"Chambardement General" is the French term. The General Bombardment. Blowing everything up. Destroying Society to start again. That was all that Thuy and Steven believed in. It was their love.
Life, she thought, is a general bombardment. A bombardment of passions, of lies,of struggles. A bombardment of troubles to be met with a bombardment of solutions.
They had met two years ago, in the cafe where Thuy had worked.
He was sat drinking wine alone, watching her all night like a hunter, catching glances and smiles. He stayed until all the other costumers and the French manager had gone home. The air had hung heavy and humid that night. At that time, past midnight, the darkness on the street was disturbed only by the occasional rickshaw.
Then, in her own language, he caller her over and offered her a glass of wine. She accepted, it had been a long day, and she had never sampled the wine she spent her life selling.
He told her, in tolerably good Vietnamese, that he would be going to Malay the next morning, and wished to see her when he returned in a month. His Vietnamese was soon extinguished, and although she spoke a little English and excellent French, she did not know what to say. They sat in silence for a few minutes.
"It is monstrous!" he suddenly exclaimed with a wave of him arm to indicate everything.
He repeated himself in French for her benefit.
Her eyes showed that not only did she understand, she agreed.
The wine was going to her head. Her high cheeks blushed crimson.
"It is a mess," she said.
"What is?" he seemed surprised and his head darted from side to side.
'Everything."
He spoke rapidly in English, mixed with French, Vietnamese and Russian. It was impossible to understand, but he was definitely angry.
"Sorry," he said, after a pause. "I ought to go home. A bit too much wine."
Thuy smiled.
"Good night," he said, "See you in a month."
"See you again," she said, and waved.
She did not expect to see him again.
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