Grandma's mill

I woke up, went out onto the porch, and gazed vaguely at the winding dirt road still shrouded in the scent of weeds. Thinking of Aunt Ut's promise to take me to the village market in a few days, I excitedly ran around the yard chasing the chickens that were scurrying into the kitchen to scratch at the ashes. On the porch, Aunt Ut had also woken up, neatly tying up her hair before quickly grabbing a broom and sweeping the leaves. On the branches of the wild fig tree, the skylarks still chirped, their songs echoing in the blue sky, blending with the rustling sound of Aunt Ut's broom sweeping the backyard. "Na! Where did Grandma put the mortar?" she asked, looking up from her sweeping. "I don't know!" I replied, bewildered.

That's a big stone mortar. My grandmother used to keep it on the porch; I heard it's been there since my great-grandmother's time. On the cool, laterite-paved courtyard, my grandmother placed the mortar next to a row of jars that collected rainwater. My grandmother had a custom: whenever her grandchildren came home from afar, she would rush to soak the rice for making rice pancakes. She would meticulously soak the rice overnight, put it in the mortar in the morning, and by lunchtime, she'd have a pot of batter ready.

"Someone must have asked for it, Grandma gave it away already, really, why keep it cluttering up the house!" - Aunt Ut muttered, going into the kitchen to get her hat and heading to the fields, not forgetting to turn back and remind me to dry the rice in the yard when the sun comes up.

I ran to my friend's house to play until the sun rose above the bamboo grove, then suddenly remembered to rush back to dry the rice. Just then, my grandmother arrived home, carrying a heavy basket. I ran into the kitchen to get her tea, while she busied herself preparing things outside. She picked up a packet of flour and handed it to me: "Put it in the cupboard, I'll make you some rice pancakes sometime!" Holding the packet of flour, I suddenly remembered the mill behind the house and asked, "Did you give away our mill?" My grandmother, who was hunched over in the kitchen, quickly turned around: "Oh? I didn't give it to anyone." "But I can't find the mill anymore, Grandma, go check behind the house!"

My grandmother hurried to where the stone mill used to be. It was empty.

"What happened?" my grandmother asked, looking at me. "I don't know, Aunt Ut only found out it was missing this morning while sweeping the yard." My grandmother went inside silently. Just then, my aunt returned from the fields and, hearing my story, exclaimed anxiously, "Didn't you give it to someone else?" My grandmother stared blankly out at the yard.

The meal was served, but Grandma only ate half a bowl before putting down her chopsticks. My aunt and uncle saw this and couldn't eat either. Grandma's eyes gazed wistfully out at the fields. "When your mother came to live with us as a daughter-in-law, the mill was already over there..." she murmured, recounting stories from her pregnancy with my father until the ninth month when she still sat grinding flour, to her giving birth to my youngest aunt by the mill. She went on and on, then began to sob: "When your father was still alive, every rainy season he would tell your mother to soak the rice. Your father loved rice pancakes more than anyone else, and those were shrimp pancakes with chives picked from the broken earthenware pot, not the shrimp and meat pancakes like now." Then she cried, bringing up countless memories, wiping away her tears as she spoke. My uncle quickly reassured her: "Don't cry, Mom, let us find them!"

My aunt and uncle searched all over the village for my grandmother's mortar and pestle, but they couldn't find it anywhere. It was incredibly strange.

***

"Who grinds flour these days, Mom?" - Aunt Ut said once, watching Grandma hunched over the mill - "Just let me go to the grocery store at the market and buy a packet of rice flour for banh xeo (Vietnamese savory pancakes) instead of grinding it yourself!" "But banh xeo flour lacks the taste of home-grown rice," Grandma said calmly. "If you like, just soak the rice and I'll take it to the shop to grind it, it'll save you the trouble of grinding from morning till noon."

So, before long, my grandmother's mill became a superfluous item in the house. The day my uncle returned from the city, before he could even finish his glass of water, my aunt urged him, "Move the mill to the backyard for me, so I can sit on the porch and chop bananas." My uncle and two others worked together for a while before they managed to move the mill. Everyone brushed their hands and laughed. That was it. Easy peasy.

The millstone eventually faded into oblivion. At noon, I would often go to the backyard, listening to the cooing of the doves on the towering haystack, waiting for my friends to climb over the fence to play. I would gaze absentmindedly at the millstone, noticing its increasingly dull color, and break out in a cold sweat. Once, my aunt, sweeping the backyard with a broom, casually remarked, "Let someone give that mill away, why keep it taking up space in the yard!" "Nonsense!" my grandmother heard, her eyes widening, "That's the only memento left of your grandmother, how could I give it away!" All that day, my grandmother continued to grumble and complain about my youngest aunt wanting to give the millstone away.

