Inside Infinity

By Vinh Quyen

"Time in the narrative of Inside Infinity takes place just over ten days. However, historical events recounted in the novel span across one hundred years, from the uprising of King Duy Tan in 1916. History is not providing a stage for the characters to act upon; rather, history here is scraps of impressions that awakens the main character's desi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ukiyoto Publishing
• Release date: Oct 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9789360494926

Book preview

Inside Infinity

Vinh Quyen

Ukiyoto Publishing

All global publishing rights are held by

Ukiyoto Publishing

Published in 2022

Content Copyright © Vinh Quyen

ISBN

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated, without the publisher’s prior consent, in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

About the Author

Chapter 1

T

he light was dimming under the silent and unstoppable walks of darkness, step by step. From the height of ten thousand meters and through the plane window, I recognized the borderline between day and night on the earth. Wherever the darkness came, the lights that glowed on, somewhere dense and somewhere sparse, sparkled the vital signs of man.

Once seeing such a splendid, solemn transfer of Yin and Yang, I had booked by the window for every occasion flying across the hemisphere. That was why I hesitated and did not give up my seat to an American blonde girl. While the evening clouds were getting red outside, she leaned toward me and whispered, I’m sorry, but would you exchange places with me? Please help me stay away from the man sitting adjacent to me. Instead of replying to her plea, I wanted to address her situation from the beginning of the problem—the Vietnamese guy looked younger than me.

When he had undressed the girl with his eyes, he heard me making a throat-clearing noise. Right away, he lifted his face to stare straight into my eyes without a blink. Please keep up appearances for our country, I said to him, trying to maintain a polite tone. He let out an extra short oath. My burst laughter surprised him. I laughed at the big deal I put on an uneducated guy’s shoulders. It was also bitter laughter. He had just awoken another man inside me, who I wanted to blank out.

Replacing the blonde, I sat between her and him, slowly rolled up the right sleeve, which I did not want to do in front of everyone in recent years, and told him in a cold low voice that I would give him a good beating as soon as the flight was over.

Looking at my arm, reading the dark layer hiding there, he slowly leaned back into the corner of his seat, turned away, and limped his eyes as he drifted to sleep.

The blonde took her eyes off the two-inch scar that split in half the dragon tattoo on my right arm, then made a gesture of thanks and whispered, A slash?

Pretending not to hear, I quietly button up my sleeves.

Outside the plane, darkness swallows the little bit of blue left in the sky. Try to take a nap, I told myself. From the day I received the news that my father had been falling into a deep coma, I was in the opposite state, losing sleep. The endless humming of planes turned into a sickening but effective lullaby.

In the dream, instead of the blonde girl was a man sitting next to me, looking out at the endless dark sea beyond the plane window. Then I realized it was my father. To me, he hasn't changed. I've interacted with him through the only faded photo over the years.

I can't remember how old I was the first time my mother showed me a picture of my father. However, at that time, I must have been conscious, even knowing to ask the question that children in the same situation as me would one day ask their mothers: Mom, where is my father, or who is my father? I kept silent when my mother said with a gasp, This is your father. I believed my mother would burst into tears if I asked such questions. I am often heartbroken, helpless, and scared when I see my mother cry. The man in the photo was about my age now, twenty-five years old, and very similar to me. However, his eyes looked sadder behind the white round-rimmed glasses, and the ant mustache and middle-parted hair made him appear more mature.

The photo became my property from the day I had my stepfather. My mother had to ask me every time she wanted to see it. I enjoyed seeing my father's photo with her and hoped to know a few more things when she did not have me. But she cleverly dodged such questions. Sometimes, I found a secluded corner to sit in, fished out the photo from my bag to contemplate it for a while, usually when I was in a sad mood or confused about myself, and sometimes I even talked to him.

In this dream, too, I spoke to him, my voice as soft as a sigh. I found peace in being able to say this, I'm sorry, Dad...

Looking out at the dark sea outside, my father turned slowly. His eyes filled with the faint glow of the plane's energy-saving lightbulbs that enhanced the patient stillness. We looked like two brothers. He didn't ask me to apologize for anything. Perhaps he thought children felt guilty about their parents when they had a hunch that the worst was about to happen to them. His gentle eyes showed that he considered my words just a protocol of communication between father and son after years of silence.

I said, Dad, I've settled in America for more than five years alone. Every time I'm so lonely that I can't stand it, I torture myself with the thought that I'm paying back for leaving you alone in Hue, a city good makes people lonely many times more than necessary.

I found myself talking a lot and not like my usual voice. Maybe I wanted to make up for the silence before, or it was time for me to give in to my father's silence.

Don't blame the place we live, just people. It's me who is to blame. I wasn't with you and your mother. I think the men in our family look like lone rhinos, my father whispered.

Rhino? Words of Shakyamuni? I blurted out.

Well, Shakyamuni taught: Go alone like a rhinoceros.

I thought my lonely mood had nothing to do with Shakyamuni's words, but I didn't argue. I was afraid we would get lost in the endless philosophic forests. In my heart, I just wanted to be with him, the father of the rhinoceros.

The bounce as the plane landed returned me to the Los Angeles-Tan Son Nhat flight. It also brought me back to the fact that my father was in a coma in Hue. The dazzling light that shone into my eyes was from the sun of a new day.

I adjusted the clock to 9:15 a.m.

