the world for more than it simply is

Today I was exposed to another side of Viet Nam most tourists may not get the opportunity to see. It was one of simplicity, yet at the same time guilty poverty. After returning from Cu Lao Chàm this afternoon, I paid a visit to Chú Tâm the Cannibal. Two days earlier, I had placed an order at his family’s tailoring shop for a custom-made suit which included vest, trousers, dress shirt, and two ties which he threw in at no extra cost. Of course I had realized this was all a ploy from the beginning, but I just went with the flow. It was today that he took me to two Buddhist temples, a restaurant serving a Hội An specialty called Bê Thui, and a beer garden where I met a woman named Dung with her own story.

The Cannibal has an interesting bittersweet history—he is a man of post-seventy in age with one true love. In the late 1960s, he met his one true love while in his thirties. However, this woman was taken away from him for reasons I did not truly comprehend due to my lack of Vietnamese vocabulary and the central accent. The most which I can recall now is take she was a casualty of the war many years ago. Soon afterward, he was conscripted into military service in Saigon for three years. While in the service, he rose to a high enough rank to command two thousand troops under his wing. During this time, he boasted that he had over fifty women in his company. However throughout our beer drinking escapade, he would always repeatedly mention that there existed only one woman which he ever truly loved.

After his three-year mandatory service, he became an entrepreneur and eventually opened up a total of twelve jewelry stores over time. However, when that fateful day in 1975 passed, he lost his wealth and had to start anew. Soon thereafter, he studied medicine in order to become a doctor. This occupation lasted for almost twenty years until he decided to retire in Hội An with the family he had started with another woman which he ultimately did not wed. After this retirement, he opened a tailoring business and eventually gained enough capital through the tourism industry to open a custom shoe store and an imported sewing machine merchant for Hội An’s many sweat shops. He currently resides in Hội An with his partner, his children, and grandchildren. His daughter is likely to be a heroin consumer, if not addict.

The beer garden which I went to with the Cannibal was called Thuấn. Fruit trees and other plant matter lined the perimeter. It was here that I met Dung—a woman of twenty nine years which introduced herself as twenty five. Dung works there as a bar maid and according to my host for the day, she only earns the meager sum of one US dollar per day. I quickly figured out that this was the classic sob story told to get some money out of a Việt Kieu, but either way I sympathized and coughed up 10000 đong. Dung is married, and has a child aged eight living at home with her deadbeat abusive husband who beats her. Over the span of her career, she has had many lovers which is greatly reflected in the gold watch, gold bracelets, and wrinkly pearl necklace which she wears to work. She does not much seem to enjoy her line of work. Who would? Coincidentally, when I ask for the business card to the establishment, she scribbles her number on the back. I will never call her. I realize that as an overseas Vietnamese I cannot help everyone here.

At this point, I should probably explain the cannibal bit I attached to his name.  This morning I met him for breakfast and he cracked a Vietnamese metaphorical joke which I did not catch onto until well after the fact (a few hours later in fact).  He asked me if I have ever eaten human meat—to which I replied no.  He continued by stating that the meat of young girls was best.  There is the joke.  Laugh now if you will.