Old, Old, Old

[Vung Tau, 10/11/24]

Greeting a couple walking in, the Cóc Cóc barista blurted, “Today, you’re with your young mistress, brother!”

As the man merely smiled, his wife laughed, “Yes, his old wife is at home. Today, he’s hanging out with his young mistress.”

Who hasn’t seen signs pointing in all directions to distant cities? At a Hoàng Hoa Thám corner, there are twelve, with Tokyo, Lagos, Bangkok, Seoul and Istanbul the exotic destinations. The furthest was “OLD WIFE,” at 12 million kilometers away.

Forty years ago, I shared a penthouse apartment with Jim Barefield at 13th and Pine in Philly. Sounds fancy, but it’s actually the cheapest unit. We had to trudge up the last flight. The building adjacent had an old man who, quite often, sat completely naked on a landing to sun himself. Since Mr. Wrinkly was only visible from three or four apartments, plus the deck of our penthouse, he wasn’t really indecent. Not quite his age, I already identify completely with this man.

I didn’t make up Jim’s last name. Barefield graduated from the Philadelphia College of Art’s Film and Animation Department in 1986. So innocent, Jim characterized an abysmally stupid conversation that also involved Alex Strang and Blaine Hunter as, “Wow, man, this is like Picasso and Braque talking!” Blaine would be jailed for possession of child pornography in his native Maine. Alex’s greatest artistic creation is Bucket Man. It’s Alex being filmed with a red bucket over his head.

This morning, I wanted to hire the Da Lat cyclo driver, but he was already gone from his sleeping spot at 6:06AM. Old guy needs work. Many days, he gets no customer. Though Da Lat never got past the 4th grade, he can speak bits of English. Three days ago, Da Lat said there are Aussies who prefer older prostitutes.

“So how do they ask you?”

“They say, ‘Fifty old.’”

“That’s hilarious! Does anyone ever ask for a 60-year-old whore?”

“No,” he laughed.

“A 60-year-old can claim she’s 50, though.”

“That’s true.”

“Maybe even a 70-year-old! No, no, that’s too old.”

Three times already, I’ve run into a woman in her 80’s collecting Indian almonds from sidewalks. Starting around 3AM, she’s on her bicycle with a broom and dustpan. With eyes so old, it must be hard to locate these green nuts in the half dark. Roasted and salted, they’re a specialty of Côn Đảo, that island known for so many prisoners treated most savagely.

This morning I, again, had excellent bánh cuốn in an alley. The lady, Chi, was so busy, I couldn’t talk to her. She’s full of stories. At four-years-old, she stared in hunger at longans on a tree belonging to her grandma.

“Chi, do you love longans or your grandma?”

“I love longans.”

“You don’t love your grandma?”

“No.”

It’s understandable a starving child would resent her grandma for withholding food. This was in 1982, when nearly everyone in Vietnam was hungry all the time.

“My grandma kept bringing up this story.”

“She never forgave you.”

“No.”

In 1998, Chi went to Belgium, where she had relatives. With Christmas near, every house had a Christmas tree out front, “All of them had candies hanging, and expensive ones too, yet none was stolen! Even when they fell off, no one picked them up!”

Though Chi could have stayed in Belgium, she returned to Vietnam.

“You missed him,” I said, meaning her husband. He was standing right there.

“No. The paperwork was just too complicated.”

“Why not just say you missed him!” I laughed.

“I didn’t miss him.” They were just dating.

Chi’s bánh cuốn is so good, customers must sometimes wait. This morning, a young lady’s takeaway order wasn’t ready for 20 minutes. When it gets super busy, Chi can sort of lose it. “Are you insane!” she snapped at her husband when he missed an instruction. He’s the waiter, busboy, deliveryman and kitchen helper. I love this sweet couple. On their wall are all these advices on how to be better Catholics, or just humans. No longer underfed, Chi is squeezably rotund.

Chi has an aunt who made tons of money from a restaurant near Mulberry Beach. She opened it in the mid 80’s when thugs often lurked on the road to it. At its peak, it had 30 cooks. Rich Chinese, Taiwanese, Japanese, South Koreans, North Koreans and Cambodians flocked there in the 90’s and 00’s. At the end of each day, she would buy kilos of gold. Though all her kids have emigrated, the old lady has never left Vietnam.

“That’s amazing.”

“She’s not interested. She’s not like you. You have it so good!”

“Anh sướng quá,” she said, so it’s not an exact translation. It’s a diverse universe.

After nine months, I finally got a representative shot of Tank Top. This dawn, he was ranting about bad motorists.

“She was texting on her motorbike, so I shouted, ‘Is your cunt so itchy, you must do that?!’”

A cunt that’s itchy, “ngứa lồn,” is one that’s aroused. Tank Top can always squeeze his favorite word into a sentence.

A single father, Tank Top’s under a lot of stress. His Honda RSX is new, though, and both father and son are fat. They’re doing OK. They sleep with the AC on all night.

For several days, everyone buzzed about those hurricanes slamming into the greatest country ever. The cafe owner said, “What’s special about America is they never ask for outside help.”

So rich and powerful, America can solve everything alone. All but one regular at the cafe on General Uprising had to agree. Since I’m the only one who’s been there, my take on the USA must be ignored. Brittle fantasy must be defended to the last fool.

[Vung Tau, 10/11/24]

[Vung Tau, 10/11/24]

[Vung Tau, 10/5/24]

[Tank Top at cafe on General Uprising on 10/14/24]