Lan noticed that her niece possessed a strange flair: even though she was only in second grade, she had a real interest in painting and spent most of her free time with a paint brush in her hand. During class time she was often engrossed in drawing fairies, princes and princesses instead of paying attention to her lessons. At home, she drew everything she saw if she could find a blank sheet of paper. She seemed to be trying to practise Mr S Daly's famous saying, 'As an artist, paint and paint many more pictures'.
All of her pictures of things like cats, dogs and areca-nut trees were very realistic. One of her pieces was a drawing of her father Lit with a pointed chin, a tomato-like nose and a big mouth; another one showed her mother Phit with a round white face, slanted eyes, a tiny nose and a receding chin. All were extremely realistic.
Bong's father was a railway watchman who knew nothing about art. At home after work he drank himself into a stupor, or worse, lost himself in gambling. Her mother was a greengrocer specialising in imported fruit from China, but with sham American labels stuck to them. She also got involved in a lot of get-rich-quick schemes. Neither were interested in her art work. Bong often cried her heart out when her mother reprimanded her for leaving her pictures scattered here and there or when her father put all her creations into the fire early in the morning.
Taking pity on her niece, Lan asked old Phan, a painter at her company, to take a look at the little girl's work.
'How clever you are! Let me see some more, my dear little artist,' said the old painter. She showed him all the drawings she had carefully hidden in her file.
'Why are there small dots on the belly of this hen?'
'Because, they're her breasts, Sir. Without breasts, how could she feed her chickens?'
'What about the little mouse standing near a roundish thing with two pointed corners?'
'Sir, it's a cat's back. My idea is that the cat is saying ‘Take care of yourself, you cursed little mouse before I turn my head back.'
'Very interesting! And these two people, walking hand in hand in this picture. One of them looks very big, whereas the other's very small and looks as black as a piece of coal?'
'The bigger person is Mum while the black and smaller one is Dad, Sir.'
'Why does your father look so small and black?'
'Sir, because he usually hits me in the head. Once when he was dead drunk, he lifted up a stool to strike at Mum, Sir.'
The old painter burst into laughter. After giving Bong a ream of white paper, one box of coloured pencils and a dozen black pencils, he started chatting with Lan.
'In our whole family line, nobody has been involved in this high-brow profession,' Lan told him. 'Bong is her nickname and her real name is Dinh Minh Yen. One of our ancestors was a farmer in the Hoa Lu land. He helped King Ly Cong Uan move the capital to Thang Long. Circumstances of the times forced him to switch from farming to trade. No one in our family has been well educated. Bong's paternal great grandfather became an engine driver during French rule. Her grandfather was a blacksmith who was famous for making a strong device to stop locomotives to display at the Hanoi Fair in 1931,' Lan went on.
'What about Bong's aunts?' he asked her.
'Same story! Mrs Phuong runs a wedding gown shop and Mrs Lanh owns a fashion shop. On the whole, nobody has any connection with the arts,' she replied.
'But you're a ‘Cai Luong’ artiste, aren't you?'
'It was quite an accidental event,' Lan said, smiling broadly. 'Once, I convinced my friend Thuy to enter a traditional opera contest. She was very interested in ‘Cai Luong’ pieces, but at first she was too shy. After the oral portion of the contest she shot out of the examining room and embraced me tightly as she sobbed. I consoled her as best I could. Hardly had we stood up to return home when a big man from the jury came out and told me it was my turn.
‘Please, come in to the examination room,' he said.
‘No, no! I'm not a candidate, Sir,' I answered.
‘Well come in anyway, young lady,' he encouraged me.
'Finally, I did as he asked.'
‘By watching you comfort your friend Thuy we could see that you have a nice voice. So I invite you to try out. Please perform a short sketch in any way you like,' the big man told me.
‘What do you mean by sketch?' I asked them.
‘Just try your best and do what you can.'
'Luckily as I was looking at the big man, I recollected a skinny sweets vendor near our market place. Playing the role of such a street peddler, I tried to imitate his actions. Surprisingly, they all laughed happily when I finished my act. I was recruited into their troupe at once,' Lan concluded. 'So do you think Bong has the potential to become a talented artist in the future, Sir?' she asked him.
