Read Online Apocalypse Hotel: A Novel (Modern Southeast Asian Literature) by Ho Anh Thai - Free Book Online

glacier of ice in a glass, making the whole thing look like a polar ice cap.
    People sat, doing nothing but sipping their drinks. Even so, everyone had to order a cup of coffee, a cup of salted lemon drink, and a cup of rau má juice. Every cup was two-thirds full of ice to be chucked away. As Phũ sipped, he kept his eye on the other side of the street. A small road. On the other side was a mini hotel. Every once in a while people came in or went out.
    I was suddenly dumbfounded. The lady pushing open the door and stepping into the hotel was the same woman that had rented the Captain’s Studio the day before. She was still in the same blouse and skirt. Still had the same rippling but frizzled hair.
    I glanced across the street. Phũ was still sitting there impassively, waiting. If I didn’t go with him, if we didn’t have to go and ambush somebody else, maybe I’d have gone over there and talked with her.
    Ten minutes later, the door of the mini hotel opened. Another female stepped out. I was dumbfounded again. I immediately recognized her; I had no need for Phũ to tap me on the leg to get my attention. It was none other than the lady from the beach at Bình Sơn. The lady with the unlady-like name of Mai Trừng. The same person that had been chased by Bóp before and was currently being chased by Phũ. The young lady who now got on a Honda 70 that was parked in front of the hotel—clearly a rented motorbike—and then took off.
    “Let’s go home, Uncle.” Phũ stood up and paid the bill, then walked leisurely to the parking area. His face was calm and composed.
    “It will be finished tonight,” Phũ said. “Dry and cold. Simple and final.” There was no misunderstanding what he meant.
    My heart pounded. I wanted revenge. But at the same time I wanted to repress this feeling. And, finally, I had a feeling of presentiment about the tragic end that would befall my nephew if he kept flying like a moth to the flame. Is she the flame? Had she been the one to burn up Cốc first and Bóp afterward? I was starting to understand this, but I could not understand how she could have done it.
    But Phũ didn’t take us in pursuit of the prey. Instead, he took us back to our room in the hotel. He seemed to be content knowing that his quarry had no way to escape.
    I tried to persuade Phũ that this girl couldn’t be the one responsible for the deaths of Cốc first and then Bóp. But the more I tried to convince him, the more I felt that my argument was without reason. I was worried that Phũ would also die. Did I still know fear? Wasn’t it I who had doggedly planned revenge after the death of my two-year-old? If my experienced brother Thế hadn’t intervened in time, then I might have committed a murder.
    But now I couldn’t just fold my arms and stand there as I watched Phũ head to his death. To celebrate Tết last year the two of us footloose guys had gone to the gathering at the Đống Đa knoll. During each lunar month, one should not travel or trade during the fifth, the fourteenth, and the twenty-third days. In fact, each person that came to the celebration on the fifth day presented another opportunity. Phũ had managed three breast-gropes and a waist-squeeze among the many women in the jam-packed crowd. Quite contented, we worked our way out of the crowd and collapsed on the ground next to an old fortuneteller who was yawning and swatting at a fly. In front of him was a deck of Western cards. “Choose seven,” he said, and quickly flipped over the cards. He sat motionless. Finally he managed to mumble, “Young man, you should go home and think what you can do—this year, not only will you die, but you’ll also be arrested.” Phũ punched him straight in the face and laid him out.
    “Fortuneteller bullshit,” he muttered. “I haven’t killed anyone, so ain’t nobody gonna kill me.” He stood up furiously and scattered the deck of cards with a vicious kick.
    Now I remembered the words that the