by Di Li

Released in Vietnamnews

I have a friend who is a writer. I have always believed that a writer is a person with special powers, a person who has the power of life and death, to some extent even more powerful than a judge, a doctor or a traffic officer. A writer can let people live or die at will. When in high spirits, a writer can turn an ice cream man into a rock super star, or at a moment's notice can decided to let a billionaire marry a beggar girl. What's more is that my friend's power is not only expressed in black and white, but can also be experienced by a chubby guy like myself who follows him above all others.

I am not very good at literature, yet I love this writer because he is very talented. After just a few drinks, he can tell wonderful stories from scratch. A narrator who reads a story on a radio broadcast typically has the text in front of him, while my friend can recite an entire story in one sitting. He can even play two or three roles at a time, changing his voice from an old man who craves for a cigarette, to a little child crying for its mother as the story requires. Once, when he finished telling me a story with a lot of exciting details, I was as excited as if I were at a cinema watching the action scenes on screen. I has such a great interest in his style that I asked:

"Could you give me a copy of that story with your autograph?"

"But I haven't made it public yet," he said in surprise.

"Please do give me a draft with your autograph. It's all right, I just want to give it to my hard-working girl, I think she would enjoy it."

"I don't have a draft."

"What do you mean?" I said angrily. "When did you develop the story? Why don't you want to write it out?"

"Only recently."

"Recently? When?"

"Just after we ate."

I was greatly surprised to learn that he created all of his stories after eating a meal. I had always asked him to start telling a story after he had enjoyed a few drinks. I could even suggest the topic, theme and characters for the story. With each telling, I discovered that his surroundings influenced his stories. For instance, one time he was just beginning to tell a story when a beautiful girl in pink walked past the window, he quickly included her as a main character. However, as time has passed, he has written fewer and fewer new stories. To be more specific, he has limited his story-telling because he has developed a stomach problem. This disease has forced him to abstain from eating harmful foods. The more I have got involved in professional writing, the more I have recognised that when a writer is obsessed with something, the more that thing becomes a part of his or her stories. As a result, my friend has started describing his characters with stomach aches, often in such pain that they writhe on their fictitious bed in agony.

I hadn't met him for several months when one day he called me out of the blue:

"Do you remember my character of a girl in pink?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"It's been made into a film that has been nominated for five awards. I would like to invite you to the cinema on Saturday."

I took my girlfriend to the film opening. I took her with only good intentions. I used to be good at architectural drawings, but I was very clumsy in drawing a "blueprint" for a small family. She was pretty and polite, and more importantly, she was as fragile as Bohemian crystal which could be broken into smithereens at the slightest touch. For this reason, I did not have the guts to touch her. Whenever my writer-friend asked me details about my amorous skills and attitude towards her, my responses were so dull that he shook his head, saying:

"You need to take a short course."

At one point, I became annoyed and started to resent and complain about her. He had often made it clear to me that humans have become more civilised with every passing day. According to his philosophy, in the old days, when a boy sat down somewhere and then stood up, his girl was not allowed to sit in the spot he had just vacated. She was required to sit some distance away from the spot. In his opinion, things these days have changed. However, my girl has kept up with similar habits. We had been friends for five years, but when we went to a coffee shop, she often sat down first and put her handbag in between us as if she were building a wall to separate us. I had no other choice but to sit a bit far away from her. Once I was bold enough to touch a mosquito bite on her arm, pretending to ask her what it was. She immediately trembled with resentment and stood up to leave without a word. She didn't contact me for a long time after that, so I sat around in front of her office for a whole week waiting for her.

These cinema tickets held a great significance for me because I knew the content of the story by heart. The story goes roughly like this: There is a young guy (very similar to me) who loves a girl (very similar to her). But another girl is in love with him. A three-party love story begins which is very exciting and troublesome. The other woman does everything she can to hurt the girl the young guy loves. He is brave enough to protect his love and in the end, they walk into the sunset holding hands and kissing each other passionately. This is what I want my girlfriend to see.

The content of the film moved her greatly. She cried and cried, showing her emotion. I told her the story before hand and she was really surprised at the topic. I tried to hide the fact that the author of the story was a friend of mine because then I would have to explain the logic of the story as we watched the film. In the last scene, the other woman walked on screen and phoned his girlfriend to come and witness a spectacular scene in his office. My girlfriend quickly took my hand, making me crazy with happiness.

"So what happens in the end?"

"You'll have to wait and see. I could tell you but I don't want to ruin it for you. I really like the ending. I support the actions of the young guy in the film. He's so manly! It's a perfect love and he's a real man! And the female lead is so feminine. Her actions are very feminine," I said as if I were encouraging my girlfriend.

"Are they?" my girlfriend said in an excited voice. Her eyes were wide open. I was no less excited. My scenario was a complete success. What a literary and cinema effect! The final scene began. The female lead peeked through the partially open door to his office. At first she saw the file cabinet and then she caught a glimpse of him sitting thoughtfully by the window. I knew she would rush into the room and he would welcome her with wide open arms. They would hold each other and kiss passionately. We waited for the scene together. I planned to take her hand as I had long-wished to do. I was sure that my girlfriend would not blush as she had done the other day.

But... what was happening on screen? There were no loving kisses. On the sofa, the male lead was completely naked and having sex with the girl he did not love. The girl moaned in ecstasy. As she watched the scene, my girlfriend screamed in great fear. I was no less frightened. Everyone in the cinema turned to stare at us. My girlfriend looked at me in anger:

"Now I know your true nature!"

Early the next morning I went to my writer-friend and vented my rage at him.

"Why did you change the scenario? Do you think you can change whatever you like?"

My friend was truly surprised. He scratched his head:

"It is because the actress playing the lead female role was pregnant and the director said the final scene was the most expensive in the entire film, so it had to be very sexually provocative. The scenario had to be changed."

"You can change the scenario, but not that much! You can make it romantic, not sleazy!" I yelled at him.

"But a film must have a sex scene to attract audiences these days, you know that. The director had to hire a man who had just finished a sound-making course from the United States, you know.... Besides, when the revised scenario was handed to me, it was the same day I had a celebration for being rid of my stomachache. I signed my approval without even looking at the new script."

"Oh, God! You're ruining my relationship and you don't even realise it!"

He burst out laughing:

"What a fool you are! Don't worry. Everything will be all right!"

One week later, we met up and he gave me a magazine that had published his unaltered story. The ending was kept intact. He even added a bit about the couple getting married and having a bunch of children. I took the magazine to my girlfriend.

"The day after we went to the cinema I went to the writer because I was so angry with him," I said. "I asked him why he had changed the ending in such an illogical way and he realised the error and explained that the change was made by the film director without his approval."

Now we are married. We have two children and my writer-friend is precious to our family. He gave up drinking alcohol. We invited him to dinner one evening. While waiting for the meal, he sat down and told my children a story in the living room. My daughter urged him:

"Then what happened, uncle? Do go on with your story! What did the red-scarved little girl bring to her grand-mother?"

Before he arrived, my wife had hidden the bottle of wine in the cupboard and closed it without any hesitation.

"Please, go on! Do tell it quickly, uncle! What happened then?"

"Oh... yes!" my friend's face held a look of surprise. "Oh, yes... the red-scarved little girl brought a basket of hot bread but in the end, the only thing in the basket was a full bottle of tasty vodka."

Translated by Manh Chuong