***
Bong nurtured her passion for painting. When she wasn't busy sleeping, eating or doing the housework for her mother, she always held a stick of coloured chalk, a pencil, or a small twig to draw pictures on paper, on the blackboard or even on the ground. Something inside her seemed to have a singular aim: to live in order to paint, like a genuine artist. She didn't know that she was embarking upon a sophisticated art world filled with countless schools and trends such as classicism, cubism, impressionism, fauvism, abstract art, dadaism, and so on, created by great artists such as Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Raphael, Pablo Picasso, Salvador Dali, and many more. Meanwhile Bong was still ignorant to the sage advice of her predecessors such as 'Laziness can't create masterpieces,' or 'Being an artist, paint much more,' or 'Painters are in no way descriptors,' or 'Let's paint and paint a lot more.'
Self-taught, she painted everything she saw, breathed fresh air and kept close contact with nature and creatures in a space full of light. Old painter Phan described it as a 'prairie of flowers'.
Like so many other labouring families, her parents knew nothing about their daughter's schooling or desires. When her father vaguely realised that she was engaged in painting, he was not pleased. 'What! She draws for nothing,' he exclaimed when she brought home stacks of drawings from class. As her school's chief editor, she was in charge of illustrating stories. First press prizes always went to her products.
Surprisingly, at the age of sixteen, Bong blossomed into a pretty girl with shiny hair, long legs, a shapely body, a straight nose and a pair of inviting lips. A receding chin was he only flaw.
Worse still, her parents did not know that their daughter had passed a university entrance exam into the College of Fine Arts in the capital, one of the most prestigious tertiary institutions from which many outstanding painters had graduated such as Nguyen Gia Tri, To Ngoc Van and Tran Van Can.
'Bong, where are you?' her father asked her one morning when he was already rather tipsy. 'Why have you kept your high ambitions a secret? Other kids on our street failed the exams, yet you passed them easily. We have no tradition of study so what's the point of you going on to higher education,' he asked.
***
At school, Bong, or Dinh Minh Yen, took pride in studying at one of the country's few leading universities. In the first year she received the highest grant of 300,000 VND a month. In addition to her good-looking appearance, good nature and elegance, she was a nice person. A freshman from a well-off metropolitan family who always wore a heavy gold necklace, flirted with her and frequently carried her to and from school on his luxury motorbike.
Every morning, she saw him enter her small alley to pick up her daughter, Bong's mother was very proud of their relationship. Lan also felt quite at ease. But early one afternoon Bong returned home from school and sadly removed her backpack.
'What's the matter with you?' Lan asked her. 'Why do you look so sad?'
'Because I'm tired of going to college, Auntie.'
'Why? Come with me, let's go to my place.'
At her aunt's, Bong just sobbed and sobbed.
'I don't have any friends, so I don't want to go to college any more, Auntie.'
She stared at her niece, pursing her lips while preparing dinner.
'I see, I see. Well let's have dinner first, shall we? Tonight I have to go to the theatre for a performance. When it's over I'll come back home to talk to you.'
'No, Auntie! I need to talk now,' Bong insisted.
'Right now?'
'Yes, Auntie, at once.'
'Now, listen to me, my dear Minh Yen,' she said in a soft and slow voice while placing her bowl of rice onto the table. 'So the reason I've just addressed you by your real name is to show that you've grown up. Coming of age, you should look at things with the eyes of an adult. I'm now nearly forty and I'm already over the hill. After two decades on the stage, my days are almost over, yet they still endearingly refer to me as the ‘golden voice' of the troupe in advertisements. You see, in the wake of my glorious period as chief artiste and company MC, I began my long journey downhill. To be honest, everything hasn't been plain sailing in my artistic life due to the jealousy of my colleagues and a lot of wicked and dirty tricks,' she explained with a rueful smile. 'As for you, when you got full marks on the year-end exams some of your friends abandoned you. This is quite an ordinary thing. Such is life, my dear!' she said.
'Well, I'll try to be myself again,' Bong whispered softly.
