Mirage (very strong language, to be read with lot of care)

“Let him sleep, we don’t have enough spirit.” I told Trung. He continued though by one hand moving Trong’s shoulder, the other hand filled the cup and overwhelmed it. The spirit spilled out on the table and flowed on my knee.
“You thought that I am sleeping? You are all wrong guys.” Trong opened one eye, and then the other. “What the heck do you know about love? Nothing, you idiots know nothing about love. There is no love at all in this world, this immoral world.”
“Stop teaching us. Drink!” Trung said and pushed the cup to Trong’s mouth. He took it and drank it slowly, then poured another one and finished it. He intended to continue but I stopped him.
“Do you know Bill Clinton?” Trong asked abruptly.
“Yeah, I know better his wife.” Trung replied, half sitting on his chair half lying on the small table.
“Good, you are good. Then do you know what did he say when asked by the judge if he had made sexual intercourse with the girl, what her name is? Monica Lew…Lewinsky, yes? He rejected that all, he lied totally, he crushed her completely. Oh my dear Monica, you are so miserable, so miserable being in the hands of that guy.”
“And then, why do you tell us that junk.”
“You see: no love, the president of the United States, no love and moral. Don’t speak about love, it is just a mirage, it is not true.”
“You bastard!” I shouted, astounded by his capacity of twisting things. Trung laughed and laughed.
“But even though. Silent! I told you silent. Even though, it is better there than here, in this country. He had however made love to the girl but just did not want to admit it.” Trong continued. “In this country, yeah, this beautiful country, they even do not make love, people just fuck each other and afterwards tell about that in court, to the public. You know what fucking is? Not making love, guy. Yeah, fucking each other hard and talking about money. And they are so proud about that, and they applaud.”
“They are fuckers. All in this country!” Trung spoke.
“You are nothing better! The government fuck the people whenever possible; the people just fuck off the government and fuck each other, wherever they can. And all together, we fuck this country hard. And you speak about love. You! This country is fucked!” Trong added and turned to me. “Thien, tell me, tell me.”
“How do you say this country is fucked in French? I forgot all out of this language.”
“Ce pays est baisé.” I tried to keep myself on the chair.
“Xe pe i e be de. I speak French, you see.” Trung repeated and then shouted “Xe pe i e be de” again and again into the night.
Tired, he reduced his voice gradually and leaned on the table with his two hands, hid head thrust forward, immobile. From afar he should look like a crouching tiger waiting for the prey, patiently, silently. Trong was busy pouring the bottle to the cup and on the table. He emptied the bottle and tried to put his mouth to the cup.
I suddenly felt the smell of soil on my face, some gravels so close to my nose and I saw the four slim legs of the foldable table with the bars connecting them. Something like water dropped on my ear, and even more now ran into inside of my ear. I turned myself to lie completely on my back, my hands wide opened. Above me I could see all the darkness of the sky.

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