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A motor-car stopped just at the pagoda entrance. Three or four ladies, old and young, got out, twittering cheerfully. A woman beggar abruptly set her partly broken bowl on the ground, hung one of her legs curved to look crippled, and rushed toward them, wailing, “Hail, noble ladies! A wretched humble creature begs you for some charity.”

A ten-piaster coin was thrown at the beggar’s hand, but she clumsily let it drop on the cement pavement; it rolled and rolled until it dropped into the opening of a gutter. The poor woman hastened to look in but found it dark and deep like a chasm, and turned up distracted.

Old Phan, sitting close to the entrance wall, burst out laughing, and the other fellows with him giggled. The woman beggar kicked a pebble over the gutter opening and discontentedly came back to sit at her usual place. She took up the broken bowl full of rice mixed with other waste, and with her filthy fingers helped herself to the rancid-smelling food.

One of the beggars said, “We could drive straight to Thien-Thai, Tra-Cu, if we owned such a modern car. A lot of people go on a pilgrimage there.”

Another retorted, “Oh, the devil with you and your beggar’s mind! We wouldn’t have to go begging at temples if we owned such a car.”

A third joined the argument, then a fourth, and soon the whole lot was disputing noisily. Old Phan got up and twisted his body with a cracking sound. He dipped his hand into his worn-out khaki waistcoat pocket and groped for the coins chinking inside. Then he left the group of beggars and headed for the marketplace.

At the poorest-looking eating place, he ordered a small bottle of alcohol and a dish of dry shrimps. He ate and drank slowly, looking at no one, and no one in the noisy crowd paid any attention to him. Suddenly a man shouted, “Fire! A big fire at Lo-Gom hamlet!”

Old Phan looked up wide-eyed. “What!” he exclaimed. “A fire, really? Is it true, a big fire?”

The man stared at him intently, then nodded and said, “Do you take me for a liar? I just came down from there. The fire started at Three-Oak hamlet where the married couple Chin-Nho were living. Both of them lost their jobs; they quarreled with each other and burned the house out of rancor. I know them very well.”

Other men gathered round to question the speaker, and Old Phan bent down to put a shrimp in his mouth. He had the small liquor bottle refilled, and by nightfall he was totally drunk. He paid the bill, opened his waistcoat to bare his chest, and got up to go out. The city was already lit up, and neon signs blinked on and off atop some of the tallest buildings. A few stars were out; the air was calm, and the sky was clear. Old Phan staggered through the main streets; after some time he found himself near a park. Seeing a stone bench, he stretched out on it on his back; lighting a home-rolled cigarette, he gazed at the sky through half-shut eyes. Through a microphone hanging on a nearby tree, a radio voice croaked loudly. But Old Phan, in his drowsy state, heard only dimly the familiar slogan repeated so often: “Revolution! Revolution!”

After a few minutes on the bench, he started for home, wondering if his daughter would be there.

Old Phan lived with his daughter in Lo-Gom hamlet. Miss Phan earned her living as a greengrocer at the city market; her father was a porter who usually carried loads from several storehouses in Cholon. Before the Buddhist demonstration, the old man and the girl were as punctual as two Swiss watches. He usually came home at six in the evening; after washing and changing, he was ready at 6:30 to sit on the doorstep and enjoy a leisurely drink and peanuts. About the time the bottle of liquor was half empty, Miss Phan came slowly down the street carrying two baskets of fruit at either end of a pole across her shoulders. It was always before seven—never later.

But after the demonstration, as the city was thrown into a turmoil of arrests and police investigations, Miss Phan’s punctuality was greatly disrupted. The first day, she came home half an hour later than usual; the second day, nearly an hour later; and the third day, about one and a half hours later. The hot rice and other food left for her had grown cold on the table. As time went on, Old Phan lost more and more patience. He decided that his daughter must be off cooing with a lover, either hidden under a bridge or in some stall at the marketplace.

This evening he was more cross than usual; he had drunk more than his usual one bottle of liquor, and his face was red, his eyes were hot, and his hands were furrowed with sweltering veins. From his seat on the doorstep, he watched the alley and grumbled.

