hidden somewhere behind the trees. Insects chirped. And the laughter of four adults . Khoi, Nam, and I sat at a nearby table, seemingly engaged in our own conversation, but all three of us had our eyes and ears fixed on the main stage.
Khoi and Nam, two hungry wolves, did not hide their desire. Their eyes were glued to their mother’s breasts that were bouncing under the thin silk whenever she leaned forward to take a piece of fruit. As for me, I was a spectator on a different level. I not only craved, I also analyzed, judged, and felt a sick sense of superiority. That woman, the center of all attention, was my work, my training ground. That mouth that was smiling charmingly at Mrs. Lan, just last night, had obediently taken my penis.
“Hey Thang,” Cuong suddenly suggested. “Let’s go out there and have a cigar. There’s something I want to discuss.”
“Okay!” my father replied enthusiastically, immediately standing up.
The two men separated from the group and went to a more secluded corner of the garden, where there were a few rattan chairs placed under a large tree. I could clearly see the change in the atmosphere. The play was about to enter a new act. I signaled Khoi and Nam to be quiet and focused all my attention on the two men.
Cuong lit a cigar for Thang, then lit one for himself. He took a long drag, exhaling a cloud of white smoke, momentarily hiding his expression.
“Win,” he began, his voice low and excited. “You are the luckiest man alive.”
My father, who was in a daze, chuckled. “You flatter me.”
“No, I’m telling the truth,” Cuong emphasized. “Your wife… can’t be called ‘beautiful’ anymore, it should be called ‘beautiful’. A woman at her age who can maintain that is truly rare. Look at the way she walks and talks… even I, a married man, sometimes have to swallow my saliva.”
My father was proud, obviously very happy. What man doesn’t like to have his “achievements” admired by others.
I looked at Cuong, and in my head, the thoughts of this old fox appeared clearly. *That’s right, flatter him. Flaunt that stupid, drunken fool. Make him see that his wife is a treasure, and that it is an honor to share the admiration of that treasure.*
Cuong, after pumping my father up with pride, made his final move. He nudged my father’s shoulder and lowered his voice as if sharing a secret.
“Hey, I think living in two villas like this is a bit inconvenient, huh?”
“What inconvenience?” My father was surprised.
“Well, you see,” Cuong explained. “The kids are growing up, they need their own space to make trouble, to hang out with each other. If they keep adults around, they will feel uncomfortable. And our two wives also need a place to gossip, to talk about their sisterly matters. It’s weird to keep the boys here.” He paused, took another drag of his cigar, then concluded. “The most important thing is us. At night, we want to have a few drinks, chat, and if we raise our voices, it will affect the children’s sleep.”
*Aha, here it is*, I thought to myself. *What a reasonable reason. He was talking about everyone, but it was really for one sole purpose.*
Cuong looked straight into my father’s eyes, his voice full of persuasion: “How about this… My villa has another outhouse, with two bedrooms, fully furnished, and isolated behind a row of trees. Or we can let the kids – Huy, Khoi, Nam – stay there together. A group of all boys, free to have fun. And us adults … grouped together in the main villa here. It’s spacious, convenient for the ladies to confide in, and we can be comfortable.”
My father didn’t need to think for a second. His eyes lit up. The trap had been perfect.
“Great idea! Great idea!” he slapped his thigh. “Only you could think of this. The children have their own space, the adults have their own space. Great!”
Poor fool. He only saw the surface of convenience, but did not see the abyss of desire behind that offer. “Convenient for the ladies to confide in”? “We can relax together”? It was all just a cover. The real purpose was: to put Ngoc My in a bigger cage, where another old wolf was waiting.
My father, in the excitement of someone who thinks he has just made a wise decision, stormed back to the table, announcing the new “plan” to the group as if it were his own idea.
“Everyone listen up! Starting tonight, we’re changing the lineup! Huy, Khoi, and Nam will move to the outhouse over there. You guys can make a mess! This main villa will be a ‘no-go zone’, for adults only!”
Khoi and Nam looked at each other, their eyes shining. Separation meant freedom, meant they could discuss their perverted plans without anyone watching.
Hue Lan seemed a bit hesitant, but seeing that her husband had made up his mind, she just kept silent.
Everyone’s eyes turned to my mother.
She froze for a moment. Just a moment, but I saw it. A fleeting surprise. Her eyes darted from my father’s stupidly cheerful expression, to Cuong’s triumphant smile, and finally, stopped at me. In that millisecond, I saw the slightest frown. She was calculating. She was analyzing the situation like a supercomputer. And then, it was all gone. She smiled, a perfect, flawless social smile.
“I’m fine with whatever,” she said, her voice light. “It’s up to you.”
Done. The game is decided.
The move took half an hour with the help of the resort staff. I followed Khoi and Nam across a gravel path, through a small, neatly manicured garden. The main villa we had just left looked splendid under the lights, its private pool glowing an emerald green, a palace of pleasure.
The outhouse, hidden behind a grove of coconut trees, was smaller, more modern in architecture but much simpler. It looked more like a servants’ quarters than a guest house. The separation was not just spatial, but also class. We, the wolf pups, had been thrown into a separate cage.
Khoi and Nam were clearly excited. They were shouting, playing loud music, opening the fridge and taking out beers to drink. As for me, after throwing my suitcase into the room, I stood still by the window, looking towards the main villa in the distance. The light from there shone brightly, lighting up a corner of the sky.
My initial excitement at witnessing Old Cuong’s play had now vanished, replaced by a feeling of extreme unease and discomfort. For the first time since the “game” began, I was separated from the main stage. For the first time, I could not directly observe. The power of a director was being shaken. My mother was in there, with my father, and with another old fox who had just succeeded in getting himself into the tiger’s cage. What would happen in that palace tonight?
I clenched my fists. This helplessness was disgusting. A single, most urgent question appeared in my mind, burning my soul.
How to continue observing? To be the director of mother’s performances