[Vung Tau, 1/7/24]
At 6:12AM, I’m at my second cafe, Bitter. As I walked in, the lady was about to take her boy to school. Very well behaved, this kid. Yesterday, he folded his arms to announce, “Dear great grandma, dear four sirs, I’m going to school.”
Dear is only a rough translation, for the Vietnamese thưa is reserved for those above you. Sir is also not quite right. Ông can also be translated as grandpa. For this mannered boy, four customers at his mom’s cafe became “grandpas” to whom he must acknowledge before heading to school.
Language is a maze to confuse, expose and keep out those outside your community and time. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to have that tattooed on your forehead, but backward. Each time you admire your smug visage in the mirror, you’ll be reminded.
At the first cafe, I again overheard old heads going on about health.
Thin woman to balding man, “Where’s your white haired friend?”
“He broke his leg.”
“What happened?!”
“He got so horny, someone broke his leg!”
Everyone laughed. Across the street, there’s a dog lying across the entrance of a noodle shop, just opening. After lifting his head to ponder silly bipeds at some stupid cafe, he plopped it down again. Though he wouldn’t mind marrying or traveling, he’s likely to die a celibate on the same block he was born. Noticing some white haired guy with a laptop staring at him, the dog couldn’t help but think, Fuck you and the minibus you rode in!
Resuming my eavesdropping, I heard another expiring fart dribble, “That guy can steer a motorbike, clear the jungle and make love at the same time! Who can take it?!”
Again, it’s only loosely translated. “Ông ấy vừa lái xe, vừa làm rẫy, vừa làm tình! Ai mà chịu nổi?!”
Before the Vietnam War, make love wasn’t a Vietnamese idiom. Now, they’ve even adopted, “Say no to drugs.” Nói không với ma túy.
That multitasking man is impossible, but such is language. It’s often fantastic or magical. Gas chambers killed six million Jews. Blood gushed from the ground for days. Israel has a right to defend itself. It’s perfectly safe and effective. Often enough, you don’t need to prove anything. Just persuade or browbeat. Putin is the new Hitler intent on invading Europe.
7:73AM and I’m at my third cafe, Cóc Cóc. I had to flee when Bitter turned up its TV. Some idiot was babbling about plants. Broadcast noise is destroying minds, language and civilizations.
The beauty of words can evaporate just a mile away. What means so much at dawn is nonsense by dusk. How many native English speakers can even comprehend Henry James, much less Skelton? Chaucer might as well have written in Chinese.
For writing a king’s name in a book, Wang Xihou (1713-1777) and all his relations were sentenced to death. Magnanimous, the Qianlong Emperor allowed Wang Xihou to escape death by a thousand cuts, so the scholar was just beheaded. Most of his relatives were also pardoned, but only after enough time to shit their pants. A single stroke doomed Wang Xihou.
On the way to Cóc Cóc, I passed a stand selling hot dogs, sushi and french fries for breakfast. Vietnamese kids are also eating hamburgers or spaghetti before school. With exotic names, alien dishes allure. From my seat, I can see Sambal, with its nasi goreng. Sounds exciting, but it’s just fried rice.
Though comfortable enough in my native Vietnam, I betray my foreignness by using Saigon words from the 60’s and 70’s. There’s always a linguistic war, so missile, airport, jet, traffic circle, soy sauce and broth, etc., have all been changed.
In two days, I’ll be in Phnom Penh. It will be good to have char kway teow, sin chew bee hoon, mie ayam or teochew mie pok at Klang Boy Bak Kut Teh. Having spent a month in Singapore, Malaysia and Indonesia altogether, I speak perfect Malay. My Cambodian, though, is a bit rusty. All I do is point and grin.
It’s time for my first cappuccino. Vietnamese pronounce it as kabul, as in the Afghan capital. I can’t bring myself to do so without cracking up. It took me nearly three months in Cape Town to say, “Drop me off at the next robot.”
Ciao for now. Viets say chào, so it’s almost the same. Some now chirp chào buổi sáng or chào buổi chiều, meaning good morning or good evening. Like even the French, they can’t say no to the English virus, but this war is far from over.
Wars don’t end.
[Belgrade, 7/28/20]
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