The sound of mobile phones triggering rang through the air despite the chief flight attendant warning passengers not to use their electronic devices until the plane came to a complete stop.

The American girl beside me looked around bewildered.

I smiled at the thought, Wait, many things to surprise you in this country. Then I said, Have a nice trip, Blonde.

The girl was a little surprised at the nickname but quick to respond, Thank you, Dragon Scar.

Tan Son Nhat airport hasn't changed much after all these years. Its familiar look made me feel good. When I told that, Tuan, my high school classmate and the only one to pick me up, said it turned out that I hadn't returned home for a long time because I was afraid of change. I smiled and said, Maybe so.

On the way to the parking lot, Tuan did not continue the story in that direction. I guess he thought I'd just let go of a no-nonsense sentence. He didn't know he had just touched my sensitive mood right now and that I wasn't in control of myself when I confessed.

Swinging the 2003 Hyundai Galloper very well amidst the close traffic, Tuan asked with his eyes still looking ahead, Is your father still in a coma?

Yes.

I think you should fly to Hue right now.

I think so, but there was no ticket left, so having to wait for the 8 p.m flight.

The car stopped at a red light. I suddenly remembered something and said, Five years ago, at this intersection, I recognized you by chance in the crowd, right over there.

Really?

Yes, that was really. Then I quickly looked away, not wanting you to see me in the taxi.

Tuan burst laughing, You were with some girl, right? Why were you shy with me?

I shook my head, There wasn't any girl. My taxi got stuck in traffic on the way to the airport by a protest. And you were one of them. I wish I hadn't met you in such a situation. One goes to study abroad while the other protest against the China coast guard vessel shooting at our Fishermen in our sea.

After a pause, I continued, I still feel guilty about that now.

I was relieved as Tuan said, Your thoughts move me, but don't take it too seriously. There's nothing wrong with studying abroad.

Then he changed the subject, It was nearly ten hours until the flight to Hue, so we will stop by a nice beer garden to chat and have lunch. Ok?

After the first sip of beer, I told Tuan I still like to drink beer in Saigon, with laughter and quarrels.

And lovely waitresses, Tuan added.

I laughed and asked him, How's your father?

Not very well. As you know, my father is more concerned about the world than his health. Tuan replied.

Now you are a journalist. So, father and son become colleagues. Is it interesting?

I dare not consider myself as his colleague. Tuan shook his head, looking uncomfortable.

Why? I am surprised.

"Even retired, my father does not stop writing investigative articles to get justice for mistreated people, while I spend all day scouring wardrobe malfunction cases in the showbiz world. I'm working as an intern in a newspaper entertainment section."

I raised my full beer glass and said to my best high school friend, Compared to the hypocrites, you're still so cute. Drink it up!

After a good laugh, we drank beer and talked nothing more. I wanted to prolong this stillness. It was as if I'd never been away.

However, Tuan returned, What are you doing in America?

Studying and working four nights a week on the phone for a hotel, I replied.

But you have a master's degree in English-American literature?

That's right, I've got. Now, I study history. Naturally, I like it. I will finish my thesis by the end of this year. Then I will find a job.

"What is your research topic?"

I've seen the reaction of some people who thought they misheard my thesis title, so I said it slowly.

Yet Tuan still leaned forward, What?

Vietnam was a power in the East Asian region, I repeated every word.

It's strange to hear it. Tuan said, then explained, For a long time, I always heard that Vietnam is a weak country."

I used to be like you. Until I read a study on the history of Vietnam in feudal times by a Japanese-American professor, it made me decide to spend time refining my knowledge of our country's history.

Tuan nodded, Many Vietnamese people have forgotten who they are. If there were an unannounced survey at a government office that people there must fill out the names of the dynasties in the country's history on a form, it would look like this: Most of them won't be able to complete their nation's résumé. Do you agree with me?

We laughed out loud as if the assumption didn't make uncomfortable sense.

Tuan continued, "But it's not easy for some professor to convince me that Vietnam was once an East Asian power. I'm not the type of character Andriana in the movie Midnight in Paris who believes the past is always better than the present."

I said, "Historians don't discover good things in the past because they think the past is the golden age. As you know, they also write down bad things in the past. Recently, Vietnamese people rarely read history. We gained independence from the French colonialists in 1945, inferiority complex as the people of a weak country remained in some of us. If we get over that negative mentality, our view of the country's history will be different, and we will no longer be surprised when someone says that our country was once great power. Our country gained independence after 1000 years of non-stop resistance against China and thrice won Mongolia. France needed only three months to three years to defeat and place domination over dozens of countries around the world, but it took thirty years to establish a colonial regime in the whole of Vietnam. In his memoir, L' Indochine Français, published in 1905 in Paris, Governor General of Indochina Paul Doumer, later president of France, boasted that his France had defeated a great country in East Asia: Vietnam. Finally, France withdrew from Vietnam after the 1954 Geneva Agreement. Such a country deserves to be called an East Asian power by a history professor."

The two of us argued, as lively as we were in high school. I didn't remember if I was able to convince Tuan. Then, must have had the effect of beer, the academic debate turned to the topic of long legs in Vietnam.

While excited, Tuan said, To welcome you back home, I will call some nice girls to serve beer.

Do not need. Sitting with you like this is my dream. I said honestly.

"I want, but I can't gather everyone in the band to pick