Saigon Past Events
by Wen Wenjin
About This Novel
One rainy evening, I knocked on the door of the house with a duffel bag as small as a cat. The house was a bit bleak, and the damp smell of potion filled the whole room. The faint light from the narrow dark white horizontal wooden window reflected half of her face. She called me in a hoarse voice: "Come in." She spoke in Chinese. Putting down the duffel bag, she followed her through the corridor to the bathroom to wash her feet and face. For such a small house, the corridors are surprisingly long. When she took off her shoes and walked with her white Ao dai skirt with her bare feet, it felt like she was walking through the cool giraffe's neck. My room was on the other side of the giraffe's neck. "Can you take a bath?" "Yes." I said.
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