... At nine o'clock in the evening, Old Khiem put out his light, spread himself on the bottom of the small boat, arms folded under his head, to listen in the silence of the night to the underwater goings on of ‘his’ fishes. Over the width of the river the crests of waves glistened like a stars. Occasionally the raucous cry of a frog broke the silence or the dull splash of night hunting creatures as they ran along the banks echoed across the water. As the night wore on the wind dropped and mist crept over the whole expanse of the river.
At first a few fish leapt out of water, falling back with a hardly perceptible splash. But presently all around Old Khiem' s boat such splashes grew louder and more frequent. The old man began talking to himself with delight:
"A ha, that's fine - come on my little friends. Come and present yourselves to me. Never fear. I can't see you but I know you very well all the same... Come on..."
Suddenly he stopped, holding his breath:
‘Wait a bit. That sounds like my friend the Shad - with her around firm body and pinched in waist, a regular dainty miss... hold on- oops!
‘Now then here comes Mr Carassin, as thin and flat as a sycomore leaf. As for that short heavy splash without doubt that must be dame carp making a dive for it. Aha that flippety flop of troubled waters, that could be some big perch chasing after a shoal of little frightened gudgeon.’
Silence... then suddenly the voice of the old man again, this time exultant:
"Oho a pike - a pike... It's all up with you - you old bastard. I know you alright. Nobody else has that way of flapping the water when he jumps, with that enormous tail. Your trouble is you’re too fat – eh? – and it’s a bit of an effort clearing the water – One moment – Just to take a nice breath of fresh air – then flop! – away we go!’
Every night follows more or less the same pattern, the frenzied leaping and diving then sudden compete silence. After a long interval Old Khiem knows from experienced that a slight tap on the surface of the water will start the whole thing going again. "Here comes a sheat-fish. Don’t be, bashful my beauty. Just because you’re a bit sticky and covered with spots you needn’t be ashamed. Are you waiting for all the others to go away? Come on my dear Oops there, off she goes!"
While waiting for the fish to come and nibble his bait the old man is busy calculating in his head the quantity and types of fish that he must supply for the festivities on the following day.
Since he was seven years old Khiem often went with his father to help him in his work on this same stretch of the river. During the "dark years’ of the anti-French resistance, he lived by fishing alone and become the most skilful fisherman of the village. When peace returned, he took to operating the ferry as did his father. But since the establishment of AA defence units by the river for the protection of the outer periphery of Hanoi against US planes he took to fishing again as his main activity to supply food for the army. It is thanks to him that every week the soldiers are able to enjoy at least one good meal of fresh fish to vary their ordinary fare.
But just now he has a very important tasks for the following evening, one that concerns him personally and to which he plans to devote the whole day.
Without imagining what the old man would plan the head of the unit had confided a secret to him.
"The next day a number of comrades from the unit are due to depart on a distant mission and a farewell party is being planned."
In such a case there is only one thing to be done. Everything else must wait, his first concern must be to provide a feast. This is the reason why he has spent the whole night watching for fish.
In the morning as he got back to the house he handed over to his daughter five big bream and hundred or so ablets which he asked her to gut and prepare for cooking.
"Did you think of buying a bundle of incense sticks?’ he asked.
"Yes, Papam,’ she replied, "but you know – if it doesn’t interfere with your plans I would be glad if you could get back a little earlier. I have things to do in the afternoon.
"Alright, my chick, you don’t need to tell me."
Then he added in a lower tone, carefully avoiding his daughter"s eyes, so as not to betray his feelings:
"You must see that you"ve got everything you need or you"ll have a terrible lot to do the day you leave."
So saying he went back to the river. The nets he had attached to the delicate rods were positioned some distance from the river bank. With extreme care he felt each wand in turn, testing them between his finger and thumb. The stretched framework shivered in the water like the handle of a monochord vibrating in the hand of a musician, but he felt no tension or weight further down.
"Hell, that's bad- very bad" muttered the old man frowning.