So she did as promised. She kept painting while resuming her studies. Surprisingly, thanks to her natural talent, she soon proved herself a promising artist. With every passing year as she excelled in the arts she had fewer friends. When she graduated with honours thanks to her superb work called ‘The Girl with Her Violin’ which was displayed at the National Exhibition of Fine Arts, a great honour for any artist, none of her classmates turned up at the graduation ceremony held at the Temple of Literature to congratulate her on her achievement.
'Anyhow, put your old friends aside to embark upon your new career,' Lan said. 'In my experience, I'm well aware that my only impartial and close friends were those I knew in Senior Secondary School. Now that you're done with college, you need to find a job to support yourself and your family on the one hand and to improve your skills on the other,' she went on.
'From this point onwards everything depends upon you my dear elder sister-in-law,' said Bong's mother. 'As for Bong, of course, job should be her first concern, then a husband and last but not least her capacity. In our family, my husband and I are really good-for-nothing. Her other aunts, Phuong and Lanh, only know about their own businesses. Please help her and we'll be grateful to you forever,' Bong's mother went on.
***
The bald Editor-in-Chief of the magazine Cultural Matters of the City, one of Lan's former friends, looked attentively at Bong's illustrations for a long while then he nodded his head.
'They're very delicate and impressive,' he remarked. Looking up, he phoned one of his employees, 'Hallo! Rao?... Please come upstairs to see me.'
A few minutes later, a beautiful and tall woman with curly hair wearing a flowery brocade blouse came into the room.
'Mrs Rao, we're short of an illustrator. Please welcome Dinh Minh Yen into your section. If she does well after one month we'll sign a six-month employment contract with her,' he said. Then he turned to Lan and Bong.
'Allow me to introduce you to Mrs Rao. She's chief of the Administrative and Personnel Section,' he said to the visitors. Then turning to Rao he went on: 'From now on, our newcomer will be a member of your section.' The woman seemed disinterested. Taking Bong's dossier from the Editor-in-Chief, she turned round, signalling Bong to follow her out of the room.
Lan heaved a sigh of relief and expressed her thanks then went home. Bong's mother had been anxiously waiting for her sister-in-law's return. Finding her coming back in high spirits, she was very glad.
'So it went okay? Did it cost a lot?'
'Fortunately everything went well and it didn't cost anything,' replied Lan.
'If worse came to worse, Bong would have stayed at home to help her mother with the housework,' observed Bong's father in a slurred voice.
Six months passed quickly. One day Lan came to Bong's place.
'Is everything all right?' she asked her niece. 'Did you sign the employment contract?' Bong shook her head sadly.
Two months later, when autumn came around, she asked her niece about the issue with the contract again. Bong just shook her head again.
'Maybe, the Editorial Staff has been too busy to make a decision,' she consoled her.
One morning, Mrs Phit hurriedly ran to Lan's house and knocked at her door in despair.
Lan immediately darted over to see her niece.
'Bong, why are you still in bed at this hour?' she asked in astonishment. It's time for you to go to work. Have you fallen ill?' she added as she touched Bong's forehead.
Wearily, the girl got up. 'From tomorrow onward, I won't go to work any more.' she told her aunt.
'Why?'
'Auntie, I'll say it again, I won't go to work any more.'
'You have to tell me the reason you refuse to go to work,' she insisted.
'It's boring!'
'What an answer!'
'Mrs Rao told me that if I want to keep working for the magazine I must have a motorbike.'
'Who's Mrs Rao, my dear daughter?'
'She's Bong's boss,' answered Lan.
Then she consoled her poor niece: 'Don't worry! Your Mum can get you a new one.'
'No, never! That won't do,' Bong replied.
'Why not?'
'Because all I do there is wash up and clean the room.'
'What do you mean?'
'Nobody lets me do anything else, let alone painting.'
Phuong and Lanh turned up at that very moment.
'I've told you for the umpteenth time that our clan has no flair for art,' grumbled Mr Lit from the doorway.
'Why are you so crazy? You'll become a well-known illustrator some day. Working as a public servant for the time being is by no means easy! Without Lan's help, how could you have found a job without paying a fee?' Phuong encouraged her niece.
'You are such an idiot! To have a job is of paramount importance nowadays, for you have the security of a salary for your lifetime. As for me and Phuong, do you know that we'll have to keep working forever?' Lanh reproached Bong.
Bong remained silent.