“Oh, the devil with the whore! She’d better beware the stick! What kind of ill-bred girl is it who runs astray looking for God knows what company?”

The old man was really out of temper. He even thought of beating her with the door-bar when she appeared in the doorway.

And she did not appear until a few minutes past seven. Old Phan was blazing; with one hand he threw his drinking glass on the floor, and with the other he snatched at his daughter’s dress. But he had hardly opened his mouth when Miss Phan pushed him aside, muttering, “Don’t be fussy, daddy! I just went to the pagoda.”

Old Phan’s rising choler all at once subsided. He screwed up his eyes and asked, frightened, “You! You went there yourself, did you?”

Miss Phan nodded, but the old man kept staring at her. As he started, he seemed to see her as he never had before. Her eyes were big, black, and glittering; her round-oval face was fair-complected; on her flushed cheeks, tiny beads of sweat were running from the hair ends.

Seeing her father’s amazement, Miss Phan could not repress a sweet but proud smile. “You’re surprised, are you?” she said. “A lot of people from the market took part in the struggle.”

The old man seemed thoroughly awakened by this revelation. He started and exclaimed, “But you are risking your own life. What can you women and girls do?”

“We can do a lot. Since other people participated, why not me? I would not like to be a shirker, daddy.”

Old Phan discontentedly made for the door. He could hardly advocate cowardice in front of his daughter, but at the same time he didn’t want her meddling in the struggle. It was too risky, especially for a girl.

Having put her things away, Miss Phan got ready to wash. The old man resumed his place on the doorstep, musing about his daughter’s activities. He began to suspect her behavior, and to reprove himself for believing what she said so easily. She might have just gone to the river bank to gossip with other talkative girls, or met some boy at a corner. Why, a girl as credulous as she was might have been seduced by some artful man to make love with him in his house! His heart throbbed and his mind whirled just to think of it. Confused, he looked at the back yard, where his daughter was washing.

A few moments later, Miss Phan came into the house and sat at the table. Her hair, which she had washed, was lustrous. Gently, she pulled at the hairs one by one, picking out the pieces of lemon pulp which she had used for cleaning and which stuck to the hair. Then she combed it very carefully in order to get a good parting.

Old Phan felt disgusted as he observed her silently from outside. It was obvious that she had fallen in love and was trying to make herself smarter than usual. To fan his indignation, he poured one more drink, curved himself backward, and gulped it at a stroke.

Then he asked her, “Why do you need to pay so much attention to your dress? Simplicity should be a maiden’s best ornament.”

Miss Phan raised her head and stared at her father. “I only washed my hair, daddy,” she answered.

“Try to behave properly and don’t let people laugh at me with contempt,” Old Phan said.

“Don’t worry, I won’t make it a secret if I get a lover. I will introduce him correctly.”

The old man was completely silenced by this response. He knew that his daughter always behaved correctly, and he usually treated her accordingly. Having no answer, he retreated outside to his doorstep.

Miss Phan began to look intently into her mirror. She plucked some unruly hairs twisted in her eyebrows and removed one or two pimples on her face. Then she looked at her white teeth and began rinsing them.

Old Phan snarled, “You have nothing more to worry about, do you? It really makes me sick to watch you.”

Without raising her head, his daughter retorted, “Why, dad? You do look funny tonight.”

The old man rushed inside.

“I can’t help looking funny, my dear! You said you took part in the resistance, and I believed you. But I am rather suspicious when I see you taking so much trouble with your appearance.”

Miss Phan got up, went over to her fruit baskets, poked her hand inside one, and picked up a roll of paper. Showing it to her father, she took him into the kitchen and whispered, “Now do you trust me? I have distributed bundles of these papers all afternoon.”

Old Phan started and stammered.

“I am done for!” he exclaimed. “Really, do you want me thrown into prison to share all kinds of punishment and torture with the lot of you? You must be crazy to bring home those damned leaflets!”

Miss Phan smiled.

“You know nothing about what happened outside tonight because you were shut up in the house,” she said. “At the pagoda, people were busy moving in and out all day, and no one noticed me. I’ll read the leaflet to you, all right?”

