The cloth

The footsteps grew louder until I saw my father standing in the doorway, brushing the dirt from his old police uniform which was then his gardening uniform. He must have just come back from the garden. I ran to the door and stretched out both arms to blook it. 

"Father, I didn't mean to do it. She chose it herself."

He totally ignored what I said and went straight to the washing platform to clean his feet. I watched the stream of water carry the dirt from his feet, hoping it would be just like my stream of thoughts - never stopping, never settling - so he wouldn't find out what I was hiding. Because if he saw it, I might end up like her. 

As always, after washing, he went staight to the hammock. But today, it was already taken -- by her body. Or what was left of it. 

She came to our house and lay on the hammock as if it were hers. As if, by calaiming the hammock, she'd claimed out father too. She laughed so loudly it hurt my ears. I covered them, but the sound still pieced through and it was sharp enough to break my last good eardrum. I couldn't let it happen. I had only one eardrum left, and I wouldn't let her tear it apart with that imperious laugh. 

I lunged at her and pinched her arm, with all my years of frustration packed into my two fingers. I twisted her skin until I heard a hiss and a rush of air escaping her like a punctured balloon. She deflated. Her neck collapsed, and her head rolled off. It hit the floor and shattered into pieces on the floral Indochine tiles. I was afraid my father would be angry that he'd teach me a lesson. Wasn't she his favorite woman? But when he saw the long-sleeved pajamas and the flat stretch of leftover skin, he didn't even flinch. In fact, he sounded a bit more relaxed than usual. 

"Throw this thing out," he said. 

It was disgusting to touch so I picked it up with a stick -- the neck skin and all - and dragged it to the landfill. 

"Trời ơi! A cockcroach!" My mother screamed. 

Out of nowhere, a giant cockcroach among us. 

"Use the cloth to catch it." My father demanded. 

The cloth? I thought. Had the woman finally come down to just a piece of cloth?

I threw the cloth over the cockcroach clinging to the wall and grabbed it with both hands. I could feel something squirming. Could it be the cockcroach or the dehyrated skin which was then as thin as a sheet of rice paper? It didn't matter anymore. I crumpled it and tossed it out the window. 

Mother signed with relief. Father remained indifferent. We had finally gotten rid of her, and the cockcroach.