'Listen to your aunts and follow their advice, my dear. Anyhow, you still have to find a husband as well,' Bong's mother persuaded her in a soft voice.
All of a sudden, Bong rose up and burst into tears.
'Did you know that Mrs Rao has tortured me horribly? Yesterday, she pointed at me and cursed me mercilessly, ‘I begrudge you because you took the post destined for my son who's going to graduate from the Industrial Arts College this month. You son of a bitch'!'
***
Later, thanks to more assistance from Lan, Bong became an artist in charge of book covers for the Tri Tue Publishers and an illustrator for many reviews and periodicals such as ‘Hoa Phuong’, ‘Khan Hong’, ‘Bau Troi’ and ‘Thuy Tien’. Unfortunately, she only worked at each place for a fortnight or a month at the most. Eventually she was jobless again.
One year later, she finished an oil painting entitled ‘Young Lady and Flamboyant Blossoms’. It was quickly purchased and displayed at a Municipal Fine Arts Exhibition before being stored in the archives at the Metropolitan Culture Museum. During this period of time her family had a hard time. Her father suffered from diabetes and retired young, leaving him free to gamble all day every day. Meanwhile, his wife had to pay millions of Vietnamese dong in fines for her illegal trading.
Now at the age of thirty, Bong remains single. Her only interest was painting. The more she painted, the more passionate she became with her work. But painting was a profession for the rich as a tube of oil could cost half a million Vietnamese dong. How could she afford to keep up with it?
One day, while touching her daughter's forehead, Bong's mother realised that she had a fever. She called Lan over right away.
'Sister Lan, what's the matter with Bong? It's like she's insane. She has used all of our money. What shall we do now? Perhaps we'll die of starvation,' she poured out her heart to her sister-in-law.
Worse still, early the next week, Bong brought a large picture wrapped in cloth home from the Metropolitan Culture Museum. As soon as she got home, she closed the door tightly and stayed inside for three days without eating anything.
'I already told you that I don't want to eat anything, Mum,' she said when her mother knocked at the door. Worried, she opened the door. Bong was sitting motionless in front of her easel. A prairie full of flowers covered the canvas, like in a dream. Poor Bong! Her eyes were sunken. Her hair was scraggly and dry and her apron was stained with oil. Her slim body was notably thinner and her face was pale.
'Oh my beloved daughter! What's wrong? I'm going to the pagoda to pray for your blessings,' she told her poor daughter.
***
Bong's mother finally resorted to calling Phan. He came to her house to have a look at Bong's works then he dropped in on Lan.
'Mrs Lan, I was told that Bong's picture entitled ‘Young Lady and Flamboyant Flowers’ had been removed from the display at the Municipal Culture Museum due to some unfavourable comments that it had been copied with wicked intentions. This conclusion came from the new director of the Museum, who used to be a classmate of Bong's,' he said to Lan. 'Anyhow, it doesn't really matter for the time being. I recently contemplated the wonderful painting of a prairie full of flowers by Dinh Minh Yen. Have you ever heard about the Acatama Desert in Chile, the most barren place in the world?' he asked her.
'No, I haven't!'
'It did not rain in that infertile region for more than four hundred years, from 1570 to 1971. It was even drier than the Gobi or the Sahara which was able to support some life, such as thorny cacti and white and red-crested lizards. Meanwhile in Acatama Desert, life was absent. But…,' he stopped abruptly and stared at Lan. 'But on one miraculous day, things completely changed: the whole Acatama Desert turned into a prairie full of flowers,' he went on.
'Wonderful! Is that really true?'
'Yes! A prairie full of multi-coloured flowers and green leaves was formed. Do you know why?'
'No, Sir! It's beyond my imagination.'
'Because one day a sea current flowed across the coastal region near the Acatama Desert, leading to heavy rains and storms for many days. Dormant life buried deep for hundreds of years burst into plants and trees. Human talent is the same. It's an irresistible force of nature. Talent is immortal indeed, my dear Lan,' he concluded.
By the end of that month, Painter Phan retired. Before going off to a secluded life in the country, he recommended Bong to take over as permanent painter of his ‘Cai Luong’ troupe.
By Ma Van Khang
Translated by Van Minh