The old man waved his hand and beseeched, “Please don’t. I won’t listen. It’s of no use to me. After this, take these papers anywhere you like, but don’t bring them here. It would mean death for both of us.”

Miss Phan kept silent, put the leaflets back in the basket, went to the wardrobe, and prepared to go out.

The father asked, “You aren’t going out again at this hour, are you?”

“Yes, I am,” his daughter answered softly. “Please go to bed as early as you like.”

The old man pointed to the baskets at the corner of the house and asked, “Are you leaving those damned things there? If they are discovered, I’ll have to suffer the consequences alone!”

The girl smiled.

“Don’t worry, dad,” she reassured him. “We are perfectly safe here.”

“You are working for my death,” the old man groaned.

His daughter said nothing but pushed open the door and went out. Old Phan watched her from the doorway for a while, then suddenly turned back and shut the door tight. He imagined the whole neighborhood knew of his complicity with his daughter in this terrible plot!

From that day on, Old Phan stood aloof and left his daughter free to continue her dangerous activities. Each evening, he sat on the doorstep, drinking and eating peanuts. He watched the narrow street, waiting for his daughter’s return each night.

Miss Phan often tried to soothe his feelings.

“Take it easy, dad. It will soon be over. After that, we may go anywhere you like, we may talk freely without fear of being spied on. And . . . there are many other things we’ll be able to do, that the young man Su speaks about, but I can’t remember them all.”

Old Phan at once sprang to his feet.

“Well! Who is this young man Su? Why does he interfere in your business?” he demanded.

Miss Phan blushed deeply, and said, “Oh well. . . . This young man . . . Su is working in a garage downtown.”

“You love him, don’t you?” her father inquired urgently. “And he is also a member like you, isn’t he? Good heavens! How can I bear such an offense?”

“Don’t be fussy, dad,” Miss Phan said, disappointed. “Su is a proper young man, and I think he would be a good match.”

“Yes, I understand. There’s a shortage of young men, so anybody can be a good match to you. But it’s no use talking so long as I have not met your man.”

A few days later, Miss Phan introduced Su to her father. The boy was healthy and tall, with bright eyes, a high forehead, and a jolly smiling face. The old man was pleased, but he pretended to be stern and difficult.

“You must be well aware,” he told Su, “that my daughter is from a good family and has had a good education.”

Su hesitated, then answered, “Yes, I know.”

Old Phan muttered, “It must be so. I am just telling you the plain truth.”

Still gazing at the young man, he went out to the doorstep with a small bottle of alcohol in his hand. After a while, he forgot all about the lovers whispering to each other at the table inside the house. He held up the bottle to check the contents, muttering to himself, “What a beast of a drink! Nothing but water, quite unsavory, not a smell of alcohol at all.”

After that, Su visited now and then. He brought good news of the underground struggles against the government. Old Phan only listened and abstained from asking questions. He did not want to degrade himself before the man who was courting his daughter. But to himself, he could not help admiring Su for his ability and broad knowledge. The boy gave a careful analysis of the situation in Central and South Vietnam. He summarized the war news, and fully explained what was happening in Europe and in China. Old Phan decided that Su had had a university education. He himself, of course, could scarcely read the alphabet.

Miss Phan often interrupted her lover’s speeches to ask a lot of questions. The most common was, “After our rebellion has been successful, we will enjoy all kinds of freedom, won’t we?”

“Of course, all kinds,” Su would answer. “Freedom of religious faith, freedom of press, freedom of speech. . . . And that’s only the beginning.”

“And black markets and illegal goods storing will be all over, won’t they?”

“No doubt about it; all that will no longer worry us. All the profiteers will be ruthlessly exterminated. In the new era, whoever tries to impair the economy of the country—like fraudulent tradesmen or goods monopolizers—will be dealt with by the people in the streets.”

Miss Phan smiled happily, and her eyes got brighter. Even the old man unwittingly joined in the conversation: “I don’t care whatever happens. I only want a secure job. They make fun of me and bully me like a dog because I have no other means of support than my porter job at the warehouse.”

