Classmates - Thai Nguyen Electronic Newspaper

Hung entered the hall and quietly chose a discreet seat. Today was the school's fiftieth anniversary. Students from dozens of classes from all over the provinces flocked to the district high school.

Illustration: Thanh Hanh

The current principal stepped onto the podium. After congratulating and thanking all generations of students who had returned to attend the anniversary celebration with their old school, the principal moved on to introducing and praising the school’s successful students over the past fifty years. A major general who had fought and died on the southern battlefield, two outstanding businessmen who had received the Golden Star of Vietnam award, three doctors… But Hung found those names completely unfamiliar. It was understandable, because these people must have studied about fifteen courses before Hung. Hung suddenly jumped up when he heard the name Writer Nguyen Phan Hoang read out loud by the principal with a proud voice. Nguyen Phan Hoang? Writer?

The principal emphasized:

- The school is very honored to have writer Nguyen Phan Hoang, a former student of the first class of the school, attend the celebration. Writer Nguyen Phan Hoang brought two hundred novels to give to the teachers and students of our school. This is a novel that the writer wrote about our beloved school during the difficult and fierce years of the war. I would like to introduce writer Nguyen Phan Hoang to the podium to present the books to the school and say a few words.

An old man stepped forward. Hung's eyes widened. Oh! It was indeed Hoang sitting at the same table as him.

Nguyen Phan Hoang stands in front of the mic:

- Dear all of you! I address you like this because I think that whether you are the first class students who have entered their seventies like us or a class student in his fifties, you are all classmates...

The whole hall was in an uproar at Hoang's impressive speech. Hung's ears were ringing, he couldn't hear a word. Hung's mind was wandering somewhere else. How could Hoang, who was the worst at literature in the class, become such a famous writer? Hoang's sudden appearance made Hung suddenly recall some old memories.

There is an unforgettable story that at that time, for some unknown reason, every time Hoang was called to the blackboard by the teacher to take an oral test, he would say the same old phrase: "Teacher, I forgot my notebook." Therefore, his classmates came up with a very popular nickname at that time: "Teacher, Hoang, I forgot my notebook."

When he was in school, if anyone knew Hoang, it was because of that strange nickname, not because of any outstanding ability. But now that Hoang “Teacher, I forgot my notebook” has become a famous writer. Just now, seeing the principal holding up the novel, Hung guessed it must be five or six hundred pages long. That many words on a page is no joke. How strange! Is it possible that to become a writer one does not need a sharp mind and a full knowledge? How could Hoang have those things? Hung knows that ignorant Hoang very well.

Suddenly, Hung felt a bit sorry for his fate, recalling his failed career path. Back then, after graduating from the Polytechnic University with honors, Hung was assigned to a large factory. But then, due to his irresponsibility, Hung burned down an expensive piece of equipment, so he was fired.

To make a living, Hung had to open a small business stall. But feeling that his talent was being wasted, Hung once tried his best to write literature. Hung thought that since he had participated in district and provincial literature competitions several times in high school, if he tried hard, he could become a writer. But the harder he tried, the further away his goal became. He had already thrown away several kilograms of manuscripts, but he still had not had a single work published in a newspaper. Hung bitterly put down his pen. So why could someone like Hoang become a writer? Hung decided to meet Hoang at all costs to find the answer to the question that had been haunting his mind since Hoang appeared.

The meeting ended, stopping Hoang under the old cotton tree at the end of the school yard, Hung went straight to the point:

- Congratulations! I didn't think you would become a writer. Before, you were a bad writer, a Hoang who said "Teacher, I forgot my notebook".

Hoang smiled:

- I'm glad you still remember my nickname. But to me, it's not just a nickname, it's an indelible mark of a life filled with sweat, blood and tears.

Hung was surprised:

- What does that have to do with blood and tears? That day you were lazy to copy your notes so…

- No, it's not like that. During those years, every month my mother had to secretly sell blood to buy me notebooks and textbooks, but still didn't have enough money to buy me notebooks and textbooks. So I had to write several subjects in one notebook. I didn't dare bring it to the teacher for fear of being punished.

- Really?

Hoang smiled softly:

- Back then, you only focused on studying. Your family was well off so you didn't explore much around. As for me, those were unforgettable years.

Hoang looked up at the canopy of the ancient cotton tree and then looked deeply into Hung's eyes, as if searching for something in his memory. After a moment, Hoang said very softly:

- Do you remember what happened under this old rice tree?

- What happened? - Hung was confused.

- So you really forgot. After the last farewell night of high school, you and Vi kissed right under this kapok tree.

Hung's face was a bit stunned. After a long while, Hung seemed to remember the old story:

- Oh... oh... But it's just a small matter... Oh! After that night, I didn't see Vi again, I don't know what happened.

Hoang sighed softly:

- After finishing high school, Vi joined the youth volunteer force. He was injured twice, but when he was discharged, there was no welfare policy. In 1988, after returning from the K battlefield, I heard the news and tried my best to go to the district and the province to ask for a salary for Vi. Now Vi's life is better.

Hung frowned:

- So where is her husband and children that you have to…?

Hoang pursed his lips. It seemed like he didn't understand anything about the life of a female volunteer who was past her prime and had been seriously injured twice like Vi.

Hoang took the novel and gave it to Hung, then asked permission to return to the school office.

Hung looked at Hoang, suddenly remembering that he had not asked why Hoang could become a writer?

With a dull face, Hung slowly left the schoolyard.

The old cotton tree bent over and shed its last red flowers of the season.

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