It was a grey morning with low hanging clouds. In early Spring if the weather remains dry it means that the season has not yet warmed up.
"They may have gone to look for food a bit deeper" thought the old man pensively.
For a long time he sat motionless and silent then he announced decisively.
"Alright – good, if it's that way I'll try something else. We'll see"
He took off his clothes and, diving into the water, began to search about for a better place to fix his nets, after which he patiently set about moving every one. Having done this he was preparing to go on to inspect his other nets when suddenly he remembered something and hastily went back to the house.
His daughter Hai was cleaning the fish beside a large bowl of water. For about half a year now this pretty and shy young girl had been attracting an increasing number of suitors to the modest three-roomed cottage by the river dyke.
Saturday evenings they would file in from all directions, young students fresh from study at the naval dockyard, young men from the dyke repair service, soldiers, workers, young fishermen from trawlers who had to put in because of the fighting. The girl welcomed everyone with a strange smile which was peculiarly her own and very soon would find some excuse to disappear.
Her father was then left with no alternative but to determine his attitude towards these young suitors according to that of his daughter. It soon was clear to him that not one of them found any special favour in her eyes. However, there came a day when she found herself suddenly so taken aback, so embarrassed by the presence of a young soldier from the anti-aircraft section that she could do nothing but blush and stammer and twist the ends of her hair.
Immediately Tung arrived in the neighbourhood he began to get acquainted with the local people, and very soon discovered that the girl's father had at one time given shelter to his own father. Thus there already existed a link between them to predispose them to a tie of friendship.
Very soon their relationship became such that it could no longer be kept secret from anyone.
In a few single strokes Hai finished her work by cutting and peeling into the water five bunches of green bananas. She had cleaned and laid aside a few dozen of the biggest fish, keeping the others for soup. She had just finished cutting up the bream and putting them in the stewing pot and was pouring the water in when her father appeared.
"Well, have you finished my pet?" he asked playfully "Take the sticky rice out of that pot and hand it over to me. I am going to cook the fish."
"No, no, papa, I've cut them all up already and I'm going to make soup with the others," replied his daughter, very pleased at having finished her tasks so soon.
"Stop, stop!" cried the old man, "don"t do it – stop will you!"
he almost shouted at his daughter who was about to pour the water into the pot. With her arm still raised she looked at her father, astonished at this outburst. Being accustomed to be treated with consideration, this peremptory manner made the tears spring to her eyes. Without a word the old man removed the pieces of fish from the pan and laid them carefully in a basket. His irritation quickly evaporated when he saw the cheeks of his daughter wet with tears. He didn't dare to look again at that dear face, especially when it reminded him, dimples and all, of the face of the wife he had lost. He felt sorry for having spoken crossly to his daughter.
"After all," he thought, "the fault was mine for forgetting to give the right instructions before I went out this morning."
A moment later when the bream began to simmer in their bed of herbs and the stream from the doc (a kind of wild berry) began to fill the little kitchen with its appetising smell the old man smiled at his daughter.
"What a ninny eh? You forgot who I was keeping the bream for?"
Hai was absent-minded of cause: being in love, her head was usually in the clouds. Her father brought her back to earth. By this time she was so upset that there was nothing she could not do but run to her room bury her head in the pillow and sob with shame and rage that she should have forgotten.
"Oh dear Papa – how could I? Please forgive me!"
Every year on this day of the anniversary of his wife"s death, papa Khiem does his utmost to bring home some bream, those with small heads, rather a rare species here, with which he prepares with his own hands, a special stew flavoured with doc.
"You know," he told his daughter when she was still a child, "when your mother was pregnant she was always wanting these fish cooked with doc, though they are not considered very good for the women in childbirth. Never mind, this was the only thing she asked for, so I got them for her. Then when the time came that I had to find rice to feed the armymen, I was selling all the fish I caught to buy rice. Once I happened to bring in a dozen of these big bream and of course I wanted to keep a few for your mother. But she wouldn't hear of it – not her. She insisted that I sell them all to get rice for the guerrillas."