But then, lest the boy take notice of his deficiencies, Old Phan quickly added, “I must tell you that I don’t trust in anybody. Just look out! Even in a new era, everything would soon come round to its former status. I’ve seen too much in my life.”

Two weeks later, Su was arrested, and Miss Phan also disappeared. After waiting up for her until past midnight, the old man hunted for the leaflets and documents she had hidden in covered places. He burned them all and swept the ashes into the gutter. Then he went back to the doorstep and sat there smoking cigarettes until daybreak.

He stayed home from work for weeks, waiting for news. He could feel his cheeks getting hollow, and his hair and beard seemed to grow much faster. His eyes became duller and tired. He went to the prison for news, but saw only Su. The young man was no longer handsome; probably he had been tortured. But he smiled and said, “Don’t worry, dad! Our troubles will soon be over, and we’ll soon be home to help you.”

The old man was deeply moved. For the first time, he grasped the boy’s hands, and said very kindly, “I hope so. Pray God—pray Buddha—that Phan is safe!”

His eyes were wet with tears. He gave Su a bundle of bananas and a loaf of bread, and the two stood silently looking at each other. A few minutes later, a prison-guard sent him away. He walked away unsteadily, stopping now and then to look back at his future son-in-law. The boy smiled; Old Phan was very much tempted to smile back, but his throat was choked up.

That night, he drank at least three times as much as usual; dead drunk, he slept right on the doorstep.

Miss Phan was not released until after the revolution broke out. She was strikingly pale and thin, with dark circles around her eyes and a strained smile on her face.

She immediately wrote Su a letter. “I beg you to forget me, as I shall forget you, for the obvious reason you are well aware of,” the letter said. But she wept bitterly after signing this missive. Seeing his daughter’s unhappy face, the old man had a premonition that her life was going to take an even more unfortunate turn. He felt petrified; his face turned livid and his eyes grew hot. Sitting at his usual place, he watched her in the dark. His head was reeling; he had emptied glass after glass of alcohol. He wanted to shout insults and persecute everybody.

The next day Su came to the house, but the girl avoided meeting him; he left sullenly. The day after, he returned, early in the morning, and sat waiting until past noon. At last Miss Phan had to see him, even though she was still weeping.

“I would be a beast to give you up,” Su said to her. “In this period of struggling, everyone has been a little offended; it couldn’t be helped. We must think of ourselves as very fortunate; both of us are still alive.”

Several months later, Miss Phan gave in to her persistent lover. They planned to be married at home, quietly, for they could hardly conceal Miss Phan’s pregnancy.

Su had lost his job when he went to prison, and had no way of renting his own house. Miss Phan was still too weak to go back to her old job as greengrocer. So the two of them had to depend on the old man for their sustenance. Old Phan was obliged to work more and drink less to meet all their needs. But he stayed cheerful; now and then he even tried to cheer up the young couple.

“Soon there will be a revolution, and then lusty young people like you will never be unemployed,” he would say. And laughing, “As for me, as old as I am, the government will probably put me in an asylum for the aged where I could play chess and drink all the time. But I would probably die of doing nothing in such a house!”

Su was also confident in the new regime. He ran to and fro like a shuttlecock, looking for a job. At last, a friend recommended Su to the owner of a new garage; but the job was far away from the city, in the highland of Banmethuot.

Su told the news to the family. “I don’t want to work so far away from daddy,” he said. “There are probably plenty of jobs right here in Saigon; we mustn’t lose our patience waiting.”

But the old man had already lost his patience.

“Ah, the devil with your fear of working far from me,” he said angrily. “What do you take me for—a small child? Now that you have found a job, you must consider it as good luck for both of you. Remember this: a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.”

“Then you must come with us!” Miss Phan said.

Old Phan pouted. “My dear,” he said, “try first to cope with your child before you wish to cope with your father too! When a newly married couple is burdened with a child, the work quadruples. Believe me, I know only too well!”

Su looked from father to daughter with concern. “Well,” he said finally, “we’ll go, because we can’t do otherwise. Whatever course we took, we would be failing somehow in our duty to daddy.”

