Cậu Năm
Written on Jan 5, 2009
Cậu Năm was lying in bed. The house was dark and warm. His fever slowly cooked his frail body from inside. His sweat soaked the wrinkled top sheet of the bed, but instead of cooling him down, it worsened the cycles between his many chills and fevers. The medicine he had taken about an hour ago was playing trick on his mind as he revolved between dreams and reality.
As the only son in a large Vietnamese family in Nha Trang, Cậu Năm was blessed and privileged. Ông Ngoại was an old Catholic autocrat filled with traditions and disciplines; Dì Hai, Dì Ba and Dì Bốn adored their younger brother; and Cậu Năm ruled my Mom and Dì Bảy. Cậu Năm was very good looking, well educated and powerfully articulated. I remembered how my almighty mother always behaved so timidly around Cậu Năm, even to this day. My Mom revered Cậu Năm so much that when my older brother Anh Hưng came out to look like Cậu Năm, Anh Hưng was an instant favorite to her. By default, we kids loved Cậu Năm through the devotion of our Mom.
Cậu Năm loved to talk about his fishing trips with my Dad and how he was able to get my Mom to "allow" my Dad to go with him. He could talk for hours about how he must help my Dad carry the coolers and fishing gears due to my Dad's poor health, about how he must pay for gas because my Dad never had any money, and about how often that he was a better angler. Each time, Cậu Năm was beaming with pride and confidence. His bright smile and the twinkle in his eyes reminded us all of the glory of being the only son in a wealthy Vietnamese family.
Speaking English better than anyone I knew, when he arrived in the US more than 30 years ago; Cậu Năm was able to quickly settle his family down in the US heartland. Just as for all of our refugee parents, it was a pure struggle to raise a large family; but Cậu Năm was blessed with the gifts of language, education and self confidence.
His sons and daughters inherited his gifts as well, and all had done well. He was always so proud when talking about his children. He loved to be "Ông Cố" due to the ordination of his son Father Tân; he talked about Anh Danh and Chị DạThu with delight, even though he would never admit it; and he bragged relentlessly about Anh Quốc's education and free spirit. Everyone loved Cậu Năm for his sharp mind and quick wit. Even my father-in-law, a once powerful man in Vietnam loved Cậu Năm and asked about him all the time.
A slight stir threw Cậu Năm into a coughing fit. It shook his fragile body and contorted it into a ball of pain. He grasped for air as though he was about to drown. The fire in his lungs burned as each successive breath was harder to draw; his throat felt like sheets of sandpapers rubbing against each other. His eyes watered and his vision blurred. He felt nauseated and dizzy. He was about to black out, but the coughs kept on coming. He coughed until there was no more air in his lungs to draw and collapsed onto the soaked pillow.
In the living room, Anh Quốc paused mid-sentence during our conversation, and we all listened tentatively.
"He will be OK." Anh Quốc said quietly lying with a heavy heart. "He is much better today. Yesterday the doctor took out more than a liter and a half of fluid from his lungs, and he can breathe better now."
Dung and I looked at each other; we both knew what it meant. Anh Quốc suddenly looked much older from when we saw him the week before. The pony-tail was the same, but the polite smile seemed tired and worried. Couple days ago, someone stole his 18-wheeler with all his belongings inside, but it was the least of his worries now.
He rushed to help Cô Lisa, who was struggling to guide Cậu Năm to sit up; but Cậu Năm insisted to get out of bed. Anh Quốc carried Cậu Năm to the dining table. Cậu Năm seemed more exhausted from this simple effort, but he was happy to see Dung and me there by his side. Cô Lisa brought him a small bowl of soup, and Anh Quốc made tea for him. A worn out Cậu Năm tried to make small talks while trying to catch his breath.
My sister Huyên (Tí) came into the room, and Cậu Năm's eyes lit up. She had been bringing him communion practically everyday lately, and receiving communion was the highlight of Cậu Năm's days.
To see a man who had no fear of man and God came into peace with God was a humbling experience. Dung and I joined Tí, Cậu Năm, Anh Quốc and Cô Lisa in prayer at the table. Silently I asked God to have mercy on Cậu Năm; I prayed that God be gracious to His faithful and grant Cậu Năm peace; and to extend such peace to all of Cậu Năm's family. Then I asked God to give Anh Quốc and all his siblings strength and courage in the days to come.
"Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us"; perhaps only then do we experience hope, faith and love. Tí gently gave Cậu Năm his communion; such simple and loving gesture brought tears to my eyes.
Cậu Năm was cheerful and talkative after receiving communion. His coughing seemed to subside somewhat; perhaps the small dinner gave him some comfort; perhaps it was the communion that eased his soul.
We sat in the living room and visited for a while. Cậu Năm seemed genuinely happy, when we parted. On the way home, Dung reminded me to bring Cậu Năm some of the Holy Water that she had collected from her trip to Lourdes. I quietly kissed her hands thanking God for our lives together.
Vui
