Paper Money

Paper Money

Each day, I lost more and more faith in him and saw more of who he truly was underneath the mask he had been wearing when we first got married. Hank had begun gambling, which soon led to a full blown addiction. In fact, most nights he went out, only coming back the next day at around noon. We were penniless and hungry; we had no hope. One cloudy, windy night Hank returned furious, seething with anger. His hair was a mess, as if he had run his hands through it angrily. I could tell from the look on his face that he had lost another bet that night, and now we were really in trouble. He stormed to our bedroom and slammed the door. I slept on the couch that night. I worried about the kids, and what we would do if we were homeless. 

The next day, he woke up early and determined, with a strange look on his face. He left our apartment that was above a Bún chả restaurant explaining he would be back later. I watched him walk down the street, narrowly avoiding a speeding motorcycle. I felt uneasy so I decided to discreetly follow him. I hid behind corners as he kept randomly walking through the bustling, cramped streets of Hanoi. I saw him approach an altar that had been built in to the tangled branches of a tree, with a man already there, praying to his ancestors and about to offer them the paper money in his hand. My eyes widened as soon as I recognized the man as one of my friends who had helped us settle in when we first moved here. I was not prepared for what happened next. Hank punched the man and then pried apart his fingers to grab the paper money, mistaking it for real money. Hank then took off with the money, leaving my friend Giang on the ground. I ran towards him, helped him up and led him home. He thanked me profusely, saying that this act would ensure good karma. 

As soon as I returned home I confronted Hank, and he admitted he stole the money. I was enraged that he had gone to such extreme measures to get money, and I felt even more confused as to why I married this monster. I kept yelling at him, wanting to express my negative emotions, while he just kept telling me to calm down and repeating that it wasn’t a problem. After our argument he left with the money, explaining he was going to buy food. I let him, not caring about what would happen to him once the cashier realized it was fake money. 

Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes turned into hours. I grew restless as to what Hank was still doing with the fake money. I sat near the door, motionless, waiting for him. My eyes started to droop; the quiet, tinkling sound of the kids laughing echoed down the hallway. The hour hand on the clock chimed again, meaning Hank had now been gone for 15 hours. My heart fell, as I realized that Hank wouldn’t be returning. 

The next morning a shrill phone call stirred me from my slumber. I grabbed the phone and answered. Giang’s deep voice babbled on from the other side of the receiver, informing me that my husband had checked in into his hotel late last night. He also told me of an ominous dream he had had, thinking it could not be a coincidence that he had dreamt this on the same night that Hank had checked into his hotel. In Giang’s dream, his ancestors had visited him, upset with the fact that he hadn’t burned that paper money for them. He apologized to them, and as soon as the ancestors realized what had really happened they vanished from his dreams. 

That same night, a spirit appeared in Hank’s dreams, foreboding his demise. The spirit warned that Hank’s future could only be salvaged if he paid heed to the repercussions of his actions. After this dream, Hank woke up straight away, determined to make things right with his wife. He stood up, and was pacing around the room when suddenly in walked a familiar man. Hank was startled to see him, but remembering his dream he kneeled on the ground and apologized over and over again, nearly weeping. 

With Hank kneeling at his feet, Giang saw with his own two eyes how much Hank had changed in one night, but he wasn’t sure how real this transformation was. Hank jumped to his feet, exclaiming he was going to go make things right with his wife. He hurried towards the hotel door but didn’t even make it past the doorstep, when suddenly the air around Hank shimmered, and Hank turned into a cockroach. Giang cried out in surprise and dropped onto his knees, his hands outstretched towards the cockroach. He cradled it in his hands, wondering how he was going to explain this to his dear friend; wondering why fate had been so cruel.

Pownall, Luke. “Altar in a Banyan Tree, Hanoi.” Tumblr, Tumblr, 2018, lukepownall.tumblr.com/post/164057903491/altar-in-a-banyan-tree-hanoi.