Old Phan tried to force a smile and answered, “You would be much less dutiful if I had to work harder just to support you.”

A moment later he added, “I am just joking; but, to be serious, I think we must be practical for the time being. We would die of hunger if we let ourselves be softened by our feelings. My guess is, your fortune will get worse and worse if you stay here. As the saying goes, there’s ‘a little molasses for too many flies.'”

A few days later, Su and his wife left for Banmethuot. Old Phan felt lonely and forlorn; for several days he stayed home from work and drank and played chess with some loafers in the vicinity. He grew visibly thinner; his hair turned more silvery and his beard more luxuriant. His arms quivered; they were streaked with dull-colored veins betraying a sickly state.

One afternoon, he received a letter from his daughter, and had someone read it to him.

“My dear father,” his daughter wrote, “we are very unlucky indeed. The job promised to my husband was taken by someone else; worse still, I became sick. But don’t worry. Su has managed to find work at the bus parking lot. He seems to have a talent for getting out of difficulties; he has even been recommended by the garage manager. But his salary is rather poor, and I don’t know how we’ll manage when I am in confinement. I hope I will recover soon; then I’ll be able to work myself, carrying materials for buildings. Do you know, dad, they are building a lot of new houses here?”

After hearing the letter, Old Phan left his chess game, locked up his house, and went to town. He thought of the baby coming into the world soon; it was his duty to send its mother a bit of money to relieve her sorry plight.

He drank some alcohol to recover his strength, then went quickly to the nearest warehouse. Since he was a regular porter, he could ask to be registered there for carrying goods. Someone put a package of imported fabric on his back. It was a heavy burden; he could feel his back sinking, his legs staggering. Even his sight became confused. He tried to pull himself together, but only sweated more heavily from every pore.

Some passers-by tapped on the package, urging him to “go ahead, old man!” “Why are you standing there, for fun?”

Old Phan tightened his lips, shifted the package on his back, and started to walk. But his feet were unsteady, and when another porter bumped against his load, Old Phan fell flat on the ground. The warehouse owner, a plump Chinese woman, rushed up, removed the package, and sent Phan away.

“It’s just because I’m drunk today,” he protested in a hoarse voice. “But tomorrow I’ll stay sober, and you’ll see. . . . I’ll carry three times as much and carry it running! I’ll bet nobody can compete with me in a race.”

Everyone stared at him and then burst out laughing. He wanted to join in the fun, but was unable to slacken his lips.

That night Old Phan slept deliriously on his doorstep. He dreamed of Su becoming the owner of a garage and of himself driven into the asylum where he did nothing but drink and play chess.

When he awoke the following morning, he was seriously ill. He realized that his vital energy had brutally left him. During the past few active months, he had been draining the last bit of strength before he collapsed, like an oil lamp blazing before going out.

He thought of his daughter, of Su, of the talks the two of them had had about their glorious past deeds. He felt no regret; nor did he bemoan his fate. He murmured to himself, “After all, this country sucks our blood. Why can’t we suck on it for a while? No, no need to worry.”

Old Phan’s logic proved to be wrong: a few days later, he was thrown out of his house because he couldn’t pay the rent. He sold the furniture to pay off the landlord, and walked out of the house with only a knapsack on his shoulder. He asked a neighbor to write a last letter for him to Su, then left Lo-Gom hamlet for Saigon city.

Now he saw that he had been right in his reasoning. He hung on the city like a greedy leech. In the daytime he threaded his way through parking lots, markets, busy streets, or pagoda entrances, picking pockets; at night, he sat by himself with alcohol. Most of the time, he slept in the park, but now and then he made do with the doorstep of some shop. He rested his head on the knapsack and his back on a piece of packing-paper which, after long use, became as tattered and threadbare as his waistcoat.

Everything about him was worn out and tattered except one small packet he jealously kept almost untouched: it contained the Sus’ letters and the photo taken on their wedding day. He wrapped these valuables in a strip of newspaper; its front page had an advertising picture of “tiger balm,” the back page, a political editorial. Old Phan took pains to try to spell out the editorial’s contents, and perceived confusedly that the major subject was revolution.