My grandmother was still upset about my aunt, and at dinner, my uncle brought it up again: "I'm planning to expand the house to make it cooler, so the grandchildren have a place to sleep when they come home, Mom!" "Okay," my grandmother mumbled. "I'll do it this summer when the time is right. You can get rid of those miscellaneous things later." My grandmother remained silent and finished her rice. Seeing this, my uncle added, "And the mortar too! Let's see who can ask Mom for it!" My grandmother immediately put down her bowl: "No need to expand or renovate anything, it's fine as it is!" she said, then stood up and went out to the porch, her eyes welling up with tears.

Early in the morning, our neighbor, Mrs. Nhu, quickly pushed aside the fence and came over. Seeing my grandmother hunched over tending the bean plants, she also sat down, picked up a rake, and began tilling the soil. As she worked, she whispered, "Sister Bon, my son Hien in the city just finished building his house, and we're getting ready for the housewarming party." "That's a really talented boy, he only graduated a few years ago!" my grandmother praised. "The other day he came home and asked me to move in with him and his wife in the city. What do you think?" Mrs. Nhu asked. "Well, whether you're rich or poor, you should live with him!" my grandmother said ambiguously. Then, Mrs. Nhu threw down the rake and came closer to my grandmother, saying, "The other day, when Hien came home, he saw the mill behind your house and really liked it. He said it would be great to have the mill there because you have a garden. He asked me to ask you if you'd like to keep it for him, and he'd give you a little money for betel nuts." The old woman wiped the sweat from her brow and looked at Mrs. Nhu: "You're right! The mortar and pestle that Grandma left behind, we don't use it anymore, but I'll keep it there so the children and grandchildren will remember it!" Her voice trailed off as she said this. "I remember when I first came to live here as a daughter-in-law, I was terrified just looking at it. Thirty days a month, Grandma and Grandpa would grind rice together, day and night. Grandma had a pancake stall by the river back then, it was always busy, and my mother and I worked hard, but thanks to that, we had some money coming in!" Mrs. Nhu forced a smile: "Yes, I'll tell Hien about it." Then Mrs. Nhu found an excuse to stand up, pushed aside the fence, and went home.

My grandmother stopped what she was doing, went to the backyard to set up the rake, then sat down beside the millstone and examined it for a long time. Then, seeing me standing there awkwardly, she beckoned me closer: "When you grow up and get married, I'll give you this millstone as your dowry." I burst out laughing.

So Grandma's mill was there until it disappeared.

***

The story about my grandmother's mill was eventually forgotten, and perhaps even my grandmother no longer remembered it. Old people are forgetful, sometimes remembering, sometimes not. My aunt and uncle breathed a sigh of relief. Lately, my uncle has been visiting the village more often, and he's hired workers to take measurements to prepare for the house renovation. "Mom is fine as she is, why bother with renovations?" my grandmother said leisurely, chewing her betel nut.

When the day arrived, the craftsmen had everything ready.

That night, my grandmother slept soundly and didn't wake up the next morning. The first person to discover her was my youngest aunt. Hearing her desperate cries, everyone rushed in, but my grandmother's hands were already cold. She passed away in the night, her face serene and peaceful. After ensuring she was laid to rest, the house repairs were put aside, only the fence needed fixing.

My uncle hired workers to measure and repair the fence. The workers had barely finished digging when their pickaxes struck something hard. A pit's opening appeared. "This pit is from the war, let's just demolish it!" my uncle said. Hearing this, the workers demolished the pit's opening. By the time they finished, the sun was already high in the sky. Suddenly, one of the workers shouted, "What's in there?!" He used his pickaxe to pry it open. "Oh, it's a millstone!" Everyone gathered around. My aunt and uncle were also astonished when the millstone was revealed in the sunlight. Underneath the millstone were four rollers for easy movement, next to it was an iron container holding a lime container, a folding knife, a cast-iron pot, and several earthenware bowls… Silence reigned all around. I saw worry on my uncle's face, and tears welled up in my aunt's eyes. After rummaging around for a while, my aunt opened a bundle, revealing a hairpin and a black velvet hat strap. "This belongs to Grandma, Uncle Ba!" my youngest aunt whispered. Without a word to each other, the workers retreated to a corner of the garden to drink water, perhaps wanting to give the family some privacy during this moment. That same day, my grandmother's mill was moved back to the front porch, to the spot where my great-grandmother and grandmother used to sit and grind flour.

Night fell. My uncles and aunts crowded the porch, chatting and reminiscing about memories from my great-grandmother's time. My youngest aunt quietly went into the kitchen to measure out rice to soak. Seeing me cautiously following behind, she turned back, her eyes welling up with tears: "Tomorrow I'll grind the flour to make rice pancakes..."

Short story: VU NGOC GIAO

Source: https://baocantho.com.vn/cai-coi-xay-cua-noi-a192946.html